Projections
© 1998-2004 by
Custom
Erotica Source and Sage
Vivant
George pressed the doorbell
and a child screamed. He stared at the painted pine door as if it
might explain such a causal relationship. Did Rita have children?
She'd never mentioned them, but then, he suspected there was much she didn't
divulge.
Unintelligible, youthful
sounds approached from behind the door and George stiffened in anticipation.
The heavy door swung open and there stood Rita, clad in a black velour
wrap robe, balancing a very small child on her hip.
"Hi, George. Is it
already 10:00?" The child pawed at Rita's face with damp fingers.
"Hey, Rita. I could come
back later if this is a bad time."
"No, no! Please come
in," she said, stepping aside to let him pass. "My daughter should
have been here by now to pick up this little ragamuffin, so I just assumed
it was earlier than it is." She turned to the child and her face
softened. "Shyla, this is George. He's a friend of Grammy's.
Say hello! That's right! Say hello!" She nuzzled the child, who glanced
at George warily.
George peered at the baby
with exaggerated interest. "Hi, there, Shyla. You're quite
the little handful, aren't you?"
The child kicked the air
and yanked the collar of Rita's bathrobe, exposing a large, fleshy breast
nearly to the nipple. Rita grabbed the collar and covered herself
quickly, laughing nervously, not quite meeting George's gaze. George
had seen enough to remind him that working so close with Rita today was
going to be an exercise in self-control. Her breasts had long been
the subject of some of his best idle fantasies.
"Let me put Shyla in her
play pen so that we can get to work," Rita said as she walked toward the
toy-strewn living room. Placing the baby in the topless cage, she
bent forward, offering George the graceful outline of her big, round ass
draped in black velour. He could feel his dick move and looked away,
determined to read the book titles on the shelves against the wall.
"I'm going to put some clothes
on," she said shyly. "I'll be back, but why don't you help yourself
to some coffee in the kitchen?" George watched her walk down the
hall, that lovely behind swaying in naked freedom under the robe.
She turned and pointed to the kitchen, which was just a few feet past her
bedroom and across the hall.
He passed her room and caught
the scent of freshly washed female; clean and musky. The smell of
subtly perfumed potions seeped out into the hallway as George dawdled in
the kitchen, not at all anxious to make googly talk with Shyla in the living
room.
In her haste to excuse herself
from George, Rita must have forgotten to completely close her bedroom door.
Only an inch and a half or so sat between the door and the jamb but George
could see movement in that space.
He sipped his coffee slowly
and stood immobile in the kitchen, waiting for her to pause near the opening.
He knew not to approach any closer and raise suspicion, but his curiosity
gnawed at him. Rita was a luscious 45-year-old brick house.
Her skin was slightly freckled and always had the slightest suggestion
of moistness about it, as if some fountain inside her fueled her reservoirs.
And that deep, dark womanly scent clung to her, lingering with a confidence
that lured. There was no man in the office who wouldn't envy George
his position at this moment.
The doorbell rang, Shyla
screeched and George felt the blood rush from his penis to his heart.
He started toward the front door but at Rita's bedroom, she emerged wrapping
her robe around her again. She and George nearly collided and he
got a full whiff of her richness.
"I'll get it. I'm sure
it's Dawn to pick up Shyla." She scooted barefoot to the front door.
Dawn had one glorious set
of knockers that stretched her midriff length T-shirt provocatively.
She had one of those torsos they put in beer commercials. She wore
stretch pants that proclaimed every undulating muscle. She and Rita
both leaned into the playpen and George unconsciously put his hand on his
crotch. Their round asses were nearly identical in shape, with Rita's
being the fuller, more womanly of the two. George imagined himself
walking up behind them and grabbing two handfuls of meaty ass.
Good-byes were said, and
toys collected. Rita collapsed in the leather armchair near the door,
chuckling with exhaustion.
"How on earth did I ever
raise babies? They wear me out!" She exclaimed, fanning herself
with a magazine she pulled from between the cushions. George smiled
indulgently, stifling the urge to blow softly on her chest to cool her
off. As if reading his mind, she pulled her shawl collar open a bit
to allow the breeze greater access to her overheated body. She was
still wearing no bra and her large nipples strained through her robe.
George headed back down the
hall to hide his insistent bulge, calling over his shoulder that he was
going to get his coffee. She got up and returned to her bedroom,
this time leaving a good three inches of space for him to see through from
his vantage point in the kitchen.
Was she doing this on purpose?
First the bathrobe, now twice failing to close the door completely.
Was she asking for some? Should he offer it? Take it?
George shivered thinking about how a woman like Rita might want to be pleased.
The lion in his pants roared.
He glanced over at the invitation
he had to assume she intended to extend. She sat on the edge of the
bed, her face mostly obscured by the door. She still wore her robe
but it fell open, puddled on the floor at her sides. She raised one
leg and slowly smoothed some lotion over it. Her movements, deliberate
and loving, mesmerized George. Full, shapely legs; not like the ones
in hosiery ads. These were substantial legs that made you want to
sink your teeth into them, suck them, run your tongue up from toe to pussy.
She leaned back and out of George's field of vision but then came forward
to lavish attention on the other leg. Again, the long slow strokes,
sensually circulating the lotion into every thirsty pore.
She rose to stand with her
back to the door. George restrained himself from protest once
he realized the show was not over. Suddenly her robe slipped off
her shoulders and gracefully fell to the floor like a theater curtain.
Her voluptuous backside was in full view to him now. She bent
forward and placed her hands on either side of her fleshy ass and rubbed
lotion into each smooth orb, as she had done with her legs. As she
massaged, fleeting peeks of her cunt and asshole winked at him. His
dick pushed hard against his pants and her musky odor wafted over to him.
Her hands caressed her ass lovingly, each stroke at once soothing and tantalizing.
Too quickly, she stepped
away from the crack in the door to continue with whatever other moisturizing
rituals remained. George shut his eyes for composure and then realized
his coffee, poured before Dawn arrived, was now cold. He returned
to the coffeemaker for a refill.
As he poured, he heard the
gentle slapping of bare feet behind him on the kitchen floor. His
breathing ceased as he waited for her move. Would she slip
her arms around him from behind and press her big heavy tits into his back?
Or maybe she'd be rougher and just grab his throbbing crotch, rubbing him
till he came in his pants. Perhaps she'd force him to kneel and asphyxiate
himself in her hairy mound.
He waited. Nothing.
He felt her presence, as well as her aroma, surrounding him.
"Are you finished there?"
George jumped and turned
around quickly to face her. She grinned with the left side of her
mouth.
"Have you got all the coffee
you need?" An empty mug was in her hand. Now she wore a short,
white loose-fitting nightshirt, designed to look as if had been borrowed
from a man significantly larger than she. Her well-oiled legs glowed
in the kitchen sunlight.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Rita.
Can I pour you some?" She held out her mug for him. He poured
nonchalantly, but his hand shook slightly.
"Did you want sugar in your
coffee?" she asked as he finished pouring.
"Actually, yes, that would
be nice." Maybe you could just sit in it, he thought.
"Let me get it for you.
I keep it with my baking stuff."
She hoisted herself onto
the kitchen counter and kneeled there as she opened a cabinet door.
Once it was open, she reached up to the top shelf, exposing the velvety
ass he'd watched her massage only moments before. It and her sturdy,
smooth thighs jiggled just a tiny bit as she rummaged through spices, flour
and assorted teas. Like her legs, its smooth freshness made his mouth
water.
"Here we go!" She pulled
the sugar container out and proffered it to him from her position on the
counter. The shirt now covered her ass again. She flashed
him a captivating smile that unnerved him. Did she want to be fucked?
Right here? Was she teasing him? Testing him?
He approached to take the
jar and was immediately struck by the scent of her arousal. He longed
to stick his face in her ass and breathe in that rich, slippery readiness.
And then he wanted to lick it up until she screamed and writhed all over
her kitchen counter.
"Thanks," he said instead.
"Why do you keep it in such an inaccessible place? The sugar, I mean."
They both smiled.
"I don't use it very often.
And it's easy enough to get at." Still smiling. Still filling
the room with pussy scent.
She sat at the kitchen table.
George watched her.
"I never would have dreamed
you had grandchildren."
"Grandchild. There's
only one!"
Way to go, George.
You'll have your face between her legs in no time.
"Even one! But I'm
sure you hear that all the time."
"Show me the woman who ever
hears it enough!" She laughed and rose from the table with her coffee.
"I'm going to finish dressing, George, so we can stop wasting your weekend.
I'm sure you've got better things to do than review sales projections at
a co-worker's house on a Saturday!"
She closed her door this
time and George felt he'd failed somehow. Maybe she was tired of
his failure to act and didn't want to play anymore. Or maybe there
was no guile in her at all and she'd just felt comfortable enough with
him to relax. He considered whether most people relaxed the same
way Rita did.
He returned to the living
room and brought out the reports and graphs they needed to review.
She joined him momentarily, her rich musk triggering George's salivary
glands.
She wore a white, button-front
blouse tucked into blue jeans. A black bra lurked beneath the blouse
but managed to be the focal point of her ensemble. George saw it
through the blouse and stared long enough to bring back her crooked smile.
"What seems to have riveted
your attention, George?"
He would bite, if she was
fishing. "Your bra. I can see it through your blouse."
"Does that offend you?"
She sat to his left on the sofa.
"No. I like it very
much."
"It's such a pretty bra,
I hate to keep it hidden." Rita unbuttoned a button to expose additional
cleavage and pulled the shirt open. Transparent black fabric with
lace trim strained to cover her ripe DDs.
George placed his wide, eager
palm on her warm breast. His right hand slowly squeezed her
left tit. Rita placed her hand on George's, following his movements as
if she wanted to learn them.
He squeezed and caressed
rhythmically and she moaned softly. Then she removed her hand from
George's and grabbed her other breast, mirroring George's movements herself.
Her eyes were closed.
Seconds before George moved
to reach his hand into the bra, she reached deep into the bra cup she was
fondling and pulled out a huge, soft tit. She held it in both hands,
pointing the erect nipple at George.
"Suck my tit."
Never taking his hand from
her other breast, George put his hot mouth on her big dark nipple.
Her skin tasted like perfume at first but he sucked and licked away all
traces of it. Her nipple grew in his mouth, which made him suck harder.
His dick raged against his
zipper now. He wanted nothing more than to stick it into any of her
hot orifices. He'd even fuck her in the ass, which he rarely did.
He sucked her tit so hard he expected her to wince. Instead, she
had let go of the breast George's mouth covered and raised the other to
her own mouth. She sat there licking and sucking, distracting George
to the point where he had to stand to let his dick out of his pants.
She watched him while she
lapped loudly at her huge tit. When he released his raging hard-on
from its zippered prison, she smiled with her tongue on her nipple, appraising
him. Grabbing both tits, she raised her head to speak.
"Go to my bedroom and bring
me the oil on my nightstand."
Pants unzipped, belt flapping
and dick at attention, George made his way to her bedroom and retrieved
the oil that she'd used earlier on her beautiful ass.
Rita still held two handfuls
of meaty tit flesh when George returned.
"Pour some oil on them and
rub it in."
The oil oozed seductively
over her quivering breasts. It separated and spread like streets
on a road map covering huge tracts of land. He grabbed her glistening
tits and massaged as instructed.
She took hold of his cock
and pulled him closer to her.
"Wouldn't you like to fuck
my big tits?" she purred, enveloping his meat in her slippery mammaries.
He stood and she worked her tits expertly up and down the length of him.
The tip of his dick emerged each time her breasts were at the based of
his shaft, nipples skimming his balls.
After a few strokes, she
licked the head of his penis each time it shot out from between her well-oiled
tits. He watched, breathless. What a tongue she had!
It circled the tip swiftly but covered every hot, needy spot.
His rhythm matched hers now
and he thrust his hips in tandem with her movements. She separated
her breasts periodically and then gently slapped them together, sending
shock waves of pleasure through George's happily sandwiched cock.
Suddenly, she swooped down
toward his rock hard member and slid all of it into her mouth. Once
inside, her tongue snaked around it, all the while sucking and pulling
like a wild animal. George fucked her mouth hard, past the point
of restraint. Cum brewed at the base of his cock.
He exploded in her mouth
but as he came, she took his dick from between her wet lips and aimed his
eruption at her face. George's mind blurred in ecstasy as he watched
his cum spurt powerfully over her cheeks, nose, and eyes. He liked
looking at her face covered with his juice.
Rita ran her fingers over
her face. She ate up the cum like it was frosting on a cake, licking
her fingers and savoring the taste of him. George stood over her,
spent and still vaguely aroused.
She stood now, covering her
breasts with her blouse. Cradling George's balls in her hand, she
smiled.
"You'll have to come back
next week. We still have a lot of work to do."
Sage Vivant is the founder
of Custom Erotica Source,
the home of tailor-made erotic fiction. Her work appears in numerous
anthologies, such as Best Women's Erotica and The Mammoth Book
of Best New Erotica. She is the editor of Swing!, and
the co-editor of Binary: The Best of Both Worlds and Leather,
Lace, and Lust with M. Christian.
