tagFirst TimeTom's First

Tom's First

bymangrove jack©

Tom was nervous as he left school and started off for the mall. Today was his first day working as a grocery boy at the local supermarket. “Four to six most Afternoons after school and two hours on Saturday Morning,” Mrs. Millie James had said when she offered Him the job.

“What the hell do you want a job for?” his mates Asked. “You’ll be working while we’re down at cricket practice.”

“I run five bloody miles each morning while you’re Still in bed,” Tom replied. “I saw the team manager And she said it was ok to miss some practice sessions If I kept fit.” “You’ve got to have money,” he added.

Tom had learned a lot from a recent experience. A Major local company trying to land a big contract with a British company had sought his father’s help.

The CEO of the British company was an Englishman who loved cricket. When asked if he would like a round of golf while in town, he said he would “rather go to a cricket match.”

Tom’s team was playing at the local oval that Saturday. At his father’s request, Tom arranged for the British CEO to join the small crowd of supporters who regularly watched their games.

“My name’s Len Hutton,” he told Tom when they met. “My father was a cricket fan. Our family name is Hutton. When I was born they named me Len after a famous cricketer of years gone by,” he explained with pride.

Tom had read about Len Hutton and so had many of the parents at the match. As a result Mr. Hutton had a great day watching and talking cricket.

Because his dad had asked him to help, he went out of his way to make sure Mr. Hutton had a good time. As a special treat, he arranged for him to have a hit out at the practice nets and talk to one of the city’s players, who had played for Australia. To cap it off, Tom scored a rapid half century late in the afternoon, as his team ran out narrow winners.

Mr. Hutton said, “Tom’s half century was the icing on the cake,” as far as he was concerned. After the game he took the whole team to the local bistro, paying all costs for their evening meal.

A few days later Tom’s father told him the companies had signed a deal worth some millions. “We think his day at the cricket turned the tide in our favour. He was far more friendly and relaxed after that day.”

“There’s a small cheque for you and an invitation to the contract signing dinner,” his dad added as he slapped Tom on the back.

The company booked the town’s only casino restaurant to celebrate their success. With money in his pocket and the special invitation he had invited Sally-Anne Matheson, one of the most popular girls on campus to the dinner and floor show.

Sally-Anne had never agreed to a go out with Tom before. When she heard it was at the casino and by invitation only, she accepted excitedly.

Tom had heard her that afternoon, discussing with her friends what she would wear. Finally announcing as she giggled with her friends, “If you’ve got it flaunt it, and I’ve got it to flaunt. I’ll knock their fucking eyes out.”

Despite that warning, she took Tom’s breath away as she walked out her front door. Sally-Anne was dressed to thrill. Tom felt his heart beat faster as his eyes swept over her. Her shoulder length blonde hair shone in the porch light, lighting up her tanned face and neck.

Her tiny snow-white dress provided a striking contrast to her deep tan. The dress’s design made her young hard tits look as though they were ready to jump out of their flimsy constraints.

She wore what he estimated to be four-inch stilettos. The shoes were a deep, yet bright red. The colour seemed to complement the blood-red lipstick that shone on her full lips.

Sally-Anne loved the look she was getting from Tom. She was only 19, but she was experienced beyond her years in the art of turning men on.

She had learned after her first couple of boys that they can become so desperate they will do anything to get into girls` pants. She loved sex and the power it gave her.

“I’m ready,” she called as she ran down the steps. Tom arrived at her door in a limo. She slid over close to him and immediately kissed him. Her tongue aggressively seeking his, her teeth nibbling his bottom lip.

Her tiny dress had gripped the leather seat as she slid, providing Tom with an eyeful of her garter belt and smokey black stockings. “Beautiful,” he gasped.

His eyes caught a glimpse of a thin white thong and what, to his unpracticed eye, looked like a clean shaven pussy.

Sally-Anne smiled as she had deliberately put on this little flash of pussy. “This will keep you interested,” she thought as she struggled with his belt. Their kisses continued, along with some fumbling until the limo reached the casino.

Tom’s mind was a blur as he managed to pull his fly together and do up his belt while the driver opened his door.

The rest of that first night really was a blur as far as Tom was concerned. Tom and Sally-Anne had been made to feel special. At the dinner, company chairman Robert Barton spoke of Tom’s invaluable help. He congratulated him on his half century.

“My cricketing friends tell me you’ve got a good eye,” he added as he turned to Tom and Sally-Anne. “When I look at your beautiful young lady friend I can believe them.” He laughed. “There’s obviously nothing wrong with your eyes.”

Sally-Anne loved it. She was a flirt. Her low-cut dress made many an eye twitch. She rolled her hips and flaunted her magnificent tits as she strode across the dance floor to the official table.

Sally-Anne had never been in such high powered company. The adrenaline rush from being told time and time again she was beautiful, by men whose names were admired for their power and money, was turning her on.

She flirted as she danced. She looked adoringly up into the eyes of those who held her body close. Before long she had them eating out of her hands. They`d probably like to be eating me, she thought, as she giggled and rubbed herself against the board chairman’s well-kept body.

Christine Barton, the board chairman’s wife, watched her husband Robert, as he reacted like a young school boy on his first date. The silly old bugger, she thought, she’ll be bloody disappointed if she ends up in his bed. She knew other board members’ wives were watching their husbands, as Sally-Anne manipulated them into responding to her charms. There will be some harsh words in some of our homes tonight, she mused.

Spotting Tom walking towards the bar, she joined him. “We haven’t met,” she said, “I’m Mrs. Barton.”

Tom looked her over as he stammered, “Pleased to meet you.” He was dumfounded, she had something about her, an aura of power, he thought, as he struggled to find words. Maybe 40, but looks no more than 30. His eyes roved over her body as he admired her classic ball gown. Its style highlighted what appeared to be a pair of good sized tits.

He was surprised when he looked up to find she was looking him square in the eye. He quickly dropped his gaze to discover what he thought was a remarkably slim waist. He swept his eyes back and forth over her thighs, stomach and hips. Yes! I suppose you would call that a great arse, he thought.

“Inspection over?” she asked as she raised one eyebrow and smiled at him. The smile made it easier for him to answer.

“Sorry,” he said, “but you look so very lovely, I forgot that I was staring. Forgive my bad manners.”

“How could I refuse” she answered. “Thank you for the compliment.”

“It wasn’t a compliment,” Tom blurted. “It was the truth you are very beautiful.”

They stood together each studying the other.

He’s embarrassed, she thought. That’s nice.

As the silence seemed to grow she decided to introduce him to the other members’ wives. “Come and meet the women at my table,” she whispered.

At the table, Tom met five or six ladies between 30-40 whose names he had trouble remembering. These were the wives of men who could buy and sell his family, his school and half the town. What he could see of their clothes and their bodies reeked of money.

Some outfits were conservative and some brought a smile to his lips. Shit, there’s some great knockers here, he thought, as his eyes focused on their breasts. Tom tried to concentrate on the general conversation but his eyes kept returning to study a rather big brunette sitting at the end of the table.

As he was introduced, he had looked down the front of her dress. To his surprise he spied a large firm breasts, not much sag for her age, he thought. Yes, he thought as he looked again, there’s no bra under that low-cut top. Those breasts are standing out on their own.

She’s bloody hot, he thought, as he looked at her large body. She’s probably 40, if her breasts are firm like that, she must have been a bloody beauty a few years ago.

He caught her eye and noticed she was watching him. He looked away quickly, then let his eyes dart back to see if she really had noticed. Christ, she knows I was perving on her breasts, he thought. That’s the second time tonight I’ve been caught, he groaned as she winked. He wondered if that wink for for him as he moved towards her end of the table.

“I’m Sharon Hawkins,” she said with a smile that seemed to say, I’m aware of your stare. She swung her legs out from behind the table and crossed them. A flash of black stockings caught his eye. When he again looked up she was still watching him.

Sharon Hawkins was having the time of her life. These board room functions were always boring. Tonight this young cricketer had made her pussy tingle. He continued to check her out even when her husband was present.

When Tom stood in front of Sharon during the introductions, she had dropped her body forward slightly to let her top hang open. She knew she had a great pair of tits. She found it fun to display them discreetly in public. Generally the old fogies on the board were too slow to catch a glimpse, but tonight her nipples grew hard as she watched Tom respond.

Tom could feel himself growing hard. He looked down to his pants to see if it was showing. When he looked up again, Mrs Hawkins was watching, a wide grin on her face.

The band struck up again after a break. Looking for an opportunity to escape Mrs. Hawkins’ scrutiny, Tom turned to Mrs. Barton, “May I have the pleasure of this dance?”

Mrs. Barton smiled, “Dd you hear that ladies? Some good, old-fashioned manners.” She laughed as she took Tom’s hand, “You don’t hear or see much evidence of manners these days,” she said to him. “We must find out what else you know.”

Tom was grateful to his mother for teaching him to dance; she was a ballroom dancing competitor before he was born.

At home she would make him dance with her, as she taught him to use proper manners. Know how to dance and how to talk. Respect your partner, treat her like a lady, his mother had instructed.

Mrs. Barton was enjoying herself. Tom took control on the dance floor. He led well, making it easy for her to follow. He held her politely at first, and then gradually he held her closer, his body welded to hers as they swept around the floor.

To her surprise he lowered his face close to her neck and then her ear. Mrs Barton became flustered when she realized Tom was smelling her.

“Can I ask you a question?” Tom asked, as she worried what could be wrong.

“Yes, ask away,” she replied.

“I don’t know if this is bad manners or rude, but I have to ask the name of your perfume; its fragrance is different, I can’t describe what it is, but it really does something to excite me.”

She was so relieved she laughed, “Oh it’s Moschino, I’m glad you like it.” She relaxed as they danced. She thought he was an interesting young man with good manners. Her husband Robert in all their years of marriage never once has asked her about her scent. He just had his secretary to buy some for birthdays and anniversaries.

They were dancing so well together that people were noticing. Tom sensed she was enjoying the attention. He led her into a few fancy steps and was delighted when she followed without hesitating. He moved his head closer until he could speak into her ear, “You dance well,” he said.

“You’re very good,” she sighed. “You lead so well, you’re easy to follow.” She leaned against his chin and rested her head on his shoulder.

The band had changed to a bracket of slow dances. Couples danced closer together as the lights dimmed. Tom let his hand slip down on to her well rounded bottom, stroking it slowly before pulling her closer.

Mrs. Barton was drifting in his arms. The music was soft and slow, the lights dim. She was relaxing, when she felt his hand caressing her backside. For a minute she enjoyed the idea that this young man was becoming interested in her body. She felt a tingle of excitement.

She looked around and remembered where they were, shocked that should could be discovered enjoying herself with this young man. “Remember where we are,” she whispered to him. “Not here please.”

Why did she say that, she wondered. There was no need to worry. After all, it was only a dance and she’d probably never see him again.

“If not here where?” he asked. “I’d like to see you again.”

She lifted her head to look directly at him and said, “Keep your hands to yourself.” Tom was devastated he had thought he was making a little progress. When they started to dance he hadn’t really thought of seeing Mrs. Barton again. He had danced with her and discovered a body he didn’t expect on an older woman. He had liked what he felt. He really would have liked to see more of her. While they danced, he had been surprised at the firmness of her breasts. He became more and more relaxed and thought she was lovely as he moved his hands down her firm hard back. Mrs. Barton started to worry. She had never had any man make her feel the way she had felt for those few tantalizing minutes. She had to admit, she had enjoyed the tingling feeling in her nipples that his roving hand had created, but she was so worried about her reaction to him that she quickly dismissed him following their dance.

The word spread that Tom was a good dancer. He loved dancing, especially when he found himself a partner who could follow his lead. A number of women readily accepted his invitations to dance. Most of his partners spent the whole time on the floor talking or asking questions. Some politely filled the time, as others probed his love life.

Late in the evening he spied a very tall woman sitting alone. “I’m Dorothy call me Dot,” she said when he introduced himself and asked her to dance.

Tom decided as they danced that Dorothy’s most striking feature other than her height, was her lips. They were bigger and seemed rounder and fuller than most lips and would be great to kiss, he thought.

They danced in silence. “You’re light on your feet,” Tom said, after they had danced for some time. “You thought because I’m so tall, we would have trouble dancing together didn’t you?”

“No! I love tall women especially those who have a bit of fight in them, rather than a chip on their shoulder,” he said, surprising himself at his response.

She reacted to his aggression by apologizing. “I’m so bloody tall,” she said. “I make men feel small. A lot of them don’t even like standing and talking to me, let alone dancing with me.”

Tom was brimming with confidence; his ego inflated by the constant barrage of compliments about his dancing. “I’ll give you my mobile number,” he said. “Ring me any time you want to go dancing...on second thought, ring me any way, I like spending time with beautiful women, especially women with lips made for kissing, like yours.”

She smiled down at him as he slid his hand down her back. “You can touch my bottom if you like.”

Tom looked up into her smiling face, embarrassed. “I saw what you tried to do to the boss’s wife,” she said as her hands slipped down to his arse and pulled his body hard against hers. “Don’t get the wrong idea; I’m not Mrs Barton, I like to flirt.”

“A bit of fooling around is just my cup of tea.”

Tom had spent most of the night dancing with women old enough to be his mother. As the night wore on he was finding them more and more attractive.

Right now his prick was again growing hard as Dot moved her body seductively. Dot was giving the first sign that some of them may react positively to sex with a younger man.

When the dance finished he wrote his number on a coaster, “Give me a ring,” he said.

She kissed his cheek, “Don’t be surprised if I do.”

Meanwhile, Tom’s date, Sally-Anne, was exchanging phone numbers with Robert Barton when Tom joined them after the last dance.

“I’ve arranged for my car to take you home” Mr. Barton told Tom, as he wished them good night.

In the car Sally-Anne was so excited she couldn’t stop talking. “Tommy,” she whispered, “That was super...those powerful people just oozing money. You’re great. I can’t thank you enough for taking me.” Then she grinned and added, “But I’ll try to thank you.” She opened his fly.

They stumbled from the car at her house and headed for the front porch. “I wish we had more champagne,” Sally-Anne said, as they sank down on the hard wooden seat of the swing. She giggled as she realized his pants were still open. “Oh well, I’ll just have to find something else to drink.”

Tom groaned as she fell on her knees in front of the seat and proceeded to release his prick. “Tommy,” Sally-Anne cried, as she undid his belt and pulled his pants off, before throwing them in a corner. “If you ever invite anyone else to those parties, I’ll kill you.”

Tom wasn’t worried about being killed, there were no more parties as far as he knew. His mind was on her firm, pointy tits and her shaven pussy, not parties.

Suddenly a woman’s voice called “Is that you Sally-Anne?”

“Shit that’s mum,” Sally-Anne said as she scrambled to untangle herself from Tom and straighten her clothes. “Hide over there behind those shrubs,” Sally-Anne.

She called as she stood up, “Yes Mum, I’m just saying good night to Tom, I’ll be up in a minute.”

To Tom she asked, “Did you find your pants?” she whispered as she spied Tom scrabbling around in the corner where she had thrown them.

“Well that’s fucked that,” Tom thought as he found his pants and headed for the gate.

“Where are you going?” she called quietly.

“Home I suppose, there`s nothing else to do.”

“Slip around the back and wait, we can go up to my room. Don’t worry I’ll pour a couple of scotches into her and she’ll be right.”

Thinking she wouldn’t be back, Tom resorted jerking off to relieve the pressure on his balls. He was just cleaning up when Sally- Anne appeared at the back door.

“Follow me,” she whispered, as she led him up a narrow set of stairs to a bedroom. “This is the spare room, Mum shouldn’t hear us here.”

She turned around, slipped off what appeared to be a shirt and stood naked. He could see her mouth moving, he could hardly hear her, but her gestures made her message plain. He came closer, “Come here lover...come here,” Sally Anne whispered her body beckoning.

Oh shit, Tom thought, she’s nude and wants to fuck. My pricks soft and I probably won’t get hard for a while; if I can’t perform, she’ll tell everybody. I can’t tell her I’ve been wanking; I’ll be a bloody laughing stock. That would be the end of my sex life, at least while I’m at school. I’ve got to stall, he reasoned as he moved over to kiss her. She opened her mouth wide and licked his lips before allowing his tongue to enter. Tom had spent hours kissing his teenage dates. He knew how to use his mouth and tongue to try to turn them on...this would buy him a little time. He showered her face with kisses. His lips moving to kiss her eyes, her nose and then back to her mouth. He nibbled on her lips. Then licked up from her bottom lip, grinning as he tried to take all of her lips both top and bottom into his mouth.

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