Kentuck Woman: Interlude 01byManBlue©
This is the fourth installment of the Kentucky Woman saga. Kay and Frank met first in Kentucky when Frank was on a business trip. Their attraction was obvious and after one date and numerous phone and email communications, Kay traveled to New York to visit Frank where he opened her world up to new, exciting sexual possibilities. Now the couple are back in their respective homes; Kay in Kentucky, Frank in New York. What follows is an account of their sexual lives apart starting with this called Interlude One.
Kay was back in Kentucky and I was busy working here in New York. Life went on pretty much as it did before we met. We talked on the phone several times a week and communicated daily via email and chat messenger. Kay bemoaned her situation in Kentucky; the close-mindedness of her small town, the lack of excitement, and, most of all, the scarcity of sexual possibilities.
"Frank, it's like you turned me on to the new world, to this new me, and now I can't do anything with it. I'm a prisoner again," she said to me over the phone.
"Maybe you're not looking or trying hard enough," I said, half kiddingly. "Maybe you need to dig under the surface to find what you need."
"Believe me, Frank, there is nothing on or under the surface here. I've lived here almost all my life and I would know if there was."
"Why don't you move then?" I asked.
"I complain, Frank, but I really love this place. My house. My animals. The job I have is amazing. And my memories of Gregory here. I could never leave Kentucky so you'll just have to continue to listen to me complain."
That made us both laugh and then in that throaty, musky slightly Southern drawl I found so sensuous, she said, "But god, Frank, I miss your cock. I miss waking you up with my tongue and mouth. Feeling your cock get thick and hard in my mouth. And then having you fuck me, the way you do. Gawwwd, I miss that."
And I did too. Just her talk of it aroused me and I think she knew it by the silence on my end when she described our sex.
"I've been wearing out my toys, Frank," she said with a laugh. "While you get to wear out those New York sluts."
The truth was that I hadn't been with anyone since she left. It wasn't that I was being monogamous; it was really that no situation had come up and I wasn't one to go on the hunt for sex. It usually came to me. I was lucky that way.
"No, baby," I said. "We are in the same boat right now as far as that goes."
"Why don't I believe you, you dog," she kidded.
I laughed. "You should. I'll tell you when and if it happens. I promised you that."
"You did, but somehow I'm not so sure you would."
"I will....as long as you can take what I tell you."
"It will be hard, but I want to know, Frank."
"You will, Kay. But let's agree not to say anything until after something happens." I said.
"Um, and why is that? Not that anything is happening on this end," she asked.
"We don't want to influence either of us in any way. Let's let it play out without input from either of us. We'll talk about it after."
"Hmmm it sounds as if you've already got something brewing, Frank," she said with suspicion in her voice.
"No, I don't. But if I did, you wouldn't know." I cracked.
"Beast!" she cried playfully. "I want to change the subject now. Did I tell you the pool will be ready by the weekend," she said. Kay often talked about her pool and how she liked early morning swims for exercise.
"You did, but you can again. And I plan on spending a lot of time in it when I visit." I had already booked a week around the Fourth of July to visit her in Kentucky.
"Mmmmm, I'm dreaming of that," she said. "And I plan on doing a little shopping for two piece suits this year."
"I can just imagine you in them," I said, thinking of her full, mature voluptuous body in a bikini; how her incredible breasts would be on display and her still high round ass. "And it's a very pretty sight."
"Why thank you sir," she said. "It's been since my twenties since I wore one. I think its time now. I no longer feel so....modest."
"That's what I like to hear," I said, smiling on my end.
That was the way most of our conversations went; just small talk, incidental stuff—until a few weeks later when I had something else to tell her about. "You sure you're okay with it," I asked again. "You don't really need to know."
"Oh but I do," she said, resolutely. "I must know. I have to know who you fucked and how you fucked them. So stop procrastinating. Get on with it. I'm here on the other end of the phone line. I've showered and I'm in my robe. Maybe hearing you tell me what you did will have me go fetch a toy. And since you're not here to help me, that's what I'll make do with."
Her frankness made me laugh but I still was wary about telling her about my latest escapade.
"Go on now, Frank. I'm waiting..."
So I told her all of it. How it started. And how it ended. I lead a kickboxing class once a week at a high profile gym downtown. It's generally for the more advanced but beginners are welcome as well. It's a tough workout and usually concludes with partners pairing off and sparring. The past couple of weeks a new student had come to the class; a woman in her early to mid-thirties. She had skills that were obvious, going through my workout and drills without really any hardship. Her first session, she refrained from sparring, just watching from sidelines. But the next time she came, I paired her with a woman around her size and skill level. I watched as they sparred and noticed how fierce she was. She attacked relentlessly, just barely staying in the boundaries and guidelines we set for safety. We practice light contact, but she was bordering on full contact. She totally overwhelmed her partner who was not used to being pummeled. So much so, that I had to end the match prematurely.
As soon as I ended the match the woman, who sported a long auburn ponytail, immediately apologized to her partner and then came to me. "I'm so sorry," she said, still flushed and perspiring from the match. "Sometimes I get carried away when sparring. I need to get it better under control."
"Yeah, you need to," I agreed. "You won't find many sparring partners if you step over the lines here."
She nodded. "Yes, I know. I need to work on that, but," she looked at me and grinned slyly. "it wasn't that bad. she'll live." Her reply this time was more arrogant than apologetic. I could see that she had no shortage of self confidence. And the way she looked at me, it was as if she wanted me to make sure I knew it.
She had bright blue eyes, well defined, muscular shoulders and arms and was pretty, but with a harsh edge to her. I pegged her in her early to mid-thirties. "I'm Christina," she said, holding out her hand to me. "You run a very tough, disciplined class here, Frank. It's impressive."
"Thank you, Christina. Wherever you've trained has obviously done a good job. You're very skilled."
My compliment induced a satisfied smile on her face. "I work out at a small gym in L.A. I've kick-boxed for several years. I've also competed in Muay Thai and have a black belt in Karate."
"Muay Thai, huh? I got a good dose of that when I was in Special Forces."
"Oh?" Her blue eyes gazed over me after I dropped the Special Forces mention. It was then when I knew there was more than just a martial arts interest.
"Are you here in New York for good now?" I asked.
"No, just for a few more weeks. My husband has business here. I asked around and your class was recommended to me as one of the best in the city."
"Well that was kind of them. Nice to know I've got a good rep somewhere." I said self-deprecatingly
"Yeah, and I'm glad they did. Anyway, I need to run. I'll see you next time."
And the next time I paired her with a man. Again she just barely stayed within the boundaries of light contact I practice at the gym. Giving him all he could handle and more. Her outfit was also a little more flashy; an expensive torn top and loose karate pants; her firm, six-pack abs exposed for all to see.
After the class she came over to me again. "Frank, I would love to work a private session with you if that's possible. I don't want to seem too cocky, but I really need more of a challenge. I hope you understand."
Her eyes probed mine when she asked me. "I don't know, Christina. Any time you train, you make your own challenges."
"I know that, but, I really like to set my own personal bar as high as possible. You're a really great teacher and I think I can benefit from some one on one with you. What do you think? Can you find some time?
I knew the gym was free on Thursday nights and we arranged to meet then.
"Of course I'll pay you for your time," she said. "I know this is out of the ordinary for you and I appreciate it."
"I'm a volunteer here," I said. "No money please."
Okay, if you say so."
She was waiting for me when I arrived at the gym that Thursday, already loosening up on the mats. She was wearing baggy sweat pants and this time even less than before not even bothering with anything over her sports bra, her unusually ample, and from a quick glance, surgically enhanced cleavage very much evident. But there was no denying she worked to attain that flat, defined belly and muscles on her arms and shoulders. She greeted me with a bright smile and a hug, her body pressing slightly into mine as she did.
"You may not be hugging me when this is over," I warned.
"Good, that's exactly what I want to hear. Push me as hard as you want. Take no pity on me, Frank."
"You'll get none, I can assure you that," I said with a sly smile.
I worked her to her limits; both of us quickly sweating. But she stayed with me. We took a break and then she asked if we could spar.
"That's part of my regimen," I said.
I let her start off strong; allowing her to attack but making her work hard to do so. Her kicks and punches were vicious, but I've taken much much harder though she didn't know that. I could tell she was disappointed and even urged me on a bit. I continued my charade awhile longer until I knew she was convinced that she could defeat me. That's when I started to counter, kicking repeatedly into those abs and following with jabs to her arms and helmet-protected face. She tried to come back at me, but she had used up most of what power she had left. A sweeping reverse kick finally put her on her back.
I helped her up and she took off her helmet, shaking out her long dark red hair. Her face again was flushed and she was sweating profusely. Her eyes were a bit glassy and she was breathing hard. "You're okay? I didn't go too far with you did I?"
She smiled curiously. "No...it was exactly what I wanted, Frank. You're really good. Amazing really. You should compete."
"No, my competing days are long over. I enjoy doing this; teaching, helping others improve."
She looked me over and bit her lower lip self-consciously. "That's noble of you. I know you said no money, but can I buy you a drink. Or dinner."
"You don't have to, Christina. Like I said, I enjoy doing this."
"You said that, but what does that have to do with me inviting you to have a drink or dinner with me." She took a step closer to me as she said that. Giving me a better look at her almost perfect body. Her intentions were becoming obvious.
"I can't tonight," I said.
"I'm leaving on Saturday, we only have a couple of days," she said, looking me in the eyes. Making it even clearer what she really wanted. When I didn't respond she raised the stakes: "Have you been to Bastardo?"
"I wish," I said. "Three stars from the New York Times. No chance I'm getting there any time soon."
"My husband knows the chef. Lunch or dinner. You name it, as long as it's before Saturday."
"Now you're making me an offer I definitely cannot refuse," I said. I had eaten at the chef's previous restaurants. He was one of the best young chef's in the city. And Bastardo was one of the hardest to get a table to.
"I figured it would take a food offering to get you to the table with me," she said, again giving me that look, her eyes roaming my body.
"I'm free Friday for lunch," I said.
"Done," she said. "12:30 at Bastardo. You know where it is?"
"It's in that new hotel on Fifth and 36th?"
"Uh huh. I'll meet you for there," she said. "And I'm very much looking forward to it," she added grinning back at me as she headed to the locker room.
I don't know what I was looking forward to more; dining at Bastardo or the very real possibility of much more with Christina. Yes, food means that much to me. When I arrived at the restaurant and saw her sitting already at our table; a corner booth away from most of the other tables—the best in the restaurant—and the sight of her, out of kick boxing fare, her copper-colored hair flowing and wearing a curve-hugging thigh high dress with thin straps that showed off her defined arms and cut low enough to reveal her tanned cleavage, both my appetites were raging.
She gave me a glowing smile as I arrived. I was dressed in jeans, a white button down shirt, and a blue sport jacket. "Oh my, so very handsome," she said looking me over.
"And you look even lovelier than you do when you are pounding your sparring opponent," I said with a grin.
"I'm glad you approve," she said. She patted the seat next to her as opposed to the one opposite her. I hesitated for a moment, remembering that it was her husband who had the contact at the restaurant. I figured, however, that whoever her husband was, she had been given free reign to do as she wished. So after a very brief deliberation, I squeezed next to her, trying hard not to make physical contact, but she made sure that she did, moving her thigh against mine immediately.
"Your husband must have a pretty high rep to snag a table like this at one of the hottest restaurants in New York," I said, hoping to learn more about her relationship with him. "Is he in the restaurant business?"
"No, he's in entertainment. And he's always happy to make me happy," she added, confirming my suspicions. She turned her eyes to mine and applied a bit more pressure to my thigh with hers. It was her less than subtle way to further indicate that whatever she wanted her husband would provide for her. Unless I'm denser than I thought, it was clear what she meant.
Before we could talk further, the wait staff was upon us. We ordered a bottle of wine and let the chef prepare a sampling. The meal was a sensual feast and lasted over two hours. Christina's appetite matched my own; she ate everything with gusto. We talked readily about our passion for martial arts. She told me how she got started; how she was overweight and directionless until she began to exercise. She even admitted her obsession with her training to the point of abandoning some of the philosophies of the arts. All the while, her thigh was next to mine and occasionally her hand would wander there as well, her nails stroking casually, as if it was the most natural thing for a married woman with a big shot hubby to be doing in a three star restaurant.
When the waiter asked about dessert, she shooed him away. She looked at me and said, "Well, Frank, what do you think?"
"I think that was one of the most memorable meals I've had in quite some time," I said.
"I agree," she said. "But I didn't mean about the food."
She continued to stare at me. The wine had made her slightly tipsy, yet her eyes were sparkling. "Shouldn't we now just cut to the chase?" she said, assuming I knew what she meant.
And, from the way she was looking at me, I did.
"Confident, aren't you?" I said, really just teasing her.
"Oh yes, I am," she said. "So confident that I've already booked a suite here. Room 2302 to be exact." And then she moved her hand up my thigh a bit higher and squeezed again keeping her eyes on mine.
"I bet the view is incredible from up there," I said, smiling at her.
She summoned the waiter for the check. "I hope you have lots of time to admire it," she said, playing along.
I nodded. "I'm sure it's one not for rushing but for savoring."
"Mhmmm," she purred. "That's what I like to hear."
The elevator ride seemed endless. Christina was leaning against me, taking my hand and squeezing it. As soon as we got to the suite, which was enormous and did have an amazing view of both the Empire State Building from one exposure and the Chrysler from another, she wrapped her arms around me and kissed me hungrily while working off my sport jacket. She then moved her hands to my shirt, pulling, tugging trying to get it unbuttoned and off while licking at my neck. While she was doing that my hands were roaming her hard, muscled body.
"Mmmmm god, those hands. I love them, Frank," she murmured "I wanted them on me the first time I took your class. And I know you know how to use them."
I squeezed her ass at that and she cooed. She got my shirt off and quickly raked her nails over my chest before burying her head in it. "I love a man with hair on his chest," she said as she caressed and kissed at my pecs. One hand moved lower, over my flat belly and then to the girth in my jeans.
She murmured again as she squeezed. "You do have a thick cock, don't you, Frank. I usually can tell by a man's body type."
"Well, let's see if you're right," I said, teasing her.
"Hmmm, lets...," she said as she worked my belt open and then my jeans. Her hands were working deftly as she slid one under my briefs and quickly found what she was seeking. She stroked down the length and then tried to grip it. "Oooohhh"
"Right again," she said with a giggle as she sucked at one of my nipples.
"Okay, enough about me," I said, moving away from her. "How long before I get to admire that view you were bragging about."
She gave me a coy look and reached behind her back to unzip her dress, sliding the thin straps over her defined shoulders.
I sat back on the big bed, naked, my hand loosely on my cock as I watched her undress for me. She was wearing a half bra, her perfectly surgically enhanced breasts almost totally revealed, her blue eyes continually on me as she unhooked the bra. Her body was bronzed, obviously artificially, with no tan lines evident on her breasts. Her nipples were half dollar-sized and now protruding excitedly. She grazed her nails over her six pack abs to her thong, sliding it down slowly over her muscled thighs. She had a very thin red landing strip above her glistening pussy. Now naked, she posed for me. "How about the view, Frank," she said, a cocky grin on her face.
"Better than advertised," I said, "but a closer inspection is needed."
She smiled and moved toward me. Her eyes were roaming my body hungrily, focusing on my thickening cock. When she was closer, I reached out and grabbed her, pulling her onto the bed. She was reaching for my cock, but I pushed her hands away, turning her around so that her head was on the edge of the bed as I stood over her. "Put those hands under your ass," I demanded.
"What?" She looked at me curiously, but I had a plan for her. I knew what she really wanted from me.
"Your hands, keep them under you," I repeated. "I don't want you touching me...until I tell you."
"Do it!" I said with more force as I teased my cock over her face and lips, her tongue flicking out to try to catch it. Her hand reached up again to try to grab it and I pulled away.
"Do as I say," I commanded.
She cursed, but put her hands under her and I brought my cock to her lips. Her tongue snaked out, swirling over it. My hands were under her head, guiding her as she began to take it into her mouth. Standing over her, I began to bury my thick cock into her mouth as she moaned, squirmed, and sucked on it. Using both of my hands, I held her head as I thrust my cock into her mouth. She slurped and sucked, her face turning crimson. I moved my cock back and forth in her mouth as she moaned on it and then I pulled it out again.