I peered through the peephole as I unlocked the door, expecting to see Hector’s hair and beard. I saw the hair just fine, but the skin was as smooth as a marble statue, the eyes daring me to avoid her.
What could I do? I opened the door.
Instead of brushing by me as she had done the first time, she waited in the hall.
“Joanne,” was all I said.
“You didn’t return my calls, I had to see you.” She was dressed for the office, her usual chic take on business clothes. This morning it was a tailored but not too tight black skirt, a few inches above the knee, her legs bare, the beautiful southern Mediterranean olive skin more refined than stockings. A royal purple blouse, making her bright green eyes pop.
“I was going to call you today,” I said evenly.
“Here I am.”
“So I see.”
She gave me a serious once over. “Do you always wear the same kind of underwear? We’re going to have to change that if we are going to keep sleeping together.”
“About that.”
Joanne cocked her head. “Are you going to dump me in the hallway, or are you going to invite me in? I don’t have much time, I have to get to the office.”
I should have done just that. Shut the door in her face. Maybe standing there barefoot in just my underwear, trying to control myself, made it a little hard to have a serious conversation. I stepped aside and let her in.
In the narrow foyer she turned to me. “I didn’t think you were the type to fuck a woman once and then blow her off.” Her voice wasn’t angry or accusatory.
“I told you, you don’t know me.” My mind flashed on Pam, I’d probably do exactly that to her.
“You can’t say it wasn’t good with me, I know it was.”
I had a hard time with my breathing, standing so close to her. She must have sensed my difficulty, but instead of giving me some space she took a step closer. “I never said that.”
“Then what is it? Is it some woman?” She edged even closer. The way she said woman was almost a sneer, daring me to tell her another woman was as good as Joanne was.
My eyes darted away on their own accord. What business of it was hers? Who would it help, bringing up my vague suspicions of women after my money? I’d sound like a paranoid fool.
Joanne stood on her toes, her lips just inches from mine, her eyes pulling me in. “I know you still want me,” she said, a statement of fact, her voice full of certainty.
Alarm bells were going off in my head, but my heart was skipping beats, my body responding, telling my mind to go to hell. Joanne brushed her lips across mine, not a kiss, maybe hoping I’d give in, but I resisted, staring her down. Her eyes hardened, and then she upped the ante, she shifted her leg, our bare skin touching, the effect instantly making me hard. Even though I couldn’t see her legs because she was too close, I knew what they looked like, I knew what they felt like, I had been dreaming of them for a week, for months even, and now with the knowledge of what lay beneath that skirt, I was helpless.
I grabbed her under her thigh and lifted it around me as I spun her against the wall. I pressed my mouth against hers, and then everything happened very fast, our mouths opened, our tongues fought, her legs wrapped around me. I hiked up her skirt, my hand squeezing between her and the cold plaster wall to grab her tight ass. Her bare ass. No underwear at all.
She was shoving down my boxers with one hand as I used my other hand to lift her up against the wall. She caught the hem of my shorts with her shoe, dragging them down, scraping me roughly with her heel, a pain that wouldn’t register.
“Hurry, hurry!” she breathed.
She pulled her skirt up around her waist and spread her legs, and was now helplessly pinned against the wall. I didn’t wait, my cock probing violently for her opening . She shifted her hips and then grabbed for me, guiding me into her, her pussy wet and ready.
Her hands went to my ass, pulling me in, even as I pushed, my first thrust slamming her roughly against the wall. I lifted her legs, and she hooked her heels behind my calves, she was leaning in to me, holding on for dear life, and I slammed forward again, her ass hitting the wall hard.
Her eyes were open and on me, just like they had been the first time. I fucked her hard, driving her against the wall, thinking any moment whoever lived in the next apartment would start banging on the walls, or maybe call the super.
Fuck them.
“Hurry, hurry!” she said again, her voice rising in pitch.
I didn’t know if she meant she wanted me to fuck her harder or finish, so I worked on doing both, drilling her to the wall, her pussy pulling at my cock with each stroke, those wonderful legs wrapped around me, grabbing at me in desperation and need.
I felt her start to shake, she was getting close, so fast, I should have denied her, pushed her to her knees, see if she’d suck me then, whether she’d pay that price for me to get her off.
Sucking me, the way Pam had sucked me.
Joanne must have seen something in my eyes, a blaze erupting in her iris, I’d never known green could seem so much like red. “You were with another woman, weren’t you?” Her voice again certain, a statement of fact, not an accusation.
I grunted and kept fucking her.
“Say it! You were with another woman!”
“Yes,” I growled, my voice reverberating in the small foyer.
“Bastard!” She yelled, but she kept fucking me.
“And you,” I muttered, “were you with another man?”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer, my voice wasn’t as certain as hers had been, even I couldn’t pull that off.
Joanne looked me right in the eye, the hot green searing. “Yes!”
I rammed my cock into her as hard as I could.
“Yes. Yes!”
A picture hanging on the wall crashed to the floor.
“Did he fuck you like this?” I demanded.
“No! No other lover fucks me in my pussy, only you, only you come in me, come in me now, I want it in me. . .” Demanding, alluring, threatening, promising. But not pleading.
She squeezed her muscles around my cock, and I shot my load deep inside her, her legs tight around my back, squeezing me like a tube of toothpaste, forcing out every last drop of my seed.
Only then, after I had emptied myself, did I feel her start to shudder, her lip quivering, her eyes rolling back in her head, and I watched in amazement as her orgasm overtook her, her features shifting before me from passion to pure ecstasy.
After long moments she opened her eyes. “Now, about your underwear.”
That’s how it went for a few weeks. Always at my place, almost always at lunch, sometimes early in the morning. Joanne in a hurry, to be fucked, to get herself straightened up, to get back to the office.
I’d given up any thoughts of avoiding her, of breaking it off. Like a firecracker, a big one, our flame had been lit, shot off into the sky. It would flash and burn, spectacularly, and then die off in the darkness, perhaps the remnants to be discovered some day far in the future, the glory relived only in memory.
Or in fantasy.
A few days after that time in the foyer, I had texted her, telling her to meet me the next day. I wanted her, but I also wanted to see if she’d try to get back at me for leaving her hanging, if she would ignore my message.
Surprisingly, she didn’t. Her response, almost immediate, said, I want to, but I can’t tomorrow. Friday instead.
What was she doing the next day, that she couldn’t be with me? Something at work? Or maybe someone else, the other man she had been with.
I had no right to ask. But I wondered just the same.
During one of our lunch hour trysts, lying naked on the bed, after we had finished, Joanne reached down to her bag and pulled out a small package.
“I have something for you.” She placed it on my chest.
I pulled the ribbon, and out tumbled a very thin pair of blood red silk boxers. They were so light I was a
ble to crunch them in a ball and hold them in my palm.
“You’re going to start dressing me now?”
“I love the rest of your clothes. You look better in your suits than any man I think I’ve ever seen.”
“I have a good tailor.”
“Really. Then who picks your ties?”
“I do.”
“You proved my point. You know how to dress. Your underwear are boring though.”
“Practical, comfortable.”
She took the underwear from me and slid down the bed, slipping them over my legs. “Have you ever worn silk boxers? They’re pretty comfortable.”
“You’re not my mother and I’m not your husband.”
Joanne took the hem of the shorts in her lips and slowly pulled them up my body, using just her mouth. “I don’t think your mother—or even your wife, whenever you have one—will do this for you.” When she reached my hips she lifted the shorts over my cock, using her teeth now, her hair cascading over my crotch. She moved her head back and forth, teasing.
I grabbed the back of her head and pulled her down, not to suck me, I’d almost given up on that, and when and if it happened I wouldn’t make her do it. Instead I rubbed her hair into my cock, knowing her juices were still on me.
She pulled away. “Stop it.”
“Why? Don’t want to bring the scent back to the office?”
Joanne lay back next to me on the bed, deftly pulling the boxers up over my hips. “I bring enough of you back to the office. I have to think about it all day. Some days I can feel you drip out of me. Do you know how hard it is to concentrate on work when there’s come leaking out of your pussy?”
I didn’t, but I knew how difficult it was to work with her on my mind. And now I’d have another image to keep me distracted, Joanne being turned on by my seed in her. “Maybe if you wore underwear.”
“You’d just have to take them off when I get here.” Joanne slipped her hand in the slit of the boxers, the fabric enticing me back to another erection. “See how practical these are?”
I wasn’t ready to be controlled more than she was already doing, even by her choosing the underwear. She was already controlling how we had sex. “Here’s what I’ll do. Any day I want you and you tell me you aren’t going to be with me, I’ll wear them to the office, and make sure you see me that day. So you’ll know what you aren’t going to get.” I didn’t mean it to sound so harsh. Or maybe I did.
Joanne wrapped her hand around my cock, her long delicate fingers doing their magic. “You’re still mad that you aren’t my only lover.”
“I don’t own you.”
“Sometimes you act like it.”
“I don’t like being in the dark.”
She tightened her grip on me, pulling the skin down to the base, holding her hand there, my cock quivering, pointing at me like an accuser. Joanne flipped her leg over me, straddling my hips, still holding my cock, now poised at her entrance.
Very serious, she said, “You can ask me one question.”
I hesitated, thinking about the fairness of that, another limitation she placed on us and between us. I should have denied her, denied her rules and her limits, and denied her my cock.
Instead I lifted my hips, sliding easily into her, so new every time, and yet so comfortable, like we had been fucking for years. And I had to know.
“How many others?” I asked. Purposely vague, wondering how she’d respond, whether she’d tell me how many she had before, or how many she had now. I wanted to know about now and almost revised my question, but wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. Although for both questions, no number she gave me would matter.
Joanne relaxed her legs, dropping down on me, taking my entire length in her. “Lovers? Only one other. I never take more than two at a time.” She rose up on her knees, until I was almost out of her, then she moved her hips forward and back, using my cock to mash her clit. Her eyes opened wide, honest. “I’m a slut, not a whore.”
Then she grasped my cock and started to stroke me while simultaneously using me like a dildo, brushing me hard against her clit, doing all the work, leaving me to watch, her grip so strong and her hand in my way that I couldn’t get back inside her.
I growled a warning, but she just shook her head, not a denial, more asking me to wait, and it felt so good, and watching her was so arousing I let it go. Faster and faster she worked her clit, and I could tell when she was close, I knew her that well already, her body, her reactions, and I was already thrusting into her when she had shifted herself to take me.
Her hair fell over her face as we fucked, and I moved it behind her ear so I could see her, I wanted to watch her, I wanted to be amazed, as I always was, at how she shook and melted when I came inside her.
“One other?” I asked.
Those wonderful muscles tightened around me, on my legs, around my shaft.
“And only you get to come in me,” she breathed.
“Is that what you want? My come?”
She was in the midst of it now, on the edge, she could only nod violently, and knowing that, I let myself go.
I went out of town again, this time overseas, and was gone two weeks. Joanne and I didn’t communicate, chatting on the phone wouldn’t be for either of us. We were all about the bedroom. And the wall, the floor, the countertop. The phone would be a waste of time.
While I was gone, our offices moved to a different building. There was a party scheduled for the new opening, and unlike other office events, this one would be open to guests. I thought briefly of bringing someone, just to see how Joanne would react. Dropped the idea, it was a little childish, although I admit it would have been interesting.
The new offices were much larger. The party was in full swing when I arrived, a full house. I didn’t plan on staying long, I just needed to put in an appearance, but it took me almost a half hour to get through the reception area, colleagues pulling me aside to introduce me to their spouses, or catching up with those I hadn’t seen in a while.
I kept my eye out for Joanne but didn’t see her anywhere, she might not even be coming. I had just flown back to the States the day before and was a little tired, so after a while I dropped onto one of the couches in the corner of the reception area behind the circular staircase where there was a good view of the city. Most of the attendees had wandered off to check out the other floors, few people were arriving, and this part of the office was now more subdued.
There was a couple sitting on the other couch, a woman who worked in marketing, and what must have been her guest, they looked like they were just getting a load off. We nodded to each other.
After a bit a guy wandered over and pointed to the couch I was sitting on. “Mind of I sit here?”
“Sure,” I said. I didn’t know him.
“Nice view,” he said.
“Better than the old place.”
“You work here?” he asked.
I nodded. “Almost ten years.”
“You must like it.”
“I do. I’m pretty much on my own in terms of what I do. Get to make my own way. I like that.” I glanced over at him. He looked to be a few years younger than me. Very clean cut. Pretty average looking. He was wearing a blazer and jeans over a silk tee shirt, a tough look to pull off, and he didn’t seem especially comfortable in it. Like a little kid who had been told how to dress. Some kind of boots. His voice had a little bit of an accent, which I couldn’t quite place, which was odd, since I traveled a lot. “I’m Michael. I’m sorry, I don’t recognize you.”
“I’m Peter. You wouldn’t. I’m here with my wife. She’s wandered off, and I’m not much for schmoozing.”
“Don’t need to do much schmoozing if you don’t work here.”
He laughed. “You’re right. I might be using the wrong word. English isn’t my first language.”
“You speak it well. Besides, I think schmoozing is Yiddish.”
“Thanks. Sometimes I get some of the idioms mixed up. It’s not
really the schmoozing that’s the issue anyway.”
“Crowds? I’m not big on them either.”
Peter took a long drink of his beer. “That’s not it exactly. You see, you may not be able to tell from looking at me, but I have this really good looking wife. And at parties like this, where there’s a little drinking, sometimes the men getting a little drunk, they start checking her out. It kind of—affects me. I imagine what they are thinking, fantasizing about. It drives me crazy.”
I was already trying to think of who his wife might be, going through all the married women in my mind. He seemed like an okay guy, but rather insecure, he didn’t have much presence, so I was tossing out the hottest wives, I couldn’t imagine one of them with him, he just didn’t seem the type. But there were too many married woman in the company, many of whom I didn’t know, and who was I to know what woman he might attract? Maybe he had a lot to offer.
Of course, if I had a wife as good looking as he claimed his was, maybe I’d be insecure too, always thinking someone was hitting on her.
I just nodded and took a sip of my drink. What could I say? I doubt your wife is that good looking? Or I’m sure she’s true to you? I didn’t know him from Adam.
And I knew the men at the company, like all men everywhere, did their share of ogling. I know I did.
When I didn’t answer, he said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to tell you about my problems.”
I shrugged. “In some ways, it sounds like a good problem to have.”
Peter laughed a little nervously. “I guess you are right.”
This isn’t something I’d normally talk to a stranger about, but the guy seemed a little lost. “It’s only natural, you getting a little angry about men checking out your wife.”
“It’s not really anger, it’s—it’s not easy to explain.” Peter toyed with the label on his beer bottle, not looking at me. “You married?”
“No.”
“Then it might be hard for you to understand. Actually, it might be harder to understand even if you were.”
I wasn’t the type to listen to a guy cry in his beer, he could go to a bar for that. I kept my mouth shut. The other couple got up and went to look at some of the art on the far wall, leaving just me and Peter there in the corner.
Allure of the Vixen Page 6