noon-time rising – the surprise15:20 Feb 18 2010
Times Read: 1,015
*Contains adult subjects ~ not for minors.
Looking at the kitchen clock, I noted the time: it was a quarter to twelve, and still the phone hadn’t rung.
Much as I’d initially been apprehensive about all of this, I’d really grown to look forward my noon-time assignations.
I’d pulled on my robe, to wear over the white shirt worn loose, beneath the tied belt.
And, just in case I’d a visitor I’d not expected, I wore trousers and socks, above the dark tan tights, over a pair of delightful-to-feel, lace-edged purple panties; worn reversed, so my shaven shaft and ball sac were wrapped in nylon comfort.
I’d even lubed myself up, just in case. Yet, it was quarter to twelve, the phone rang; and, to my utter surprise I heard a young woman’s voice; perhaps, a girls voice.
“John told me I could call round, but to phone first. Is that alright?” She asked.
‘A girls voice?’ I thought momentarily.
I’d never entertained a woman before, let alone, one who sounded as this one did.
“You know my requirements?” I asked.
“Weed and nipple-play? Yeah, I’m cool with that,” she responded, laughter in her voice.
“So long till you’re here?” I asked.
“I’m at the front door,” she informed me: and I’m sure I could hear the grin on her face betrayed by her voice.
Placing the phone down on its cradle, I went to the front door: and sure enough, as I looked through the panes of dimpled frosted glass, I saw the shape of someone behind the door.
Keeping behind the front door as I opened it, trembling a little in anticipation.
I’d not been with a girl in a long while, not since the ex; and now, I had one as a client.
‘A weed and my nipples played with,’ were the price I’d agreed to charge young John’s friends for my services, ever since I’d started this in-call escort service, for him. Initially I’d been coerced into it, yet now I have kind of grown to look forward to my noontime visitor, one Saturday in three.
I turned the lock, opened the door and invited her in, closing the door quickly.
Of all the people I’d expected to call for my ‘services’, I’d not expected a girl to call: and, not one this young, or attractive.
There she stood, my very definition of an Emo-girl. Black coated brown eyes stared at me from below the peak of a black leather cap, dressed in a short smart white-jacket, worn over a long dark olive tee-shit, worn under a grey sweat shirt, cut off at the shoulders.
The skirt that hugged her pert backside was a black cotton thing, reaching mid-thigh.
And on her legs were fine lace style white tights, with black soft leather calf-length black boots, with a respectable heel of two to three inches.
A short styled haircut framed her face was oval, kind of Irish looking with a dimple in her smiles, when she smiled.
And she smiled.
The brown hair had been thinned in to the neck, with an impossibly long fringe, that she swept to the right with her left hand.
“Hello,” she said to me, a smile on her face, as she turned the phone off with her thumb.
I quickly looked to my left and right, to see if anyone on our block could see who was calling at my home.
‘No-one’s there.’ I thought, suddenly feeling reassured.
“So can I come in?” She asked in a light voice, as she pocketed her mobile phone.
“Oh yes, do,” I bid her, anxious for her to be inside as soon as possible.
She walked past me confidently and as she did, looked at me: there was an almost tangible air of expectation, in the relatively small space between us.
I suddenly realized the extent of the difference in height between us: I was at least a foot shorter than me.
She passed by me and entered the kitchen and sat at the nearest bench-seat at the side of the dining-table.
And, as she looked at me with those dark eyes, she licked her upper-lip and asked quite seductively, “So what do you have to drink?”
‘Anything to drink?’ was hardly a leading question, but she made it sound so to me: and I had to remind myself I was so much older than her.
“Well I was making coffee. Is that alright?” I queried.
“Yeah, ta. White with a sugar.”
“White poison, “ I muttered, “Brown alright?” I quizzed, as I got another mug off the shelf.
“Yeah,” she responded, as I got the makings together.
“Names Danielle,” she says as I made the coffee. It was an aside, more by way of conversation, rather than introduction.
Even so, as I placed the two mugs of coffee onto a tray, “My name’s…”
“Tina, slut, whore, or anything else I choose to call you for the next hour. Isn’t that right?” She asked confidently, almost brazenly.
“The time starts when we enter and Tina is yours. Are you coming through to her room to pay her?” I asked, in return.
And, I couldn’t take my eyes from her thighs and, the pattern of her tights. She had really nice shapely legs: but those tights, ‘so pretty.’
I notice her eyes, watching my hands, as I continue to nervously toy with the knot to the robes belt.
“I thought you’d be dressed and ready,” Danielle enquired in a light voice, as she followed me through to my room. As she had, her head turned from left to right and all around, as she checked out the families’ antiques; and the mock beams [so very lifelike] that adorn the ceiling.
“Is this all real?” She asked curiously: a little bug-eyed.
“Some is, some isn’t…” I dismissed blithely, balancing the tray with my left hand, as I opened the door with the other.
“I thought you’d be dressed. John said you’d be dressed…” she asked plumping herself down on the edge of the mattress.
“I just pulled my socks ‘n shoes on,” I explained; “it was quarter to twelve and no-one had phoned, so…”
“You went to make coffee…” she finished for me, as I set the cups, placing the tray down between the locker and the bed.
I just nodded.
“So why not finish getting ready, so I can pay … you?” She asked with a mischievous smile on her face.
“Certainly Miss,” I responded, reaching to the floor the other side of the locker, for the plastic carrier-bag in which was my skirt and lipstick.
And, having backed out of the room, I closed the door and sighed briefly with relief.
She wasn’t too scary, it seemed.
So, I do as expected of me, I remove the robe, trousers and socks, to pull on the panties and tights. Finally I pull the short-pleated tartan skirt with elasticised waist up to my hips.
I slick my hair back and, into a severe widows peak, then applied the lipstick, scarlet.
And, I think I look good as I leave the bathroom and, quickly enter my bedroom, where she sits waiting for me.
And, although her eyes widen as I enter, I think Danielle likes what she sees, to judge by her smile.
“Not bad,” she says to me with her head on an incline.
“Quite cute actually,” she adds, straightening her head.
“How about a twirl?” She asks with a grin.
So I twirl, as she asked so nicely, taking pleasure in the swirl of my skirt raising its hem, to show off my thighs.
“Yes,” Danielle admits, “you’ve got nice legs.”
“Here,” she says, handing me a small bag of green; “there’s a nice head in there.”
‘And so is mine, inside my panties,’ I think with an inward grin a mile wide and sniff at its contents with a satisfied sigh, then root out my grinder.
Then, kneeling down on the white sheepskin, just before Danielle, I dig out a paper and, begin to grind enough for a one-skin.
“So,” I ask, as I work, “is there anything special you want?”
I look to her as I ask, to gauge her reaction.
“When John told me I could do anything, I wondered if I’d like to spank ass…” And she blushes as she tells me this: ‘how sweet.”
“Well, you’ve paid the first part of my fee,” I tell her as I light my smoke, “So, how about I lie over your thighs and, you play with my nipples, as you spank me?”
Inhaling, then exhaling, I watch Danielle nod with a slight moan.
‘Yep,’ I mused with that grin returning to my mind, ‘it seems we both liked that idea.’
COMMENTS
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SheWolf85
13:24 Feb 28 2010
Nice. :)