A Regular Appointment

In an opulent sitting room, six middle-aged businessmen stand around, chatting. They are dressed in their best suits and look ready to go out, to dinner perhaps, some sort of charity function. They are drinking scotch, or port, or bourbon; all liquor, all on the rocks. They seem to know each other well and inquire after each others' wives, children, cars.

At a knock on the door, one exclaims, "That time already, eh?" The rest of them chuckle. Another opens the door and a young woman walks in. "Tara!" says the man holding the door. "How are you, sweetheart?"

"Okay," she says, giving him a sweet little peck on the cheek. The other men all treat her in avuncular fashion. One squeezes her shoulders, one musses her hair, a few of them call her "kiddo." She is quiet and demure. She answers their questions about school, and whether she is dating any boys, and whether those boys are "any good." Tara looks about nineteen or twenty, very petite with soft curves. She's wearing an evening dress, but a very conservative one. It's royal blue, sleeveless, shows no cleavage, and falls to the floor. There's a slit in the back that goes up to her knees. Her skin is creamy white and her hair a glowing nut-brown. It's swept up into a girlish updo, and her makeup is minimal; this does nothing to ruin the effect. Tara is very pretty.

After a few more minutes of chit-chat, and after Tara turns down the offer of a drink, one of the men, who has his arm around Tara, says, "Well, boys, we should be going soon, I guess." The rest of the men murmur in agreement. One of them grabs a big, soft throw pillow from the couch and tosses it playfully to Tara, who catches it. "There you go, honey," he says in a fatherly way.

Tara places the pillow on the floor and kneels on it.

The men put down their drinks.

"Tom, I think you called it," a man says. "That I did," says Tom. He takes off his blazer and walks up to Tara. Smoothly, with no fumbling, Tara unbuckles his belt, unzips his fly, and reaches into his trousers.

She puts his hardening cock in her mouth.

For the next five minutes, all that can be heard are licking, sucking, wet noises as Tara pleasures Tom. It's hard to tell if she's enjoying herself. Her cheeks are flushed: from pleasure, or shame? Nonetheless, Tara is obviously very good at what she is doing; she alternates between licking his shaft, sucking on his balls, and taking his whole length down her throat. Tom is very red, and toward the end he loses control; he grabs her by the hair and holds her head in place, fucking her mouth with hard, regular strokes. With a loud grunt, Tom climaxes. Tara can be seen sucking on his cock even as it softens, draining it of its last drops.

"Whew," says Tom, wiping the sweat from his brow. "That was great, baby." He walks away, buttoning himself up. Another man walks up to take his place.

One by one, Tara performs the same act for each man. She keeps her eyes closed throughout, and she can't see the state of the men who are watching. Every last one shows a throbbing erection, even the ones who have already been serviced, and some have unzipped themselves to idly stroke their members as they watch. Each time, she performs this act with the same talent, the same proficiency, that she did the last time. Some men prefer to face-fuck her a little bit, although too much roughness is not allowed, judging by the comments from onlookers. Others simply stand and let her work her magic; it must be magic, for none last longer than five minutes. Every time she swallows what has been shot into her mouth, carefully and tenderly sucking on each cock until there is no more to feed her.

When she's finished she sits back on her heels and sighs. Tom pours her a glass of white wine. "There you go, sweetie," he says warmly, kissing her lips. He looks her in the eye. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she says, smiling sweetly, a little out of breath. "Thanks Tom."

"You're welcome, sugar. You enjoy your present, okay?"

"Okay."

The men file out of the room, laughing and chatting once more. Seated on the pillow, Tara looks just the same as she did when she entered, except that her hair is a mess, half-up, half-down, strands of it hanging around her face. She sips at her wine for a bit, smiling dreamily, and then, suddenly, downs it all in a gulp. Placing the glass on the floor, she gets up and walks slowly to a door on the other side of the room.

She opens it and smiles. There, on the bed, is the prettiest woman they've ever found for her. "Hello," she says demurely. She turns. "Could you unzip my dress?"