Secret Superpower #03: Oral Contract

I was just finishing a meeting with a client when my superpower twitched. They'd invited me to join them for lunch and I was about to accept-- mostly because one of the lawyers was an exquisite Black woman with the most delicious Caribbean accent-- but that twitch was insistent.

Do I have a secret superpower that gets me into women's panties (and other intimate venues) at unexpected times? I still can't decide. But I listened to it this time and, well...

I didn't know what was going to happen. I stayed alert in the elevator but no one joined on the way down except an elderly couple complaining about the prices at the street level café. The building was mixed use, offices above and commercial below, with an underground garage. The couple got out at the garage level ahead of me so I didn't see the woman until I'd almost reached my car. She was attractive in a suburban sort of way. Modest blouse, loose pants, practical shoes. The twitch poked me again, down there. The look on her face, however, showed anything but erotic thoughts.

As I came up to my spot she saw me. Did I spy a flash of panic? My eyes followed hers to my car. One fender sported a long, ugly scratch that hadn't been there before. Her eyes returned to mine. She seemed ready to cry, an extreme reaction, it seemed, to such minor damage.

Next to my car was a late model SUV parked at an odd angle in its spot. I took in the scene. I knew exactly what to do: nothing.

"That's... your car?"

As an answer I pressed a button on my key fob. My trunk opened and I placed my briefcase in it. I don't usually carry a briefcase. Backpacks are much more practical. But for a meeting with high octane financial people I wear a criminally overpriced bespoke suit and carry a briefcase covered in a cloud-soft Italian leather that could bring a dominatrix to her knees. I took my time taking off the jacket and tie, folded them carefully next to the case, rolled up my sleeves.

I could tell she liked what she saw. But then she took in the attaché, the suit, the very expensive vehicle, my stern silence and precise movements, and nearly burst into tears right there amid the concrete and chrome.

"I'm so sorry. I really don't know how this happened. I just--" she flapped her arms like a bird trying to fly out of a trap. "I was just-- and then I heard this sound--" She looked around wildly but there was no help, only harsh ceiling lights and echoing silence. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what I'm going to do."

I waited. At the moment she was about to start babbling again, I said, "License."

"Oh. Oh, of course." She fumbled in her purse. She really was a pleasant sight. 30ish, very wholesome, pale skin nearly transparent.

I photographed her license and returned it. Then I spent way longer than necessary photographing the damage, shaking my head and making noises to communicate my distress. "Insurance. Registration."

"Um, yes." When she opened her purse again I knew I had her. Who keeps that stuff in their purse? She snapped it closed and for the first time really looked me in the eye. "I need to explain." She searched again around the garage without finding the tiniest bit of aid or comfort. Nor any in me. The silent treatment was getting to her. The elevator dinged. She trembled as if the FBI were about to step out and arrest her.

I opened the passenger door to my car and gestured. She got in. What else could she do? I got in my side and turned in the driver's seat to face her.

She waited for me to start whatever conversation she hoped I would start, an expression of sympathy, perhaps. That was not to be. I waited, like a cat with a cornered mouse. A mouse with green eyes. Her complexion was flawless, her lips a strawberry pink that I didn't think was paint, her neck a sculpture carved by a master from the finest Carrera marble.

"It's just that-- this is so embarrassing. It's just that it's not mine. My car. So--"

I made the tiniest glance toward the offending SUV.

"It's insured. I know it is. I mean, it's supposed to be if he--"

She got a raised eyebrow in response. She face forward, staring though the windshield. "It's just that I can't, I won't be able to--" She closed her eyes.

I really liked her long eyelashes, especially shining and moist. I imagined them wetting my abdomen. Reaching across, deliberately invading her personal space, I pressed the control to tilt her seat back a bit to a more comfortable angle. I didn't know yet what her problem was, but I had a good idea I knew where it was going to lead those lashes.

Her hands stroked the seat. More soft, expensive leather. A bit less tense, she finally began her sad tale. "My ex is an asshole." A moment to breathe. "He took the car and I got the condo. I'm borrowing..."

Let's cut to the chase. Her ex got the vehicle and bank account and she got the real estate. Typical. But she was going back to school, getting her MBA, and couldn't afford her own transportation, even a used piece of shit econobox. She had to clear out some of his crap and conveniently he was out of town with his new girlfriend and she happened to have (I politely didn't ask how) his extra keys. And happened to stop on the way at the cafe upstairs. And here we were. It was time to press my advantage.

I took her hand in mine and massaged it. She studied me with hope, no doubt expecting sympathy. Pretty girls in tears get sympathy, right? Wrong. "So you didn't borrow it. You stole it."

"No! I just--"

"Can I assume you passed your commercial law course?" I didn't wait for an answer. "And now you've caused an accident while committing a felony. I understand why you're concerned." I leaned over her. I put a hand on her thigh while placing her hand, still in mine, on my own thigh. "You're in a serious jam. But I'm happy to help you out."

A glimmer of optimism passed over those moist, very green eyes. She didn't know yet how happy my help was going to make me; nor did she seem to notice how physically close we were. "That's... great. Thanks." She lifted her head toward me. Big eyes like emeralds.

"My guess is that the body work will run at least three grand. Just make out a check to me now and I'll trust you for the rest later when I get the official estimate. Your ex doesn't need to know."

She fell back to the headrest. "I don't-- three thousand dollars? It was just a scratch!"

"New fender air freighted from Italy, paint match, skilled labor. It adds up." I removed my hand from her leg briefly to wave at my luxury interior. Then put it back on her higher up. She was showing a bit of camel toe. "Oh," I pretended to realize, "You mentioned that you're a little tight, aren't you?" Now it was my turn to hope: that her tightness wasn't just financial.

"Tuition. Taxes." She was staring at the roof, probably going over her impossible budget in her mind.

"Perhaps," I said in as friendly a voice as possible, considering my growing lust, "We can make an arrangement."

She sat up immediately. "I'm an accountant! Experienced!" Like Dorothy discovering her shoes can fly her back home from Oz.

My laugh instantly demonstrated her naiveté. She did look a bit like a young Judy Garland. That wholesomeness just begging to be turned inside out. "I already have more accountants than I care to admit. What I don't have..." With that I brushed a finger along her trembling lips. I think they really were naturally strawberry. She could have worked her way through school modeling for a cosmetic company.

Finally she understood. Her hand moved to the door latch, retreated. I was counting on her, well, her ability to count. I moved her hand, still on my leg, further toward the resolution of her difficulty. She looked straight at me, into me, understanding me. I really was loving those green eyes in that pale face, those big black pupils. What if the Wizard had turned out to be real and Dorothy had just gone down on him first chance, stayed in Oz instead of going back to miserable Kansas? Much better ending, don't you think?

"You are wicked!" At last she cracked a real smile. "You actually think that I would--" tilting her head, a nice move that exposed more Carrera. She angled her seat back up, turned fully toward me. The smile turned predatory. "So if I, um, give you a, a, blow job, you'll just forget..." She motioned toward the damage.

"Oh, I don't think I'll ever forget a blow job that you give me."

Her smile remained, even softened slightly. I think she felt flattered in spite of herself. Her eyes scanned the garage, then me north and south. My cock jumped in my pants. Maybe my mind was also jumping-- to conclusions-- but why else would she be checking for observers? And checking me out?

She lounged like a cat in the passenger seat. "So maybe we can make a deal?"

Her instant transformation impressed me. I decided to enjoy the game. "That depends. How valuable are your blow jobs?"

"My blow jobs are priceless."

Good answer. I was really liking her more and more. Quick thinking, quick recovery from panic, able to switch modes in a second. I made a mental note to recommend her to a consultant I knew. After, of course. And not the service position I meant for her now.

"Oh, dear," I answered, "That's clearly out of my price range." Digging my phone out of a pocket, "So I'll call a friend at the local precinct to come over and help out." She wasn't the only quick thinker in this vehicle.

"Your bluffing."

"I'm negotiating."

She sat up. "Okay... what's the market rate for a call girl?"

"I wouldn't know. I have no need for them."

"Until now?"

We smiled together. "Call it a kink. Five hundred." Her eyes narrowed. "Dollars. Per blow job."

"You want me to blow you six times?"

"I'm looking forward to it. Give me your phone number. Much as I would love to enjoy you multiple times right here and now, I'm not Superman."

After a few moments thought she gave it to me, which seemed to seal the deal for her. She sat up facing me, almost primly. "This is insane," she said. She fluffed up her hair and folded her hands in her lap. "So, what would you like me to do?"

"Anything I want. Everything I want."

"Just tell me what to do. Can we have some music?"

And so we began. You have to agree I'm a superb negotiator.

I retracted the steering wheel and tilted my seat comfortably back. I stretched, put my hands behind my head, and step by step led my new semi-pro fellatrix through the process. My pants down, her hands massaging my balls, about to put my cock between her strawberries, she said, "I can't believe it. An hour ago I was sitting out in the sun with an iced latte. And now..." she gave her first suck. "Here I am..." number two, "Giving a stranger a blow job in a car."

"Sometimes life is strange." I was thinking about that twitch that had led me down here at just the right moment. Or tried to think. Her pink tongue.

She raised her head. "Of course, he's a really well-dressed and good looking stranger, and his car is gorgeous. Cock's pretty nice too, and between you and me, I've always secretly liked giving head, you know?"

I knew, and somehow my superpower knew. Number four, or maybe five, I was losing track. "Your ex is an idiot as well as an asshole."

Her agreement with my assessment of her ex was expressed enthusiastically in a universal language without words. "The only problem is I'm getting wet." And back down.

"Sssevvenn," I managed. She was very good at what she secretly liked. To meet my eyes she tilted that marble neck I longed to feel my cock slide into. "Hundred," I said. "Dollars. For your pussy."

"Too low," she mumbled when she next came up for air. "Way too low." Her sucking got stronger, a clever negotiating tactic. If I spent too long arguing about the price of her snatch I'd end up shooting too soon in her mouth. Not a horrible outcome by any means, and I planned to have her finish me that way, no question. Those lips, those eyes. But that glimpse of camel toe had seduced me.

"Thousand."

"Okay." She kissed my tip all around. It drove me crazy to see and feel those strawberry lips at the same time. "I'm still on the pill. But," she asked, examining the passenger compartment, "I don't see how we can do it here."

I hooked a thumb toward the SUV. "Your husband's back seat."

"Ex! And you, sir, whoever you are, are really, really bad." An evil glint shone from those emerald eyes. "You are a supervillain."

What can I say? You heard it from an eye witness, so to speak. We quickly switched vehicles and soon I was pulling down her pants and discovering the sweetest honeypot any teenage boy could fantasize between two perfect limbs not found outside a Renaissance painting. My well-prepared cock slipped into her and immediately we were going at it. The ex's back seat was a decent sized bench, but soon her head was pressed against the armrest as I pushed incessantly into her.

"You're a horny girl. Not fucked since your asshole ex left?"

"Long... before... then," she breathed out between groans.

I got it. Poor thing. If I'd pressed a bit more I might have been able to fuck her for free, no problem. But I had another tactic in mind, even more fun. "So you want me to make you come?"

"Oh yeah, yeah." She reached back and pressed a hand to my hip, urging me to go faster. I kept my pace.

"Two hundred."

"Huh?"

"For an orgasm." I started scissor-fucking her now, biting a marble thigh that had draped itself over my shoulder but keeping a firm hold on her shoulder to maintain a precise rhythm and overpowering depth.

"You bastard! Uhhh!" She tried to resist but I was the Borg of fuckers. It was futile. "Okay, okay, but it better be--"

I was already on it, pounding her higher and higher, not too fast, keeping her barely under control. Spikes of convulsions erupted as her composure deteriorated. The spikes increased in frequency until the erotic energy became a rippling continuous short circuiting of her pleasure center and her orgasm electrocuted her nervous system. It was truly a beautiful experience to be inside such a beautiful woman coming so beautifully.

But I wasn't done with my game plan. As soon as my cock had completed its assignment I slid down between those perfect thighs and began to eat her without mercy. I used the G-spot trick to drive her insane.

"Please, no more, no more," she begged but her body and I overruled her. Her legs squeezed my head while hips did their best to shove her delicious twat onto my tongue. A second orgasm ripped through her, then another and another.

I let her eventually push my head away and curl up into a quivering fetal ball. A minute for us both to catch our breath. She turned around and put her head in my lap. I wondered if there was a way to get that Black lawyer to put her head on the other side of my lap. The sight alone...

"I could sort of get into this call girl thing. If I had clients like you."

"Don't quit your day job."

She looked up from my lap, my still stiff rod wetting those porcelain cheeks with her juice. "You didn't like it?"

"I loved it. You have a natural talent. But you'll go broke. Even more than you are now. You owe me $4000."

"Wait a minute--"

"Five orgasms at $200 each. It adds up."

"Four. I only came four times."

"Really? Okay, I'll give you a volume discount. Four. But you're still way underwater."

"No, the blow job--" She turned her head to look at my shaft, which put those strawberry doors to paradise in direct contact with the base, basically kissing my balls. "Oh, right." And with that she rose to her hands and knees and began to suck me off. Strawberry paradise indeed.

But she stopped. "Wait. I let you fuck me."

"Let? But in any case I didn't come." The devil is in the details. Didn't they teach negotiating tactics in her B-school? Didn't she herself call me a supervillain?

"But you did fuck me. Per agreement. And now I'm licking my own juice off your cock, which I should charge extra for. And never ever did for anyone, especially that asshole."

"Speaking of which, you made a mess of his back seat." I pointed to a wet spot.

That got my cock a thank you kiss. "Serves him fucking right." She pressed her rainforest of delight onto the seat fabric and worked herself around as if mopping.

I directed our meet-up back to business. "How much do you charge for a non-orgasmic fuck? My orgasm, not yours."

"Those were really great orgasms, I'll concede that. Worth every penny." She resumed her service while she thought. Pink tongue, strawberry lips, snow maiden cheeks. "Four hundred," she offered the next time she came up for air.

I had to laugh. "Deal." She managed a knowing grin even with a mouthful of my meat. And I had to admire her head for more than what she was giving me orally. 3000 + 800 - 500 - 400 meant she would be in the black for this session quite soon, given how my testicles were pulling up in anticipation-- and prove she could be a successful call girl. But at $100 gross margin per session she would have me as a customer for a long time.

She spent more time than I would have thought possible given my state of excitement, but less time than I desired, taking me up and up and up until at last I let go and delivered my part of the agreement onto her tongue, over-fulfilling my quota, my jam rescuing her from her jam. Win-win, that's how I like my deals.

She lay her head back on my thigh, looking up at me. Pink tongue licking a bit of white off strawberry lips. I had to negotiate photos for the next session. Speaking of which...

"Are you free this weekend?"

She sat up and cuddled against me, her head on my shoulder. "No, mister, I'm very busy." In a breathy Marilyn Monroe voice. When she felt my body sag in disappointment she kissed my neck. More businesslike: "A certain evil stud requires me to pay off a... very... large... debt." She ran a finger up my shrinking length to give added meaning to 'large'. "And I'm definitely not free. Quite expensive, in fact. Can you pick me up?"

But that's another story.