The Mending of Broken Heartsbypseudonym2005©
On this particular morning of mornings, however, there was a small wrinkle in the schedule: her boyfriend, Peter, slept at her place the previous evening and was now trying to coax her into sex as she scurried around the bedroom getting ready.
"We didn't do it last night," he said in his pouty little boy voice. "You need to make it up to me."
Andrea stopped and fixed him with a pointed stare. "We didn't do it last night, Peter, because you drank too much and passed out. It certainly wasn't from a lack of excitement on my part. I finished myself off while you slept, thank you very much."
It was fun to watch Peter's eyes bug out. "You masturbated?" he asked incredulously.
Andrea giggled. "A girl has needs," she told him.
And so it went for several minutes before Peter finally gave up and admitted it was his fault in the first place, but not before she promised there would be ample opportunity to make up for lost time when he got back. He was leaving for a business trip later that afternoon and would be gone for several days.
In the end she was only set back a few minutes, which did not matter as she had no engagements before her first class began at eight forty-five, and which still gave her more than thirty minutes to get her usual daily preparation items out of the way once she finally got to her desk.
It was, however, almost ten thirty (fifteen minutes into fourth period) before she had the opportunity to really talk with any of her colleagues in the athletic department offices: the daily prep took her right up to eight forty-five and was followed by back-to-back physical education classes, the first with a group of sophomores during second period and the second during third period with a gaggle of freshmen.
Janice Ledmeyer was a very good friend of Andrea's and the Athletic Coordinator for the school, which was a really fancy way of saying she was the department receptionist and personal assistant to the Athletic Director. Janice was a pretty young woman in a wholesome, librarian-ish kind of way with long brunette hair tied in a tight bun and brown eyes framed by nondescript wire-rim glasses. She was a few years younger than Andrea.
"How was the play last night?" Janice asked when she noticed Andrea was not too busy. They were the only ones in the office at the moment, which was always exciting as they could engage in a little unfiltered girl talk.
Andrea grinned and clapped her hands together. "It was incredible!" she exclaimed, because it had truly been so. It was the first time she had been to a professional production in a major theater in what seemed like forever and she had been hearing great things about Wicked for a long time. "I'm so glad Mike was able to get tickets."
Mike Gregory was the boy's walk-on soccer coach at West Mountain (Andrea coached the girl's team). He was one of her very best friends and a truly great guy, and she thought very highly and always spoke very highly of him.
"Mike always comes through," Janice said with a sigh.
"He does," Andrea agreed.
Janice sighed again. "If only Mike were single . . ." she said longingly.
Andrea laughed. "Don't you have some emails to go through, Janice," she said with a smile and a playful reproach. It was well-known around the office that Mike had a long-term girlfriend, a beautiful woman named Hayden, whom Andrea also knew and liked. Mike was considered quite the catch, it seemed, by many of the females in the West Mountain athletic department.
It was also known around the office that Mike and Andrea had never known each other when both were single: Mike had been with a woman when they first met, then Andrea met a man, then Mike's relationship ended, then Mike had met Hayden, then Andrea's relationship ended, then Andrea met Peter, which left them both coupled at the current moment. There were certain schools of thought (Janice included, which meant Andrea heard more about it then she cared to) that considered them a good match, and while Andrea sometimes wondered what it would be like to be with Mike, both romantically and sexually, they were now in good relationships with mutual friends, which meant such thoughts were nothing more than innocent passing fancies.
The door to the athletic department offices opened then and a young man entered. He was exceptionally attractive for a high school kid and Andrea caught herself staring before she quickly looked away. He was tall, well above six feet, with a lean build, straight black hair that flopped about his face and bright blue eyes.
"Can I help you?" Janice asked with a pleasant smile as he stopped at the front of her desk, which was the first desk arrived at through the door to the offices.
"I'm here to see Mister Kim," the boy replied. Jeong Kim was the Athletic Director of the school.
Janice looked down at her clipboard. "And you are . . .?"
"Jack Everman, ma'am," he said. "I'm a new student."
Janice nodded. "One moment, please," she said as she picked up the phone, which also served as an intercom between Janice and Jeong (pronounced John), although everyone in the department just called him Mister Kim. "Jack Everman to see you, sir . . . yes . . . yes . . . of course, sir." She looked up at him with another smile. "He's ready to see you, Jack. I'm Janice, by the way. Welcome to West Mountain."
The boy put out his hand and Janice took it. "Nice to meet you, Janice," he said. "How do I get to his office?"
Janice laughed. "Sorry," she told him. "It's around the corner to the right."
"Thank you," the boy said, and then he was gone.
Janice looked back at Andrea with a wicked little grin. "Gorgeous," she said with more fervor than one might have expected.
"He's cute," Andrea agreed.
"With him and Mike around it'd be tough to get any work done," Janice giggled. "I'd constantly be running off to the bathroom to splash some water on my face."
Andrea giggled right back, sighed once, and the two young women went back to their work in silence. It was the sound of the intercom on the phone a few minutes later that broke them both out of their productivity, when the electronic version of the voice of Mister Kim rang out loudly.
"Miss Ledmeyer," the man said from inside the confines of his office, which he rarely left, "which students do we have in the building right now?"
Janice rolled her eyes. "Well, sir," she replied, "a few football players are in the weight room, I think. Chase Marion is in the supply room printing off flyers for distribution." She thought for a moment, then added, "Oh, and Abigail Jones is visiting with Harriet."
"Thank you," the voice of the athletic director answered without much genuine thanks in his voice. He was not the nicest man in the world, to be honest, but in fairness he was very good and very productive at his job.
Janice turned to look at Andrea again. "It would make life a lot more enjoyable if the man cracked a joke once in a while, or just even smiled."
Andrea shrugged. "It's not so bad, is it?" she asked. "He's a good man at the core."
"True," Janice agreed, then she grinned again. "I need to find a man with a good . . . core. Good cores are so satisfying, wouldn't you agree?"
Andrea laughed. "You are way too dirty to be in the field of education, Janice. These poor high school boys have no idea what kind of wicked little slut you are under your wholesome exterior."
"I know," the other woman whispered wickedly. "Their loss!"
"Did you say that Chase Marion is downstairs?" Andrea asked, changing the subject.
"She was a few minutes ago, as far as I know."
Andrea rose to her feet. "I haven't seen her in a while," she said as she headed for the door. "Back in a bit."
Chase Marion was one of Andrea's former players. She was a senior at the school, but had stopped playing soccer a year earlier. It had been a social thing for her mostly as she had not been very good (several of her close friends were still on the varsity team), so her decision to stop playing after a sophomore season spent on the junior varsity team had not come as a big surprise. Still, she was a good girl whom Andrea liked very much.
She found Chase in the athletic department copy room, which housed a couple of Xerox machines, a few file cabinets and some supply shelves. The girl was at one of the copiers rattling off what seemed to be a great deal of flyers.
"Hi there," Andrea said with a smile.
Chase looked around and her face broke into a happy grin. "Andrea!" the girl exclaimed and bounced over to give her old coach a big hug.
Andrea did not care to be called coach. She was a personable person and preferred deeper connections with her players, and so always let them address her by name. It also worked well for when the players moved on, as Chase had done.
"How are you, Chase?" Andrea asked as she disengaged.
A frown flickered across the girl's face before the smile returned. "Fine, thanks," she answered, although that response would not sate Andrea.
"I saw that frown," she asked the girl with concern in her voice. "You know you can always talk to me."
Chase shrugged and heaved out a sigh. "Just boy stuff," she admitted. "It's a long story . . ."
". . . and you're busy with the flyers and this is not really the place," Andrea finished, then she smiled. "I'll tell you what. Are you free seventh period today? I'll take you off-campus. We can go get some coffee and talk for a bit."
Chase thought about it, then her eyes lit up. "Seventh I have advanced math," she said, "but we break on Fridays, so I'm free!"
"Great!" Andrea said. "Meet me in the parking lot at the start of the period, ok?"
Chase was beaming. Obviously, just talking about her problems with someone objective and unbiased whose opinion she valued would do her some significant good: it already looked like a weight was off her shoulders and Andrea felt really good about that.
"Thank you, Andrea," the girl said with sincerest gratitude as she leaned in for another hug.
Andrea smiled and hugged her back, and then turned and walked out of the room . . . and thumped right into a strong male chest. It took a moment for her to realize what had happened before she looked up into a pair of striking gray eyes, light like the clouds of an overcast day.
"Hi coach," said Mike Gregory with an easy smile as his hands left her shoulders. She had not even noticed them there, nor that they caught her to keep her from falling.
"Mike," Andrea breathed. It was early for him to be at the school and unusual for her to see him when he was; most often their schedules ran in opposite circles.
"The amount of goodness you bring to this place amazes me sometimes," he told her, nodding towards the copy room.
She realized he must have heard her exchange with Chase. "Yes, well," she murmured, "it's just part of the job, really."
"Not for everyone," he replied.
Andrea smiled bashfully. She knew enough of his faces to know that the face he was making was his serious one and that his compliment was very truly meant. She did not react well to such blatant flattery (it embarrassed her too much) and tried, therefore, to change the subject.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, quicker and with more vehemence than she had wanted.
He grinned. "I have my quarterly with Kim and Weston in a few minutes," he said cheerfully. "I would've mentioned it last night, but I wanted to surprise you today with my presence. I know how boring it gets around here without me. Good times last night by the way, huh?"
Andrea said, "Very fun. You know, we always say it and we said it last night a few different times, but we need to see each other more often."
"Agreed, but handle that on your end and talk to your man. He's the one who's always busy. Didn't he just leave town again? We're lucky we squeezed last night in."
He was grinning and playing around, and so she punched him teasingly in the shoulder and played right back. "I'm sorry," she said sweetly, "but your lady travels way more than my man does. In fact, if memory serves she left this morning, right? Peter left this afternoon. Ha!"
Mike considered. "True," he admitted, then grinned and added, "but we're the ones who got tickets for the show last night. What have you done for us lately?"
Andrea's eyes narrowed. Despite her outwardly displeased expression, she loved teasing and playing and flirting with Mike. He was so much fun to talk to, so easy-going, and there were no issues with mixed signals or whatever. She knew, as did he, that the two of them were very honest and faithful people who would not cheat on their significant others.
"Fine," she announced loftily. "The next dinner out will be our arrangement. Think you can handle it?" The last statement was one of her catch-phrases.
"Not much I can't handle," he replied, the same response he always gave; it was kind of an inside joke between them.
"Great," Andrea Tinsley answered with her head held high, and she swept past him then, bumping pointedly into his shoulder as she did so, and strolled off down the hallway with the challenge in her steps, loving the fact that he was following her with his eyes, but more so the fact that he would most certainly be smiling.
* * *
Room Three Hundred Twelve on the twenty-fifth floor of the Four Seasons Hotel in Las Vegas was a lavish royal penthouse suite that cost several thousand per night at certain times of the year. It was finely decorated and extremely spacious with a wet bar, plasma television, golden fixtures, a plush leather couch with matching chairs surrounding an all-glass coffee table in the main room and an excessively comfortable super-king-size bed in the bedroom. Sheiks and high-roller whales and celebrities were often its inhabitants.
The suite was also granted on rare occasion and when available, however, to guests with particularly good connections to hotel management and was a favorite, therefore, of Peter McFadden, whose ties to the entertainment industry (he was a fairly well-regarded commercial actor) often provided him access to things otherwise unavailable.
And when he required specific amounts of discretion as he did on this particular afternoon, the room was the perfect place for him to spend some time.
"You have until five o'clock," his agent Cody Bedford had explained thirty minutes earlier. It had at that point been twenty minutes to twelve noon. "They have some big-ticket foreign multi-millionaire arriving after seven and they'll have to clean the place up."
Peter grinned. He would have almost five hours, which was more than enough time. Too much time, actually, as his own flight back into Los Angeles (he was on the back-end of a multi-day business trip) would depart the Vegas airport at just after five. He would have to be out of there by four thirty at the latest.
He pushed his key through the swipe strip and watched the green light flare, and opened the door. The room beyond was dark, very dark, and as he stepped inside and the door closed behind him, it plunged even deeper into blackness. The curtains were drawn and there was very little light to be found within. There was trickle of light coming through the curtains and he moved to open them, but froze instantly when a quiet feminine voice stopped him cold.
"You're late," the voice said with great displeasure and a dim light clicked on suddenly.
Peter grinned. "Am I?" he asked without regret of any kind. He turned to look at the figure seated in the chair in the corner of the room. "Good. I like you better when you're pissed off."
Hayden Cross was a vision of loveliness despite being seated and despite the dark, which only meant it was difficult to admire her full and breathtaking figure. Her hair was long and blonde and beautiful and her eyes were bright blue conduits of raw sexuality. Her body was wickedly hot, tall and willowy and curvy in key spots. She was one of the most attractive women Peter had ever known.
She was wearing very little: her shirt was two sizes too small (it was clear she was not wearing a bra) and her shorts were of the very short variety, ultra-tight and seemingly sprayed on. Her large breasts stretched the fabric of the shirt near to the breaking point, while her long and graceful legs easily showing their excellence as stretched out before her, which coupled with her bounty of golden hair and gorgeous model face only made her more delectable.
The battle for dominance in their adulterous relationship had long been playfully ferocious and Peter currently had the upper hand. He flaunted his position of power by walking unhurriedly to the bed.
"I'm going to need you to come help me with something," he asked coolly.
Her eyes narrowed. "Proceed," she told him.
Peter reached into his pants and pushed his semi-hard cock out through the zipper slit. "This needs to be taken care of," he said.
He wondered if the hot slut would obey his command without any other talk: it was obvious Hayden was a little pissed off, but it was also clear that she was horny, which was a pleasant side effect of her having waited for him for more than thirty minutes (his flight from the east coast had been an hour behind schedule).
The answer pleased him greatly.
As he situated himself on the bed, the statuesque blonde rose from her chair, sidled over and onto him and squished her massive and pliant breasts hard into his chest. Hayden was most definitely horny, he thought as she forced her lips onto his for a searing kiss. She growled her desire into his mouth and wrapped her arms around him.
"Touch me," she ordered in a husky whisper.
Peter brought his hands up to grope her generous breasts. They were magnificent and he could not wait to get her shirt off and break away from her delicious lips (if only for a moment) to view them in all their glory.
And so he took control again as he was apt to do.
He rolled her over and pinned her beneath him. He broke the kiss, but kept his face only inches above her so he could stare down with great intensity into her lust-laden eyes and gauge her reaction to his next maneuver. And then and only then, when she was helpless and restless beneath him, eagerly anticipating what he was planning, only then did his hand snake between them and yank her shirt upward until it passed over her breasts. Exposed, the luscious mounds were easy targets: he pinched and tweaked the nipples as he shoved his tongue down her throat.
Hayden was overwhelmed and squealed into his mouth.
Keeping her dramatically and passionately off-balance, Peter broke the kiss again and latched his mouth like a vampire upon her neck, only instead of biting he nibbled and licked the sensitive skin of that place.
"Oh my," the woman purred as he peppered her neck and collarbone with the lightest of licks and kisses. His left hand never stopped pawing at her full breasts. "Don't stop."
Which meant it was time to move lower. Peter dipped down over the upper swell of her bosom, forging a path of lazy pleasure as he worshipped her body with his mouth. Her skin was tanned and soft and smooth and flawless. And then his mouth went lower still into the deep valley between her luscious peaks, the flat of his tongue widening to cover as much area as possible.
It was one of his favorite things to do: nuzzle his face in between a pair of exquisite breasts. His girlfriend, Andrea, had incredible tits and he could remember several times just lounging with his face between them on lazy weekend mornings or afternoons, even falling asleep there. Andrea's tits were built for comfort, full and round and natural, perfect for suckling for hours.
Hayden's tits, on the other hand, were made to be pawed and groped and pinched, and fucked. The breasts were similar in size and shape to Andrea's, although these were enhanced to a small degree. They were wonderful tits made wonder-fuller by the miracle of modern science.