How do I get myself into these things? Because I'm a sucker for men who beg, that's how. Look on my forehead, see the big "S"? It magically appears whenever a man gets down on his knees, clasps his hands together, and says "Please, please, oh pretty please?" It must be some sort of motherly instinct. I never had any kids, and I always thought I transferred my need for raising children to my dogs. But I'm beginning to think this female weakness of mine is somehow connected to my hormones; it's imbedded in my DNA. I know other childless women who don't seem to have this flaw. Not counting lesbians, what's their secret?
Whenever a man begs me for something, it triggers a synapse in my brain, and I have an uncontrollable urge to take him into my arms, to stroke his hair, to hold him to my bare bosom and offer him an engorged nipple on which to suckle, and to tell him everything will be alright. And if two men beg at once, or three, or four; hell, who cares, they're all my children at that moment. Soon a fuckfest of incestuous proportions takes place. Be it one or one hundred, I can't resist men who beg.
Recently I was offered a temporary position as Classified Information Liaison Officer, CILO for short. The information I was privy to was not for general release to the media or the public. My job was to keep certain VIP's updated on the shuttle's progress, to answer technical questions about the mission, to relay their opinions, concerns, whatever, to the appropriate agency brass, to wine and dine them if necessary, to be smart and witty and charming and attractive all the time. I had to call the 10 members of my assigned group, or one of their designees, every hour, every day of the mission, unless they were with me in person, or were in Mission Control, or with another space agency official.
This one particular veep from Germany was accompanied by a research scientist from the European Space Agency (ESA). His name was Maximillian von Eiff, and he and his boss were staying at the same hotel as me. His boss was a bigwig with ESA, an astrophysicist by the name of Dr. Karl Reichman. Dr. Reichman reminded me of a circa 1940 Nazi Schutzstaffel officer. He was about 60 years old, but looked strong and healthy. He had to be 6'4", well built from what I could tell, a full head of steel gray hair, piercing ice blue eyes, and a serious attitude, all the time. He never once cracked a smile. He reminded me of the Germanic version of Clint Eastwood, with the chiseled, rugged good looks of the Marlboro man. He was going to be a tough nut to crack, even for me, the charming and gorgeous Cat.
Dr. Reichman's wife was traveling with them as well. She was a tall, statuesque blond, much younger than the doctor. She reminded me of that tennis player, Maria Sharapova. She had perfect features, perfect skin, perfect teeth, perfect boobs, perfect butt, a perfect tan (no visible tan lines), and well-toned muscles. She was very friendly and outgoing, almost the exact opposite of her husband. I don't easily make friends with women, but I had the feeling Eva Reichman and I would get along just fine.
Max took an instant liking to me from the moment we met. In fact, he asked me to dinner almost every night of our mutual stay at the hotel. I hate mixing business with pleasure, it always gets me into trouble. My boss warned me to behave myself. After the first three politely refused invitations, I thought he'd given up. Then it happened; one afternoon, when the shuttle mission wasn't going as well as expected, and the agency had just publicly announced the post-liftoff breakaway foam incident, Max said, in his heavy German accent, "Please Frau Cat, please have dinner with me, I beg of you!"
Shit! The dreaded "B" word. My nipples had already started to engorge, how could I resist? We had our first of several dinners together, drank some wine, chatted for a couple of hours, and I soon uncovered a wealth of information about Max. He is 36 years old, married to the same woman for 16 years, they have three children, ages 7, 10, and 12, they live in a modest home in Düsseldorf, he has a master's degree in theoretical physics, he keeps in shape by playing tennis and handball, his wife doesn't understand him and they never have sex anymore. How many times have I heard that??!! Its odd how so many married men I've met are not getting laid at home. All you wives should be ashamed of yourselves for not doing your wifely duties and keeping your men happy and satisfied. Yeah, right!
As we got more comfortable with each other our conversations turned more intimate. Max began to ask me a lot of personal questions. The second bottle of wine loosened my tongue, and I told him all about my life, including some of my sexual adventures. He listened with a polite intensity, he interjected appropriate responses, he questioned timelines and asked for clarification of minute details. Max seemed truly interested in every aspect of my life; it felt like we had been friends for years.
Men, take note: if you want a woman to become attracted to you, instead of talking about yourselves, ask her questions, keep the conversation revolving around her, her life, her interests, her career, her likes and dislikes, her family, etc. She'll think you find her fascinating, and nothing will get her out of her Calvin Klein's faster than that. Okay, maybe toss some flowers and a steak dinner in just to be safe. Alcohol couldn't hurt.
Anyway, I found I liked Max. He's a good listener, he seemed interested in everything about me, he's intelligent, funny, and sensitive, he keeps himself in fairly good shape, and most importantly, he loves dogs! When the restaurant manager was ready to close down and throw us out, we went for a walk on the beach, talked some more, then headed back to the hotel for some much-needed rest. Max walked me back to my room, he kissed me on the lips, then headed back to his own room to sleep. Such a gentleman!
We occasionally had some downtime and since the entire mission was nerve-wracking, to say the least, I sought stress reducing activities, such as running and exercise. On one such day, I ran into Max as I was about to exit the hotel to go for a morning jog. I was wearing my usual outfit: a low cut, tight-fitting jog bra and little nylon running shorts. More of my skin was uncovered than covered. My nipples are perky and poke out most of the time no matter what I'm wearing, but the rather cool a/c in the lobby was increasing the effect. The bra material was stretched so thin over my large breasts you could see the areolas. When Max saw me his jaw dropped down onto his chest, and he just stared.
"Hi Max, are you having a seizure, or are you just glad to see me?"
When he recovered, Max mumbled something like, "I'm always glad to see you Cat. Where are you going?"
"I thought I'd go to church this morning, and then maybe visit that nursing home down the street."
"But, but, you have almost no clothes on!"
The German people are so cute, they make great beer, but they need to work on their sense of humor.
"Max, I'm kidding. I'm going for a run; I need to get rid of some stress."
"Oh I see. I don't run much, but I like to do other things for stress relief."
"Like . . .?"
"I play handball!"
Damn, that wasn't what I was expecting him to say. So I said, "Hey Max, you ever play racquetball? It's kind of like handball, only you use a racquet."
"No, I never play."
"Well, c'mon, I'll teach you. Let's get you changed into something more appropriate."
We traipse back up to Max's room, and I'm hoping he brought something to wear besides business suits. When we get to his room, he invites me in, and then excuses himself to use the bathroom. As I glanced around, I noticed the room is neat. Not just neat, impeccable. Everything is put away, no clothes or toiletries lying around, nothing is out of place. No man is this neat, unless he has obsessive compulsive disorder. Max comes out of the bathroom wearing shorts, a tee shirt, and sneakers. I never even saw him open a drawer!
"That's good Max, let's go."
The hotel has a deal with the local fitness club right across the street; guests can use the club facilities for free. It just so happens this club has indoor racquetball courts. Max and I crossed over to the fitness center, and were able to get a court right away. Fortunately they had two racquets they let use for free, but we had to buy a can of balls.
I learned how to play racquetball in college. There were three guys I played with regularly, and they played rough. It was a contact sport to them, lots of jumping and running and diving for the ball, and if another player was in the way, you just ran into them. You will eventually get hit by the ball, which is traveling at about 150 feet per second, and it stings, and it will leave a welt that lasts for a day or two. I was always black and blue after three sets. And that's the way I've played the game ever since.
Since the rules are similar to handball, Max felt confident he would be able to beat me. At first, he was a little apprehensive about making contact with me, me being a girl and all, so he'd let the ball go rather than make a dive for it. At one point I told him to quit playing like a sissy and go for it. After that, he got more aggressive, slamming into me on more than one occasion. We exchanged the lead a couple of times, but I was eventually beating him by 10 points.
I could tell Max was getting frustrated, so I thought I'd give him a couple of points, just to be nice. Max hit a fairly simple shot that came straight back towards him. I figured he'd step away for a second to let me return it, and then move back to the center of the court. I ran toward the ball, swung my racquet in a full arc, and not realizing Max was not going to move out of the way until it was too late, swung my racquet hard, right into the back of his thigh. Max went down like a sack of wet flour, clutching his leg.
I got Max off the court, and one of the aerobics trainers got some ice, put it in a bag and placed it on Max's thigh. The spot where I hit him was an angry, purple color. After about 15 minutes, I told Max we needed to get back to the hotel so I could make my phone calls. He stood up and leaned on my shoulder, put his arm around my neck, and we tried to walk this way across the street. I'm pretty strong, but this wasn't working too well. Max couldn't flex his leg at all, and he couldn't put any weight on it. Just as I was about to call someone to help out, Eva Reichman walked out of the fitness center. Apparently she had been making use of the facility as well.
"May I help?" she said.
Mrs. Reichman is 6 feet tall, and strong. She had Max put his arm around her shoulder on one side, and I took the other side. We managed to get across the street and into the lobby of the hotel.
Eva said, "If I were you, I would not mention this to my husband. He would be quite upset."
I wasn't sure why Dr. Reichman would be so upset, but I nodded my head and we headed for the elevators. As the elevator doors opened, and before we could get on, out walks Reichman.
"What is the meaning of this?" he barked.
Before I could say anything, Eva responded, "I asked Frau Wolf and Herr von Eiff to join me for some much needed exercise in the spa across the street. I didn't want to go alone to a strange place. Herr von Eiff apparently injured a muscle, so we were helping him back to his room." Dr. Reichman didn't say a word; he just stared at me with those cold eyes, then turned and walked toward the front desk.
I am not normally afraid of anyone; I have taken a couple of self defense courses from local police departments and one on a military base. My husband was a Master Sergeant in the Green Berets and did several tours in Viet Nam. He has shown me some serious stuff, but urged me to take a regular course at the Air Force base near where we lived in Satellite Beach. This was a class for military spouses, and they let me in because my husband was a vet, and he knew the instructors. It was not one of those hold your car keys in between your fingers and scratch your assailant's face while you scream and run. I learned how to choke someone unconscious with either my arms or legs, to gouge their eyeballs with my thumbs, to punch their nose with the heel of my open palm to push the now broken septum up into the brain, to hit someone in the throat to collapse their windpipe, to kick a kneecap a certain way to break it, etc. I learned how to permanently disable someone who was attempting to harm me.
When Reichman stared at me, it scared the crap out of me. I thought to myself, this is one of the few men I've met who's not going to fall madly in lust with me. So be it.
Eva and I got Max back to his room, and laid him on one of the two king beds. I got him some water and a couple of Motrin, and then told him I would get some ice from the vending machine. Eva excused herself, saying she had to go find her husband, but would check back later to see how Max was doing.
Speaking in his native language, Max said, "Danke, Frau Reichman."
"Bitte Max. Auf Wiedersehen," Eva replied, giving Max a light peck on the cheek.
Eva then walked over to me and, lowering her face to mine, kissed me full on the lips. Holding the back of my head with one hand while the other hand went around my waist, she snaked her tongue deep into my mouth and rolled it all around my own tongue. Apparently she was checking to see if I had all my teeth. I figured this must be the way German women said goodbye to each other, so in order to maintain peaceful international relations, I kissed her back.
When I reluctantly decided to let her have her tongue back, Eva said, "Danke Frau Wolf for being such a good friend to Max. He is a good man. Auf Wiedersehen meine Liebe." Then she was gone. Max just stared slack jawed, having one of his seizures again. I'm sure every man's fantasy was now dancing through his head. As for me, for the rest of the day I couldn't get the number 69 out of my mind.
When I got back with the ice I told Max to put some on his leg, while I made my phone calls. Nothing important was going on with the shuttle, so my updates were quick. I told Max I had to go back to my room and get cleaned up.
"Cat, please don't leave me, I can hardly move, my back is killing me."
Now I knew Max was exaggerating. I've been hit many times with a racquet, at least as hard if not harder than he got hit, and I never ended up incapacitated! Just as I was about to admonish him, Max did it to me again.
"Cat please, I beg of you!"
Crap!! The "B" word again. I turned and came back into the room, sat in the chair facing Max, and said, "Okay Max, I'll stay. But I need to get cleaned up. Can I take a shower here, and do you have an old tee shirt I can throw on temporarily?"
"Yes, yes, in the second drawer, left side dresser."
"Okay Max, I'll be right back. Keep the ice on your leg."
I looked in the drawer he indicated and found a medium white tee shirt with the Kennedy Space Center logo on the left chest. I held it up in front of me and just looked at Max with a smirk.
"It's a souvenir, for my son."
I went into the bathroom and pulled my jog bra off over my head. Then I removed my shorts, and stepped into the tub, and took a nice refreshing shower. I noticed a disposable razor in the soap dish, so I decided to touch up my legs and my underarms. Then I decided, what the hell, I hadn't shaved my pussy smooth in a couple of weeks, so now was as good a time as any. By the time I was done, I was cleaned and scrubbed and smooth as a baby's behind, everywhere.
I got out of the shower, dried off, and slipped the tee shirt on. Good thing I'm not too tall, the shirt barely covered my butt and I could feel a slight breeze on my twat. My nipples were poking out as usual, and were somewhat visible through the thin white cotton material. When I went back out into the bedroom, Max had rolled onto his back, and was facing the bathroom, looking dumbfounded.
"Having a seizure again I see." Max was just staring at my chest and not responding. "Hello? Earth to Max? So how are your leg and your back?"
"It still hurts Cat, both of them."
"Alright, let's have a look. We'll need to get your shorts off first; I can't see the injury too well."
Max undid his belt, then the top button, then slid the zipper down. I grabbed both sides of his shorts and slowly pulled them off. Max was wearing a pair of men's black bikini underwear. A rather prominent bulge was evident in the front of them. I told Max to roll over onto his stomach, which he did. The injury to his thigh was still visible as a large area of black and purple discoloration, and it did look swollen.
"Show me where your back hurts."
Max reached behind and pointed to the middle of his back. Not life-threatening, I surmised.
"You probably tensed your muscles before you fell, and you may have pulled something. All you need is to loosen up more, let me give you a back massage. Do you have any oil or hand lotion?"
"Yes, yes, in the nightstand."
I retrieved the lotion from the nightstand and then climbed up onto the bed. "It'll be easier if I straddle you, Let me know if my weight makes it hurt more."
I lifted my leg up and over Max's legs, then sat gently down on his butt. I could feel my cunt lips on the material of his bikinis. I squirted some lotion onto one hand, rubbed my hands together, then leaned forward and started with his shoulders, kneading and massaging the skin, digging my fingers in to work the muscles beneath. I like giving body massages, and I'm pretty good at it. I did first one shoulder, then the other. I worked my way down his back, carefully doing the area of soreness. Max flinched a couple of times, but did not complain.
As I went lower, I had to cinch down a bit, being careful not to put pressure on the bad leg. I was now straddling the good leg, my clean shaven pussy touching Max's bare skin. It felt good actually, and I found myself getting a little turned on. I'm sure Max could feel my pussy lips touching his leg. When I got to Max's butt, I said, "Okay, let's get your underwear off, I need to do your glutes. I got up onto my knees, grabbed Max's underwear, he lifted his pelvis slightly, and then I pulled them off.
Aww, what a cute butt, I thought to myself. I squirted a little more lotion onto my hands, and then I began to knead his ass cheeks. Max spread his legs a little so I could get to the inner thighs. As he did, his balls came into view. My fingers strayed across them several times, and Max began to squirm a bit. I also ran a finger inside his butt crack and across his anus, which Max did not seem to mind. I made a mental note, Max likes anal stimulation.
I continued to massage his thighs, including the injured one, working my way down to his calves, and eventually his feet. I gave his ankles and toes a good workout, mainly because I like that myself.
"Flip over Max, so I can do the front of your legs." At first, I thought he wasn't going to do it. Modesty now? But he did, turning over slowly and lying on his back. His penis was semi-erect, and was twitching a little. It was about average in length and width, but the head was wide. The "helmet" flared out at the ends more than I had ever seen before. It looked like it would be rather stimulating actually.
Maintaining an air of professionalism, I began working on the front of his shins, working my way back up to his thighs. I did the good one first, then the sore one, eventually reaching nearly up to his crotch. At one point, his dick was in the way, so I grabbed it below the tip between my thumb and index finger, and shifted it to the other side. This only had the effect of making it harder, causing it to jut out straighter. It was now sticking straight up in the air. I then finished massaging his upper thighs.