Clyde and Margi

Margi started pulling on his shaft, her fingers not meeting as they circled his cock. She sucked his cock, quietly, wetly. The saxophone melody – Max-O-Man, he said – filled the car. I looked at him, our eyes met. We stared at each other for a while. His eyes glazed over, looked aroused.

I looked at Margi, her head moving up and down on his cock, leaving it shiny, looking like glazed chocolate. He looked hard, very hard, stiff the way a cock should be and he was making small little thrusting movements.

“Do you like what you see?” He asked, his voice thick, aroused, sexy.

“Yes, I do.” My voice, too, was thick.

“Are you wet? Getting Wet?” He thrust into Margi’s mouth, bigger thrusts now, deeper.

“Yes.” I was wet, very wet and I had to consciously stop my hand from going to my lap.

“Yes, Margi, yes – I’m going to come now.” He groaned a little, but he was looking at me. Where are the tissues I wondered?

Then he came. He put his hand on the back of her head and pushed her down, grunting in rhythm to his coming. She continued to suck, eating his come. No wonder they didn’t need tissues. She ate him, really did, South Africans coming together like never before, and we locked eyes as he came, arousing me even further. I was thoroughly wet now, my clit aching. I had never looked a man in the eyes as he came before and here I was doing while someone else sucked him. It was exciting.

Margi continued to lick him after he came, and he jerked a little with the sensitivity, I think. His dick didn’t shrink as I expected – it still looked imperious, masterful. It looked regal; his brown shiny cock was a thing to behold. I’d seen black and brown dicks before – in porno movies and pictures – but it looked so much more gorgeous in the flesh.

Margi sat up, her eyes were glazed. She licked her lips, no sign of come, but her lipstick was messed, smudged around her lips.

“Shoo,” she said, “Meneer, that thing grows bigger all the time.” I took this as a compliment, his dick harder in my presence, stiffer because of me. I smiled to myself.

“What about me?” Margi asked, her hand on her breast. Indeed, I thought, what about me too?

“Hey, no problem, let me help you,” Clyde sat up, and put his hand under her dress, his dick still standing proudly. “Take off you panties, I’ll finger you.” He looked at me. “Do you mind?”

Hell no, of course I didn’t – this was also a new thing to me. But I said, “No, its fine. Do her.” I had to clear my throat.

Margi lifted her dress and pulled her panties down, leaving it around her ankles. She spread her knees and Clyde put his hand up her, deliberately lifting her hem so that I could see. Margi leaned back on the headrest and closed her eyes. I couldn’t see much of her cunt but I could see that she was clean-shaven. I was surprised at her legs; they were smooth, no wrinkles, and no stretch marks, looked good enough to belong to a woman half her age. I don’t why I thought older people were wrinkled all over but she was smooth and sexy. I was getting even wetter, my clit aching wantingly, wantonly!

He fingered her expertly, slipping a couple up her puss and rubbing her clit at the same time. Again he stared at me, his one hand in her cunt, his other on his big dick. I was amazed. It still stood.

“Nice?” He asked, looking at me. I wasn’t sure if he meant his dick or her cunt. I liked both, in truth, so I said, “Yes, very nice.” But our eyes were locked again, searching each other. Margi had abandoned herself to her pleasure; Clyde’s educated finger moved in and out of her and her eyes were shut.

“Do you like this?” he asked as he stroked her. I was sure he meant me. Margi said “Ja!” reverting to Afrikaans and thinking he was asking her but I knew different. I nodded, looking into his eyes. Margi came then, also quickly, breathing hard but not saying much, clutching his hand by the wrist, pushing him into her.

Afterwards, she fixed her panties, pulling it up and arching her back to slip in on properly and I wondered if she left a wet stain on the seat or on the back of her dress. Clyde still had his dick out, still standing, not as erect but still there.

“And you, Aimee, how about you?’ He asked, “Want me to do you too?” His voice was low, rough, husky, his eyes hopeful. I wanted it, I wanted him to finger me too but I thought I would wait until next time. This was all too new, too fresh for me to go for.

“Actually I won’t but thanks for the offer.”

“No sweat – do you want to help yourself in the front seat? We’ll stay back here?”

“No, thanks, kind of you, but no.” I was aching but still playing cool.

He put his dick away, still full and up and he took out his cigarettes, offered and we all lit up.

“So,” He said, leading as always, “Where does this leave us?”

I looked at Margi. “Better fix your lipstick.” She nodded. “I liked this. A lot. I’d like to meet again, but in a hotel room like we agreed. I’m still not sure how I will participate but I know I will.” Clyde looked relieved, happy.

“Good. I was hoping you’d say that.” He asked me to put the key in the ignition so that he could roll the window down. “I’ll call you and we can make an arrangement to meet.”

“How often do you meet?” I asked.

“Once a month or so, every six weeks. We’re about due now so maybe next week.” He looked at Margi. She drew on her cigarette and nodded.

“I’ll check my workload but it should be fine. We usually take an afternoon off, finish up in the hotel by 5 or so and go home. Does next week sometime, say Wednesday, suit you, Aimee?” She asked.

“Yes, I pretty much control my own stuff at work so it will be fine. What’s playing now?” I asked.

“Still Fourplay, track called ‘Wish You Were Here’. Good stuff, their first CD.” Clyde said. I had new music to add to my collection. I liked the interplay between piano and guitar, nice bass too. Margi reached into her bag and started sorting her make-up out. It was the signal I needed.

“Okay, folks, this has been fun. Clyde, Margi – I’ll talk to you soon.”

Clyde got out of the car to see me off. Feeling foolish, I shook his hand again, caught a whiff of the Margi’s pussy. It seemed so odd, shaking hands. I walked away, my heels clicking on the cement floor. He stood and watched me for a while and then turned back to his car.

I was on the next level so I didn’t have far to go. But I hurried, needed some privacy. When I reached my car I hopped in and took a quick look around – no one else was around. I was parked in a section where a light was out so it wasn’t that well lit. I locked my door and reach up into my skirt, impatiently moving my panties out of the way. The crotch was wet and, as I spread my legs I could smell the musky aroma of my cunt juices. God, I was horny. I fingered myself, rubbing my swollen clit, listening to the squelching sounds coming from my sodden puss lips. I closed my eyes, jerking my clit, stroking my lips, and I visualised Clyde’s big, fat, brown dick. I imagined myself sucking him, as Margi had done, imagined that I could feel his hand on my head, pushing me down on him. I could almost feel my lips closing around his shaft, trying to take him in deep and I came, jerking and shuddering I came. As my orgasm subsided, my finger still circling my clit lightly, I heard voices. Looking up into my rear view mirror I saw a couple walking directly to my car, both of them trying to peer into it.

I quickly pulled my skirt down and grabbed my handbag onto my lap. As it turned out they were parked next to me. I looked at the passenger, a young woman, as she got in. She winked at me, a big smile on her face. I looked away quickly, embarrassed because it was clear that they, or at least, she, had seen what I was up to. As their car started I looked up again. She was still smiling broadly. I took my finger and put it my mouth and sucked it, looking in to her eyes. She burst out laughing, the man looking up quickly.

What was I doing? Was I mad? I started my car, revved it, the BM engine growling healthily and I pulled off quickly.

It was half past two. Lunch, such as it was, was over. That afternoon, as I pretended to work, I reviewed my lunch over and over again. I was amazed at what had happened, stunned by my boldness. But I found myself thinking about Clyde a lot, Margi always a shadowy flesh prop in the background. I know the argument about size vs. technique but despite the merits of either side, one thing was for sure: a big dick was definitely better to look at. I found myself comparing Derek’s rather pallid, pasty and unremarkable dick, average at best, whatever average was, and Clyde’s massive, proud brown cock. No comparison – Clyde’s brown club simply outclassed anything else I had seen. I was amazed at how regal, how imperious a cock could look. Wow.

I was definitely in, definitely going to join Clyde and Margi. I found that I was now waiting for the next step, the call from Clyde (or Margi) to tell me when were going to meet. I assumed that I would hear from them by Wednesday or so and I knew that I would be counting the hours. What encouraged me further was that I received e-mail from Clyde later that day, thanking me for joining them for “lunch” and expressing great optimism for future meetings. He said he would be in touch later in the week.

But.

Wednesday came and Wednesday went with no word from him. As I switched off my PC at the end of the day I was disappointed. I wondered what had happened? Had they changed their minds? Had I played it too cool? Was I too damn smart for my good? I drove home moodily, aggressively, living up to the reputation of all BM drivers. Derek came around that night but he didn’t stay long. I was ratty with him, short and abrupt. No nooky for him, no happy times for his small dick. I was horrible, I know, but my disappointment was great. It occurred to me that I was placing too much emphasis on my cyber sex mates, that I was ignoring reality in favour of fantasy. This pissed me off even further and I went to bed early to toss on a sleepless pillow.But the next day I felt better. Stuff them, I thought, stuff that old cow and that cocky bastard. Why was I letting them get to me this way? I had my own life; I had Derek so they could go to hell. Anyway, I had not been concentrating too much at work in the past week and my backlog was building up. I had targets to meet, a campaign to put together for Toyota so I drove to work with renewed vigour, new focus.

My boss was visibly relieved to see me working with energy and drive again and before I knew it, it was afternoon. And then my cell rang. My knees went weak when I heard Clyde’s deep voice and my mind went blank.

“Aimee, how are you,” He said, charming and smooth as ever. “Are you busy or can you talk?” Before I could stop myself I said, “Why didn’t you call yesterday? I was waiting!”

He sounded taken aback. “Was I supposed to call yesterday? Actually, I thought we agreed on the end of the week, Friday, and I was bit worried that you may think me over-eager for calling today….but I’m glad you were waiting for my call, really glad. It’s a compliment.”

I was nonplussed. Then I realised that I had assumed it would be Wednesday. Also I didn’t like the idea that I was coming across as being too eager.

“Its no problem, crossed lines and all that, its just that I thought…” My voice trailed off.

“Hey, sorry – maybe its my fault! You’re not angry are you? I hope this doesn’t mean you’ve changed your mind or anything?”

“No, no – nothing like that. Are we still on?”

“Is the Pope a Catholic? For sure we’re still on. I just spoke to Margi now and we agreed on next Wednesday – does that suit you?”

It seemed far away. I hesitated. He misunderstood my silence.

“Would you prefer another day, Aimee? I mean, that’s the soonest Margi can make it and well, you know, but maybe if I call her…”

I took a deep breath, decided to take a chance.

“Look – how close are you to Margi? I mean, does she have to be there and can it just be the two of us?” I held my breath, not believing I had said that, not sure how he would respond.

“Hey,” he said, his voice becoming conspiring, “Are you reading my mind or what? I’ve been thinking the same thing. But to be fair to Margi, I will tell her – she has no jealousy about this. Do you not want to be with her at all?”

“Its not that, no, I mean, I would be with both of you but I wouldn’t mind it if it was just us two first.” We both kept quiet. I sensed he was playing that silence trick on me – you know, the one where you keep quiet and the other person feels obliged to fill the space and then they say more than they intended to. Damn him, it worked. “We can always arrange for a threesome next week - I mean, it’s virtually a week away.”

“Okay,” He said, suddenly being decisive again. “Here’s the plan: why don’t we meet tonight? Possible for you?”

“Depends,” I said, “Where do you want to meet? At the Sunnyside?”

“The Sunnyside’s good – do you have an option?” Clever boy – he read my meaning exactly. I preferred my own house – home ground advantage. From the way these two spoke it sounded as if the hotel would be their home ground. Clyde was proving to be a bit difficult to manage and I wanted every possible advantage on my side, the initiative to be with me.

“You could always come to my house – why spend money on a hotel if you don’t have to?” He fell for this. After all, R500.00 was a lot of money.

“Done deal. Sold. Where do you live?” I gave him my address and few directions. He knew the area and it wasn’t far from where he lived. “Want me to bring anything? Wine? What?”

“Yeah, couple of things: discretion and time. No hit and run. Possible for you?” I used his phrase, a mind trick I learned. They feel flattered, makes them malleable and it’s a good state for all men to be!

He laughed, a rich baritone chuckle. Did he spot my trick?

“Entirely possible, can do! See you at 8:30.”

I put the phone down slowly. Not quite as I had planned but, I suppose, its what I really wanted. Nine inches, glory, or was it ten, of hard man meat! What would Andrea think of me now?

I called Derek, told him that I had work to do at home so that he wouldn’t come around. He wanted to come for supper but I insisted that I had a lot of work. He asked again and, before he got suspicious, I told him to come over but that I had to start work by 7:30. He seemed happy with that. That would give me enough time to drive Chad over to my parent’s house.

It worked out exactly like that. In fact, Derek seemed ready to go by 7:00 already. I stalled him with a cup of coffee, made the way he likes it. He left at 7:20 and I was back home by 8:00, Chad safely off, the house to myself. Its funny, but as I stood in the lounge with a critical eye, it seemed to take on the atmosphere it had had that night with Andrea. Homely, safe, welcoming. I puzzled over it for a while and I decided that it was my state of mind. An elusive thought scuttled through my mind, something that seemed to suggest that this is the real me. I couldn’t explore this further, couldn’t hang on to the fugitive concept long enough.

I had a surprise for Clyde: I had purchased the Fourplay CD on Tuesday – simply called Fourplay – and another one, a collaboration between Bob James and Earl Klugh, ‘Cool’. Really gorgeous stuff. It was suggested to me by the salesman at Musica, also a coloured guy, who wanted to get fresh when I told him I liked soul. Anyway, I filled the carousel with my two jazz CDs and also with some soul, my favourite stuff: Motown collections of classic, gold soul. I can’t get enough of this stuff.

‘Cool’ was playing and as Bob and Earl got down to it I was struck by a sudden thought – I had wanted this all along! I bought these CDs to impress him, to have a setting exactly like this when he walked in! I didn’t quite know what to make of this now that I realised it, but it was food for thought. I made a mental note not to get too hung up on this guy, big dick or not.

I checked the rest of house, changed the bedding in my room and put my best stuff on. With both bedside lamps lit, my room looked pretty, comfy and inviting.

I had bought nice candles since the time with Andrea but I didn’t put these out, not sure if he was the bath and candles kind of guy. I freshened up; had a quick cold shower, a brisk rub down with coarse towel to put a glow on my skin (its weird but ever since I saw his dick I’ve been so self conscious of how white I was) and put on a simple sundress. 8:25, the stage was set. Right now the script said enter hero, left from centre, carrying a heavy sword.

I waited, suddenly panicking that he wasn’t going to pitch. I sat in my favourite chair to wait, listening to the title track. Good stuff, as the man said. As I sat there I thought about how my life had changed since my divorce and how lucky I was. Anton, the ex (and ex was short for excruciating), was wealthy when I met him. Good family, money in the bank, good education and all that. When things went wrong – or, rather, when I caught him bouncing that blond little fluffy thing - I found myself with full custody, very generous support payments and a paid home in a good suburb. He takes care of all expenses, lights and water, maid, groceries and so on. To be fair, he dotes on Chad and is a good father. I have no debt, money in the bank and I am able to indulge my favourite thing, music and movies. I have a really good sound system, wired throughout the house – 14 speakers in all- with Dstv, Mnet the whole lot all hooked up to it. I managed to get Anton to pay all of ninety thousand for this system and, believe me, it’s worth every cent. My DVD collection is growing and my CD collection expands weekly. I listen to the radio channels on Dstv and, when I hear a track I like, I switch the TV on, note the artist and CD, and go shopping on Saturdays. I have about 400 CDs, all stuff I like. And my sex life was growing, expanding equally rapidly.

Just then I heard a car. 8:35. It had to be him. I peeped through the curtain. It was. Action stations.

I waited until I heard the doorbell, allowed another stage wait and opened it. It was indeed him. Full of surprises, as always, holding the initiative, he had a bunch of roses with him, a full smile, a closed-mouth, charming and sure.

“Hi – glad to see you,” I said, surprised at the unfeigned sincerity in my voice. “Before you come in, please park your car and the neighbours pavement? Would you?”

“Sure – back in flash.” He thrust the roses at me and winked. The roses were so unexpected and it made this feel like a date. As for the parking, I didn’t know if Derek would come by later – he surprises me occasionally with impromptu visits but I wasn’t taking any chances. If he did come by I would not open the door.

I stood in the doorway and watched him move the bulky A4 back on the Kate’s pavement. I watched him walk and was surprised at consistent he was in everything; his walk was a man’s walk, big strides, shoulders back, head up, lazy lope; confident.

He stood in the lounge and cocked his head, like a bird.

“Hey, I know that CD, its the Bob James one with the two cucumbers on the cover – nice one.” He looked at me quizzically. I nodded, he was right. “I hope you like the flowers – had a girlfriend once that didn’t like roses…she said they were such a cliché.”

I laughed. “No, I like them – where did you get them at this late hour?”

“Vendor at a robot.” He looked around. “Nice home you have here, very nice indeed. Excellent sound too – what is it?”

“A bit of everything – supposed to be best-of-breed component assembly.” He nodded.

“Its damn good, bloody good – mind if I looked around? We are alone, aren’t we?”

“Sure,” I said, “and we are alone.”

I went to the kitchen to get a vase and he walked around, poking into every room. I wondered what he was looking at.