What Was Wrong With Mrs. Thompson?

Copyright © 2007 by Crystal Barela

In the two weeks I’ve been working as Mrs. Thompson’s live-in nanny, she almost always wears high heels. High heels and nothing else.

***

We were late. Benny had to be at his Mommy and Me class at 5:30 and it was quarter after. We still had to ride up the elevator, get into the apartment and change him into the gym outfit Mrs. Thompson had lain out for him that morning. After which, we had to hop in a taxi and pray there was no rush hour traffic on the Upper East Side.

“Run!” I ordered as I opened the door pushing Benny’s little hiney toward his bedroom.

“Cindy, darling!”

I froze. It was Mrs. Thompson. She was naked. Again! I wasn’t sure how to handle this. I had never lived with a nudist before. She finished sorting the bills, letters and ads into neat piles, and turned to face me.

“What are you doing here?”

She raised a brow at my tone, settling her hands on her full hips.

“I mean, I thought we were meeting at class?”

“I was able to leave the office early,” she told me. “I thought I’d ride with you two.” She knelt and held out her arms. Benny came tearing down the hall and into her hug with a giggle. How she didn’t topple over in those heels, I’ll never know.

“Gives me a few extra minutes, with Peanut, here.” Mrs. Thompson wrinkled her nose at him, and he wrinkled back. She stood with him in her arms.

“Well, Peanut has dressed himself,” I said reaching for her child. “You on the other hand, need to scoot!”

I tried not to watch as she turned to go, but watching her go was one of the best parts of my day.

***

I leaned back against the redwood paneling of the elevator wall and closed my eyes. The ding of the elevator car passing each floor accompanied my thoughts on the ride to the penthouse. What would it be like to have this much money? I laughed at myself. Dina, whom I had just had one too many cocktails with, thought it was appalling. All of that money for one family.

Personally, I was impressed. All of those hours at the office.

I put my key in the lock. It wasn’t like it was given to her.

My mouth went dry and my pussy nearly wet itself. Mrs. Thompson was on the couch. One leg tossed casually over the arm, the other pulled up, heel hooked on the edge of the seat. She was leaning over her knee squinting at her toes as she applied a bright red lacquer. Her bush was open and winking at me from across the room.

“Cindy, thank God you’re here!” She gestured for me to come over. I set my bag on the side table and did so hesitantly. I couldn’t take my drunken eyes away from her snatch.

“Cindy?”

The heat of embarrassment climbing my neck and cheeks. I met her knowing eyes.

“Yes, Mrs. Thompson?”

“Could you be a dear and paint my toes for me? I can’t see a damn thing.”

“I’ve had a couple of drinks. I’m not so sure…”

“You can’t be any worse than me!” she laughed, patting the sofa next to her. “I really need to stop fighting vanity and get glasses.”

“Women with glasses are sexy.” I could have cut off my tongue, but her delighted laughter warmed me. I took off my jacket and took a seat on the plush red leather couch at her feet.
Mrs. Thompson set her feet in my lap and felt my pulse jump. I licked my lips trying to think of a good topic of conversation; something that wouldn’t remind me of her beautiful pussy a legs length away from me.

“When is Mr. Thompson due home?”

She frowned, her face tightening.

“Two weeks, darling.”

I picked up the bottle of polish. Wicked Heat was the color. I swallowed hard and removed the brush.

“This will go nice with your heels,” I told her dragging the brush along her big toenail, then the next.

“Thank you, Cindy. It’s so important to look pretty,” she whispered.

I kept my eyes on her toes. Her feet were smooth and soft. Why, with all her gobs of money, didn’t she go to a manicurist? I wasn’t hired to do her nails! I wasn’t supposed to sit on her coach with her naked ass sliding against the leather. I was supposed to care for Benny!

“Did Benny go down easy?”

She smiled, her face softening.

“Yeah. We went to the Circus today to see the elephants.”

I moved to the next foot.

“He was all tuckered out.”

“He does love the animals,” I smiled, remembering his attachment to the neighbor’s black lab.

“Could you massage my calves, darling?”

Massage! She had to be kidding. I put the cap on the polish and stared at her feet.

“Isn’t it fun to have a girlfriend?” she said.

I took the bottle of lotion from her hands and poured out the floral fantasy into my hands.

Girlfriend.

My fingers circled her ankles and slid up the gentle swell of her legs. Her eyes shut, her lips
widened into a satisfied smile. I pulled my fingers down the back of her calves, sinking my fingers into the taught muscles. She moaned low in her throat and I froze.

Mrs. Thompson’s eyes opened dark with need.

“Is Dina your lover, Cindy?”

I dropped her feet onto the sofa and stood up, clearing my throat.

“Good night, Mrs. Thompson.”

“Call me Joanna!” she called as I hurried to my room.

***

The sound of my vibrator sounded incredibly loud in the quiet of my bedroom.

I heard the sound of Mrs. Thompson’s heels and my eyes flew to door.

I slammed my eight incher into my pussy. I didn’t care if she heard me. Go ahead and listen!
I imagined her standing just outside the oak door, ear pressed against the hard wood.

“Darling!” she cooed, putting a finger in her mouth. She licked it from end to end, then the second, wetting them so that she could pump them into her pussy while she listened.

I dug my heels into the mattress and grabbed my breast in my hand, twisting the nipple. It was her fault. She was so fucking hot. I bit my lip, fighting back moans. I could see her Wicked Heat nails covered in her juices.

“You make me so wet, darling!”

I began to chant her name under my breath. I brought my hand still scented with the flowers of her lotion up to my nose and came in a gush, my muscles clamping down on my vibrator, her eyes above me in my mind.

***

“She was on the toilet!”

“No way!” Dina giggled, leaning back in her chair.

“Yes, the door was open and she was reading the comics!” I could still see Mrs. Thompson sitting on the pot. At least there had been no heels.

“What are you gonna do?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well she’s obviously into you.”

I snorted and waived at the waiter for the check.

“She’s married, Dina!”

“That doesn’t mean anything!” She took my hand in hers and met my eyes. “He’s never home.”

“Well, not after today.” I said tossing her hand away. Mrs. Thompson had been nearly dancing around the apartment this morning with the thought of her husband’s return. She was making a very private dinner and that was why I had the night off and Benny was at Gran’s.

***

I opened the door cautiously and listened. I was met by silence and the heady scent of lemon and beeswax. The housekeepers had been scrubbing like mad for Mr. Thompson’s arrival.

I shut the door carefully behind me and tip-toed down the hall toward my room.

“Cindy!”

Mrs. Thompson called from the opposite direction. Shit! I turned around cursing.

A light was coming from under the office door.

“I’m sorry Mrs. Thompson,” I said coming into her office. “I didn’t want to interrupt anything.” I glanced around the room. There was no sign of her husband.

“No, darling,” she was sitting at her desk, papers strewn out in front of her. Her long blond hair was twisted on top of her head, a pencil holding it in place. Red framed glasses with a rhinestone at each corner were perched on the end of her nose.

“Jason couldn’t make it home this week.”

I didn’t know what to say. This morning, there had been florists decorating and chefs cooking. It had been like the next coming.

“Your glasses look pretty, Mrs. Thompson.”

She smiled, her eyes turning up at the corners. My knees went weak.

“Can I speak with you?” I asked, taking a seat in the wingback chair in front of the desk.

“Cindy,” she scolded. “I’ve asked you to call me Joanna.”

Yes, she had asked, but I had tried to keep our relationship professional with the use of her formal name. It also reminded me that she was married and straight.

“Would you like a drink?” Not waiting for an answer, she walked over to the sideboard and the decanter, pouring scotch into two glasses. The curve of her spine was an elegant S leading straight to her ass. From photos I had seen, her curves had been accented by her pregnancy with Benjamin; her ass a full round globe, begging to be caressed.

I cleared my throat and shifted on the chair. “Mrs. Thompson?”

“Yes, darling?” She handed me the drink and sat down on the edge of the desk in front of me.

“Mrs. Thompson, could I ask you a favor?” Heat colored my cheeks. I took a sip of my drink, welcoming the burn.

“Anything, sweetie,” she said putting her hand on my knee. She gave it a soft squeeze.

“Could you please wear a robe when you walk around the house?”

She looked hurt.

“I thought you liked my body?” she pouted. She leaned close enough for me to see the specks of green in the brown of her eyes. I closed my eyes. Her hand slid between my legs and parted them. She leaned her body between my knees.

“I thought you enjoyed watching me?” she whispered huskily.

I was at a loss for words. My mind went fuzzy with desire as she crawled up on the chair with me, straddling my lap, her bush rubbing against the zipper of my jeans. It felt like I was beneath my sheets, living out one of my masturbation fantasies. She pulled the pencil from her hair and tossed it to the floor with a shake of her head. Soft golden hair fell around us in a cloud.

“Please, darling,” Mrs. Thompson begged softly. “Touch me.” She offered her breast to me like a piece of fruit. It was firm and ripe, her nipple a dark circle of desire needing attention. She was grinding herself against the denim covering my pussy.

My panties were soaked with my need. I am sure she could smell my sex, engorged with want, but I hesitated; I needed this job.

“Do you want me to fire you?” she asked, as if reading my mind. I laughed softly to myself, my hands itching to feel her skin. My tongue was salivating, wanting to take in the hard nub.

“This is sexual harassment.” I said, but found myself leaning into her body.

“Is it?” Mrs. Thompson took my head in her hands and leading me to her nipple. I took the taut cherry between my lips and let my tongue play with its rough hardness. Her skin smelled of Chanel No. 5 and the cigarettes she smoked when she thought we weren’t looking. She moaned. I suckled greedily, my fingers kneading her full hips. She twisted my dark hair into her hands and used it as a rein, directing my lips from one tit to the other.

Her other hand was busy pulling at the snap of my jeans and dragging down my zipper. “Cindy, darling,” she crooned, her well-manicured fingers sliding beneath my panties. “Do you know how often I have thought of fucking you?” Her fingers slipped into my folds finding my sex dripping. She stroked softly as I moaned, paralyzed by the thought that I might wake up.

Mrs. Thompson smiled and brought her sticky fingers to her mouth. She made a show of licking them, sucking every drop of my cunt juice from her fingertips.

“Mrs. Thompson, I…”

“Call me Joanna,” she suggested, leaning into me and nuzzling my neck. Her long golden hair brushed against my cheek as her tongue traced the circumference of my ear. My breathing was harsh to my ears. This was crazy.

“Joanna…your son…”

“Is at my mom’s.” She found the hem of my T-shirt and tugged at it impatiently. She leaned back so that I could lift my arms, and pulled the shirt over my head. She smiled in delight as my love buds came into view.

“Perfect,” she whispered tracing their shape with her fingers. Joanna circled my nubs, watching them harden to tight little knots. She laughed, tracing where her hands hand been.

“So small and firm,” she mumbled, tugging them with her teeth. My hips jumped and my pussy rose from the chair seeking hers.

“That’s right, sweetie.” She slid down my thighs, kissing the trembling muscles of my belly and settled on the floor. She knelt between my legs, her eyes greedy with need. “Lift your hips, darling.”

“But Mr. Thompson…”

“Is out of town. Now lift your hips!” she ordered.

I did, and she yanked my jeans and panties down in one deft movement. Her hands caressed the top of my thighs and she pushed against my knees with her shoulders.

“Spread your legs, love.”

My knees fell open, my hot fuck hole looking her in the face. Her hands explored the smooth skin, rubbing and stroking, my juices dribbling onto the fine leather of the chair. She laughed, caught my wetness and rubbed it into my clit in sweeping circles. I cursed in pleasure, my eyes closing as the hard little button of my clit rose from under its hood.

“Beautiful, darling.” Joanna’s fingers slid into my hole, massaging my walls as her thumb played with my wet pearl. “Tell me what you want, darling. Tell mommy what turns you on.”

“Lick me…” I moaned.

My toes were first to be sampled. Joanna licked between them and around them, pulling each one into her mouth in turn. I writhed on the chair, gasping and giggling uncontrollably. She massaged my calves, and her tongue found the crease behind my knee. I shuddered. She stole up to my thighs, nibbling and biting before kissing away the sting.

Joanna pillaged my asshole; her tongue bouncing against the entrance like it was a trampoline. She licked from one hole to the other, her tongue wide and flat. She lapped at the skin surrounding my clit and blew on it gently, watching it quiver and my thighs tense. My eager hands pushed her head towards my clit, my hips rising to meet her face. She threw my legs over her shoulders and latched onto me.

My air was cut off as her hand covered my mouth to muffle my scream. She ate greedily. She was at the banquet of my ripe orchard, sampling all. She swirled and swam until my come poured down her throat like a fine wine.

***

The next morning I woke in my small bedroom and stared at the ceiling, convinced I had dreamed the entire incident. I put on my robe, walked down the hall to the bathroom, and hung the robe on the back of the door as always. When I faced myself in the mirror I noticed little bite marks dotted my thighs. I turned and looked over my shoulder. Scratches reddened my ass.

It had been real. I stepped beneath the spray and smiled.

I walked out of the shower and straight into Ben, who was sitting outside the door flipping through a book.

“Heya, sweetie.” I knelt down and picked him up, bringing the book with me. “When did you get home?” I could hear Joanna’s mother talking with her in the dining room. There voices were raised.

“We’ve gotta get you ready for the zoo.”

Benny bounced excitedly in my arms.

***

“I’m going to tag along,” Joanna said.

I was filling the backpack in the kitchen. I looked over my shoulder and nearly rolled my eyes. She had dressed for the occasion in what I liked to call her hooker outfit; a black mini-skirt so short that it could have been a belt, and a red sequined tube top.

Strangely enough, she sometimes wore this little number to the office. Joanna owned her own business. These trashy little ensembles were quite popular with the folks in the East Village. Not to mention Piccadilly in London and St. Germaine in Paris.

“Sure, Mrs. Thompson,” I said, putting the backpack over my shoulder.

I spent the ride down in the elevator holding Ben’s hand and trying to focus on the floor numbers. I would not stare at her cleavage. This wasn’t so for the doorman in the lobby whose eyes never rose to eye level.

Admittedly, getting a taxi was pretty easy with Joanna along. Most days I would fight with my fellow New Yorkers for the streaks of yellow shooting down the street. Having a toddler and backpack in tow made it difficult to move quickly. But scantly clad, now that got the cabbies’ attention.

We arrived at Central Park in a few minutes. As soon as we were through the gates of the zoo, Ben ran for the seal exhibit in the park’s central courtyard. We were there just in time for the seal feeding.

“You look hot.” Joanna observed. It was a typical August day in NY – humid and sticky. “Why don’t you wear some of the clothing I gave you?”

As a member of her “family,” I was given a bag full of her clothing line. I just didn’t like to show as much skin as she did.

“I’ve told you before, Mrs. Thompson, they are a little too revealing for me.”

We had reached the black wrought iron fence surrounding the seal exhibit. Ben was beside himself with excitement, jumping up and down and pointing at the silky black creatures as they glided through the water.

“No they aren’t!” Joanna protested from just behind me. “They cover everything that needs to be covered, while still making you feel like you are wearing nothing. You would look beautiful.”
I shrugged, happy with my uniform of tank top, jean skirt, and flip-flops.

One of the park workers came out onto the island in the center of the exhibit, two huge tan buckets in hand. I bent over to pick up Ben, so he could get a better view of the feeding and felt Joanna pressing close in the crush of the crowd. I did my best to ignore her as she settled her pelvis against my ass. I put Ben’s feet over the fence so he was sitting on top. He clapped and cheered as the seals jumped into the air, taking hold of their lunch.

Ben pulled at our hands impatiently as the crowd dispersed. Next stop, polar bears. The polar bears had a huge tank in which to swim in. Visitors of the zoo could walk through a cave that had a viewing tank, and you could watch the playful white bears swim through the thick glass.

The cave was dark and cool after the heat of the sun. Ben ran to the front of the room and pressed his nose and hands firmly to the glass. Joanna and I stood behind the railing at the back. Benny raced back and fourth, following the bears as they swam. Joanna moved up behind me.

“I can’t wait until tonight.” She whispered, breathing against my neck. The hairs rose on end. I felt her hand tugging at my skirt hem and my eyes darted around the exhibit franticly.

Her fingers slipped beneath the leg of my panties.

Benny was talking to a little boy to the left of us, about ten feet away.

They slid through my crack and into my wet sex.

A woman pushing a stroller walked in front of us.

Two fingers surrounded my pulsing clit.

“I’ve arranged for Benny to have a sleepover at Toby McMillan’s house.”

Benny was on his knees laughing, his new friend on the floor beside him.

Joanna used her nails hardness to press and squeeze my bud of desire.

“Mommy!” Benny squealed as the polar bear somersaulted through the water. My come wet my thighs.

“Yes, Peanut?”

What had I gotten myself into?

***

Benny was beyond himself at the prospect of a sleepover. He walked around his room at a loss as to what toy he should bring with him. He was only allowed one toy.

“How about Spongebob?” I asked, picking up the stuffed yellow sponge from where I knelt next to his toy chest.

“But Patrick will be lonely.” He clutched them both to his chest and looked at me expectantly.

“Welllll…I suppose Toby will need one to play with too.”

He cheered and jumped into my arms, squishing his two plush friends between us. We laughed as I rolled him to the floor and tickled him.

“Time to go,” Joanna called from the doorway and Benny jumped up from the floor. He grabbed his toys and dragged his backpack behind him.

***

I was dizzy and couldn’t breathe. Joanna slid up my body and found my lips, urging them apart. The taste of me on her full pout ignited me.

My tongue stole into her mouth exploring franticly, my hands caressing the length of her back. Her skin was smooth and warm. We were mound to mound, our pussy hairs tangling in a gentle friction, our breasts slick with sweat.

Nipples rode each others skin and I brought my knee in between her legs. Joanna’s bush was wet with want and my cunt tightened as my knee slid through the rough wetness.

“Harder!” she moaned into my mouth.

I pressed into her, grinding my knee, nibbling my way around her neck.

“You make me so wet, Mrs. Thompson,” I whispered against her ear. My tongue darted in and she jumped, her thighs tightening around my leg. I traced the outside lobe, and let my tongue find the crease, following its line behind her ear. Her breathing quickened.

“I leave a wet trail around the apartment,” I admitted.

Joanna moaned, jerking her sensitive ear away from my tongue.

My hand traveled down her body, massaging her full breasts. I circled the round firmness of her belly with my hand, and let my fingers tangle in the hairs of her cunt. I tugged and pulled, my tongue darting in and out of her ear. She was begging me to…so I let me hand sink home, diving in and out of her pussy with ease.

Thumb wet with her juices, I circled her clit in a slow sweet circle.

Joanna’s hips followed my hand’s movements.

Like a piston, my fingers slid deeper and deeper into her wet hole.

My lips covered her breasts in wet kisses and nibbled their way to her belly button. I licked the gentle indention and her hands took hold of my head, urging me lower. I journeyed down, letting my hair trail across her skin until my mouth joined my hand.

Tongue and fingers met and Joanna took a fist full of hair in her hand. I winced and my pussy twitched.

I pushed and prodded the ravenous opening, my knuckles, sliding and turning. There was a loud sucking sound and my hand slid all the way up into her cunt. My eyes sought hers. “Mrs.
Thompson?”

I paused, letting her adjust. I blew against her clit and began to move my hand.

“Mrs. Thompson?”

Slowly turning, watching her face as she struggled to accept the fullness.

Joanna’s eyes were squeezed shut.

“Please…” she pleaded.

I twisted slowly. Her cunt grasped my hand I sucked in my breath.

My pussy liquefied.

“Please what?” I continued moving slowly.

“Call me Joanna!”

My hand began to move in a slow rhythm, until she was widened enough for me to move in and
out easily. Her hips followed my lead, seeking fullness while my tongue played with her clit.
Indefinable noises echoed in the room, mingling with the sound of my hand entering and leaving her body.

My body was burning, blood swimming rapidly through my veins. Pleasure was near to bursting my heart. Suddenly, she cried out my name, her cunt taking hold of my hand in a bruising grip. I cursed, my free hand find my clit, and I was with her.

***

I let me head rest on her belly and she stroked my hair softly.

“Cindy?”

“Yes, Joanna?”

Sweat had matted her hair to the sides of her head, and her lipstick was smeared across her cheek. Her soft brown eyes were soft, her lids heavy.

“Thank you.”

I crawled up beside Joanna and pulled her into my arms. She relaxed against me, and my eyes found the picture on the bedside table.

Benny, Joanna, and Mr. Thompson…

Tits Down, Ass Up

Copyright 2007 by Crystal Barela

“Where the fuck have you been, Cali?” Tony’s deep voice was muffled by how close he was bent over the chick in front of him. He needed glasses and I swear he didn’t get them so he could smell the smooth skin of his female clients as he applied ink to skin.

“Traffic,” I said. The back door shut behind me and I threw my gear in the corner. I ran my hands through my straight black hair to rid myself of helmet head.

“Shit, kid,” he said. “Why don’t you take the subway like the rest of the East Village?”

My wheels were pulled up in the alley behind the shop. The Softail with shiny chrome rims was the perfect reason for braving the streets of Manhattan. “Reputation.”

Tony snorted and said, “That one’s been waiting on you for more than an hour.” He gestured with his head to the front of the shop.

There were half a dozen girls sitting on the red vinyl in front of our shop window. Their tattooed backs and shoulders were the perfect draw for the curious window shoppers cruising by on the sidewalk out front.

“Lucy, who’s my first victim?” Our receptionist—I nearly laughed out loud at the formality of the title given to our single employee. She had taken the position for the free tats and the flow of ladies visiting the shop for my artistic attention.

“Tantra!” Lucy called out, as if our customers weren’t mere feet from her desk.
Was that name for real? I scanned the ladies, clicking the bar in my tongue against the back of my teeth. A nasty habit which I found to be a turn off when other women did it, but I somehow derived great pleasure in doing myself.

“Tantra?”

No answer. Not everyone believes in fashionably late.

***

The shop was silent when I opened the door the next morning. Truth was, I hadn’t gone to sleep the night before. Some might say that I shouldn’t be poking people with sharp objects then, but personally I thought a little overtime in the waking world made me more attuned.

Besides, Tony was in DC. His old lady’s kid was graduating from college. Marco was flying in from El Paso this afternoon to keep the empty chair filled for the next two weeks.

I flipped on the lights. The mirrored wall that ran the length of the shop was framed by thick red velvet drapes. The other walls were black and decorated with photos of all of our celebrity clients.
I paused in front of the picture of me and Jolie. Now those were some mother fucking hot lips. If I do recall, I thought, rocking back on the heels of my black leather boots, we’d held more than each other’s hands. Shit! Don’t believe me? This was before Brad, and truth be told, before Billy Bob. I’d only been eighteen at the time. Barely legal. I was Tony’s apprentice then and only able to touch her skin with my fingers. No matter how I had pleaded, Tony had not let me hold a needle.

I sat into the overstuffed chair, set my feet on the desk, and crossed my feet at the ankles. Lucy would try to kick my ass if she knew. She hadn’t come to the realization that this wasn’t her shop.
The first client under my name on Lucy’s clipboard: Tantra. There couldn’t be another woman with that name, even in Manhattan. Mid-week was usually slow and the mysterious Tantra was due—

The bells on the door chimed and I let the clipboard rest against my forehead, hiding in a few more seconds of silence. She was early.
“Cali! Baby!” Marco tilted back on the heels of his cowboy boots and held out his arms.
I hopped over the desk, and flew into his chest nearly knocking him off his feet. He pounded my back.

“You smell awesome,” I said. A musky cologne.

“Cigarettes,” he said with a sniff, not loosening his hold. “No time to go home and shower?”

“Fuck,” I said. “No time to be a gentleman?”

“Remember who you’re talking to.” Marco leaned back and peered down at me with the devil’s eyes. “Is she done?”

“Thirty-nine hours.” I undid the button fly of my Levis and tugged the hem of my fishnet tee to my braless breasts.

Koi. The Japanese consider them a symbol of energy and power. Chris O’Donnell, a genius with the needle, had tattooed the one swimming from between my legs. The length of the fish’s body wrapped around my hip, circled my waist and reappeared under my arm, the lips stopping to feed at my right breast. This masterpiece of color and grace had taken more than a year to complete and Marco had seen the design before he left for home last year.

“Brilliant.”

“I know,” I said, running a hand down my ribcage. “I wish I could work naked.”

Marco laughed. “Me too.”
***

“Are you Cali?” Her voice was lush. Wet. My imagination sent my pussy swimming.

“Shop closes at midnight,” I called out from the back of the shop, regret in my voice. My back was to the door as I stuffed my face with a hotdog Marco had brought back from the street vendor. It was cold from earlier this evening, but there is nothing like a New York City frank.

“That’s not what the sign says,” she called back.

That voice. I wiped my mouth with a napkin. “Look, honey, Marco is gonna be here in the morning.”

“No, I want you to do it.”

The way she said it made my insides burn.

I turned.

Where I was lanky and all limbs, she was hips and thighs. I topped her by a good five inches. Her ass was in abundance and painted into her jeans. Her eyes were that somewhere between blue and green only found in nature, fringed with reddish blonde lashes, and looking at me like she could eat me up.

She took my hand, her sleeveless arm pale and bare of color. Her fingers were decorated in large chunky rings of jewel-colored cut glass.

“Maybe I could make an exception for…?” Was there a discreet way to check my breath for lingering hot dog odors?

“Tantra.”

“It’s you.”

She laughed. “It’s me.”

I took her hand. “I’ve been expecting you for about two weeks now.”

“Nerves.”

“A virgin?”

She raised and eyebrow and her lips twitched.

“Your skin, it’s bare? A virgin to the needle?” Although it would have been nice to have been present for the deflowering.

“Yes, no tattoos.”

“Well then, you’ve come to the right place,” I said, leading her over to my chair.

At the back of the shop I had the sketch she’d left last week on one of her many no-shows. I had thought twice about working on the transfer, considering Tantra’s track record of making appointments and breaking them, but it was an inspiring drawing. It had honestly been a turn-on to spend some time with the sketch.

I had done a tree of life before, but not of this size. The roots twisted into a Celtic circle pattern at the base and the trunk of the tree rose in a knotty line, its branches curling out to the sides about six inches up. Leaves clung to the branches. It was really quite beautiful. Expensive and time consuming too. It had been designed for a woman’s back.

“Turn around, baby.”

As she turned, Tantra lifted her shirt up over hear head. God, I love my job! I got a quick peek at her full, round breasts, tucked into black lace bra cups. This was one ripe woman. Hot.

“You know the lower back is one of the most painful places for a woman to get a tattoo?”

“Yes.” There was a thrill in her voice.

“And that this is gonna take at least three sittings?”

“You can’t do it all tonight?”

“It’s an eight hour job.”

“I’d pay extra.”

“You want color too?”

Tantra nodded. I walked toward the back of the shop, sketch in hand. The leaves on the branches were so delicate, gold and green. They seemed to move as if a breeze were blowing in the background.

Was I actually considering this? I hadn’t slept in more than twenty-four hours, and this wasn’t an easy job. I rubbed the back of my neck and looked down at Tantra, clutching her shirt beneath her beautiful breasts, the bits of lace not hiding the shadows of her nipples. She was worrying her lower lip with her teeth. One tooth was crooked. Sexy.

I patted the black vinyl of my chair and she hopped on board, her feet dangling in cute espadrille wedge sandals.
“Why is this tattoo important to you, honey?” Tantra’s back was to me. I unhooked her bra. She sucked in her breath as I lifted her thick red curls from her shoulders and secured them with a hair clip on top her head.

“My sister, she drew this,” she whispered in that sultry voice. “We’re twins.”

If that didn’t put a wet spot in my jeans.

“In a couple of months I’m going to see her in Ireland.”

“Unsnap your jeans.” The drag of the zipper and a shimmy of hips revealed the white of her skin to the crack of her ass. Was she wearing panties?

I covered my palms with shave oil and spread it over Tantra’s shoulder blades. Her skin was pale and smooth, except for where her bra had left red lines. I lingered a bit too long, massaging the marks away. She sighed, and I found I was in danger of losing my professionalism.

The crinkle of the plastic being torn from the razor and then the smooth swipe of blade across her opalescent skin made my lips ache. Gently, I lay the transfer on her back, and then wet it with a sponge, dabbing at the smooth canvas of her back. I lifted a corner of the paper and drew it across her back.

A sigh tinged with sex filled my shop as I pulled the paper free.

Looked good. Too good. I handed the mirror over her shoulder and pointed her in the direction of the wall. “Check the placement, sugar.” Get a grip, Cali. Work before pleasure.

Tantra went over to the mirrored wall and held up the hand mirror to look over her shoulder. “Perfect!” she squealed, with a little hop. She turned to the right, then left, and all my eyes saw were her breasts, now bare and free. Nipples puckered from the night air coming through the back door teasing my eyes.

I rubbed my eyes. Tired and horny, that’s what I was.

“Tantra, baby, I think we should reschedule.” Sleep would help me to concentrate on my art and not her ass.

“No!” She bounced over to me and took my hands in hers.

“I haven’t slept in days and—”

She put my hands on her tits and the thought of putting her off was gone.

“Another night won’t hurt.”

“You have a point,” I said, massaging her breasts. I leaned down, her face nearing mine.

A kiss, two nips.

Shook my head, took a step back. “Okay beautiful,” I said. “Tits down, ass up.”
***
Silent tears were running down Tantra’s face, which belayed the soft sighs and moans that escaped each pass of my tattoo gun. She was one of those that liked the pain and although I was known to have a gentle hand, she didn’t want it. I was surprised she wasn’t covered in tats and piercings.

With every gasp I had to force myself not to throw my tattoo gun aside and fuck her. The scent of her arousal was driving me mad.

“Nearly done, baby,” I said. A lie to myself. I had finished the Celtic knot and still had the entire tree to do. The goal was to finish the outline tonight. We were only a half hour in. I wiped my brow, bent and adjusted the knob on my tattoo machine. I was a professional.

Tantra gave her ass a wiggle pressing her pussy into the vinyl. “More Cali,” she pleaded.

Not gonna make it. “Be still, sugar.” My voice was harsh, my throat dry.

I sprayed the inky skin with water and wiped it with the towel, now discolored with black ink. I spread Vaseline across the tat. Looked good.

“Why’d you want me to do you?” I asked.

Wipe, spray, tat.

“Charlotte Scott.”

My hand wavered. Charlotte? Charlotte had a thing for pain too. More than the little the buzz my gun had.

Wipe, spray, tat.

Her ass had been in the exact same spot as Tantra’s pussy. Three in the morning. Clothing optional. I’d worn nothing but a strap-on. Nearly fucked Charlott’s pussy raw, right after piercing her clit. Now that’s pain.

“You trying to tell me something, sugar?” I drew my hand along the small of her back, the trunk of the tree taking shape.

“Breath deep,” Tantra said.

Wipe, spray, tat. Breathe.

“Smell that?” she said. “My pussy’s been hot for you since Charlotte told me how she got her piercing.”
I placed a hand on the small of her back. “Suck it up darlin’,” I said.

Tantra looked over her shoulder and caught my eyes.

“No.”

Oh shit.

“I am so wet.”

Oh fuck. I closed my eyes trying to find my strength of will. “What do you want more, sugar?” I whispered. “This tattoo or my face in your pussy?”

Tantra stood and turned around, hooking her thumbs in the waistband of her jeans. The jeans shimmied down her thighs and I holstered my gun. She kicked the jeans aside.

My smooth moves were out the door. All I could think of was tasting every inch of her body. Her lips were plump and sweet. Her neck soap scented. I buried my face between her breasts, nosing around like an animal. The sweat where the soft mounds met her body was salty and bold.

My synthetic gloved fingers slipped through her sopping slit. One, two fingers found a home in her hot hole. I forced her back onto the table, sure to press her tat into the table. She cried out, but her pussy squeezed my fingers.

Tantra clutched my head to her breasts and I devoured her hard nipples. Biting, bruising suction. Her hips bucked and she urged me lower.

I nibbled my way over her soft round stomach, past her belly button, and into the thick curly hair covering her snatch. Her swollen pussy lips glistened.

My hand pinned her to the tattooing chair. My fingers dove in and out, piercing her hungry hole. Her lips became redder and the skin around her thighs flushed.

My tongue circled her clit. A third finger wedged its way into her hungry cunt.

She panted, pushing her hips against me.

The muscles in her thighs squeezed my cheeks.

My tongue bar gave her a kiss.

Fingers yanked my hair.

Tantra screamed.

Tears wet her cheeks as her pussy bathed my face.

Sweet Jesus. I pulled my bruised fingers free and sat back on my heels. I undid my fly. Just a couple of strokes and I’d be with her.

“No,” she gasped.

I froze. Not sure I was ready to take orders yet. I just wanted to get off.

“Stand.”

I did, and my jeans fell to my ankles. My cunt pulsed.

“Take off your shirt.”

I lifted the hem of my tee and watched her come to me on wobbly legs.

“So beautiful,” she said. Tantra traced a finger from the mouth of the koi sucking my breast. She followed the orange and gold scales around my torso. Her lips repainted the bold lines of the graceful fins on my shoulder blades with soft kisses and wet licks. They followed the curling trail of ink between my legs and set me free.
Tantra tapped my clit then plunged her tongue into my folds, releasing my koi. The fish burst from my skin and into the air, swimming in circles around my head as I came in dizzying waves.

Tantra stood and lay, tits down, on the chair, her beautiful ass bare.

I buttoned my fly and picked up a fresh white rag. The work I had done earlier was bleeding and the skin red.

“I’m sorry, sugar,” I said.

“Didn’t feel a thing.”

I placed a tender kiss on the abused flesh at the base of her spine and promised myself I would stop thinking about pussy.

Tantra sucked in her breath and I squeezed my thighs together.

I sprayed her skin with water and washed the smooth flesh carefully before turning on my tattoo machine.

“Ready for a rough ride, baby?”

“You promise to kiss it all better?”

The ache she had just eased began to spread through my lower body. “And then some.”

The Greenhouse Effect

Copyright © 2007 by Crystal.

“Why didn’t you tell me the name orchid comes from the Greek word for testicle?” Fran asked from the doorway of the greenhouse.

“I didn’t think you’d be interested,” Dennis answered not looking up from his new acquisition: a beautiful parvi orchid from North Vietnam. The bloom had cost a small fortune and was worth every penny.

“You don’t think its odd considering how much the petals resemble female genitalia?”

“Most flowers do,” Dennis said, looking up at his best friend. Fran slipped a white apron over her head. She then pulled her light brown hair from under the neck strap, the soft waves at the ends settled around her bare shoulders. Slim like a vine, she looped the ties around her slender waist twice before tying the ends in a neat bow. “Georgia O’Keefe’s work is— ”

“Brilliant and not because her paintings resemble a va jay jay.”

“A what?”

“What would you like me to call it?” She gestured toward the body part in question.

“I’m an old fashioned man,” Dennis said.

“Give me an old fashioned word.”

Dennis cleared his throat and put his mind to their current project. His daughter’s wedding was in less than a week and Fran had come over to help repot the daisies for the center pieces. Hard to believe that his only child would be married and he would have the house to himself.

He felt the heat of Fran’s body behind him before the soft strands of her hair brushed his cheek. She bent close and looked through the magnifier with him. The sepals and petals under the glass were creamy white at the tips intensifying into deep peach hues around the small bulbous pouch at the center. The pouch was a variety of shades—mostly dirty yellow.

“Paphiopedilum Emersonii,” Fran breathed against his ear. Shivers raced down his spine and centered in his groin. She didn’t stumble over a syllable. “They’re your favorite,” Fran said with a nod to the flower before turning to her work.

Orchids had been the inspiration for his greenhouse. Dennis lifted his hand to the delicate petal. Smooth and soft, like he imagined Fran’s skin to be.

“They’re graceful,” Dennis said. He swiveled on his stool to watch Fran lift a large bag of potting soil from under the work table, trying not to notice how firm and round her ass was. She reached for the glazed pots on the shelf above her head; the fabric of her blue slip dress molded her breasts. No bra and there was none needed. Delicate, subtle curves.

Dennis shifted his focus to her hands, but that did not draw his thoughts from her body. Fran had poured the potting soil into the recessed part of the table and was spreading the dirt with her fingers. The movement somehow sensual.

Dennis’s body tightened and instead of returning to the study of the flower in front of him he stood and asked: “Why don’t you wear gloves?” He came up behind Fran and stood closer than he should of. Perspiration clung to her upper lip and beaded her forehead. The sun had yet to set and it was humid inside the greenhouse.

“The soil,” she answered, casting her green eyes up at him. “The cool damp on my skin.” She sifted her fingers through the dirt and breathed deeply. Fran cupped a handful of earth to her chest like a precious treasure. Her neatly trimmed nails were caked with the rich darkness. “Smell that?”

Dennis’s nostrils flared. He could taste it. The scent clung to her. Green and earthy.

She returned her hands to the table and sifted the dirt between her fingers, caressing the humus. Fran took his hands in hers and tangled their fingers in the moist dirt. She shifted back against Dennis.

He couldn’t hide his arousal. Didn’t want to.

For months they’d been watching each other. Anticipating.

“Fran, I—“

“Want to see my orchid?”

Dennis laughed. “We’re friends—“

Fran pressed her ass into the cradle of his hips and lifted Dennis’s hands to her breasts; nipples, hard as pebbles butted his palms. Their reflection in the panes of glass caused Dennis’s heart to race in time with Fran’s. She massaged his fingers against her, leading one hand lower. A dark trail of potting soil followed the path across her flat belly to the heat of her arousal. Fran pressed his fingers between her thighs and against her garden gates.

“I want more, Dennis.”

Her hips swayed.

“Here?” Dennis asked. His body was already moving against hers.

Fran turned in his arms. Her breath mingled with his. “Here is perfect.”

Lips found home.

Hands raced, fingers sought.

In moments Fran’s skirt was around her waist.

They kissed their way onto the table beside his orchid. She spread her legs and pulled her lace panties aside.

The world burst into bloom.

Damp petals glistened in the light from the heat lamp. Dennis moved the magnifier over her pussy lips and she spread them with her dirty fingers, her center an excited fuchsia. Swollen slick pink lips framed her hole. Musky desire clogged his nostrils. He licked the dew from her orchid—

Fran cried out his name.

—wrapped his tongue around her clit.

The table legs scraped the cement floor. Her sandaled feet urged him to safari in her wet jungle. Rich voluptuous flavor spread over Dennis’s tongue and down his throat.

He was hard as a tree branch.

Dennis curled his hands under her knees, cupped her ass, and moved her to the potting table. Pots crashed to the floor.

Fly unzipped and his cock sprung free.

Soil climbed between the crack of Fran’s ass and along her thighs, clinging to her sticky desire. With dirty knees, Dennis rubbed his dick along her pussy slit, covering his swollen head in Fran’s wet heat.

She wrapped her long legs around his waist. Impatient.

Dennis found her dirty hole and planted his cock. Pushed her bare ass into the earth.

They’d waited too long to go slow.

Hips flew.

Teeth clashed. Taste of Copper.

Dennis’s arm was between them, his thumb twirling her hard seed.

Fran blossomed, gushing her desire. Nails dug into his shoulders. Her pulsing pussy squeezed his cock.

Wet, slick heat built in Dennis’s balls.

He cried her name and pulled free; his hot come flew across her belly and sprayed the dirt above her shoulder. Dennis lay down beside his dear friend in the potting soil and gathered her close.

“Dennis,” his name was a smile that warmed his heart. “Can you believe we waited?”

“No romance, no wine, no roses—“

“Just orchids and daisies,” Fran said spreading her fingers across his chest. “Moonlight and stars.” The greenhouse had grown dark, but the stars were clear and bright through the glass above their heads.

Dennis stole a daisy from the pot beside them and handed the flower to Fran.

He plucked a petal from the daisy and whispered: “She loves me.” Another petal followed. “She loves me not.” Again he pulled. “She—“

“She loves you!” Fran finished, planting kisses on his soul.