The heatwave continued. In fact, it was too hot for clothing, but I was driving into the city that afternoon and modesty insisted that I had to wear something. In the end I settled for a light summer dress. The dress was flower-patterned, strapless and short, very feminine and quite revealing. I decided to dispense with a bra – fortunately I’ve got very firm breasts and a bra is not a necessity. I tend to wear one because my nipples are very sensitive and I love the touch of lace or silk against them. Normally I like to wear stockings and suspenders, but today I selected a pair of flimsy panties, something to keep me cool on the journey into the steamy city.
I was on the trail of a teenage runaway, eighteen year old Emma McManners. Emma was a regular at my ex-husband’s nightclub, the Ace of Hearts. I was in no mood to meet my ex, Tony Baresi, and I was releaved to discover that he was out of town for the day. At the club I talked with members of staff who were setting the tables for the evening’s entertainment. I got chatting with a muscle-bound croupier, a man who obviously worked out on a regular basis, and he hinted that he might have some information for me. We arranged to meet up again at 10 pm that evening.
If anything, the evening was even hotter and stickier than the day. I guess the buildings in the city had retained the afternoon heat and now they radiated that heat back at you making you perspire profusely, making your clothes stick to your skin. I stood at our rendezvous point, the corner of the main street and an alley and waited for my contact to emerge from the Ace of Hearts with perspiration shimmering between my breasts.
When the bodybuilder emerged, he glanced at me and said, “Not here; too public. We’ll talk in the alley.” So I followed him into a moonlit shadow cast by the nightclub.
We were in the alley, secluded, out of sight, out of earshot, when he leaned against the wall and leered, “I saw you giving me the eye this afternoon.” He winked, “So, you and me, babe, how about it?”
“If I gave you the eye I was only trying to capture your attention. I‘m here for information about Emma McManners, nothing else.”
“Don’t give me that.” He grabbed hold of my arm and before I knew what was happening, he spun me round and pushed me against the wall. Then he leaned against me, his considerable weight pinning me to the wall, my breasts rubbing against the coarse brickwork while his groin pressed against my buttocks.
I tried to struggle free, but he was too powerful for me. While his hands gripped me, he writhed against me, his lips seeking my lips as I turned my head away.
“Stop this!” I demanded, but my struggles and moans only seemed to excite him further. I was at his mercy and I was scared.
He spun me round again, to face him. And as his right hand went under my dress, I forced myself to think coolly. I waited for him to lose himself in his lust, then I brought my knee up into his groin. He grunted but didn’t flinch, so I kneed him a second time and this time there was a satisfying ‘crack’ as my knee connected with his balls. He released me and, panting with desperation, I ran down the alley, towards the main street and safety. However, as I ran, he reached out, grabbing and tearing my dress. I stumbled, ran on, then fell into the dust and dirt.
I was crying as I clambered to my feet, my legs turning to jelly in my anxiety. Although grimacing with pain, he caught up with me. He pushed me to the ground and I went sprawling. As I glanced up, casting a fearful eye over my shoulder, he looked down and grinned.
“Bitch!” He bent over and slapped me. Then, as he straightened, a man stepped out of the shadows. My mind froze, fearing that the bodybuilder had a companion. However, the second man, equally as tall and, if anything, even more powerfully built, produced a sap and bludgeoned my assailant to the ground. The bastard was out for the count; he wouldn’t bother me anymore.
I gasped in relief, my bright, moist eyes gazing at my rescuer. “Thank you,” I managed to mutter.
“Are you okay?” The man was built like a champion prize-fighter, but he had a soft, lilting voice. And, as he stepped out of the shadow, I realised that his blue eyes were full of compassion, that his rugged face was handsome in its concern.
“Yeah,” I managed to gasp, pushing myself to my feet. “I’m okay.”
My hands went to my dress, which was stained from the dust of the alley, and I realised the tear had exposed my right breast. The fabric was beyond repair and I had to hold the material in place to preserve my decency.
“Here,” my rescuer said, noticing my predicament, “take this.” He removed his dark blue blazer and draped it over my shoulders. Then he put his hand around my shoulders and led me to his car.
In his car, a sporty Triumph Stag, he offered me a flask of whisky. I drank from it thirstily and the alcohol steadied my nerves a little. I realised that my hands were still shaking and I felt cold, despite the jacket and the heat of the evening. But the whisky, and this man’s presence, helped to restore my equilibrium and while placing my head back against the car seat I started to relax.
“What’s your name?” the man asked. He took the whisky from my outstretched hand and sipped from the flask.
“Fay Arthur. I’m a private detective.”
“I’m P.J. Parker, P.J. to my friends, Nosy to my enemies and, guess what, I’m a P.I. too!”
My eyes widened at his words. I glanced over to him and smiled, “What a coincidence!”
Then I became conscious of his jacket and the reason I was wearing it. In a small voice I mumbled, “I don’t know how I can thank you.”
P.J. waved a large, dismissive hand. He shrugged a broad shoulder. “Don’t worry about it; I’m sure we’ll think of something.” Then he rubbed a thoughtful hand across his firm, square jaw. He eyed me quizzically. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for a teenage runaway, Emma McManners.”
“Snap!” P.J. clicked his fingers. “I’m looking for a teenager too, Sarah Castleton; have you heard of her?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Sarah was last seen at the Ace of Hearts.”
“Same as Emma.”
We stared at each other, then lapsed into thoughtful silence.
Eventually, P.J. said, “Maybe we should put our heads together; see what we’ve got and what we can come up with.”
“Good idea,” I smiled.
His face mirrored my smile and in his rugged features I saw a man I knew I could trust. “I cook a mean rump steak in oyster sauce washed down with a few Bloody Mary oyster shots; how do you fancy dinner at my place tomorrow night.”
“I’d love it,” I said, not needing to give the invitation a moment’s thought.
He nodded, satisfied with my reply.
I glanced at my knees; they were dirty, cut. I was in need of a bath, to wash the grime and sweat from my body and the memory of the bodybuilder from my mind.
“Eight o’clock suit you?” P.J. asked.
“Fine,” I replied.
I eased his jacket from my shoulders, revealing my naked breast. I noted that he was looking at my breast, admiring it as one admires a fine work of art. From feeling grubby and dirty and cheap in the alley, now I felt pride in my body and I allowed his gaze to linger before offering the jacket to him.
“Keep it,” P.J. said. “You need it. You can return it tomorrow.”
I wanted to thank him, but I didn’t know how. So I leaned across and kissed him on the cheek. Like his general demeanour, his cheek was rugged, covered in a day’s growth of beard. My lips lingered, maybe for longer than they needed to, then I jumped out of his car and drove home.
At home, I was in the bath, soaping myself, trying to relax. Normally when I haven’t got a date lined up I like to linger in the bath and allow my fingers to work their magic and bring me exquisite pleasure. I did caress my clit, but soon realised that I wasn’t in the mood for sex – the incident in the alley had upset me more than I first thought.
Naked, I reclined on my bed. I picked up a book, I was reading about Greek philosophers, trying to broaden my mind, but tonight I couldn’t concentrate. I felt agitated, restless. I found myself hoping that my assailant was feeling the same way and that his balls were hurting like hell.
I tried to sleep, but sleep wouldn’t come. I poured myself two fingers of whisky and sipped it while gazing at the flame red sky – tomorrow would be another scorcher.
The whisky did the trick because when I returned to my bed and placed my head on my pillow I was asleep in minutes. I tend to sleep with my arms and legs spread wide, like a starfish, and because it was so hot I slept on top of the duvet.
I’m not sure what time it was, but at some point during the night my bedside phone rang. I fumbled for the phone and mumbled, “Hello” then swept my hair from my still closed eyes.
“Hello, baby; how are you?”
I was still half-asleep and I didn’t recognise the voice. “Who is this?”
“So soon,” he laughed, “and you’ve already forgotten.”
I sat up in bed, blinking myself awake. “Mike?” I frowned. “Is that you?”
“Yeah, it’s me. I hope you don’t mind me calling you.”
“Mind, no not at all.” I was fully awake now recalling that twenty-four hours ago I’d met Mike in an elevator and he’d given me the most intense orgasm I’d ever experienced. My clit pulsed at the memory. I felt my nipples harden. Yet I knew nothing about this man. Indeed, our sex had been spontaneous and in time spent together we’d only known each other for a matter of minutes. But his handsome looks came through in his educated voice and the memory of our loving banished the nightmare of the early evening and made me hot. “How did you get my number?” I asked.
“Ah-ha, that would be telling!” he said jovially. Then, more seriously, “You didn’t tell me you’re a private eye.”
“Yeah, I am,” I smiled into my phone. “What do you do for a living?”
“I’m in business,” he said vaguely.
I thought about his reply for few seconds then asked, “Where are you, do you want to meet up?”
“I’m two hundred miles away. Away, on business.”
I sighed with disappointment. It would have been good to have felt Mike in my arms tonight. I needed him tonight. I needed him to show me that not all men are bastards.
We were silent, gathering our thoughts. Then Mike asked, “What are you doing now?”
“Talking to you.”
“Funny girl,” he chided. Then, “Where are you?”
“On my bed.”
“What are you wearing?”
“Nothing, I always sleep naked.”
“Mmm,” he sighed. “I wish I was with you.”
“Yeah,” I sighed in turn. “Me too, babe.”
“Running my fingers through your hair.”
I closed my eyes and leaned into my pillow. “Yeah.”
“Kissing your sweet lips.”
“Running my tongue along the nape of your neck and down to the valley of your breasts.” He paused, then added, “I’ve made love to you, but I haven’t seen your breasts.”
“Next time we meet, darling, you’ll see them.”
“They’re round and firm. My areolae are dark and my nipples are very sensitive. They’re erect now, thinking of you.”
He grunted and I sensed that he was naked too.
“Are you still there?” I asked when the line went quiet.
“Yeah, still here.” The line went quiet again, then he sighed, “I’m horny, babe. I’d like to come.”
I sighed and felt my clit tingle at his words. “Can I help you come?”
“Have you got a vibrator?”
“I’d like to hear you masturbate. No words, just put your phone on speaker and pleasure yourself; I want to hear your sighs and moans.”
I flicked a switch and set my phone to speaker. Then I leaned over my bed and removed my vibrator from a bedside drawer. I placed the vibrator to my lips and frowned, my expression thoughtful. “I’d love to help you, Mike, but someone has got to turn me on before I masturbate.”
“Don’t I turn you on?”
“Yeah,” I admitted, “you do.”
“Well, think about me; think about us and what we’ll do when we next meet up.”
I smiled at the phone. Then I eased my head back on to my pillow. I set the vibrator on ‘low’ – I wanted to take my time and enjoy our long-distance lovemaking – closed my eyes and thought of Mike and the way he’d held me and made love to me in the elevator. God, had I really thrown myself at him in such a wonton fashion? Had I really offered myself to a total stranger? Yes, I had. I suppose the combination of his stunning looks and an evening spent watching my ex fuck his current lover had taken me to the point of sexual abandon. And when Mike then caressed me and entered me I discovered a paradise I thought I knew so well simply to realise that I’d only glimpsed it before. I moaned softly at the memory then ran the tip of the vibrator around my areolae.
As I mentioned before, my nipples are very sensitive. In fact, they are hot-wired to my clit and any stimulation around my nipples tends to transfer itself to my clit and make me very wet. I love a man who takes his time with my nipples, who sucks them and licks them, who nibbles them gently with his teeth. I thought of Mike sucking my nipples and my back arched gently on the bed, as though offering my tits to him. I moaned into the phone and he grunted his approval.
My nipples were standing proud now, like two dark thimbles. As I trailed the vibrator down to my pubis my left hand teased those thimbles and in my mind’s eye I could see Mike erect, his penis standing proud against the taut muscles of his abdomen. My thighs parted at the image, as though inviting him into my pleasure hole.
The vibrator traced a line around the neatly shaved hairs of my pubis. Then it caressed my inner-thighs before resting against my labia. I ran the vibrator over my labia while glancing down, noting that my lower lips were opening and that my clitoris was now descended and longing to be touched. I whimpered into the phone, a cry that begged Mike to lick me, to finger me, but he was so far away and we could only take pleasure from each other’s moans as our desire built and our bodies moved with lust.
The vibrator touched my clitoris and I broke my vow of silence. I cried, “Oh, Mike, oh fuck!”
Mike replied with a deeper groan and I sensed that he was moving towards climax. Slow down, baby, let’s make this last, wait for me, let’s come together.
I would have lingered over my clit for much longer, until my juices were soaking into my duvet, but I wanted to come with Mike, I wanted us to come together. So I eased the tip of my vibrator into my honey hole then shuddered and gasped as I took its full length. I turned the dial up to maximum and my hips started to rotate as my vaginal walls gripped my replica penis.
Mike’s grunts were getting louder and more frequent. He was about to come. I wasn’t ready. I needed more time. Then an image of P.J. entered my mind. Then Mike, his hard cock thrusting into my wet vagina, then P.J., then the two of them taking me at the same time. The images became crazy, a blur of sensuality, I was gasping, crying with lust, moaning loudly into the phone. I felt P.J.’s large hands all over me. I felt him inside me. Mike was caressing my breasts. He was sucking my nipples. I sat astride one of them while the other prepared to take me from behind. Then I came, I’m not sure which one of them produced the orgasm, but it was intense. My vaginal walls contracted and I feared that I was going to shatter the vibrator. Then the vibrator hit my g-spot and my love juice squirted on to my duvet. I cried out at that point, a cry both plaintive and joyous, plaintive because I wanted to make the moment last forever, joyous because the orgasm was so intense, so powerful, so strong. My left hand gripped the duvet as wave after wave swept over me. I was so caught up in the intensity of my orgasm that I was only dimly aware of Mike groaning into his own climax. I felt a little guilty about that. Then I fell back on to my pillow, my duvet soaked in my sweat and my juices, my breasts glistening with perspiration, my gasps gradually subsiding as my breathing returned to normal and reality reasserted itself.
“Fuck,” Mike groaned, “that was good.”
“Yeah,” I gasped. “We’ve got to get it on again, for real.”
“Soon, babe,” he promised me, “soon.”
Story Copyright © 2014 Abigail Summer. All rights reserved.