Nipples, Hairy Chests (Hemingway)

The meeting lasted through six PM, although supposed to wrap up at five, no later. There was a long -and hopefully final- bargaining session set for 0900.

James and Missy had met once before, at a similar bargaining session between the two firms. Today she had bussed to work. She had accepted James' offer of dinner and a ride home thereafter. The rationale for the invite was reward for overtime work. Dinner had been quite lovely, the conversation very wide-ranging. Now they were sitting in her driveway in his rental car. Midnight was approaching.

They suffered through an embarrassed pause in conversation. It reminded them both of high-school angst. James unexpectedly took Missy's hand, brought its palm to his chest. She eyed him, wondering, but didn't flinch. He held her hand in place with his own palm, found the nearest button on his shirt, undid it. She watched his face, considering where this was going, what she might best do. She decided to do nothing for the moment. She would play wait-and-see.

He shifted his fingers to hold her entire hand, made as if to slide her fingers through the opening.

She held back: he didn't force the issue, just grinned at her in a way that disturbed her oddly. Almost a dare, edged with lechery.

"What?" she asked.

"Earlier, you said you liked hairy chests on your men. I decided to put mine into the queue for evaluation."

She studied his face in the dim green light from the instrument cluster.

"Go ahead." he said. "If you wish. No promises, no obligations."

She said nothing for several seconds, holding his gaze. Then she smiled, advanced her fingertips.

No undershirt.

And purest hell for hairy!

She hadn't been kidding in the least. She had liked Mister James a lot even at first sight. Now, deep in her lower belly a knot tightened. That produced a gusher between her legs. Her fingertips and nails played briefly on his chest.

Why was she doing this? It could progress in only one direction.

A game?

Was she prepared for this?

Sudden inspiration hit her... she slid her fingertips sideways, over solid pectorals. Nice - he was in very good shape. Her fingertips found his nipple, pinched and twisted. Firmly. Just short of what would have caused her own nips to squeal in mixed delight and pain.

He jumped as much as she would have, given the same stimulus.

Odd, intriguing - a sensitivity she'd never before encountered in a man. Grinning, she felt powerful, in control. She twiddled, pulled, twisted.

To her delight, James squirmed heartily, gasped repeatedly, muttered unintelligible sounds. The sounds might have been attempts at words: they certainly conveyed information, meaning.

"A man with such sensitive nipples!" she whispered. "That's something new for me!"

Then she applied a series of increasingly-strong pinches with fingernails only, He squirmed mightily. Teasing, she stopped, but her ongoing gentle touch suggested there might be more action available.

A whisper, as if they might be overheard: "Such hyper-sensitive nips are usually a woman's prerogative. You're a bit weird, Mister James."

He reached for her hand, squeezed it gently, made as if to remove it from his chest. She resisted - she quite liked having her hand where it was.

He stopped trying, stared at her, grinned. "Perhaps my wiring is non-standard. But that's one hell of a stimulus you're generating, Missy."

Curiosity drove her. "No shit, differently!" she said; "How differently? Me, too - with the right stimulus, I can come by nipple-play. Not many women can."

A long pause. She changed nipples, then tweaked him again. That made him sigh and wriggle as if to pull away. In reality he was pressing into the pinch.

She smiled, twisted again: "Can you do THAT, Mister James? A pure-nipple come?"

He sighed: "Never have. Believe it might work but BOY would it take some doing. Never have tried hard enough to know. Never the right partner, most likely. Might be fun. Someday."

Another tweak made him shiver violently. He reached for her chin with his free hand, turned her face to him.

They were far too close to focus. He spoke anyway: "Missy, how about the other half of your statement of likes?"

She giggled. At dinner, full of wine, she'd been incredibly blunt, totally honest with him.

He carried on: "You said 'My tastes run to ten-inch pricks and hairy chests.'' Isn't that more or less correct?"

Before she could answer, he dropped her hand to his crotch. A second of firm, hot contact clarified why he was making so bold.

She considered what she knew of this man, the proprieties, the urgencies welling up on both sides. Her decision, and her plan to implement, it didn't take the full second of her apparent hesitation. That delay was for PR purposes only.

She squeezed hard on his package, then brought her mouth to his, firm, open, hot, searching.

He met the challenge perfectly.

A full minute passed, then another.

Came the inevitable break: she pulled back, grinned at him. "Properly evaluating your "ten-inch" claim is best done in my lair."

She grinned at him again: "You know, as do I, that devices of that size are often claimed but in truth are rather thin upon the ground. Plus, we might do the nipple experiment. Doing it in both directions would be good! Surely we can make time for that, too?!"

She held her grip on his erection, reached for the passenger-side door handle with her free hand.

"Shall we try? I suspect we can make the 0900 meeting with nobody any the wiser. Shall we try?"

They tried.

And they succeeded.