Moira Learns To Mindbygurn blanston©
It was odd how I came to work in car sales. I had heard of the wild times after hours. The tales told of men with wads of cash in their pockets - and the women who left those pockets empty - killed many a long hour of standing around the car lot smoking cigarettes and nursing hangovers. If it weren't for coffee, cigarettes and the vicarious pleasures of those stories, I would have had no social life at all.
Late one evening, Joe, the sales manager, and I were walking the lot making sure that all the cars were locked for the evening. Joe began another story of his adventures at sales conferences. Apparently, he was conducting training sessions about a new sport utility vehicle. The sessions were repetitive and mind-numbing. Before his last scheduled session, Joe slipped out the back door for a smoke and a quick snort. When he returned to the conference room only one trainee showed up. But this trainee wasn't your typical salesman. Actually, she was no salesman at all ...
At this point I interrupted Joe's tale. "Joe, everyday I sit here and listen to all these war stories. But it seems they all occurred at least fifteen years ago."
"Well, man, you missed the heyday of hedonism.. The seventies and eighties were flat off the hook. The blow, the strippers, the poker games with monthly paychecks as the stakes. It was insane," he replied with his cajun grin.
"Yeah, I guess those were the days, huh, Joe?" I said with more than just a bit of resignation.
I began to plan my evening. Stops at the liquor store, the grocery store, the video store and then a few hours of escapism before returning to hump the lot through another Saturday. Saturdays were the moneymaking days in car sales. And while most of the guys looked forward to the opportunity to earn a month's wages in a day, all I could do was envy the customers' freedom to spend a Saturday shopping for cars or in any way they chose.
"You know you're right, boy. Nobody runs around like they used to. What say we go grab a beer and see what's up these days," Joe said as he pulled the latch on the last car.
Wow! Going for a beer with an old, married dude and the chance to hear Joe travel further and further down memory lane, now that's entertainment. But, who was I kidding. This was my best social invite of the season.
"Where you thinking of going?" I asked.
"Might as well start at the top. Let's stop in at the Sheraton."
"What? You wanna go to the old folk's home?"
"Sure, it's our best bet if you want to get a taste of the good old days. Plus, the house band really rocks that old James Brown sound."
The lounge at the local Sheraton hotel had a reputation as the last resort of the middle-aged and horny. I still considered myself a young man, so the idea of cruising chicks old enough to be my mother was a bit embarrassing, not to mention depressing. But, what the hell, a beer's a beer and a bar's a bar.
The one really good perk of car sales was the demo. There was no other way that I could be cruising in a brand new sports coupe. The only downsides were the dealer tag and the sales sticker in the rear window. In my mind, they announced to all that I really couldn't afford this car and cemented my status as a lowlife, money-grubbing shyster. But I did love this car. Due to my recent success, I had been given my pick of the demos. Naturally, I chose the baddest unit on the lot - a jet black, drop top coupe that just cried out for speed and open roads. I never heeded those calls.
As we pulled out of the lot, Joe revved it up. Oh, a challenge, I thought. We started to drag from light to light until we arrived at the hotel. When we walked in all my fears were confirmed. The bar was dark, and the band was hopping. The patrons, however, looked like a gathering of my mom's friends from church. This was going to be less than interesting.
We pulled up a couple of stools at the bar and ordered. Joe got a beer. I ordered a screwdriver. I always drank vodka because I thought it gave me a clearer buzz and a lighter hangover. Joe bantered with the bartender about the talent available tonight. The bartender said the business had been slow, but if a woman were still hanging around, she must be good to go.
Then Joe turned to me with an earnest look on his face. "Listen up, man," he started. "All the guys have all the stories and they all have the woman of their wet dreams," Joe stated as if pronouncing his deepest thoughts. "They tell these tales of playmates purloined and pinups petted. But, the truth is that the women in those stories, when they are true at all, are average, bored, drunk women next door. Not the girl next door, but the schoolmarm next door. The young girls are all looking for what you don't got, man. And they are sure to make you pay for the pleasure - money, cars, drugs, mental cruelty. Who needs it, man? That's what my wife is for, know what I'm saying?"
"Great, Joe, now you've managed to ruin my fantasies of these women."
"Boy, playmates and hotties are for your fantasies. But if you prefer the real thing, you'll find it in a fleshy, flushed woman of forty searching for something at the bottom of her bourbon and ginger."
"Is that so?" I deadpanned with all the sarcasm I could muster.
"That is so," he retorted with a dramatic flash of his beer mug and a wink. "Do you remember my test drive story?"
Everyone knew the infamous test drive story complete with high-speed blowjob and the stained upholstery to prove it.
"Well, when I tell that story I usually don't tell all. Everything happened just as I say, but if that bitch was under two hundred fifty pounds then I'm an Olympic speed skater!" Joe busted out all over the bar.
I couldn't help myself. I burst out laughing. Joe started waddling and twisting on his stool like a beached walrus. As he rocked, he moved his fist back and forth in front of his mouth while sticking his tongue in his cheek. The combination of his histrionics and my fifth screwdriver left me unable to stop laughing.
We were brought back down by a giggling voice asking what was so funny. I looked over to see a fortysomething redhead sitting with her well-endowed friend. When I say well-endowed, I mean well-endowed all over. She was huge!
Joe turned to the women and said, "Well, I was just telling my young friend here that, if he wants to change his luck, he has to be ready to go moped riding."
"What does that mean?" the redhead asked with a knowing gleam in her eye.
"Well, you know the best girls are like mopeds - they're fun to ride, but you don't want your friends to see you riding one."
I couldn't believe that Joe had just said that, especially with the redhead's friend sitting right there. In fact, the big girl rolled her eyes and turned to the redhead, "Moira, I gotta go, the sitter's gotta be home soon."
"Don't let this old coot run you outta the bar, Sammy," the redhead replied while cutting a drop-dead look in Joe's direction.
"It ain't that, Moira. Besides, from the looks of him, he's too old to ride the Schwinn down the driveway."
"Alright, babe. Call me tomorrow."
"Yeah, she's right, man. I better drag my old, tired ass home before the Ben-Gay wears off and my joints freeze," Joe said with a smile. "See you in the a.m."
With that both he and the redhead's friend were gone. I was left in an awkward silence as the redhead fiddled with her cigarette pack. Just as I was about ready to settle my tab and make the video store before it closed, the redhead exhaled breathily, then sighed, "I guess that leaves just you and me."
"I guess so," I replied with all the panache of Wally Cleaver.
The redhead turned her head slightly to check out the band as they launched into a blistering version of "I Feel Good." I don't know if it was the music or my frustration breaking like a levee in a fortnight's rain, but I impulsively asked the redhead if she would like to dance.
"Sure, honey, but first I have to go to the ladies' room. I'll be right back. Be a sweetie and refresh my bourbon." She downed the rest of her drink and started off for the restrooms.
I watched her walk across the room. She was about five-two and her weight had settled a bit like a pear. When she was talking to Joe earlier, I had noticed her mouth above all else. Her face had a cutesy, little girl with freckles look, but her lips pouted and puckered in a way that suggested lewd and lascivious longing. I was driven to distraction just by watching her smoke a cigarette. But, now I was casing her body. Like I said, she resembled a pear, but her short skirt framed her big ass wonderfully. And her short-cropped red hair belied a stern determination masking a playful nature.
I ordered her next drink. I was thankful for my draw check. That was another perk of car sales. Since we were only paid on commission once a month, the dealership gave us weekly draw checks of several hundred dollars. Usually, the guys would cash them at lunch on Friday, and they would be gone by Sunday morning. I decided to see where this ride would take me, so I also ordered a couple of shooters.
When she returned, she saw the drinks on the bar. She turned to me and asked if they were for her. I told her that I was in the mood for a couple of buttery nipples, but she was welcome to one if she wanted to add to her collection. She glanced down at her chest and said, "Well, I guess you can never have too many."
We both laughed. After we toasted our new friendship, she asked about that dance.
The band was in the middle of a kicking Earth, Wind & Fire song. We hit the floor. One of the greatest things my grandmother ever did for me was to teach me to dance. Not only could I handle funky dance numbers without revealing myself as terminally white, but I could pull off tangos, waltzes and flamencos. We started to tear it up a little bit. We danced the next several songs and had really begun to break a sweat. We had been spinning and turning in a type of swing groove. In the middle of one of our swings, the band abruptly stopped. The lights went down as they transitioned into a soulful version of Prince's "Purple Rain." Moira and I came together and started a slow grind. The feel of her breasts against my belly gave me an instant hard-on. I began to rub my hands up and down her sides. Slowly I kneaded her skin from her shoulders to her waist over and over again. Her breathing became more rhythmic, and she seemed to melt into my body.
As the song continued, I began to caress her shoulders and neck. She let her head roll backward and sighed. I continued caressing her neck and moved up to her cheeks until I was cradling her head in my hands. We looked at each other. It was one of those moments when a kiss seemed the next natural step. But, instead, I began to curl my hand into her hair and gently pull backward. She surrendered with another sigh. I returned to caressing her upper body until I pushed upward and pulled her arms above her head. She gave a look of uncertainty as I meshed my right hand into the fingers of her hands and held them above her head. With my other hand I pressed her lower back into my body and felt her begin to grind with more intensity. We continued this way throughout the song. I could tell that she was a bit uncomfortable being so publicly suggestive, but her eyes smoldered with an alluring combination of lust and alcohol.
After the song ended, we returned to the bar. She lit a cigarette. Those lips again drove me deep into my dreams. She finished her drink and ordered another. As she sipped on the next bourbon, she told me that the dance had left her dreamy, and she wanted to catch a buzz. When I didn't take her hint, she asked if I wanted to go smoke some weed. I told her that I would love to, but I hadn't had any pot in years. "Well, come on, sweetie, take me home and we'll get high, high, high."
We finished our drinks and settled with the barkeep. She complimented me on my car as we climbed into the coupe. With the push of a button I lowered the windows and the top. Moira sat drinking in the evening air before suddenly turning to face me. This moment would not pass. I leaned into her with my fingertips grazing her bare arms. Our lips met like melting wax with our tongues lightly exploring one another. The kissing continued until we were like teenagers at the drive-in. As I continued to snake my tongue in and out of her mouth, my fingers moved down her arm and began to circle toward her breast. Her breathing resumed the rhythmic pattern I first noticed on the dance floor. Only now there was a low, guttural moan escaping every once in a while. Finally, I remembered that we were in an open car in a crowded parking lot.
"How about some of that smoke now?" I asked, pulling back from our embrace.
"Sure, sweetie," was all she said as she slumped back into the seat with a far off look in her eyes.
We arrived at her house in minutes. She had a little four-room bungalow that was decorated in yard sale chic punctuated by an eclectic assortment of objects from foreign lands. After asking her about some items, she told me that she owned a small travel agency which allowed her the luxury of taking many trips she could not otherwise afford. She made a great show of rolling a joint, including a fantastic simulation of head while wrapping the doobie. We began smoking. When I gave her the joint back, she took a deep puff, exhaling slowly. Then she turned the doobie around with the lit end in her mouth. She leaned over as if to kiss me and began blowing the smoke into my mouth. The feeling was electric.
In the afterglow of the weed, our drunkenness mellowed. We began to discuss far ranging subjects of politics, entertainment and travel. My answers to her fairly pointed questions, especially about politics, were apparently the right ones. She began to move closer on the sofa. She began complaining that the stresses of her work made making friends very hard. She felt that she was the only one who really cared if her clients were well-served, so she rode her employees hard. Being a taskmaster at work left her feeling that she had to be in control in all her relationships. She didn't feel that she could just relax with anyone without controlling the situation.
At that point, "In the Midnight Hour" came on the stereo. I rose to my feet and beckoned her to dance again. We melted into each other with intermittent bouts of tongue swapping and groping. When the song ended we moved to the kitchen to refill our drinks. As we stood breaking ice into the bucket, I moved behind her and told her that she just needed to relax and not think about the situation. Just let her feelings flow. "You just need to let the other person know that you like having him here, that you don't mind."
"That's what I need - some minding," she exhaled into my neck.
"First, Moira, you need to learn to mind," I replied, pulling her head back by her hair again.
In my many nights of loneliness, I had read many stories and seen many videos about girls taken and controlled. I didn't know how far she would go with this game, but I decided to take it as far as I could, even if that meant being tossed out on my ass by this little lady.
When she didn't recoil from my touch or my comment, I continued with our kissing. I held her head tight, not allowing her and freedom of movement. Her rhythmic breathing returned and the moans came every time I tightened my grip in her hair. At this point I began to lead her toward her bedroom. I probed her mouth deeply as she stood with her back to the bed, still held firmly by my hand in her hair. I pulled her down to the bed. She collapsed on her back with her breathing even more pronounced.
Deciding to act quickly, I slipped my hands under her skirt and pulled her panties off in a sudden motion. She looked up at me with some hesitation in her eyes until I caressed her face with my hand. She moaned and sighed with her head back and her mouth open. I slipped my middle finger into her mouth. She grunted and began to suck on my finger just like she sucked on her cigarettes. While she sucked, I dove into her pussy with my tongue. She began to undulate on the bed, but she never lost suction on my finger. I began exploring her mouth further, adding a finger one by one until all four were in her mouth. She really began to thrust on my face as I fucked the four fingers into her mouth. I pushed them in until I felt the back of her throat. When they were all the way in I began to stretch them apart and fuck her mouth faster and faster. She gasped and pulled her face away.
With her already turning to the side, I abruptly flipped her over onto her belly. Her ass rose up high. I spread her cheeks with my hands and attacked her clit again. She lay with her face flush against the mattress as I licked her hole. I stuffed three fingers straight into her pussy and fucked her hard. When I leaned down and stuck my tongue in her ass, she drew away sharply and turned to stare at me. I brought my fingers from her pussy and stuck them in her mouth. As she began to suck her juices from my fingers I said, "Moira, you must learn to mind."
I pulled her ass back up and slapped her hard. "Please, no, don't do that," she whimpered. But it was no use. I licked her pussy until she was writhing again and brought the flat of my hand down hard on her ass. Her hands came back to protest, but I held them firmly against her lower back with one hand and smacked her ass again with the other. Her big ass was starting to glow pink, and her breathing was more labored than before. I let her hands fall to her sides and resumed fingerfucking her hard while spanking her every so often. She reached her first orgasm as my palm slapped her clit while my fingers fucked her pussy.
Letting her come down from her climax, I flipped her over and began to suck her breasts. They were beautiful, little B-cups with puffy nipples standing up for some attention. I sucked one then the other fully into my mouth. With her nipple fully in my mouth, I would pull back until her breast was stretched out from her chest. I resumed kissing her while kneading her breasts and pinching her nipples. Between kisses she moaned, "I do need minding." With that I slapped her breast hard. She yelped and strained her mouth up to mine.
I rolled over on my back so that she was on top of me. As we continued to kiss I brought one finger up to her mouth and added it to my tongue. She was breathing wantonly and squeezing my shoulders. Again, I began to spank her ass hard. She brought her pussy down hard onto my thigh and began grinding. With my fingers back in her mouth and her clit rubbing up and down my leg, I began to spank her in earnest, concentrating on one cheek. She started biting my fingers and making noises of mixed cries, moans and curses. Her ass must have been on fire when she finally screamed out and collapsed on my chest.
I let her relax for a moment and flipped her onto her back. I rubbed her clit gently until her moaning returned. I led one of her hands down to her pussy and guided it across her clit. She took the hint and began to play with herself. I forced my fingers back into her pussy until it was more like a pussy spanking than a fingerfuck. I pulled my fingers out and began to ask her if she wanted to come again. She became flustered and shot me a cold look, saying only, "Put your fingers back in me." I pretended not to hear what she said and rubbed her belly. "Please put your fingers back in me," she screamed. So I took my fingers and shoved them back into her mouth. I facefucked her with my fingers until she came all over her hand.
At that point I needed some relief, so I rose above her and straddled her chest. I held her arms at her sides and told her to play with herself. She began rubbing her slit again as I slid my cock over her breasts. I would slowly rub it over her nipples then up to her cheeks. She looked up at me in lust as some spittle dripped out of the corner of her mouth. Yet again I filled her mouth with my fingers. She sucked hard and closed her eyes. I pulled up higher and ran my cock along my palm until it joined my fingers in her mouth. Her mouth was stretched wider than I thought possible as I kept two fingers in and pistoned my cock in and out.