Ya Just Never Know Ch. 01

Intuition.

It's a funny thing. Sometimes, it's spot-on accurate. At other times, a misconception can be rather drastically awkward, at best.

Occasionally, however, when things aren't always as they seem, it is vitally important to adapt to circumstances, abandon the false confidence of intuition, and plunge valiantly forward. Especially so in a climate of escalating sexual possibilities.

This is the beginning of such a saga. It would teach me the meaning of dominance and submission, and how easily interchangeable the roles can be, if both partners are willing to adapt and adjust.

As we sat at dinner together on our first date, I sat and watched her and commended myself on my due diligence. She was indeed lovely. No, gorgeous, really, in an innocent, preppy, yet classically beautiful way. Intelligent, though reserved and apparently shy. Almost like a fragile fawn. I guessed that somewhere in the not-too-distant past, there had been a deep hurt in her life, something she was hiding. I wanted to learn more, but realized that discovery would have to be nurtured with this particular woman, trust would have to be earned.

All of that didn't abate the bulge throbbing in my suit trousers beneath the table. Every time I focused on her wet, warm mouth sucking a shrimp, every time I caught a whiff of her intoxicating scent, every time I gazed at her bright red lips curled around the rim of her wine glass, I got harder and harder. I was a firm believer, through many pleasant surprise experiences, that the old adage of 'the saint being the hottest fuck' was true. Actually, it wasn't an old adage at all. I made it up. But, hey, old adages have to start somewhere, right?

There had been nothing yet that had even hinted at R-rated or X-rated banter. All conversation thus far was purely diplomatic cordiality, despite the unmistakable, underlying hint of sexual tension. Then, as is often the case, a chance occurrence presented the opportunity.

Keri dropped her napkin from her lap and leaned under the table to get it. Since we were well into our second bottle of merlot, she fumbled for it for a few seconds longer than normally necessary, causing me to swivel uncomfortable in my own seat, knowing that her face was perhaps just a foot or so from my pulsing member.

She finally emerged from below, her face a beet red from embarrassment, which only served to stiffen my manhood, if possible. You see, another adage that I made up is that if a woman blushes in your company, it's a sure sign of attraction, a mating call if you will. An astute male who heeds the call will inevitably be rewarded by acting upon this subtle involuntary signal.

Keri wrinkled her cute little nose, the freckles bunching as she did so, and her eyes averted from my gaze as she placed the napkin back onto her lap, which ironically, was the object of my immediate desire. Lucky napkin.

"Sorry," she almost mumbled. "I couldn't reach it."

I raised my wine glass and held it there until she looked up into my eyes. "Keri, anytime you want to linger under the table until you find what you're looking for is just fine with me."

She raised her own glass and curled that full, pouty lower lip over the rim, her eyes transforming instantly from one of a timid fawn to one of a lioness at prey.

"Thank you. I've been tempted to all night."

It was if a lightning bolt of super-charged hormones shot across the table with one simple sentence.

Within minutes, I had waved down the waiter for the check and threw a few hundred dollar bills down on the table, not wanting to waste another moment at the table. Keri and I couldn't even make it past the outer vestibule until our we embraced in a frantic, hungry locking of tongues, mouths, and lips, augmented by groans and moans and roaming hands. Keri was slightly taller than myself in her 4-inch heels, and my passion and excitement was further heightened by the rare feeling of a woman reaching down to kiss me, grasping my head within her long fingers and pulling me to her hot, inviting mouth.

Speaking of adages, some people say that you can tell how a woman will fuck by the way she moves on a dance floor. True? Well, perhaps. But for my money, a more accurate barometer is how a woman kisses. And, within only a few heated seconds, I can say that no woman had ever kissed me as Keri was kissing me now, and we were still out in public, restaurant patrons coming and going within mere feet of our public display of feverish ardor.

We reluctantly ceased only when the maitre'd caught our attention with a loud and purposeful, "Ahem!" and a raised eyebrow that combined disgust and envy. Keri and I heeded his exhortations and we made our way to my car for the five minute-drive to her high-rise apartment in Valley Forge. Neither of us said a word, still undoubtedly taking mutual mental inventory of the events that had so spontaneously transpired, and anxiously anticipating the events to come. Keri finally spoke as we pulled into the massive outdoor parking area of her apartment complex.

"I told the sitter for my daughter that I'd be home by eleven." I looked at her, still uncertain as to the relevancy of this. Keri pointed to a secluded area of the lot hidden partially by weeping willow trees. "We have twenty minutes. Pull over there."

Within seconds, Keri was spread across my lap, facing upward, as I unsnapped the button to her tight linen pants, pulled down the zipper, slid the pants down her slender thighs, felling the soft skin, pulled her thong aside, and frantically finger-fucked her with three fingers roaming deeply within her steaming cunt, our mouths sucking each other's tongues in a vacuum-like frenzy, my second hand now finding her cunt, peeling her outer lips apart wide, and stroking her throbbing clit into one orgasm after the other, her hips writhing and heaving wildly into the air, the scent of her sex permeating through the car, her juices running like a stream onto the upholstery, her eyes rolling back into her head in sheer, utter ecstasy, the inner slut now fully unleashed.

There was nothing subtle nor tender about my manual administrations. Keri's cunt was literally exploding onto my fingers, like a kerosene-stoked firecracker, steamy, wet, her incredibly tight vaginal muscles contracting and convulsing to my touch, fucking my fingers back as if in a contest. Each insertion was met with a slurping sound, each withdrawal met with a splash.

The more antimatedly she moved her pussy, the deeper I jammed my fingers into her, finding her g-spot over and over, one finger curling upward against her inner walls, the other fucking rhythmically in the middle of her hole, the third exploring downward and rubbing the bottom of her tunnel. She spurted small streams of liquid about every ten seconds, and the more she came, the deeper I digitally plunged. This was a savage finger-fucking, rough, and Keri loved it, she craved it, she begged for it.

She tried to roll over onto her stomach so that her face would be on my own lap, but I grabbed her by the wrists and pulled both of them over her head tightly.

"Don't touch my cock," I teased. "Tonight is only about your cunt, enjoy it, it's only about you and your cunt, no cock for you tonight. Next time my tongue, maybe, but for now, only my fingers." She moaned, but relented as I rubbed my thumb over her hood, evoking another wailing howl of orgasmic bliss.

A phone rang.

Keri shot up from her prone position and reached for her purse, where her cell phone jangled within. As she hit the button, I could hear a young teenaged voice on the other end. "Mrs. Reynolds, it's almost eleven-thirty, are you all right? My dad is downstairs waiting to pick me up."

"I'm so sorry, Lynn, I'm in the parking lot, I'll be right there." Keri struggled to pull up her pants, bunched tightly around her ankles, her hair askew, her face flushed, her juices flowing essentially all over her lower body.

As she did so, I drove my car over to the entrance of her building. She hurried out of the car, but before she could get out, I held her by the forearm for a minute, and looked at her flushed face.

"Next Saturday night, at eight?"

She smiled nervously, blushing again, and nodded.

Before she closed the door, I gave her a succinct directive for proper attire for our second date.

"Wear a skirt, Keri."

Her blazing eyes seared into my own. "Oh, I shall. I'm very obedient."

To be continued...