Short to the Point

Short and to the point.

That was how she'd described herself to me when she was my client.

Kate. A little woman, always dressed in a shell suit and top, three hoop earrings per ear, a baby in her arms. Blonde hair scraped back in a ponytail, face scraped clean of makeup, all the high hopes with which she'd left school at the age of 16 gone in the intervening five years.

She'd been my client because her husband had left her. I'd been the lucky advisor who got to reorganise her debts, maybe buy her some time. Then she dropped out of sight, and I moved onto another job.

I was pleasantly surprised to see her in the uniform of a local estate agents, walking through the shopping centre, holding her daughter by the hand. The bairn was in the red and white checked dress of a local infant school. Her mum looked well. The piercings were still there in each ear, the hoops replaced by plain studs. There was a small Monroe piercing in her top lip, and several rings on her fingers, although none to suggest she was married.

We chatted, and she introduced me to Alice ('I called her Alicia when I was younger but now we shorten it to Alice'). We talked about work, and mutual acquaintances. She checked her watch, explained about Alice's swimming class. I suggested a drink some time, and gave her my mobile number.

Move on. I'm in the office next day, writing a letter. The phone pings. A message from her. A photo message. Her face, looking into the lens of the camera phone, smiling. A text note 'so you remember who I am' A text back; 'I wouldn't forget'.

More texts over the next few days. A little flirting. Comments from me about the need for her to refresh some parts of my memory about her. A picture message of a leg in tracksuit pants. 'I used to live in these'. The same leg in high heels, bare, with an ankle chain. 'How I live now'. A text picture of my bed, a double, one set of pillows; 'How I live now'. A picture of her third finger, left hand; 'the white ring has tanned over now'

We agreed to meet for a drink; I would collect her from her house and we'd walk to the village and its circuit of three pubs.

So I arrived at the house. Gray brick, mid terraced, in a small council estate. I arrived as Alice was walking to a car with an older man she called granddad. When Alice waved at me he smiled. A test passed, perhaps.

Kate was wearing a towelling dressing gown, her hair in a towel. On her feet, incongruous but sexy, were leopard skin mules. The heels added to her height, but not by that much.

She had her full jewellery on. Hoops in each ear, three to each ear, with the bottom one on each side carrying a small pearl. A gold chain around her neck, and around her ankle. A toe ring on her left foot, second toe. Did she shower in her jewellery?

Inside the door she took the towel off her head; Hre hair was dry, and styled. Odd. So why the towel? She gestured at the dressing gown.

"I couldn't decide what to wear.' I returned the smile she gave me; hers a little perturbed, mine more quizzical.

"You choose what you wear; I want you to be comfortable."

"I can't make my mind up. It's awkward; I haven't been out for eighteen months. Longer since I've wanted to with a man."

More detail than I needed? Possibly.

"Wanted to?"

I was genuinely unsure what she was saying to me.

"Yes, wanted to. It's a long time since I've met a bloke I liked, and I've had a crush on you since you helped me, and now I can't decide if I want you to take me for a drink or take me over the dining table."

My turn to smile this time.

"So that's short sexy and to the point."

She blushed a little.

"It's hard…"

I looked down, exaggeratedly.

"You can tell from there?"

Her turn to smile.

"I hope it is. I've wanted to be fucked by you since that day I saw you in the shops. I've imagined you doing it, just coming in here, saying 'who needs the pub', and doing me."

Lots of things in my mind. Images of her mouth on me, licking and sucking me. Images of her hands between her legs, imagining me. I took hold of her hand.

"Why don't you suck me before I do you? Just take off the gown and get down to it…"

I kept my voice light hearted, left myself the option of claiming I was only joking if she pulled away, but she didn't. She slipped out of the gown, naked under it, and knelt down. Unzipped my trousers, wrestled my hard-on out of my pants, and took it into her mouth.

Full into her mouth. Eager, aggressively sucking and tonguing at it. Sucking so her cheeks hollowed, holding the base of my cock in her hand, the metal of her rings strange but not uncomfortable against my skin.

Easy for me to come too soon under such treatment, to spurt in her mouth or over her face; easy to imagine it happening as well.

I took my cock out of her mouth, rubbed it over her face, on her nose, in her eyes, up to her hair line.

Three words from her.

"Gentle isn't necessary."

Short and to the point.

So I pulled her to her feet, turned her round with her back to me, and bent her forward over the dining table. A short fumble between her legs. Soaking wet. Smooth shaven. Quick to spread her legs wider, to arch her back and offer herself. Quicker still to moan as my fingers spread her juices over the arch of skin between pussy and arse, quick to ask to be fucked. Short, sharp phrases, not plaintive, but not demanding either. Just matter of fact..

No need for me to be asked further really. There would be times to make her wait. This wasn't one of them. I pushed my trousers downwards, pulled my shirt out of the way, pushed the head of my cock into her. Hard. She grunted as her pelvis pressed against the edge of the table. Pressed back against me as I pulled out, then grunted again, and half mumbled, half sobbed yes as I pushed back in, pressing her down to the table.

Three strokes more and the grunts changed to gasps. Five strokes more aand she started coming. Shorter sharper strokes after that, trying to push past the muscle contractions of her pussy, bending forward, grabbing at her shoulders, trying to get my hands under her chest to hold her breasts.

Another orgasm for her, another gasping cry as her feet came off the floor, my hands pulling at her thighs, supporting her, holding her tight against me as I started to come inside her. Shaking as I held her there, her pussy no longer contracting, but shaking with febrile spasms around me.

I pulled out, tumbled into an armchair, pulled her on top of me. Tried to make sense of her stiff brown nipples, the flushed redness of her face mirrored on her upper chest, her ragged breathing playing counterpoint to mine. Her offcentre smile at me.

'Still want a drink?'

My possessive reply, hand toying wwith her nipples, her arching her back to make it easier for me.

'So long as we come back for seconds.'

'Of course..'