tagHumor & Satire365 Days Ch. 08

365 Days Ch. 08


Carmen – Day Three

Rachel's gym bag was sitting by my front door. I gave her a really nice, loving kiss as she paused before leaving. One more time, I poked around on her tongue stud, playfully, and she giggled. "I'm living in the dorm, and I have no idea where I'll be living next year." Rachel said. "I'm up for a full-ride gymnastics scholarship; if I get it, I'm getting out of this business, no offense!"

How could I take offense at that?

"But Cyndi's right, you're a keeper! When this goofy present of your brother's runs out, come on up to the campus and catch one of our meets! I'd love to go out with you, if you're interested!" She kissed me again, walked out to the GTO, and motored out of my life.

Carmen was standing there, waiting patiently, with her hands clasped in front of her, several packages on the floor by her side. I turned around and shook her hand. "Hi, I'm Dale Owens," I said, feeling very awkward. "Lovely to meet you, Mr. Owens," Carmen replied with a sweet smile. "I'm Carmen Riogetto."

Carmen was much shorter than Rachel had been, about the same height, actually, as Cyndi. Carmen probably weighed half again as much as Rachel, though. But it was distributed very nicely. She wasn't what you would call "willowy," for sure. You might charitably say Carmen was plump. And she had the most enormous bosom I think I've even seen except for my maiden Aunt Prudence.

Carmen's skin was a kind of olive color ... not only a little dark, but with actually a kind of greenish-tan tinge to it. Not like she was sick, you understand, but like she just got off the boat from Italy. Her jet-black hair was long and lustrous, and hung straight down her back to the top of her butt. Speaking of her butt, it, too was ample ... not gross, but rounded in a very womanly sort of way. Carmen was wearing a very conservative black skirt and sweater over a collared white shirt. She had on olive-toned hose and low-heel pumps. After shaking my hand, Carmen stooped over to pick up her packages. In addition to the packet of linens, Carmen was carrying an over-night bag and some kind of big shopping bag. I stepped forward to assist her with her burden, and she handed me the big shopping bag, which I saw was filled with groceries.

But my first impression of Carmen was that whereas both Cyndi and Rachel seemed quite young, Carmen looked maybe forty – almost my own age! She was classically beautiful, with exotic black eyes, and a full, pouty mouth; overall, Carmen looked a lot like a short Sophia Loren at the same age – multo bene! There were just the beginnings of tiny crows' feet at the corners of her lips and eyes which betrayed her age.

Carmen made me think of when I was little and my Mom had foxy friends over to play cards. I would always hang around to catch a glimpse of the ones I thought were especially sexy. Several of them were divorced or never married. I always thought men were crazy to ignore beautiful women of that age. Oddly, my impression of Carmen was forever after colored a little by the fact she made me think of my Mom. I can tell you, in the time since that day, that association has caused me some very "special," and kind of disturbing, dreams.

"Mr. Owens, if you would be kind so as to set that bag about the kitchen table, I'll bring these things to the bedroom. Is it back this way?" she said, indicating with a nod of her head the hallway to the back of my apartment. She had the most charming trace of what I guessed was an Italian accent.

"Uh, yeah. But, please, Carmen, why don't you call me 'Dale?'"

"Oh, no, Mr. Owens! You're the customer, and I must always address you with the greatest respect!"

"Well, okay Carmen. But then, I'll have to call you Miss Riogetto!" I said with a big grin, teasing her.

She was not amused, and frowned a little at me. "Thank you, sir, but I'm MRS. Riogetto. And it would be more appropriate if you called me Carmen."

I was a little confused. Carmen didn't seem to be at all like the other "escorts," or my idea of what an "escort" might be. She seemed like maybe a straight-laced housekeeper or maid, instead. "Uh, Mrs. Riogetto, er, I mean, Carmen, who sent you here today?"

Carmen brightened considerably. "Oh, Professional Escorts, of course, Mr. Owens! I'm part of your brother's gift to you!"

"How do you know my brother?"

"Oh, Mr. Owens," Carmen said quietly, looking shyly down at the floor. I wasn't sure because of her dark complexion, but she seemed to be blushing. "Mr. Roger Owens has been one of my best customers for many years ... since he was just a boy!"

"Oh, really? Somehow, I just can't picture you and Roger together!"

"Well, Mr. DALE Owens," she said, peeping up, flirting from under her long black eyelashes, "I will be glad to show you everything Mr. Roger and I have done together. I'm sure he would be happy to share!" At which point, Carmen turned sensuously and went back into the rear of the apartment.

I took the groceries to the kitchen and unpacked the large cloth shopping bag. There were eggs, bacon, bread, butter, coffee, milk, orange juice, cans of soup, mustard, mayo, a variety of lunch meat, olive oil, a six-pack of Cokes, the makings of spaghetti sauce, a box of noodles, some Italian ice cream, and two bottles of Chianti. By the time I had put everything away, Carmen had returned from putting her things in the bedroom.

"Oh, Mr. Owens, please, you should just sit and relax. I would have put everything away. I'm going to make you a nice breakfast!"

"I'm sorry, Carmen! I've got to get ready for work. I don't know if I'll have time for breakfast with you this morning."

"Nonsense. Go take your shower and get dressed, and by the time you get back, I'll have a hearty breakfast ready for you!"

Frankly, that sounded pretty good, so I did exactly that. Not only did Carmen have a great breakfast ready for the two of us, she also had made me sack lunch to take along to work. As we ate, we exchanged pleasantries about my brother and her work for the escort service. She was too shy to reveal any seamy details, but it soon became clear to me that she was, like the others, basically a prostitute. Being very careful not to offend her, I sort of hinted that it was odd for a married woman to do the kind of work she did. Did her husband know she worked for an escort service?

"Oh, no, Mr. Owens! Primo wouldn't allow me to do this sort of work. He thinks I am working for a domestic cleaning service."

"Carmen, I guess it's none of my business, but why DO you work for an escort service? Do you have an unhappy marriage?"

Carmen looked down at her lap again, as if ashamed of what she was going to say. "Oh, no sir. I work for Professional Escorts because the money is VERY good, but most of all, because I love what I do for a living, and I pride myself that I am VERY good at what I do. My husband travels a lot for his work, and I get very lonely, and, you know, very, well, very frustrated! My husband certainly wouldn't understand, but I feel so SATISFIED when I please one of my clients. Not to mention of course, I just love to fuck!"

I had heard a lot in the last few days, but I have to admit that Carmen had shocked me yet again. "Well, Carmen, I don't quite know what to say about that. But thank you for being so honest with me!"

"Oh, yes, sir. It would be a SIN to lie to you!"

I shook my head, and finished my last cup of very strong, very delicious coffee.

"Now, Carmen, I'm going to have to leave you all alone here, today. Will you be okay here by yourself?"

"Mr. Owen, Professional Escorts is fully bonded, and you can trust me completely to take good care of your house in your absence!" she said.

"No, no, Carmen! That's not what I meant at all! I just don't want you to get lonely by yourself here all day!"

Carmen laughed out loud. "Oh, Mr. Owens! I will be so busy, I won't have time to get lonely!"

"Busy? What are you going to be busy doing?"

"Well, no offense Mr. Owens, I know you're a young, single man with no one to take care of your house for you! I will have a full day's work just cleaning and tidying up your cute little house!"

I looked around, perplexed. After Rachel had worked on my house last night, I don't remember it ever having been so clean. "Okay, fine, Carmen. And no offense taken. Help yourself to anything you need. How much do I owe you for the groceries?"

"I am happy to bring the groceries as my gift to you, Mr. Owens. If you could, though, it would be helpful if you could leave me maybe fifty dollars for supplies I might need today!"

I gave her fifty dollars our of my wallet, grabbed my sack lunch, and took off for work. I drove my old Honda; I didn't think I was in the right frame of mind to drive a strange, overpowered muscle car right then. I had a LOT to think about.

I was understandably distracted at work that day. I tried several times to call my brother, but his phone was always answered by their butler, who responded to my requests to speak to Roger by saying, "I'm sorry, sir, the other Mr. Owens is not available at this time to come to the phone. Shall I take a message?"

"Yes, Chauncey, the message is the same as the last three times I called: please have Roger call his brother Dale, at work or at home, day or night, as soon as possible. I really need to talk to him! Urgently!"

"Very well, sir. I will transmit your message along with your sense of urgency."

"Thanks, Chauncey. Bye!" Cheeky bastard! He could at least make an effort to find my brother, or tell me where he'd gone so I could get hold of him! I hung up, and went back to going over my accounts without really seeing them. I was thinking hard about the implications of this last weekend and the 'present' Roger had given me. And, of course, I was giving a LOT of thought to Cyndi and Rachel and what we had done together. That was also hard thinking, if you get my drift.

I also called home, wondering how Carmen was doing. But there was no answer. My own answering machine came on, and I talked to it as if she were there but maybe reluctant to answer my phone. "Carmen, it's me, Mr. Owens. I mean, Dale! If you're there, please pick up the phone!" I waited for a while, but eventually, the recorder cut me off, and I was listening to a dial tone.

Soon enough, it was lunchtime. I deferred going out with the guys as I usually did, and got my sack lunch out of the refrigerator. In it were two sandwiches, toasted and cut into wedges. There was a baggie full of bite-size veggies ... carrots, celery, green peppers, Zucchini slices, all with just a hint of spiced olive oil. There was a little bottle of Chianti, and a can of Coke. There was a fantastically sweet orange, peeled, sectioned, and with the seeds removed. There was a Snickers bar. The were two paper napkins and two wet-wipes. And a stick of chewing gum. And a mint. And a note: "Hurry home, Mr. Owens. We have much to do and not very much time!" With a little smiley-face.

There were a couple of women who ate with me that day in the lunchroom. They watched me work my way through this lunch, and pretty soon, they were giggling, which finally broke out into outright laughing when I opened the note, especially when I blushed while reading it.

"New girlfriend, Dale? She's really gunning for you!"

"Or did you move back in with your Mom?"

I glared at them, but then realized they were just pulling my chain. "Well, in the first place, my Mom is dead. ("Oh, Sorry!" "Not your fault ... you couldn't know ... and thanks!") And, I don't HAVE a girlfriend," I said, wiggling my eyebrows suggestively.

THAT emptied the room pretty quickly, so I finished my lunch, pocketed the note (I knew better than to throw it into the trash can in the lunch room!), put the Chianti back into the fridge, and went back to my cubicle. A couple of hours later, I went back to get the Chianti. I needed it.

By the time the end of the day had come, I still hadn't heard from my brother. I really don't think I got any work done, either, and whatever I DID do, I knew I would have to review again when I had my head on straight. Maybe in a year.

Of course, traffic was terrible going home. When I finally pulled up into my driveway, I saw that the GTO had moved. Apparently, Carmen had gone out during the day.

As I approached the entrance to my apartment, Carmen opened the door to greet me. She was transformed!

Carmen was wearing a low-cut dressing gown, a diaphanous black something which spilled down over her ample breasts, hugged her waist, then cascaded to the floor. As she moved, the gown moved in such a way as to reveal her shape within it. It was the most sensual piece of clothing I had ever seen, and for the first time, I was thinking maybe Carmen could be fun as well as nice.

Carmen pulled me gently into my apartment, closed and locked the door behind me, and ushered me over to the sofa. I looked around the room and thought perhaps I had gotten the wrong address, somehow.

Carmen had shampooed the carpet, and it looked like a completely different color. She had actually painted one of the walls in the living room, the wall which continued back into the bedroom area; it was a deep, rich red. On it, Carmen had positioned a dozen elaborate Italian tiles in an artistic way. There were new potted plants around, and she had put tasteful (stain resistant!) slip covers on both the sofa and my big, overstuffed recliner.

All the miscellaneous cords I had strung around to connect the stereo, DVD, TV, and computer were somehow hidden away. She had apparently disposed of my extensive collection of cobwebs, which I had kept in the corners of the room.

The room was lit romantically by candles strategically placed here and there, and there was a fire in the fireplace that I had never used before. In front of the fireplace was a fluffy white flokati rug. The room had a fantastic new odor composed of equal parts of a woody candle fragrance, fresh bread, and something spicy and appetizing. My mouth was watering, partly from the smell of food, but largely from watching Carmen's bosoms jiggle around as she walked me to the couch.

"You sit, Mr. Owens, and relax." She bent over to remove my shoes, giving me a fantastic view of the most beautiful, not to mention the largest, breasts I had ever seen outside of my extensive research on the internet. And the occasional movie. And my Aunt Prudence.

She sashayed into the kitchen, and returned with a plate of crusty Italian bread, olives and cheese slices, and two glasses of wine. She sat down immediately next to me, leaned against my shoulder, and asked if I was comfortable.

I said I was, but that I was kind of tense after a weird day at work and the nasty drive home.

"Oh, Mr. Owens, I'm sure I can help you with THAT!" Carmen stood up and shrugged out of her gown, and I suddenly realized what my brother liked about her. Nothing about her body looked over age twenty; she was the complete sex goddess. She was rounded everywhere, with generous hips, shapely legs, and, of course fantastic breasts. Her breasts (I just couldn't bring myself to think of Carmen's breasts as "tits") were large, but didn't sag in the least. And, at that moment, they were tipped by nipples that projected out at least as far as the last joint of my little finger ... what is that, maybe ¾"? Carmen was neatly trimmed, with a short patch of jet-black hair below her tummy, but which stopped to reveal her pussy lips, cleanly shaven. Carmen had a little tummy, but it fit her ... it didn't have ugly rolls of fat, just a slight bulge, which gave her the look of one of those fertility goddesses.

Carmen knelt on the floor before me, and reached over to open my belt and the fastenings of my pants. She said quietly, "Lift a little, please," and when I did, she slid both my pants and underwear gently down off of my hips and legs. She set them aside, then carefully leaned forward and took my now-erect penis into her luscious mouth.

What Carmen did to me then was so different from what Cyndi and Rachel had done with their mouths that it really deserves a name of its own. I don't know what; maybe "heaven's delight" except that's some kind of candy. But that's actually how she treated my cock, as a delicious treat for her, and that's how her lips and hot, wet mouth felt as she slid her head up and down my shaft.

I didn't really want to cum in Carmen's mouth – she still made me think of my mother a little. But she was too good, and soon, I was spurting shots of semen into her talented mouth, and she swallowed. When I had finished, Carmen licked me almost dry, then carefully slid my underwear, then my pants up my legs. She asked me to stand, then she lifted them into place and fastened them. She slipped into her gown again, and said "Now, do you still feel tense?" I could honestly say that I didn't.

We had a fantastic Italian dinner, complete from a chilled tossed salad to spumoni ice cream, then Carmen suggested I go take a shower and get comfortable in the bedroom while she cleaned up.

When I left the bathroom, I saw that all the candles in the living room had been extinguished, and the fireplace doors were closed. The front of the house was dark. I walked into the candle-lit bedroom to find Carmen naked on the bed, lying on her side with the covers turned down, and two glasses of wine on the night stand.

Intercourse with Carmen was completely unlike anything I had experienced before. She wouldn't allow me to hurry; she insisted that we go slow and enjoy one another. Before I finally entered her, I had rubbed my penis over every inch of her body, and had already ejaculated on her twice – once under her arm, and once in her face. She just smiled and encouraged me to continue, which I did.

When we finally fucked, it was a gentle, sensuous genital massage that we gave to each other, and because I had already come so many times, it lasted for a long, long time. Carmen kept me going by whispering the sexiest and most sinful things into my ears, things about what she liked that her husband would never do, or how she had abased herself when she was a young girl in Italy. Carmen told me that sex without love was a myth, and that she had truly loved every man she had ever been with.

At long last, we were unable to resist quickening our thrusts, and we climaxed together, with a lot of noise from both of us. It was as if it was my first of the day, very powerful, but it also was a very emotional cum for me, a mixture of love, thoughts of my mother, a fascination with Carmen's giant, oscillating breasts, and the culmination of a superb aesthetic experience which she had orchestrated. I realized that I hadn't resorted to the little blue pills, either.

By that time, it was ten o'clock, and I was getting very sleepy. When I yawned, Carmen said, "Mr. Owens (which I thought was so sexy since we had just had amazing sex together), you will kill yourself if you keep up this pace. Why don't you call the service and postpone the girls for the next couple of days? It will let you get some perspective on this strange present your brother has given you, and also let you get some rest. Then, on Friday, you can have a regular orgy with this week's girls!"

I really wanted to get to sleep, but what she said made a lot of sense, so I rolled over and found the page of phone numbers, dialed the agency and told them to delay the tsunami of "escorts" until Friday evening.

After that, I fell into the deepest, most restful sleep of my life, and dreamt seriously perverted dreams about my mother and her friends.

... to be continued in "Day Seven – Ruth, Denise, Carol, and Melinda"

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