Bimbo Ch. 03


"What’s wrong? Why am I only meeting weirdos?"

"You just had bad luck, that’s all," Sam comforts her. "Everyone knows you have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find a prince."

"What if all you’re kissing are a bunch of pigs?" Ellenor moans.

"Oh, that’s not fair! That hunk wasn’t a pig, he just had a very small dick!"

"AND he was a bad kisser," she points out.

"What do you care, if it’s only a One Night Stand?"

She looks at him sternly.

"I deserve good quality fucking EVERY time," she says.

"So we’re not talking about merely getting laid here, we’re talking about great sex? Someone’s improved her standards! Not only does she wants a sex life, now she wants it to be good, too!"

"Damned right!" she says, hitting her fist against the table. "I want a nice, normal guy, unattached, with a big dick, who wants to have sex in bed – preferably one who is good with his tongue, too!"

"Be careful what you wish for," Sam warns her. "You just might get what you ask for…"

"Fastlane" is a hip new club downtown. Ellenor sees quite a few local celebrities in the crowd. It’s opening night, and the place is full of people. It’s clear that it’s going to be the most popular club in town this season. It’s a big place, originally it used to be a storage facility for the local shipping agency; now it’s been transformed into a hypermodern world of glass and iron, all in black and white. Bright neon lights flicker over the walls and the ceiling, and through the thick glass floor shines hundreds of electric blue lights. It’s a little bit overwhelming. She hides out in the bar, and watches the dancing crowd.

"Do you love it or hate it?"

He’s got a British accent, has big, gray eyes, curly red hair, and looks like a singer she had a crush on as a teenager.

"Do I love or hate what?" she says.

"It. This. The whole club."

She looks around.

"It’s very elegant," she says. "But it’s not my taste."

"How come?"

"All this glass," she says. "I don’t trust it. What if you’d trip and fall right through it?"

"May I buy a beer?"

"No thanks. But a Diet Coke would be nice."

"You don’t drink?"


"Why not?"

"Because I don’t like the taste of alcohol. Because I like to keep my head clear. Because I don’t like the way people behave after they’ve been drinking."

"Oi! A Diet Coke for the lady! On me!"

"Yes, Mr. Ollerton," the bartender replies, and fixes a Diet Coke with ice and a slice of lemon for Ellenor.

"The place has only just opened, and the bartender already knows your name?" she says.

"Mark Ollerton," he says, and shakes her hand. "I’m an architect. The architect of this whole place, actually. I’ve spent more time in here than the owners, even!"

Oh," she says. "Have I offended your work, then?"

"Not at all. It’s very refreshing to hear at least one voice agreeing with me."

"You don’t like this?" she says. "But… you made it? You’ve created it just the way you wanted it, haven’t you?"

"No," he sighs. "I had a whole stack of drawings, this one had gotten into the stack by mistake, and wouldn’t you know, they rejected all my good ideas, and chose this one!"

"You poor thing," she smiles.

"I cry all the way to the bank," he says dryly.

"Still, it must be great to make a living on creating something," she says.

"You think we’re free to create whatever we want? Hell, no! We must adjust our choices of colors, of lines, of materials, or we won’t be able to sell our ideas. We sell our ideas, our talent, and our skills! When it all comes down to it, we’re all a group of tarts! I ask you, isn’t it worse to sell your soul than to sell your body? Isn’t that more perverted?"

"I don’t know," she says. "I could never sell my body, sex is sacred for me. I never fuck for any other reason than that I’m horny."

He laughs out loud. He’s actually quite cute when he laughs. It suits him better than bitterness.

"Do you want to see the VIP-room?" he asks.

Ooh, the VIP-room! She’s almost childishly impressed with such things.

"Yeah," she says. "I’d love to see the VIP-room."

The VIP-room is rather small, very beautiful, and completely void of personality. There’s a huge table out of glass, resting on a frame of black iron. Each chair is made out the same black iron, and looks very uncomfortable. At one end of the room, there’s a bar cabinet made out of glass, illuminated from within, containing a variety of liquors. The whole room looks like a palace made out of ice. Ellenor walks through the room, her high heels click loudly against the black floor. She walks up to the opposite wall that is made entirely out of smoke-colored glass. She can see the club through it. She looks at people dancing below her. She feels as if she’s peeking on them when they don’t suspect it. That thought brings a grin to her lips.

"What do you think?"

She turns her back at the window, and looks at him.

"I’m sorry, but I don’t like it," she says.

"Why not?"

"It’s so cold and sterile. You can’t relax in here. No natural material, no warmth, no comfort! Just glass and metal."

"The type of people who will be invited up here, will probably be using drugs to feel relaxed, anyway."

He shrugs.

"This window is made from the same material cops use, he goes on. It’s a see-through mirror. We can see them, but they can’t see us."

"What do they see, then?"

"A mirror. There are mirrors all over the club, to make the place look bigger."

"That’s cool," she says. "To stand in front of a window and see all those people down there, and they can’t see us!"

She giggles.

"You have a nice laugh," he says.

She smiles.

"And a beautiful smile."

He moves closer.

"You’re beautiful."

He kisses her. She responds. Heck, he’s cute, and his British accent is sending shivers down between her legs. He takes her hands, and holds them against the glass. He presses his body against hers, and continue kissing her. He’s got quite a boner; she can feel it through his chinos. He lets go of one of her hands to pull her tube top down. He licks her left nipple, makes it harden, nibbles on it, and slides his hand up under her short skirt. He moves her thong to the side and carefully spreads her lips. Ellenor puts her free hand around his neck, holds him there, and runs her fingers through his thick ginger hair. His fingers play with her clit, her knees shake, and she leans back against the glass wall for support. He puts one finger inside her pussy, moves it in and out a couple of times, then inserts two fingers into her wet opening, and Ellenor squirms and moans. She’s surprised when he pulls his fingers out and kneels in front of her, but then he pushes her skirt up, so it’s like a belt around her waist, pulls her thong down her thighs, and buries his face in her pussy. If it weren’t for the glass wall supporting her, she’d have a problem standing up! His tongue is magical, it moves and bends and circles around her clit. He matches every lick with pushing his fingers inside of her, each time bending his fingers before pulling them out, tickling her; the double stimulation is making her pelvis shake and tremble, she tosses her head back against the glass and cries out, partly from the pleasure, partly from the pain from hitting her head against the glass, and then she slides down to the floor, her legs just won’t support her anymore.

"You alright?"

He sounds amused.

"Uh-huh?" she squeaks, she can’t speak, she can’t move, her pussy’s still pulsating, she’s all weak.

She reaches for his zipper, and he supports himself against the glass as she frees his hard dick out of his trousers. Oh, it’s a beauty! Thick and long and decorated with thin, pulsating veins. She pulls the foreskin down, and the pink head glisters with pre-cum. She smears it over the head with one finger. He moans when she does this. She slowly pulls the skin down tight, and holds it there while she lets her other hand slide over the shaft. He whines, his dick shakes, and suddenly he shoots his load over her chest.

"Oh, bloody hell! I’m sorry, I don’t know why that happened! I usually don’t come THIS quick!"

"Do you have a handkerchief or something?"

He does. He helps clean her up with a plaid cotton handkerchief, which he throws in the garbage afterwards.

"I’m sorry," he says, helping her get to her feet. "You’re just TOO good, you know?"

She doesn’t believe that for a second, but it’s still nice to hear it.

"Wanna give me another chance?"

He sounds pleading, and the way he plays with her nipple while he’s talking is clouding her judgement a little.

"Sure," she says. "But not in here."

"I have a room over at Unitend," he says.

"Are you allowed to bring ladies up to your room?" she teases him, straightening her clothes.

"Considering their prices, I think I’d be allowed to bring a whole ladies’ football team up to my room!" he says.

She giggles. He’s polite and funny. He escorts her out of the room, holds up the door for her, gets their coats, and hails a cab for them. He even opens the car door. He’s well behaved all the way to the hotel, and unlike her other "date", he doesn’t attack her in the elevator. Must be because he’s Englishman, she figures. His room is big and comfortable; the bedspread a deep green linen, the TV is hidden inside a big cupboard, he’s got a large desk and lots of green plants, the furniture is made of dark wood, wenge, she believes, and the whole room has a touch of Asian minimalism over it, but unlike the sterile club, this clean room is still warm and restful, due to the warm colors and the plants. She kicks off her shoes and stretches out on the bed.

"I like this room!" she says.

"Home, sweet home," he says, and takes off his shirt.

He’s got lots of red, curly hair on his chest. She gets up on one elbow to watch him strip. She likes what she sees. He’s got muscular thighs and calves.

"Do you run a lot?" she asks.

"I play in a local football team," he says. "We stink!"

She laughs. He sure knows how to laugh at himself! He gets into bed with her, and kisses her. She melts away under that incredible mouth. He undresses her and kisses her everywhere. She moans with delight, and parts her legs for him, giving him access to kiss her intimate parts, which he does with an almost religious reverence. If she thought that what he did to her in the club was good, it’s nothing compared to what he’s doing now, when he’s taking his time to do everything slow and thorough. He plays with her, experiments with his fingers, his lips, his tongue, trying different things, to see what will turn her on the most. She comes, but he won’t stop to let her catch her breath; he wants to see how she’ll react if she gets teased again right after one orgasm; will she be sensitive or numb? Will the next orgasm be even stronger or merely just as strong? She’s completely without a will of her own by her 6th orgasm. She’s reduced to a slave for his touch, begging incoherently for more.

"Please!" she cries. "Oh, please, please, fuck me!"

He gets a pack of condoms out of a desk drawer, he put on two, to "desensitize" himself, as he explains it, and enters her. Oh, he’s wonderful, he’s big, he’s strong, and he’s… lying all still?

"What’s wrong?" she says.

"Be still!" he says. "I can’t… oh, bloody HELL!"

He thrusts into her, his face is twisted, and then he pulls himself out of her, takes off the dirty condoms and throws them in the garbage. He sits down at the foot of the bed, hiding his face in his hands. Ellenor sits up.

"Do you want me to go?" she says. "Or do you want to… give it one more try?"

"I don’t know if I can do it again," he says.

She pulls him backward on the bed, makes him lie down, and then she takes his large dick in her mouth and sucks on it. For a minute or two, nothing happens. Then he starts caressing her butt, moving his hand down to the wetness between her legs, and then he fingerfucks her from behind. Touching her stirs up some life in his dick. She moves down to his balls, licks them, takes one of them, then both of them, in her mouth. His dick is now standing in attention, and she moves back up, nibbling the shaft like it’s a corncob. She finds the frenulum and takes it in between her lips, licks it – and he comes, shooting sperm all over the bedspread. She gets up, slowly. He has put a pillow over his face, as if he’s trying to smother himself.

"Maybe I better leave…" she says.

"Yes," she hears his coarse voice from under the pillow.

She gets dressed.

"It was nice meeting you," she says. "And, eh… you’re really good at cunnilingus!"

"Thank you."

He still hasn’t removed the pillow.

She leaves the room.

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