Her whole face turned the color of her acne splotches. Christopher laughed nervously in an attempt to make light of my comment. “Don’t be silly, Beverly,” he said with no discernable conviction. “You’re doing no such thing.”
“This discussion is getting tedious,” I announced. “Let’s get going.” I led the way to the door and out to my waiting limo. It didn’t surprise me in the least when they both followed me.
“This is yours?” Melissa observed. Her naïve incredulity bored me so I decided to ignore her. She was probably used to people paying no attention to her.
I made her sit across from me in the limo so that I could be closer to Christopher. When I sat down, I made sure my skirt rode up indecently. I wore pantyhose constructed like stockings and garter belt – generous arcs of bare skin, including an unfettered crotch, characterize them. I nearly squealed with delight as Melissa’s jaw dropped at the sight of my neatly trimmed but gaping crotch.
“Your wife seems to be disturbed by my lack of panties,” I purred into Christopher’s ear. He was as close to me as I’d hoped and upon hearing my disclosure, he looked down at my lap. Reluctantly, he checked his wife’s expression. Even Melissa’s ample body could not contain her shock.
I led Christopher’s hand to my slippery lips as Melissa watched. Once his fingers delved into my wetness, I grabbed a handful of his hair and brought his mouth to mine. Christopher’s hand did not leave my gushing pussy. In fact, he was now spreading my juice over my growing clit. She leaned forward and slapped his knee.
“Stop that, now!” she reprimanded.
At the sound of her slap, we stopped kissing and turned to face her ridiculous presence.
“What the hell was that?” I snapped at her.
“I want you to stop.”
I sat back in the rich leather seat and stared at her until she averted her eyes. “You want me to stop.”
“I want you both to stop,” the plump lady mumbled.
“Don’t you like watching your husband play with my pussy?” I asked, slumping a bit so that Christopher could finger-fuck me. “Tell you what, Melissa. You can play, too.”
“I don’t want to play,” she pouted as Christopher buried his face in my neck. Under the erratic flashes of streetlight through the limo’s moonroof, the shadows in her puffy face gave her a ghoulish quality. The poor cow didn’t know who to be angry with, me or her amorous husband.
“Of course you do,” I insisted. “Slide forward on your seat, there, and get on your knees.”
“Why?”
“If you’re going to ask questions, I’ll have the driver let you out right here. We’re only a few blocks from Harlem. Would you like that?”
“No.”
“Then do what I tell you. On your knees.”
Melissa heaved her unwieldy body forward and landed with a thud onto her knees. The position put her much closer to my excitable crotch.
“Stick your face between my legs and tell your husband what I smell like.”
Horror crossed her face for a second time that evening. Or was it a third? In any event, she looked at her husband, who had long since put her out of his mind. His tongue played with my earlobe as his middle finger made squishing noises where I’d led it.
“Christopher!” she wailed, on the verge of tears. Her frustration made me wetter.
“Sniff my pussy, you pathetic whiner.”
Her face contorted into hideous expressions before the tears began to flow. I laughed, which disturbed Christopher from his ministrations at my neck.
“What’s going on?” It was as if we’d awakened him from a pleasant dream.
“Your wife won’t smell my pussy.”
“Come on, honey. Just play along. Everything’s gonna be all right,” he said distractedly, now moving to kiss my mouth as two fingers pumped my hole. I subtly moved his face into my thick mass of wavy hair so that I could watch Melissa sniff down below. This was a show too good to miss.
She leaned forward as if my muff were rotten meat. With her eyes closed, she ventured closer. I didn’t know whether she just didn’t want to see pussy up close and personal or she didn’t want to see her beloved’s hands buried in happy juice. Either way, her extreme unease tickled me and I could only imagine that I was marring her psyche for life.
I loved disturbing her world, upsetting everything she thought was real. Seeing her pudgy form at my mercy while her husband indulged himself on me quickened my pulse. Who needed drugs or alcohol when a high like this was available?
She inhaled dramatically but briefly about six inches from my creamy center, then backed up quickly.
“Are you afraid it’ll bite or are you just expecting mine to be as rancid as yours?” I asked.
She stared at me, blustering yet wordless in her rage. Arms trembling, she struggled to hoist herself back into her seat. The violet atrocity she called a dress bunched up over her thick knees, making me crave something from Pillsbury.
“What do I smell like?”
“I don’t know.”
“Christopher has to know what I smell like before he eats me, don’t you, baby?” I purred as I ran my fingers through his hair.
“Mmmm,” he replied, still breathing into my red locks. Suddenly, he sat upright, and I giggled, realizing he was finally aware of what had been going on around him.
“Tell him what he can expect to taste, Melissa, or the driver lets you off here.” Shouts from a passing car full of foul-mouthed youths reminded her where she was.
“She smells like perfume.”
“Is there anything about you that’s even been near an imagination?” I wondered aloud.
“Let me eat you now, Beverly,” he pleaded. I liked his style – urgent yet refined. What was a class act like this doing with such a hausfrau? I couldn’t wait for his tongue to lap up my juice. But first, some appreciation of the merchandise.
“Not so fast, loverboy. It’s a little warm in here, don’t you think? Help me with my jacket.”
Barely able to restrain a grin, his suave hands dedicated themselves to working the buttons of my Armani jacket. He slid his palms over my ribcage to my sides, pushing the jacket open to reveal my blue corseted torso. The moonlight hit the upper hemisphere of my alabaster globes perfectly, highlighting their smooth, ripe roundness.
I helped him slide the sleeves down my arms until I sat there with the top half of me laced up in a corset, the bottom half with a skirt barely covering my carefully trimmed pubic triangle.
“Melissa, do you think it’s right that I’m sitting here half naked with your husband?”
“No, I don’t!” The woman sat upright, ready to concur with me, her adversary. What a stupendous fool.
“Then I insist that you match me, garment for garment.”
“What do you mean?” The fear returned to her face. Very gratifying.
“Strip, you idiot. Show me what passes for lingerie in the suburbs.”
“I most certainly will not, will I, Christopher?” She shot her spouse the most imploring look she’d probably ever mustered. And still it was a pitiful display of feminine wiles.
As for Christopher, he now sat erect, watching our banter like it was a tennis match. He’d never been in so ludicrous a situation but was far more adaptable than his provincial wife.
“I don’t see where it can hurt, honey. After all, she’s half naked already. I’ll even take my clothes off if it’ll make you feel better.”
“I’ll tell you when your clothes come off, sweetheart,” I informed him with gentle authority. “For now, I want you to help Melissa slip out of that sweet little frock she’s wearing.”
He moved toward his frightened wife. She squirmed to get away from him, as if there were someplace she could go. He grabbed her by the shoulders to immobilize her and stared into her eyes.
“It’s easier if you just cooperate, Mel.”
Mel. It sounded like a pudding flavor. Chill and serve. Watch it jiggle.
He unz
ipped her polyester sack and guided it over her head. She sat there, weeping, arms crossed over her beige Playtex bra. Even her seemingly inflatable arms weren’t large enough to obscure the fullness of her bosom. I estimated that we were roughly the same age, yet this woman’s flesh had deteriorated into a slack, overgrown wasteland some time ago.
I sat serenely, observing Christopher’s face as he compared our bodies. Such a delicious moment, this silent epiphany in a man’s mind when he considers running, screaming, from his sexless wife and into the arms of a beautiful, supple, willing woman.
During this moment of silence, I lowered the window. The purr of its motor went unnoticed but the rush of cool air did not. The Van Dykes turned to me, brows furrowed in confusion.
“Time to put out the trash,” I said, grabbing Melissa’s dress and tossing it out into the mysterious metropolitan night.
“My dress! Christopher! She threw it out the window!” Just when I thought this woman could panic no further, she lapsed into new fits of fussing. I sent the window back up.
“Now then,” I sighed, stretching myself along the length of the limo’s long backseat. Melissa sat whimpering as Christopher patted her knee in an attempt to comfort her.
“Come back to your seat, Christopher, and whip out that manhood I was fondling at the party.”
Melissa cried audibly now but her husband resumed his seat and immediately unzipped his fly. What he pulled out was a gloriously hard and thick cock. My mouth watered.
I paused, though, to consider what would humiliate this stupid woman more – my giving her husband head or her having to suck him off in front of me. I don’t like second-guessing myself and I probably never would have hesitated if I didn’t want that cock so badly myself. I would have taken that fine piece of meat up any orifice, to be honest. Then I came up with the perfect solution.
“Melissa, I have another job for you.”
“No! No more! You’re a sick woman.”
“Compliments will get you nowhere. I’m about to give your husband a fabulous blowjob and I’d like to include you somehow in the festivities. Slip your hand into your pantyhose and play with yourself. Rub your clit slowly if you don’t like what I’m doing and frig yourself like crazy if you do like it. Understand?”
More boo-hooing. I ignored her and extended my stockinged legs across Christopher’s lap. He stroked me from my thighs to my toes, reverently and slowly. I lifted my toes to his mouth, where he sprinkled each toe with feather kisses. I alternated feet and with my free one, I caressed the smooth, purple head of his surprisingly enormous rod. He moaned as the soles of my feet skimmed across it.
A sniffle reminded me of Melissa’s presence and I turned to check that she was following orders. She was not.
“Melissa! What’s wrong? Can’t find your clit in all those folds?”
“Leave me alone!” she said with all the drama of a made-for-TV movie.
“Play with yourself or you’re out on the street. I think you know better than to test me.”
The bawling chubette struggled valiantly to jam her pudgy hand into the unforgiving spandex that encased her belly. When she finally found what she was looking for, I swung my legs around and sat on them, heading for that delectable cock beside me.
“Now remember, fast if you’re turned on, slow if you’re not.” I stifled a laugh – the very idea of this woman having a sexual response was an outrageous fiction.
Once my mouth engulfed the pure, hard heat of Christopher’s pulsating cock, my interest in Melissa’s degradation waned. I diddled myself as I sucked him, primarily for my own pleasure but also to embarrass her further. I knew she was watching. I could feel her simpering gaze. How I wanted her to implode into her own depleted womanhood.
My tongue circled his meat as my mouth traveled up his shaft. Up and down I happily went until the driver stopped at the door of my apartment building. I was careful to prevent Mr Van Dyke from spewing his gratitude. There was so much more to do yet.
Ben, my doorman, has seen me arrive home in various stages of undress and in a wide range of consciousness levels. He had never, however, seen me arrive with an overweight, half-naked housewife and her libidinous husband.
“Good evening, Ms Channing,” he said, nodding in that remarkably impassive style they must teach them at doorman school. As each passenger emerged, no sign of bemusement or disgust crossed Ben’s face. He knew, as I did, that Sutton Place had its share of kink – it was simply more discreet about enjoying it than other neighborhoods might have been. Ben had seen me corseted only once before, on a similar occasion, and let one side of his mouth turn up in a fleeting but appreciative grin.
Melissa wouldn’t budge from the car. Christopher had to yank her out by her stout little arms. She landed on the sidewalk like a bag of cement, her rolls of fat reverberating on impact. Her weeping had elevated into a whining drone, her face a smear of tears and unchecked rosacea.
She stood on the sidewalk in all her girdled glory, looking from her husband to me to Ben for signs that we, too, thought the situation untenable. She received no such confirmation. I was as poker-faced as Ben, and Christopher was so focused on his erection that he held it in his hand, watching me expectantly.
Ben let us into the building, where, to my great disappointment, we encountered no one in the lobby or in the elevator. Melissa clung desperately to her husband throughout, despite his fixation on other matters nearer, uh, at hand.
The moment we entered my twelve-room condominium, I spun on my heel and faced the crying wench. I pulled a breast out of my corset and pointed it at her as if to shoot her with it.
“See this boobie, little Miss Crybaby? You’re going to suck it if you don’t shut up. Now follow me to the bedroom,” I walked backwards down the hall to keep an eye on her. Terror consumed her as adrenaline raced through my body. Christopher followed behind her, agog and short of breath.
Once in my bedroom, I positioned myself in front of the expanse of mirrored wall, standing like Wonder Woman.
“Christopher, sit on the floor between my legs. Eat me out.”
He moved quickly for a man in his fifties.
“Melissa, I’m going to feed you a breast as God intended it to be,” I told her, aiming a hard nipple at her. “Come here and suck it while Christopher licks me.”
“No!” she sputtered.
“Now!”
As Christopher lapped away at what was now a completely drenched pussy, Melissa stepped forward, apparently sapped of any further impulse to protest. She put her lips to my waiting nipple. I snatched it away instantly.
“You are a lesbian! I knew it! How dare you try to suck my beautiful breasts? Go sit in the corner and suck your own!”
She bawled louder and recoiled, speaking her husband’s name to no avail. His face was smothered in juice and he showed no signs of coming up for air. I pointed to the upholstered Biedermeier chair across the room and she scurried over to it. I stared at her until she extracted one sagging breast from the Playtex brassiere and tried to figure out how to get it to her mouth. For a moment, I feared the challenge might get the better of her, but eventually, she stuffed a dark, useless nipple into her mouth.
“Don’t let it sit there. Suck it.”
She obeyed. A more distasteful sight had never graced my bedroom.
“Remove my stockings, Christopher.”
He did so without a single pause from his tongue. Carefully, he rolled the waistband of my silk pantyhose down to my belly and over my hips, then down the length of my long, smooth legs. I watched as he savored the contours of my thighs and the slope of my calves. When they were off, I led him to the bed. I now wore only my corset.
“Unlace my corset now,” I instructed as he knelt on the bed and I stood before him. I stared at Melissa menacingly to keep her suckling at her own teat. Christopher’s back was to her. He unlaced me with that same wonderful reverence and attention to detail he’d demonstrated earlier. Some men were frightened by my domina
nce but this one knew that he was born to take orders. His wife had no idea that his strength lay in his submission and I hated her for her stupidity.
He removed my corset tenderly, as if both it and I were fragile. I altered the mood by pushing him onto his back and straddling his face while I dove into his manly goods. As we sixty-nined, Melissa whimpered softly. I would have reminded her to keep sucking but I didn’t want to take Christopher’s rock hardness out of my mouth. I slapped my face with his cock, licked it wildly, and sucked one ball and then the other into my hot mouth. When my mouth tired, I surrounded his prick with breast meat, smothering it, fucking it, and watching its raw head pop up intermittently between my soft flesh.
Between my legs, he tongue-fucked me with a skill I couldn’t imagine him using on his sexless wife. He speared me expertly and rimmed my asshole like he’d been doing it for years. I dripped with delight.
I felt a surge in the base of his cock, signaling impending eruption. I put the action on pause to save him for the main event. Climbing off him, I looked at his pussy-smeared face and caressed it. The man possessed a certain undeniable charm. That charm, however, was not enough to deter me from my goal.
Melissa’s breast hung forlornly over her distended belly. She sat there, numb, used up.
“Look at your wife, Christopher. She’s the epitome of a sex goddess, isn’t she?”
He turned to the corner where she sat but offered no comment.
I got to my feet, watching my heavy breasts in the mirrored wall as they swayed and bounced with my movement. I enjoyed Christopher watching them, too. Melissa’s eyes registered renewed fear as I approached her.
“Get up.”
She scrambled to her feet.
“I’m going to do something nice for you. You look like a woman who needs many things, not the least of which is a good diet, but for now, I’m willing to offer you a nice, hot bath. Follow me.”
I led her to the master bathroom, tiled in alternating squares of black and white marble. The large round bathtub, which could hold up to five people – and often had – sat atop a three-stair climb. She teetered her uncertain way upward.
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