The Predator Ch. 10

Chapter Ten

I woke in the middle of the night, needing to pee, so I got up, being quiet, did my business, and then climbed back into the bed, still being careful to not wake her. I moved the pillow over a bit, so it was just touching where her breast sagged over her side. I adjusted it so the height was right, laid down, took her nipple in my mouth, and drifted back to sleep suckling like a well-fed baby.

In my dream, I was answering the phone but the damn thing wouldn't quit ringing.

She gave my shoulder a shake and said, "your phone, baby."

Which fucked up a nice dream but I fumbled on the bedside table, found the damn thing, and hit "accept."

My voice had that first-thing-in-the-morning, haven't even had time to clear my throat, croak as I managed a, "hello."

"Is this David?" the voice asked, clearly female.

"Yes," I said.

"I saw your flyer at the Senior Center," she said, and then let out a kind of giggle, "well, I saw you too," she went on, "and was wondering if you can handle painting."

"Sure," I said.

"Well," I amended, "I'm not equipped to do a whole house or anything like that."

"Oh," she said, "no problem. I have a small shed in the backyard where I keep the stuff for the pool and I just want it freshened up."

"Sure," I said, trying to mask a little gasp when Doris's finger started probing between my ass cheeks.

I caught my breath and said, "who is this and where is the job?"

"My name is Rita Rose," she said, and then rattled off an address.

"Hold on a second," I said, my breath catching as her finger penetrated. I opened the little notebook app on my cellphone and said, "what's the address again?"

My fingers trembled a little as that finger probed deeper, and I put the address in the phone.

"Will you be home today?" I asked.

"All day," she said.

I was squirming now and managed, "okay, I'll be over later this morning and look it over."

"That's fine," she said.

"See you then," I said, hit "end," and laid face down on my pillow, enjoying what she was doing.

"Don't move or I'll stop," she said, and I felt a little electric shock run between my balls and my nipples when she found and then pushed a bit on my prostate.

It was one of those timeless moments.

Her finger was deep in my ass, touching and releasing and touching again, my prostate gland. Her other hand was caressing and rubbing and tickling and squeezing and pinching as it explored my body.

My body twitched, involuntarily, and she pulled her finger out and stopped her tickling.

"One minute," she said, and I could almost hear the grin on her face.

I used my minute to try to get myself under control. Honestly, I can't say that it worked. I was hard and throbbing.

I concentrated very hard on staying still when I felt her finger, slick now so I assumed she had been gathering her own natural lubricant to use, slip into my ass.

I managed to relax finally as she just held me like that, touching my prostate, taking me immediately to the edge, and holding me there.

"Where did you learn this," I said softly, being careful to move nothing but my mouth.

She giggled, used her free hand to tickle my back, almost breaking my concentration and making me move, and said, "I've been studying, honey. I want to be a good wife for you."

Her finger, moving inside me, would brush my prostate and I would feel a little spurt of semen, not ejaculating, just a little spurt.

"Do I please you, David," she asked.

"Yes," I said into my pillow, careful to not move.

I have no idea how long we stayed like that, her finger up my ass moving around and lightly brushing my prostate gland, her other hand lightly tickling my back. Certainly, it was minutes but it might have been an hour or more. The way she was doing what she was doing, such light touches, my arousal was beyond anything I had ever imagined. I was relaxed, hell, I'm not sure I could have moved if I wanted to, but also I was so damn sexually aroused I could barely breathe. My breath was in hard little pants.

When I came, finally, it wasn't an ejaculation like I'd been having since puberty. Rather it was like my balls and my prostate were simply too full. It was more like peeing, but with that wonderful sensation of cumming all rolled into one. If we're being honest here, I actually thought for a minute that it had been MY bladder control that had failed the way I just kept going.

When I was finally done I started moving and she pulled her finger out. I rolled up onto my side and saw that the sheet was soaked. She was giggling.

"Tell me I please you," she said.

"You please me," I said, reaching for her and pulling her into a side-by-side embrace.

I squeezed her waist fat and kissed her. "You please more than I ever imagined a woman could," I said.

She giggled at that, and positively beamed.

"Even though I'm your dirty girl?" she said, her eyes downcast, trying to look coquettish.

"Yes," I said, kissing her again, "even though you're the dirty girl that I need to keep changed regularly." She giggled at that too.

Things changed, the mood changed, as it sometimes does. It wasn't anything specific, just those subtle little changes in tension or breathing or other subliminal cues. I knew she was going to turn serious.

"Are you really going to get embarrassing pictures of all those women who have been mean to me all of my life," she asked.

I grinned at that, glad the mood was broken and I was back in charge. She really had me going earlier.

"You betcha," I said. "Any specific requests?"

That seemed to stop her.

"Requests?" she asked.

I flashed The Grin.

"Yeah," I said, grinning, "requests. Something special? A big eggplant shoved up a pussy? Bruised tits? A tennis ball stuffed in a mouth? Let your imagination run wild sweety, and I'll fulfill your fantasy."

Her eyes had gotten bigger and bigger as I talked as had the smile on her face.

"Can I think about it?" she asked.

"Of course," I said, reaching down and touching her clitoris under her fatty clitoral hood that hid it so well.

"Now," I said, kissing her, "your turn."

I took her nipple into my mouth, began suckling, and used my finger to masturbate her.

I took my time, feeling how her clitoris got hard, like a tiny cock, as I played and made circles.

I brought her to one of her messy orgasms, womanscent and urine scents mixing as her body arched.

"God," she said softly, looking straight up at the ceiling, "how do you do that to me."

I gave my best Groucho Marx eyebrow waggle and then said, in my best W.C. Fields imitation, "practice my dear, practice."

She giggled at that.

I helped her stand, walked her into the shower where I washed her, as had become our standard morning ritual, and then helped her into the tub to soak while I changed the bed.

When I had her clean, dry, and in her Depends and she was making breakfast I asked her if she knew this Rita Rose.

She stopped and I could see her eyes look up and right, as she was thinking.

"Oh," she said, "yeah. She was behind me in school a few years. An Old Maid (the way she said it made the capitalization obvious) who lives over on Euclid Avenue."

She paused to do something with the eggs and sausage.

"I think she did something weird, hit the lottery or something like that," she said.

"Well," I said, watching her move around the kitchen, "she seems to have some work for me."

"Oh," she said, and I could sense, again, things changing.

"Is there a problem?" I asked.

"No," she said too quickly.

"Let me rephrase," I said, "WHAT is the problem?"

"Nothing, really," she said, "it's just that I thought you would be working for women in my group."

I laughed and said, "none of them called, and I do need to make a living."

She was quiet as she put the plate with the eggs and sausage and toast in front of me.

It was a quiet breakfast, neither of us said a word although I felt my anger growing.

We finished and then did the dishes.

As soon as we were finished I grabbed a handful of her hair and marched into the front room, her hands on mine trying to ease the pressure. I twisted my fingers in her hair, pulling, deliberately hurting, making her cry out.

"STOP IT!" I snapped.

I kicked the heavy chair she kept in front of her desk around so it faced the middle of the room, jerked her around as I moved to the front of the chair, and sat.

I pulled her across my knees, switched hands so it was not my left entwined in her hair, twisted again when she grabbed at my hand.

With my right I pulled the depends down, exposing her big ass, and then started spanking her.

No warm-up or no pauses for rest, just a flat punishment spanking.

Now don't get me wrong. I don't need MUCH excuse to spank a woman's ass, but it's usually kind of spicy foreplay. This morning, though, it was strictly teaching a lesson. This cunt really did need to learn her place and I absolutely would not tolerate the silent treatment.

And that is how the spanking went.

"I," SMACK.

"will," SMACK.

"NOT," SMACK.

"have," SMACK.

"you," SMACK.

"act," SMACK.

"like," SMACK.

"this." SMACK.

I know how to spank an ass and hers was reddening nicely. She was crying after the fifth hard slap and starting to kick like a girl by the tenth.

I was mentally counting and finished the 100 slaps with -

"DO," SMACK.

"YOU," SMACK.

"UNDER," SMACK.

"STAND?" SMACK.

"YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS," she yelled.

"Now clean up this fucking mess," I snapped, heading for the door.

"David," she sort of moaned.

"And change your fucking diaper every two hours, I don't like the fucking rash," I snapped over my shoulder. I didn't exactly slam the door but closed her plenty hard.

That sort of acting can get to you and I had a bit of an adrenaline rush going as I got into my car, punched the address into Google maps, and then set off in search of the mysterious Rita Rose.

Dr. Google, as always, took me reliably to the house. It was an interesting old victorian shingle-style house, done in a rainbow of primary colors. A very lovely old place all in all. So I parked my little red car in the drive and walked up to the porch.

I knocked and had to wait a few seconds before she answered.

She was tall, basically as tall as me, with a deeply lined and very tanned face. She was in jeans and a T-shirt. She was sweaty, like she had been working. I couldn't help but have that old joke run through my mind. "What's her name?" "Butterface." "What?!" "Hell, I don't know. Everybody just calls her Butterface." "Why?" "She has a great body, but her face!"

Her handshake was firm.

"Come on in," she said and led me through the house.

She had spent one hell of a lot of money on this house. It wasn't remodeled except insofar as there were modern appliances in the kitchen that I noticed as we walked through. Other than that, though, it appeared that everything had been taken back to the day the place was built. And it hadn't been done by hacks either. There was real craftsmanship here. I'm a reasonably good handyman but I don't think I could have done as well.

In the back, most of the backyard was filled with a swimming pool.

She smiled as she saw me looking at it, it was a nice smile.

"My big indulgence when my lottery ticket hit," she said.

"Nice," I said.

"The shed is over here," she said, leading me to a kind of miniature house, also done in shingle style in multiple colors.

When I got close I could see that whoever had done the paint job had failed to use a good primer on the raw wood. The paint was still bright, but it was scaling badly. I'm not a professional painter by any means. Hell, I'm not a professional anything other than a gigolo, but I recognized bad work when I saw it.

"Can you fix it?" she asked and I was aware that she was standing closer to me than she strictly needed to.

"Anything can be fixed if money is no object," I said.

She giggled a little at that.

"Well," she said, laying her hand on my arm in that way women have of doing to indicate they are willing, "it's not exactly 'no object,' but I don't tend to count pennies."

I stepped away from her and ran my fingers over the paint seeing how it flaked off. I walked around the building, touching, inspecting. It was a small building, about 8' X 8'.

"Okay," I said, "here's the deal. I see three days work here to do it right. I'll flat rate my time at $120 a day, you buy all materials, and you feed me."

She smiled and it was a good smile, and extended her hand.

"Done," she said.

So I accepted and shook on it.

"Okay, I need to get some tools so I'll be back in about an hour and get started," I said.

There was that smile again, and she said, "I'll just leave the front door open then. I tend to spend my time by the pool a lot."

I went out, got into my little car, and headed for Madonna's house.

I used the key she had given me and walked in. She yelled when she came around the corner and saw me standing in the kitchen, and then she started giggling, came to me, and threw her arms around my neck.

"Back so soon?" she said sort of breathlessly.

I chuckled and pushed her away.

"I need to borrow some tools," I said.

"I see," she said, looking crestfallen.

I chuckled and said, "God, you're a horny old broad, aren't you?"

She giggled softly and pursed her lips, doing her best to look prissy.

"Maybe," she said, looking at me under her lashes.

"Come on," I said, dramatically sighing and taking her hand and leading her into the living room.

I turned her and dropped to my knees, unbuttoning and unzipping her jeans, pushing them, along with her panties, past her thin hips, and then gently pushing her, forcing her to sit on the couch.

I pulled her forward using my hands on her hips, until her pussy was right at the edge of the couch. With her top still on, her tits still in her bra, her shoes still on, and her pants and panties around her ankles, it was clear that this was just sex.

I used my fingertips to part her labia and then my tongue to tease her clitoris into hardness. Then with my lips and my tongue, I brought her quickly to orgasm. In a way, it was a classic American blowjob, quick release, purely physical. I brought her to orgasm a second time, stood, patted her on the head, and said, "stay put."

In the garage/workshop, so amazingly well organized, I found the heavy paint scraper in a drawer marked "Painting Stuff," along with brushes, rollers, and a big canvas tarp. I folded the tools into the tarp and headed back into the front room.

She was still sitting there, her pants and panties around her ankles and her pussy exposed.

I took out my cell phone, snapped a couple of pictures, kissed her on the forehead, and headed back to Rita's.

At Rita's, I picked up my folded tarp and went into the house. "Hello," I called.

When there was no answer I went through and out the back door to the back yard and the pool deck.

And I stopped.

Salida was turning into a whole bunch of things that made me stop.

Laying on a thin cushion, face down with her head on a thin pillow, absolutely naked, was Rita.

And she was looking DAMN good. Her body was trim and firm, she obviously put in the time, either at the gym or on a personal treadmill in the house. Her waist was narrow, her hips wide, and her ass was absolutely world-class.

I was captivated enough that it kind of startled me when she said, not moving, "do me a favor and oil my back."

I chuckled and said, "sure." I laid my package over by the shed and went back.

Her bottle of oil, Hawaiian Tropic if it matters, was by her right shoulder. I got to my knees, poured some on her back, and started at her shoulders working the oil in. She was obviously enjoying it, so I swung my leg over and sat on her nice ass to rub her shoulders more firmly.

She was obviously enjoying it as I scooted down.

More oil and I worked my way down a little more.

When I got to her ass I didn't even try to resist the temptation. I squirted a fresh track of oil and used my palms to rub, leaning forward and spreading her cheeks.

And I stopped and just looked.

She giggled.

"Tape," she said.

Which brought me up short.

"Huh?" I said.

"You're wondering how I avoid a tan line, aren't you?" she asked.

"Well, yes," I said, looking down. Between the cheeks of a truly world-class ass, the tan was even and unbroken, right down to the puckered circle of her anus.

"Tape," she said. "Will you be here tomorrow?"

"Probably," I said.

"I'll show you then," she said, still not moving to face me or anything.

I finished, scooting down little by little and working the oil into her legs and even the soles of her feet.

"Thanks, David," she said.

"You're welcome," I said, and took a quick picture with my cell phone.

Feeling dismissed, I went over and started on the shed. It was a short building so I could reach all of the walls handily. I started on one corner with the heavy paint scraper and slowly worked my way around. If you have never done paint preparation, trust me, it's hard, mind-numbing work. I reminded myself to bring my headphones tomorrow to listen to music or maybe a talking book.

I jumped a little when she touched my arm, I had been concentrating so hard on what I was doing.

"Take a break," she said, "I made sandwiches and I have iced tea."

She had on a very light robe, casually belted, in a bright print pattern. It made me think of Hawaiin shirts.

I smiled and said, "thanks," and followed her into the house.

"Bathroom?" I said and she pointed.

I peed and washed my hands and face and went back to the kitchen.

She had laid out a thick turkey sandwich, a dill pickle spear, a handful of potato chips, and a big glass of iced tea with the glass sweating.

So I ate and we talked. Small talk mostly although it was pretty clear she wouldn't say "no" if I made a pass. Although I suppose, it had been clear all along and if there had been any doubt at all, the thing with her ass would have left no doubt.

But I passed that day. I finished lunch, said, "thank you," and went back to my scraping.

I finished at about 4:00.

"Okay," I said, finding her in the front room, still dressed only in that robe, "that's it for today. I'll be back tomorrow to put the primer on. Give me a credit card."

Her eyebrows went up at that.

"I need to buy the primer and a half dozen quarts of paint. I'd like to do it all at once," I explained.

She looked at me for a long moment and then got up, went into the other room, and brought me a VISA card. I noticed the robe was even more open than it had been.

"Tomorrow then," she said, by way of dismissing me.

I got back to Doris's house before 5:00 and chuckled when I saw the big cardboard box with its Amazon logo on it.

I picked up the box and opened the door.

She was on her knees just inside the door.

"I'm sorry," she said, her eyes downcast.

I laughed and said, "no problem honey, all is forgiven."

I offered my hand and she stood, looking up at me. "Adoringly," is the word that springs to mind. In other words, exactly as I prefer my women.

I patted her ass. "Have you been changing regularly?" I asked.

She giggled and said, "yes."

"Well, come along," I said, taking her hand and leading her into the bedroom.

In the bedroom, she met my eyes. "Did you fuck her?" she asked.

I chuckled and said, "actually, no," and I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and showed her the picture of Rita laying naked in the sun.

"Well shit," she said, "now I'm jealous."

I chuckled and said, "no need."

I showed the second picture, including Rita's face, making Doris giggle.

She was only in her Depends. At least THAT lesson had stuck.

"Get naked and hop up on the bed," I said, walking back to the front room, and opening my box. I couldn't help but grin when I saw the boxes of XXL diapers.