Melody's First Trick

The air was cold, but it felt invigorating after spending twelve thankless hours in a stuffy office cubicle, a rainy mist hitting my face as I exited the revolving doors to the main street. The city was lit up, as it had been dark for several hours. I had been asked to stay late to organize several accounts that a former co-worker intentionally sabotaged just before he was fired for incompetence.

Pissed off, tired and hungry by ten o'clock when I finally started for home, I decided I needed a glass of wine to relax. A massage and a valium were what I really needed, but it was too late to get the former, and I had none of the latter. I remembered there was nothing to eat at my condo anyway, so I figured that I might as well grab something while I was out.

I pulled into a restaurant with a bar, a place I was unfamiliar with, but only a half mile from where I work in the city center. After I was inside I figured at least I would order a salad, as it was an upscale place and quite busy in a good way, and I only managed to get the last open seat at the end of a long, curved bar.

The bartender brought me a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon, cocking her head when she looked at me with her eyes narrowed, as if either she knew me or I looked like an old friend from high school. She didn't smile, nor did she strike up a conversation, but her look wasn't exactly unfriendly either, even though she said nothing despite her repeated appraisal of me. I would look up and notice her watching me. But as I drank more I thought less and less of it, and anyway, I'd been checked out by lesbians before, and though she didn't seem to fit that profile, I had no idea of why else she would have been so overtly looking me over.

She was rather striking to look at and built quite differently than I, tall, leggy and thin with small boobs and a pert little butt that no doubt looked great in tight, skinny jeans. She had high cheek bones, blue eyes, dirty blond hair cut into a short wedge, and several piercings that followed the curve of her ear. She wore a pressed white blouse, a black bow tie and a black pleated skirt that was so short it played panty peek-a-boo with the customers. Every time she stretched for one of the top-shelf liquors her white panties became visible as they caressed her cheeks. And it appeared that all of the waitresses had to wear these uniforms, as well as strappy black heels that arched their lower backs and exaggerated the sway to their butts when they walked.

After my second glass of wine I wondered what a bartender was paid as I started dwelling on my job, and how as the new kid on the block I was always stuck doing the work no one else wanted. And as the newest CPA at the agency, I was also the least paid CPA on the block as well. I found myself wondering why I had become a CPA. After three glasses of wine it dawned on me that I was getting quite buzzed and needed some food.

As I perused the menu the seat next to me opened up and a guy quickly took it. He chatted quietly with the bartender while I mostly ignored him and considered the salad choices, the wine on my empty stomach now having gone straight to my head. I was vaguely aware that he ordered a drink but was unaware that he ordered a refill for me until he slid it in front of me.

I half-heartedly protested and offered to repay him, but he very familiarly insisted that I have the drink, and soon, partly from the booze and partly out of boredom, I found myself chatting with him, the alcohol writing most of my dialogue and my food temporarily forgotten.

He was, I guess, about forty-five and wore a wedding ring; he said his name was Rob; he was charming in an unpretentious way and proceeded to tell me that on Thursdays he frequently chatted with Diane, who usually sat in my seat. Did I know her, he asked, with a tone that seemed to say 'of course you know her'. She sometimes dresses much like me he said, and since I was wearing a conservative dark blue blazer and matching skirt with a white blouse, I could only assume that she too was a wage slave.

No, I replied, I didn't think I knew her, and he smiled as he nodded his head and took a drink of what appeared to be scotch. He paused and then proceeded to ask if I was working, seemingly not sure whether to look into my eyes or to check me out as he inquired, his eyes sliding from my eyes to my lips and then boldly to my cleavage and back again to my eyes. And me, buzzed and getting sillier, said that I had been working, and I further suggested, tongue-in-cheek, that the girl who usually sat here probably was still at her desk, "being taken advantage of too."

"Well, Diane is a sociology professor" he said, "but I guess you can always use some extra money if you have the looks and the," here he paused to think, "I guess itch is the right word, at least for some" he continued, "I know it is for her."

"Yep" I said, naively oblivious of his curious choice of words and of what he was implying as I accepted still another drink, now staring drunkenly into his eyes, brown eyes that fitted his tanned face, and dark brown hair with gray wisps beginning to form at his temples, his mouth centered over a handsomely dimpled chin. An unexpected shiver washed over me, and I took a deep breath and squeezed my thighs tightly together and released them, catching myself applying pressure to the tingle that had awakened unexpectedly. I realized that I probably was too drunk to drive and for that matter too drunk to be making decisions of the heart, or the libido as the case may be, several glasses of wine overwhelming my diminutive frame and beginning to do my thinking for me.

And as to my diminutive frame: I have wavy brown hair with auburn highlights, olive skin and green eyes with a slightly Asian or Mediterranean look to them that I share with my father. Though I would kill to be five-ten just to be able to reach the middle shelves of my kitchen cupboards, I'm five-five and mostly have small features, save for my chest, which I think is far too large for my torso. No petite woman should have to tote around boobs the size of grapefruit, and the first thing I do when I get home is remove my bra to 'let the guys breathe' as a friend puts it. But there they are, so sensitive to the least stimulation that my nipples crinkle and stiffen if I even think of sex. And though I always threaten to have a breast reduction, over the years every guy I ever have been with has vehemently argued against such a course of action. "Most women would kill for your boobs" they argue. "Don't do something you'll regret later. A hard little butt and big firm boobs, get real Kris."

But to get back to the bar, by now Rob's hand was touching my arm familiarly as we chatted, and to be fair, my elbow was resting against his as well: "I don't want to keep you up too late" he finally said, "let me pay up and get on with things."

I blindly agreed, knowing I needed to get home and eat something, thinking of casting caution to the wind for my admittedly short drive. I just let him pay the bill as I hadn't the wits to argue with him, and I left the bar nearly hanging on his arm, not really sober enough to walk confidently, let alone drive. Though it was rare for me to go home with a perfect stranger, what girl hasn't had one impulsive hook-up in her life? But that wasn't part of my plan then.

"Diane never drinks this much" he said, again curiously mentioning his friend as we walked. "But I guess that's all a matter of what you're used to" he continued, describing a friend who practiced law with a hip flask of scotch nearby at all times. I listened and tried not to fall in my heels, not noticing that we were not heading for my car.

We soon reached a large BMW sedan, expensive and sand colored. Rob gently but firmly twirled me around so that my ass was pressed against the wet passenger side door. He proceeded to look me over as the mist, now heavy, continued to tighten the ringlets of my hair and the world continued to spin for a bit. He undid my blazer, pushed the cloth aside and plunged inside as he uttered a low growl of appreciation when he explored my chest. He massaged one of my boobs, his thumb zeroing in on my nipple, rubbing it until it not only became hard but until my body began to shudder in response to each teasing pass of his thumb.

My head lolled backward and my eyes closed at the pleasurable sensation, and I let him proceed without a second thought as he kissed my neck from just below my throat up to my ear where he whispered huskily before he took my lobe between his teeth, trying somewhat unsuccessfully to affect the speech of a Shakespearean actor: "For the divine services of her lovely mouth Diane assessed a $300 fee. Would you grace me with your company for similar compensation?"

His words came at me from far away, arriving through a long, dark, drunken tunnel, as in a flash I understood the disparate and previously unconnected phrases of our conversation this evening. The world was spinning when again my eyes popped open as his hand found its way to my other breast. And despite my extreme confusion and surprise, not only did I not try to elude his grasp, but I leaned into his hand as he squeezed my breast still more firmly, his hands soon freely roaming my chest and armpits and my stomach down to my navel as my knees weakened and spread apart from his attention.

Though the shock of his words mostly yanked me out of my drunken stupor--for physiological reasons I'll never quite understand my mind immediately snapped to attention--my body hungrily melted into his, pressed between his warm, grinding pelvis and the cold, wet, unresisting metal of his car. I was unexpectedly aroused, less by his lust than by a previously un-thought-out, hassle-free simplicity of where I found myself. This was something new and oddly guilt-free, and I found my body acting as my mind simply followed where it lead.

Here were no games, no playing hide and seek, no questioning 'will he respect me in the morning', no second thoughts about 'what this will mean', no wondering whether we would go to 'his place or mine', no pondering whether this was 'a serious commitment or a quick hook-up'. Our predefined roles simplified everything: he seemed irresistibly attracted to me as he was assured that I would satisfy him, and he was willing to pay for my time and my body.

But just as importantly, what I did not expect was that I found myself eager for it, not just for him, but for the moment. I was being asked to act out a stranger's fantasy and found myself freed from any moral or sexual hang-up I might have. A naughty fantasy many women entertained in the warm safety of their beds, lights dimmed and curtains pulled with vibrator humming in hand as they cried out alone in the night, this was about to happen for real.

Snapping back to the present I became aware of his erection insistently pushing against my abdomen, one of his muscular thighs taut between mine as he rubbed against my mound. It had been months, literally, since I had gotten laid. And with that friend of a friend I faked my orgasm as he did not excite me in the least. The promise of some contact with someone, anyone, now especially when five glasses of wine had taken control had undermined all of my defenses.

I pondered what he wanted of me, if my 'lovely mouth' meant what I was pretty sure it meant. This wouldn't be the first time I had had sex with a stranger on an impulse, only now I was going to get paid for it. But what here I found so deliciously slutty was the thought of sucking a stranger's cock, something I never had done. The thought of it soon had my panties wedged between my wet inner lips and adhering to the moisture. That mouth he wanted answered like a self-assured but subservient slut: "I am so ready for that."

Rob reached into his pocket and, after fumbling for a bit, pressed the button that unlocked the doors. He politely held mine for me as I entered and then closed it, the smell of expensive leather my first impression. He quickly got in as well, locked the doors and proceeded to drive in practiced fashion to a parking garage only one city block away, his breathing deep and rapid as he repeatedly looked over at me. Swiping his card as he entered, he drove in practiced fashion to a secluded but not entirely dark parking space between two huge utility trucks.

The silence was deafening as he looked at me in what little illumination came from the garage lighting, turning on an overhead map light and dimming it just slightly so that he could see me clearly. Excitedly reeling, as if I thought that this was what I should be doing, I removed my blazer, folded it inside-out and lay it over the seat, paused to look at him and smiled my best 'come hither' smile before I slowly hiked up my dress and painstakingly removed my heels, taking time to give him a long look at my legs.

"You smell sexy as hell" he said, and then offered in a halting voice "and your, your tits feel good enough to eat even under that top."

"Is that what you want to do Sweetie? Eat my tits?" I smiled serenely as I took both in hand and pushed them together despite that still they were covered by a bra and a blouse. He took a deep breath and swallowed, watching as I surveyed my chest and massaged my boobs, lapping my tongue in a serpentine curl.

I little by little unbuttoned my blouse to my navel. On a whim, I asked him, "does Diane strip for you, Sweetie? Or are you in a hurry usually?"

He chuckled, "you're both such naturals. That sexy gene. I wish I could bottle and sell it. Hell, I'd give my wife. . ." he started to say before he caught himself.

"No," he continued, "Diane just gets down to business. But you've got, I mean, you're so fucking hot you're worth every penny. Uh, four hundred" he blurted out, fishing for a number since I really couldn't help him here.

I have to admit, though guys can't wait to get their hands on my boobs, never before was a first date—the only thing I had to compare this to—so up front and honest about what he wanted. I decided to play the role to the hilt and just go for it, feeling as if my inner whore finally had awakened.

"Maybe we can do things differently, Sweetie. Why don't we can crawl into the back seat. I'll strip to my wet little panties for 500" I said, as if that was a god-awfully good deal. But I could see that he was about ready to burst, and that if I wanted, I could finish him in two minutes, most of that unzipping his fly and fishing out his cock that was obviously primed to erupt. "I can feel how wet they are just from thinking of licking that big stick of yours" I rolled my hips with my hand on my crotch, "My cunt's so slippery I can't wait."

"D..D..Done" he stuttered like a breathless auctioneer, a proper business deal finally having been transacted. He reached for his wallet and shakily pulled out five one-hundred dollar bills.

"Thank you Sweetie" I said as I took the money, pretended to massage my crotch with the bills and then stuffed them into my blazer.

"Oh god" he said as he watched me touching myself, his eyes glued to the darkness between my thighs, "you're so welcome. You're welcome. I just realized I don't know your name" he said.

Without missing a beat I said "Melody." Where that name came from I don't know (as my real name is Kristine Bellona). Maybe my inner whore had a name even I was previously unaware of.

He smiled and said, "oh my" as his hand tentatively made its way to my knee and slid up my inner thigh.

"Seems like you already have that down" I said as I playfully snapped my knees together on his hand. "Let's get into the back seat."

"Ok" he said, "but strip first" he said playfully, "I want to see that sexy ass crawl over my seats."

I smiled wide and reaching under my skirt rolled down my nylons. After I removed them I draped them over his shoulder. Still staring at the darkness in the space between my legs, he took the nylons in hand and, finding the crotch, pressed them against his nose, inhaling deeply and growling.

"Well. How's Melody's kitty" I asked, choking on the last word from my dry mouth. "Do you have something to drink, Sweetie" I asked, "I'm really need something to drink."

He reached into his glove box and retrieved a silver flask for me.

"You're not the guy who quenches his thirst on the job" I asked as I unscrewed the top, preparing myself for something wet but not particularly quenching.

He just smiled and raised his eyebrows as I tilted the flask and scotch ran down the back of my throat. It burned the whole way to my stomach as I choked slightly from it, replaced the lid and stretching across the front seat, rested it against his crotch.

Sensing that the time was growing later, I glanced behind the car and saw only darkness. I removed my blouse, then reached behind me and unfastened my bra, my boobs spilling out, my nipples dark pink and crinkled little punctuation marks upturned on my white flesh.

He whistled as he stared wide-eyed at my chest. "Oh my god. You are some hot babe" he said as he reached over and caressed his merchandise by lifting each one and feeling all around them like he was reading in Braille, "how big, I mean what size. .?"

I laughed, pausing to remember what it was called when a guy came on your neck: "big enough to wrap you up for a nice pearl necklace."

I reached over and pulled him across the front seat by his tie. One boob at a time, he took my stiff nipples into his mouth and rolled them between his lips and tongue with a surprisingly gentle touch. He rested his face on each, his five o'clock shadow rough to my soft skin. Finally, smiling to myself, I positioned his face in between and held him there as I heard him let out a low moan of approval. "C'mon, Sweetie" I said, "I'll bet you have a problem that needs attended to right about now. Slide the front seat forward so we have more room back there."

He reluctantly sat up and slid back across the seat, adjusting his cock in his pants before he finally sat back to watch me undress. I undid my skirt to reveal one of the dark thongs I wear under nylons and then climbed over the seats. He stopped me and held me there, one hand on my hip and the other exploring my backside, his fingers sliding up and down the string laying in the crack of my ass and curling underneath to my pussy. To my surprise, his fingers slipped inside the material and grazed the wet gap between my lips, slightly penetrating me as I involuntarily spread for him and sighed at his touch.

He growled as he released me and allowed me to climb into the back seat. Soon he followed and lie back against the door opposite me, his hand squeezing the outline of his cock through his pants.

I dropped one knee to the floor, the other still uncomfortably resting on the seat as I felt the cold air on my pussy now that I was spread open so far in the clumsy position. I unzipped him, and reaching through his fly unsnapped his boxer shorts and pulled out his dick, not too long but respectably thick. I was happy when I realized I could take it all into my mouth. It was warm and smelled of his cologne. The head was quite swollen and wet with leaked precum. I bent forward to take the tip into my mouth, swishing my tongue around and lapping at the viscous fluid as he let out a loud moan.

I repositioned my other knee onto the floor and knelt between his legs as I began to stroke him, one hand on his shaft and the other playing with his balls through the material of his pants. His balls felt large when I finally slipped my free hand into the gap of his fly and caressed them.

He moaned as I stroked and painstakingly tried to work up a mouthful of spit in my dry mouth. When I finally did I glided down the length of his shaft, sliding all of him into my throat, his engorged head not long enough to reach the very back of my throat. Each of his hands was frantically squeezing a boob, his thumbs flicking my nipples and arousing me, my pussy drenched and getting wetter.