It was awkward from the start. This man had known me since I was three, making that nineteen years, and it's not as if we had spoken one-on-one in that time. He was my Dad's business partner at first, and then his best friend. And then a few years ago he moved to Vancouver for some kind of business (I don't know... blockchain? VPNs? I think they do VPNs in Norway though, so I admit: I don't know what he does. Something with computers.) and so they turned their friendship into that kind of thing old men have where they call each other at the end of ballgames. When my Dad tags me on facebook posts (UGH) his best friend would always comment at me there. He wouldn't @ me, though, he would just like... type my name. But every other relation still using that place would comment too, it wasn't like a weird thing. In fact all his comments were the same bland "lovely girl," "she's all grown up" stuff old people always said.
But that half-assed form of communication for a "relationship" that had lasted almost my whole life was the problem!! What the hell do I call Greg to his face? When I was little it was Mr. Richards and when I was a teen it was just mumbling or fake talking and then I was out the door and in the family car and I was gone. And of course I didn't ever reply on facebook (lol). But when I moved to Vancouver last year for uni, and Dad insisted that Greg take me out for a good dinner one night, I was put into this awful spot: what the hell do I call Greg to his face!!!
I didn't even think about it until I was picking out my shoes. I had a pair of strappy black heels with a red undertone dangling off two fingers and it hit me. "Fuck."
I was not going to call him Mr. Richards. I was an adult, making my way on my own, an excellent history student and, as I recently discovered, very good at drinking. Or at least I was an enthusiast!! I wasn't a child and he wasn't a prof or a cop or whatever! So I guess he would have to deal with "Gary". Looking at myself in the thin Walmart mirror I had propped up against the closet by the door I tried it out. "Thanks for dinner Mr. G--"
I shook my head. My cute violet-tipped slut strands slapped softly against my cheeks.
"Thanks again for dinner, Gary, my Dad is such a worry-er, as you know." I cocked my head in a sophisticated gesture. "He must calm down Gary dear."
I reached my hand out towards the mirror, all while still bent over with my dangling shoes, as if I was gently resting my fingertips on his forearm. "Do reassure him that his daughter is alright, won't you?" I cocked my head in the opposite sophisticated direction and my breasts swung and wiggled back. "Perhaps the next time the Cubs lose?"
Or the Nicks or whomever. I wasn't studying baseball history.
I wondered if he would blush the first time I called him Gary. I laughed at that thought. I was going to blow this old guy's mind tonight, ha ha ha!
He was taking me to The Boar in Steel, which was like sixty dollars a plate from what I could see. I googled it to see what to expect and all I got was a "local expert" picture of a thick wooden door with a long bronze handle, the plain logo etched into a sign, the basic information of hours and old prices, and a bunch of positive reviews from short-haired white dudes whose profile pics were usually them and their wife smiling on a boat, or at a vineyard, or on a golf cart. It was kind of cute. But I bet I was younger than any of their kids. And there were dozens of them! And here's the part you'll flip at: Gary Richards was one of them!!!
His profile picture was actually pretty good. He had someone else take it for him (or so I assumed, since I don't think you know how to work the timer setting on the front camera if you're over 40) and so you got a good shot of him, at his big oak desk, from the waist up. A huge window showed off the city behind him, big tall buildings reaching up like disastrously huge columns, lined along unevenly across Greg's straight broad shoulders. His crisp white sleeves were rolled up in a master's roll and they sat patiently before the crooks of his elbows, showing off two huge hands and arms covered in salt-and-pepper hair that made him look like a well trimmed wolf. His smile wasn't too big and it wasn't even a little bit self conscious. Straight jaw to match those shoulders, too. Old straight confidence man Greg Richards selling bitcoin through VPNs through the Apple store.
Anyway, his review read: The boys at the Boar in Steel always know how to treat a regular. As dining goes, it's the cadillac of Vancouver's night-life dining. Discretion, exemplary service, the best food from here to the east coast in either direction, and the perfect lighting for a beautiful night. Thanks again, boys!
It was five stars. "You'd give 'em six if you could, wouldn't you, Mr. Richards?"
I fought Dad so hard to get out of this, but I hadn't eaten anything but tomato soup for... quite a while. My last splurge on food had been a philly cheesesteak I bought at 1:57 AM (they closed at two but if you and your friend have loose shirts, pierced nipples, a good smile and a set of working arms they don't mind at all) (they didn't seem to, anyway). I had three bites of it and dropped it in a field, then I had two more bites and dropped it in a puddle.
So Greg's offer was actually coming at a pretty good time. I could kill an hour and a half talking about, I don't know, Heraclius or something and the "clubs" I wasn't in but could fake being in, and then say I had a test and I should turn in. If it was early enough I could ppppp-probably get a boy from Tinder here before it was bed time for little old Elly.
But anyway, The Boar in Steel seemed like a good opportunity to dress up. Tonight, every white-haired head from those profile pics was going to be turning from their tablet camera to my ass (lol). I had my black hair totally degreased from the night before and pulled up into little buns (except for my slut strands which I would never abandon), my hangover was mostly gone, my face was beat like an angel getting curbstomped in heaven, and This. Dress. Greg might die when he saw my dress. If I had put on a freshman fifteen it was ten across my tits and five in my ass. I looked like my body couldn't help but describe sex (which... lol not unfair). And I had This Dress, which my friend Becky had rudely named my Hot Plum Dress.
It's not plum! At all! It is kind of a... well, like, I would say it's more of a violet? But not like totally violet. It's a deep purple, really. Well, anyway, it should look like an old couch but on me it looks like you want to buy me a new car just so I'll drive it over you.
My fancy (slightly slutty) dress was sitting fresh out of the dryer on my bedspread. I was still standing bent in half in front of my nine dollar mirror. Hair, perfect. Face, oustanding. My throat was so... it was like a lilly quietly opening up in a burst of morning sunlight. "You would choke me just to get your hands around it." I was actually very pleased with how my skin was for how little sleep I was getting. My complexion, all over, was smooth as marble, if a statue had a racing heartbeat.
I had fat tits, I'll say it. They swelled and fell from my neck like an oil painter had been training to paint one-handed, and then they perked back up to let you know I was real, and ready, and not even half unspoiled by life and experience. But then my creamy little tummy (it's an innie, fyi) caught your eye and kept you just so interested in where I would go next. A little dark black fuzz gave you a hint. Wasn't my pubic triangle a garden just for you?
I was biting my lip. Down, girl, I thought.
Did I have time for just a quick little bit of fun before I had to get dressed?
My fingers found my clit and gave it a playful little tug. I always started like that, I don't know why. I pinch myself when I'm putting on a shirt, too. It just keeps me focused I guess, lol. The tip of my middle finger made a lazy S-shaped motion down through my lips. It came out wet. I pulled my black shoes up by my shoulder, they looked amazing hanging next to my breasts. Their silver buckles flashed and it made my hot pink nipples hard. Or maybe I owed that to my fingers, spreading me open in that cheap flimsy mirror. "Fuck."
I had a vibrating dildo from my morning "hangover cure" right above my dress, on my pillow. I could get it, just scratch a tiny itch, calm down before my "date".
I giggled. "Just the basics though, right bitch? Right."
I skipped back to my bedroom, shoes in hand. And just as I got there my phone started buzzing.
The screen read Unknown Number but I knew the number from my Dad's messages. Greg. Uggggghh why couldn't you just text Greg??
Still absent-mindedly rubbing the length of my pussy I put on my chipper voice and answered. "Hi, Greg?"
He chuckled. Expecting Mr. Richards, weren'tcha Greggy-kins?
"Hello Eleanor. My god, you sound like a real grown up these days!"
I narrowed my eyes out of reflex and my fingers stopped, and then got meaner. Wow, almost like time marches on, huh, Greggers? Your grey hairs didn't clue you off?? I laughed in my chipper voice. "You sound just like I remember! Sorry I didn't text you to set up everything. Dad, uh, well you know--"
Greg laughed again and it sounded like it was echoing in a stone hall but it was just his chest. It rumbled the phone in my hand. I thought of the stretch of white hair over his arms, it had to be everywhere, right? A whole body of white fur bent gently beneath just a few buttons. Now why the hell are you thinking of that?
I shook my head.
"Yeah, I know what Jason is like," he said. "It's alright, Eleanor. I hate to cut to the chase but I'd much rather talk to you in person! I'm parked in front of your building."
"Oh fantastic!" Fuck. "That's great, oh my god."
I wanted to whine but this wasn't some little skater boy who thought aquiescing would get him pussy. And my hungry tummy was starting to get as argumentative as my cunt.
"I'll be right down!"
Things didn't stop being awkward once we were face to face. I was annoyed when I realized that the first time he would be seeing me would be in the parking lot, but it was even worse than that: he was waiting in the lobby. I didn't even see him! I was barreling out of the elevator with my face in my phone getting ready to take my first triumphant strides through the double glass doors when he piped up from one of the chairs in front of the rental office. Stupidly, clumsily, I stopped in my tracks. My expression must have made me look like a real idiot because, initially, I didn't understand what was happening. I thought that I had accidentally called him? But then I saw him in my periphery, walking up in no hurry but also very, very fast. He was at least 6'5 and his legs took him wherever he wanted pretty fast. I had to shake my head. Then I gaped like a fish before catching myself.
Phone away. Smile. Boob check. Fuck, I thought, and hoped he hadn't seen me plump myself. "G-Greg! Oh my god! I thought you, er--"
He laughed. "A kindly little granny let me in."
So much for my grand re-entry into Greg's life with the evening sun going down behind me, my silhouette sparkling in the glass, a gentle wind rustling my hair as I struck a pose that showed more leg, more hip, and more neck than I really had. Bottomless throat though. I thought. Like, bitch, of course.
Greg's massive chest was right in front of me and he kind of... well, it's hard to describe. But he was just sort of there and he didn't extend a hand to shake and he wasn't there long enough for it to be awkward but, well... I guess I defaulted to how I used to greet him and I gave him a big hug. I felt even dumber! I don't think I'd hugged anyone since I said goodbye to my best friend on the last day of high school.
He seemed happy. His left arm covered my whole back with room to grab my bare shoulder and still have his elbow poking out the other side. He gave me one squeeze and let go.
"Ah, it's good to see you Eleanor. Can I call you Elly?"
UGH, no.
"Of course!" I laughed.
He tilted his head down at me. His eyes were jet blue metal. Maybe he was a white wolf. "Well, on the other hand, maybe you're a little old for that, young lady. Eleanor suits you better." He palmed my shoulder again. "Not that I'm calling you old, of course. Less wrinkles than a stain glass window."
He perked my chin with the knuckle of his thumb and winked. And I fucking blushed. It was stupid! That was really dumb, Greg!
A little skater boy wouldn't have been dumb enough to do that. With his long dirty fingers.
And his clothes! He was dressed like a dad on a weekend. He was wearing a similar white shirt like in his profile picture but this one had a logo over his breast pocket. It was... I wanna say... for golf? It was basically a polo. He had a dark pair of jeans and the only surprise was a well polished pair of brown monk strap shoes. I was beginning to regret my choices. When I walked in with him dressed like that? I was gonna look like... well I don't know what people would think I looked like.
Greg drove a truck that felt more like an armored vehicle. It was icy cold inside from the AC which was one button on a panel four-feet across and all of it was buttons or touch screens. I actually struggled a lot just to get inside it, the floor of my seat was, like, higher than my knee. Of course he stepped in like this was normal, a normal sized truck that everybody was used to. But I had to pull and amble and pick my heels up from the pavement to his clean carpet and hoist my hips up and keep my face from dragging over the seat and knocking into my purse, which had to go up first!! Like I was jumping on a train!! Another dummy moment from Elly. My Hot Plum Dress didn't help. Thank god he hadn't tried to help me up because all the commotion sent the slit way up my thigh and practically popped my ass out into the hot summer air of the parking lot. Bad enough I could feel my tits pushing into each other and threatening to make my cleavage burst out my top.
When I finally got the back of my dress smoothed out and I took a little breath and buckled my massive seat belt (feeling truly like we could drive over an explosion and I would be fine) he was adjusting some setting on something as if nothing in the world could bother him. Like he hadn't noticed! Like hell he hadn't.
He asked if I minded that he turned on "The Game" and I said I didn't. Mostly we talked over it and talked about my Dad. He asked about Mom and I told him she had turned the garage into a yoga studio for her neighborhood posse. He laughed so hard at that.
"How's Jason feel to have his garage hijacked?"
"Oh Mom does not let him in there anymore he can't even park his car in there. She told me he keeps making excuses to come in when she's leading a class!!"
"That dog," he said and chuckled. "I always told him he was lucky man to land Miranda as his wife. I guess even lottery winners get a little greedy."
"I think he has a crush on our neighbor Tina. Do you know Tina?"
He nodded. "Indeed I do! She was around for all the adult functions you kids snuck off for. Beautiful woman, Tina. Like a showroom caddy. But your mother? Hoo boy, now there's a model they couldn't even make any more."
My jaw must have dropped. I knew I was smiling but it must have swung open too because he put up one big paw and tried to back pedal.
"Sorry, Eleanor, I shouldn't talk that way about your mom. I'm just saying that he was a lucky man long before Miranda bought a pair of of yoga pants. Lolos, you know."
"Lulus??"
He chuckled. "Those must be the ones."
He drove so smoothly his truck could have been on rails. I was shrunken into the middle of his passenger seat feeling like a teddy bear more than an adult woman in an appropriately-sized carriage. I had my legs crossed business style to keep warm and my arms were very casually wrapped over my chest. I desperately wanted him to turn the AC to heat but I didn't want to draw attention to the hard pink points hiding just beneath my wrists.
Why didn't I bring a jacket! And the answer was, because I was only going to be gone like an hour. He probably had plans after too. He was a little too smart and self aware to think his buddy's girl, half his age, wanted to hear him talk about business all night. Or baseball. Or whatever! It was genuinely very nice of Greg to take said daugher out, though. As we got closer to food I started to feel more and more sentimental about seeing him again, after all these years.
When he parked and shut off his engine (which hummed-down like a fucking rocket) he held up a single tree trunk finger and said, "Wait just a minute."
I think I mumbled "Oh, okay," and watched him step out of his door, swing his keys around the same finger before they disappeared into his slacks, and walk around to my door. He opened it and extended the big paw from earlier. "Here, darlin', let me give you a hand."
"Sorry Greg. It's just so tall!" I giggled.
I took my purse and his hand and awkwardly tried to meneuvre myself without flashing him but I guess I took too long getting my angles right because in short order he let go of my daintily bent fingers and grasped me with both hands around my rib cage. His thumbs basically met in the middle. Without a deep breath or word of warning he picked me up from my seat and landed me gently on the asphalt like it was as easy as transporting a kitten from the couch to her carrier.
It wasn't because of Greg (like OBVIOUSLY) but I really wished he had been later. I hadn't gotten the time to properly get off and my sex drive was way too high for my own good. It was so embarrassing but I could feel from the little throb in my cunt that I would be dripping soon if I didn't get my head straight. Thank god I decided to wear panties. Fuck, I thought, I should have worn a bra. He must have gotten an eyeful when I was in flight.
"Well look at that, you're never too old for a little ride, eh?"
"N-no," I laughed. "I guess not. Thanks!"
"Just call me Silver, ma'am," he said and winked.
"Huh?"
"Hi-ho," he said.
I laughed but I didn't really know what he was doing. Later on I would thank God again that I didn't say "Off to work we go!"
I'll admit that Greg had me a little off balance walking up to the Boar in Steel. BUT, I was still in control. I caught a look of myself in the reflection of a window when we walked up and I looked like a goddamn Queen walking into this place. That mirror could have shown the whole solar system behind the red sunset light and I would still have been the brightest star. I would have snapped a pic if Greg wasn't there. You're so goddamn lucky, Greg. These old fuddies are going to put you in their reviews for the night. They're going to edit their old reviews for this! That golf place on your shirt is going to triple their business.
I swayed my hips with every step. The second we were through that big wooden door my eyes became bedroom eyes. I oozed sex appeal, sultry innuendos slithered off my curves. I met the eyes of any man who was lucky enough to catch them and squeezed my fuchsia lips in a little coy smile. Every man tried! Every man but Greg, who was chatting with the host and then our server until we were seated. The server pushed my chair in behind me and I almost fell off it, because I had already started to pull the seat forward myself! He apologized but it was obviously my fault. Awkward again... But I made it up to him with whatever view he got down my top while he was behind the back of my chair.
"What will you be drinking tonight, sir?"
Greg deferred to me. "Ladies first."
"Oh!" I fumbled looking for a drink menu. "I'll have, er--"
I couldn't order a PBR here, or even, like, a vodka slime. Wine? I could get a white wine but... oh god what wine did I even drink? What wine does anyone drink other than the cheapest one that you don't already hate?
"I'll, uh, well I'll have a water please, firstly, and, uh--"
Greg gave me a friendly wave of his hand. "May I make a suggestion, Eleanor?"
"Yeah. Yes! Yes, please, Greg, that would be wonderful."
He nodded. "We'll have my usual, Anthony."
"Excellent, sir. I'll return with them momentarily."
He left and Greg turned his attention back to me. "Don't be embarrassed, I'm sorry to put you on the spot."
"I'm not embarrassed." I smiled. I looked way too good to be embarrassed.
"I'm glad to hear it! Have you ever drank a negroni, Elly?"
I shook my head, still smiling. He had earned a cute little bimbo gesture like that.
"You'll love it."
Oh I'm sure, Greg.
He asked me how "college life" was these days and I got myself ready to answer the usual chitchat: how my classes were going, what my degree would set me up for, whatever young relatives he had that were doing nursing or education, blab a little about History and, as always, he would disagree with some fact that he had been taught wrong back in his day. The usual stuff! But he steered the conversation way off course.
"Sure, sure, but how are the boys out here, hm?"
"Boys? I, uh, haven't had much free time," I said.
My phone was silent but I knew there were three conversations waiting for me with three very eager boys I was going to sext in the bathroom.
Greg laughed. "Oh come on I wasn't born yesterday. When I got out to college away from my parents and rules I went wild. You've always been a pretty wild girl, after all."
"Me? I'm so boring, Greg! I'm not some, uh, some party animal."
"Okay, okay, maybe I'm wrong. Or maybe it's the girls you're more interested in!"
I'll admit it, I couldn't hold in my laugh. A really honest laugh, because I had been pursuing my interest in girls since long before university began. Greg laughed too. "Well that's okay, that's okay. We could have used more of that in my day. I'm awake!"
"Woke, Greg!"
"Woke, awake, I'm just asking questions here. Don't worry, none of this is getting back to your Mom and pop," he said, and held one finger in front of lips before zipping them and throwing the key away.
The waiter returned with our drinks which were served in plain but expensive-looking glasses, a little heavy on the bottom, and a long, springy orange zest started there and spiralled up through the liquid and over the lip. Greg took a gentle drink of it, shut his eyes, and sighed. He looked at me. "Go on, give it a try."
It spilled over my tongue the way gin always does: crisp, fast, and full of joy. Like someone had bottled the last day of winter for the first day of spring. There was a strong orange finish and somewhere I could taste black licorice, which I usually hated. The same feeling of Greg sweeping me up from the seat of his truck flooded my chest as the vapors stung my eyes at the corners. "Fuck that's good," I exclaimed.
Then, remembering where I was looked up at the expectant waiter. "Oh-- I'm sorry."
He waved his hand, "Not at all, miss."
"You hear that, Ned? Tell Tony he makes them better than in the old country," Greg said.
Ned smiled and bowed his head slightly. "Have you decided on your meal for this evening?"
In talking with Greg I had forgotten about the menu entirely. I found it and my eyes scrolled through it. No prices, of course, and while the words were all english, I hadn't seen a lot of them used to describe food before. The men were no help. They just stood and sat silently, waiting for me, as if being chivalrous was a virtue! It isn't! I'm good, boys! But they kept the kind of silence that told me unequivocally that Greg couldn't just "go first." My head went back and forth like I was struggling through a text book. Finally I looked regretfully up at Ned and pleaded, "Actually could we just have a few minutes, please?"
He rocked on his heels like I had said something very, very stupid. So dumb he had to cover for me with professionalism, but he didn't know quite what to do. "Sorry," I said, still in my pleading voice.
"Not at all. Of course, yes. A few... minutes."
Greg pulled both of us to him with a hand gesture. He had that kind of charisma even in his dad clothes. "I'm sorry Ned, I don't think that will be necessary. Eleanor, as something of an expert on dining here, may I make a suggestion?"
I nodded, my eyebrows furrowed in a restrained desperation. "Yes!" Then I added some phrasing that I hoped made me sound older than my years. "If you please!"
Greg didn't even glance at the slick, hard-backed menu in my hands. Ned came to attention as he spoke, they worked like a well-oiled machine now that my faux-pas dropping ass was out of the picture. I swallowed another biting gulp of the negroni.
"Ned, I will have that delicious Osso Buco di Vitello I had last week, and the Braciole di Maiale for the lady."
Ned nodded and didn't even write it down. He was turned and two steps away when I said to Greg, "I just have to use the bathroom." Ned stopped like a soldier would, his heels cracking together, and made an about face. Just as I was rattling the legs of my chair backwards there he was, behind me, suddenly pulling with a force so strong I was gliding over the dark carpet. "Woah!"
He extended an open palm to me which I felt obliged to take. "My apologies, miss," he said.
I shook my head. God! "No-- uh, thanks you. Thank you!"
Greg had quietly stood up with a hand in his pocket and his drink in the other. He gave a barley perceptible toast to Ned and then a little nod with his eyes to me. Like I was asking permission!
The bathroom was huge and the cold, sterile walls made my hot cheeks feel hotter. What was going on out there! "It's like being in Buckingham Palace, what the hell!"
My brittle voice echoed back to me and I quickly glanced over the stalls to make sure they were all open and empty. There were candles and a song being sung in Italian, but otherwise it was just me.
Get a grip, Elly. You're losing it for no reason.
I pulled myself into sight of the long mirror behind the sink. I looked like the thing men dream about that makes them find an empty room and look up porn. Despite my hot face I still had eyes that went deeper than you could swim, and glittering cheeks that pulled you back up the surface, gasping. Just in time for my pert lips to part and find yours, honey, if you don't mind the taste of fresh vermouth. My collar bones peaked out from the straps of my dress, giving you one last horizon to hold on to before plunging down through my cleavage. My tits were a promise my body made good on, round hips you wished your eyes could linger on except they couldn't help but fall over my legs which took you all the way to the floor. You would beg to make the climb again.
I am, That. Bitch. I nodded. Fuck the waiter, and this place. I was here for a free meal what the hell did I care about the formalities of this dive.
I pulled my phone out.
I had left this stoner football boy, Vance, on read. "can I see u tonight? I'll eat u as long as u want.. Get u nice and wet for all 10 inches"
I scrolled up for the pic of his cock he sent earlier and it really looked as big as he said. I glanced over my shoulders to pointlessly check if I was still alone, then bent my hand around the slit of my dress and felt myself up. Vance could be fun later. He seemed like a real pounder, but maybe too chill to keep it going for long. This boy could really go either way for me, as right now I really wanted a boy's tongue against my asshole, and if he wasn't opening with that on offer then it would probably be a struggle to get him there. 10 inch guys were either freaks or lazy, in my experience.
I had sent a message to this guy, Carl01, who hadn't replied yet. We texted a bit the night before and I was trying to get him to come out but he kept putting me off. Which would normally knock him off the list, but he whad been begging to put me in a pair of handcuffs and, in his words, "whip my cum out of your ass and make you lick the floor after."
I wasn't going to lick my floor because I knew how filthy it was, but I did really want to be manhandled a little.
I arched my back in my Hot Plum Dress and wiggled my chest for the mirror. "What a little piece you are!"
All it took was a slight rotation to show off the vicious curve of my ass and the winking flash of thigh that pushed out through the slit when I kicked my heel up.
Fuck this place. And fuck Greg, too.
I was back in the driver's seat. I gave my nipples a little pinch for being such a brave girl and blew myself a kiss. I realized that I was out of my element because I was still treating Greg, and this pretentious bar and grill, with the respect and restraint of a little girl. Greg wasn't gonna tell my parents about how I act tonight, what was I worried about? There was no good impression to make. I tweaked my nipples again until they stayed hard and showed through the violent color of my dress.
We'll see who puts who off balance.
I put my cellphone, my boys, and an unused bar of scented soap from the sink into my purse. I was out of soap at home and betting they spent more on the soap than the food in a place like this, but I wasn't gonna pay for either!
When I got back to the table I made sure to lead with my butt. Wouldn't you like to feel how these hips touch down, Mr. Richards? I leaned back and, with a demure reach, gently pulled my negroni to my lips. I dismissed Greg's placid comment on my return and smacked the ball back towards him.
"You know Greg, I'm sorry to say this but I'm so curious, you're not married, right? You're so familiar with this place, who are you bringing here night after night?"
He smirked. "How do you know I'm bringing anyone here? Maybe I like the ambiance, the conversation."
A laugh hummed from the top of my throat. "Men go to a sports bar if they want conversation," I said, leaning forward. "They come to a place like this when they want something... else."
He leaned forward to match me and took a daring swallow of his drink. "Well if you know what men come here for, little lady, then I guess you know who they bring here."
I drained my glass and let my tongue linger on the rim for just a moment. My lipstick stayed there in a small dark bruise. I smiled as wolfishly as he did. "Hmmm... let me think, Greg. It's not little ladies like me, is it?" I giggled.
I hadn't lost a game of chicken yet.
"I don't think this is a place for little girls, Eleanor. Look around, do you see anyone your age here? Even the wait staff has a decade on you. This is a place for elegent women, a kitten like you might not know what to make of it."
"Oh, but she would be impressed wouldn't she? With Ned and the candles and the Italian every which way," I was halfway over the table now, watching his eyes like a hawk. I knew my tits were spilling out he had to be killing himself not to let his eyes feast on them. I giggled. "So, so impressed."
He bent in so close I could see the remnants of stubble from his morning shave. He smelled faintly of an aftershave that must have been pine, or aspen, or FOREST or something like that. A flash of his salt and pepper chest shot through my head, a white shirt dangling open from his neck.
"Don't worry, Elly, I don't let it go to my head." He grinned.
I signalled to Ned, who was turning from another table, and basically shouted, "Two more negroni, Ned."
He glanced haltingly at Greg and then nodded and went towards the bar.
Game time.
"Do you know what a sugar daddy is, Greg?"
He blinked first. Leaning back from the table he finished his drink and looked at me with fresh eyes.
God I could barely believe I was doing this. Hearing my voice say something like that sent a shock down my dress like an icecube. My pussy drank it in. What if he thought I was propositioning him! Would I fuck my father's best friend? Was I propositioning him??
"It's a guy who can't get any without paying. A sugar daddy's nothing but a John who likes hotels more than car seats. I don't have to pay for anyone's time, Elly." His broad shoulders made the back of his chair creak.
I drew a little circle on the rim of my glass with my middle finger and its long violet french tip. "What would you call a dinner here, then?" I added, quickly. "For any little ladies you might have treated here before?"
"For a woman I would bring here?" He thought for a moment, but I think he already had an answer. He was probably thinking of how I fit into the seat of his truck.
Don't worry, old man, with my thighs spread I could fit snug right between the wheel and your beer belly.
"I would say it's a test," he said finally, a serious look I hadn't seen before plastered on his face. "How does a little girl want to be treated? Is she ready for the finer things? Or does she prefer the back seat."
As someone who had spent a lot of time in back seats recently I took a great offence to that, but I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.
"An older, elegant woman doesn't fuck in a car, Greg?"
That's right, your best friend's daughter has a mouth, remember? Your move.
He laughed and that casual, 'I'm just a boy that likes to drive fast and drink a little beer' smile came back. "She does if she's old married folk. Reliving the good old days with hubby's fingers inside her. She doesn't do that with a new guy, no. I'm a bachelor, honey, there's nothing to relive with me. That's something your parents might do."
I sputtered. Ned saved my ass by coming back with the drinks. For once I welcomed his looming formal energy. Maybe I just needed a drink.
The night went on like that. I couldn't even taste the food, for the most part I put it down fast enough to send a barb in Greg's direction. He always had an answer. I hated it. But if there was one thing I've always been good at it's raising the stakes, and so I did. When he implied a kiss, I demanded tongue. If he mentioned a date, I insisted a one night stand. It seemed like he just got calmer and calmer, as I shovelled food over the plate and mostly into my mouth. It seemed to always meet a drink there. If (IF) I was losing our conversation at least he was paying for drinks, and I was going to make him pay dearly one way or another.
At some point I stumbled to the bathroom and stole another bar of soap. Fuck it! The candles smelled nice so I blew out one of those, shook the wax off into the sink, and put that in my purse too. When Greg took his singular bathroom visit I shoved my untouched silk napkin into my bag too. And for kicks I took a knife, which I wiped off on the far side of the table cloth.
I knew I had drank too much even before the bathroom. My vision had been blurring for a while, I just hadn't noticed when it was aimed solely at Greg's dumbass face. But now, fumbling the button on my purse to put my spoon inside (fuck it lol I liked the spoon there was an italian fleur de lis on there) I realized how drunk I was. I could make it home without throwing up but only out of spite.
But there was a problem.
Ned cleared his throat behind me right as the spoon was getting comfortable in its new home. I spun my head to see his irritated face. And just then, Greg came back from taking a piss.
"Excuse me miss, I believe that's our silverware."
I froze. I was refrigerated. I couldn't move at all.
"Miss, if you would return our spoon to the table, please."
Greg shook his head. "Eleanor, what are you doing."
My hand slipped under the flap of my purse and, numbly, found the spoon. It hit the table with the loudest clatter I've ever heard.
Ned was unimpressed. In a tone of voice both stern and sympathetic, Greg said to me, "Come on, Elly. Apologize to the man."
I mumbled "I'm sorry."
Greg and Ned looked at each other. "I'm sorry, Ned, I had no idea. I'm as mortified as you are."
It took a little more smoothing over but Ned was happy to go along with Greg's easy going view of things. "Of course," Ned said. "Perhaps she might have a little more supervision the next time the lady joins you."
I couldn't stand it. I managed to whisper out "Excuse me," without crying and jolted up from the table. Ned didn't grab my chair this time. I was going to head to the bathroom until this all blew over but the strap to my purse was still wrapped around my wrist and as soon as I stood up the whole thing flipped over. Out flew the knife. And the candle. Out of instinct and panic I started to shovel it back in so I could start running.
"Pardon me, miss!" Ned shouted.
"Elly!"
I froze again.
Greg stepped forward. "Elly, take everything out of there. Everything. Now, young lady."
My hands were shaking so bad. I took out the knife and laid it by the spoon. I took out the napkin. I took out three bars of soap and piled them together. And then I looked at Greg with big wet eyes, begging with apology.
"Is that all?"
I nodded.
Ned looked as unimpressed as ever.
"Empty the whole thing, Elly. Come on, let's see."
I could have dumped the whole bag but even as wasted as I was I didn't want to have to pick up anything afterwards. There I was, sitting again because I was too drunk to stand, quivering in my slinky little dress in front of two very, very disapproving men. I had fucked up so badly I knew I couldn't argue.
I took my phone out. Then my wallet, pink leather with a white jewel heart on it. I hated that I had packed a three-strip of condoms which sat naked beside my phone. Then there was a pack of tissues, and my lipstick. I looked at one man then the other for an unspoken permission.
Greg looked at Ned. "Jesus. Well that's everything."
I started to pack my things back in.
"Mm," Ned grunted.
"Well there's no where else she could hide anything," Greg said.
"Mm."
My hands were so out of control I knew I couldn't button my purse. I was beyond humiliated. This is the worst thing that's ever happened to me.
"I mean, we could strip search her if you want, Ned. Elly, drop the dress."
I blame the terror that came over me in that moment for what I did next. Looking at the sour-faced, silent Ned, and Greg, my father's best friend who was doing him a favor, and knowing that I wasn't some full-of-life sex pot but a scared little thing quaking in her heels with liquor bubbles in her brain, I began to drop the straps over my shoulders. Ned's eyebrows shot up, his arms came alive.
"Jesus, Elly!" Greg said. "I'm kidding! I'm kidding!"
OHMIGOD
I grabbed the purse and ran, covering my face every wavy step to the door and outside where the night air punched me in the gut. But that was better than the restaurant.
Greg found me by the truck and held open my door while I struggled to get inside. He didn't lift me up this time, just watched as I crawled onto the seat and clawed myself first through the door, then upright.
He cranked the heat and turned on an easy rock station. It was already dark out and I prayed to god I wasn't sweating. It was so hot, like living out a fever dream. I rubbed my eyes which I knew couldn't sweat but they felt tired from drinking. I was so hot, though. So, so hot. I could imagine my apartment waiting for me, I could be cool there. I could draw a bath and disrobe in private and forget tonight. My hands squirmed over my shoulders. I think I fell asleep but it was hot there too.
I don't remember waking up but Greg was using my keys to take us through the apartment doors, then into the elevator. He used my keys again to open my door and then we were inside, with all my empty bottles and garbage on the counters, and the sink full of dishes, and clothes everywhere. Everywhere.
My legs were still drinking the negroni but luckily for me Greg's legs were right there where mine should have been. I clung to him, it must have been like a wet blouse. Blouse! OMG was I topless?? Where did my Hot Plum Dress go??
It was still there but it was hanging at my waist. The sleeve of Gary's shirt felt as thick as a tablecloth on my ribs. The bush of white hair on his hard tan forearms felt much, much softer, planted on the underside of my breasts. How did they feel to him, I wondered.
I blushed. And I know I did because it felt hotter than the blush I already had from drinking. God he's going to think I'm a fucking mess.
His other hand shut my door and I think I heard the lock swing shut. He heaved me around like nothing. "W-wait," I mumbled.
I couldn't leave it like this. I didn't care if it got back to my parents or whatever but I couldn't leave things with Greg thinking I was some dumb little girl.
"Elly?"
"We should have a..." What is it fucking called "...a night hat."
He laughed and my whole body shook. "Is that what adults do, Elly?"
The anger gave my legs the ability to stand and I pushed away from him about three inches. One of my bare arms managed to cover my nipples, I think, which was good. I would have looked ridiculous yelling at him with my tits out.
"Hey you, you... you think I'm not? Have a facking night c-cap, Greg."
I put my other hand on his shoulder and pushed him hard enough to kill him, but he didn't actually move.
His smile was so much darker in my kitchen than in the light of the restaurant. "I think it's Mr. Richards, little lady. You want to play mean?"
I was swaying but my smile could be all mean and patronizing like his, too. "Uh, yeah, Greg why n--"
He slapped me. He slapped me so fast I only heard the clap I didn't see his palm. And before I could fall I was in his arms again. My cheek was on fire and my whole apartment was spinning worse than when I came in.
"You-- you--"
He was already shushing me, carrying me to the couch.
"Y-You hit me."
I suddenly wished I wasn't wearing panties. They felt too tight all of a sudden. My legs were flailing open and closed and each time I felt my labia part and meet again in a little kiss that got wetter and wetter.
"No, no, no," he said. "You know what? You can forget Mr. Richards, that was my father's name. You're gonna call me, Sir, do you understand?"
He put my butt on the arm of the couch and my legs spread open instinctively. I tried to close them but Greg was already between my knees. Instead of feeling my knees I felt his hips.
His massive hand swallowed my face and he pulled me up to look at him. "You've been a bad girl, Elly. Do you want me to tell your parents about tonight?"
I tried to shake my head.
"Say, No Sir."
It was hard with my lips pursed from the strength of his fingers but I managed. "no, sir."
He smiled. "Good girl. You didn't pass the test, Elly, but I didn't want to fuck you in the truck. You're gonna make up for embarrassing me, now aren't you, little girl?"
I tried to nod but I was smart enough to say "Yes, sir."
He grabbed my left breast and rolled it in his palm. "Little slut like you doesn't leave much to the imagination. That's good. That's good, I like being direct."
I was pulled back up to my feet by the scruff of my neck. "Lose the dress," he said.
I pushed what remained on my waist down to my hips as far as it would go. He was staring down my naked body, I'm sure he saw the little dark thatch of hair between my thighs, peaking out of the dress before it dropped. I couldn't reach any lower so I had to work it off and away from my legs with my feet.
Then I joined my dress on the floor. I was on my knees before Mr. Richards' stylish monk straps. He flipped open his belt with a jingle and unzipped his fly but the pants stayed up. They weren't being held up by his dick, but it looked big and hard enough to do just that. His cock was the biggest I had ever seen. No boxers, certainly no briefs. I didn't think they made underwear big enough for him.
"You're gonna suck this down just like a drink, you understand, Elly?"
I looked up at him and nodded. He had sprung out when his fly came lose and I knew from his vantage point he could see his length stretching past my head, gently pressed to the side of my jaw and ear, and my big eyes staring up at him. Weak. Stupid. Stupid little girl. But I knew how to suck dick.
Especially drunk.
I replaced the taste of liquor with the earthy taste of his skin. He tasted like he played squash, or like he hadn't changed his bodywash since he was 21. My tongue slid all the way from the base of his shaft to the big purple knob poking out of his foreskin, which I dutifully slipped inside and swirled. I didn't have any strength to look hot. I hoped he was getting hard looking down on me, my dark hair everywhere, some of it that he was seeing for the first time, my glazed obedient eyes, every square inch of my nudity right there in his grasp. And his hand was still firmly planted on the back of my head as I slurped him slowly, getting my rhythm. I didn't know if I could take him in my throat. But Mr. Richards made that choice for me.
After he was wet all over from my work he directed my mouth over his cock, he never moved, he always just moved my head where he wanted it. He crammed my mouth full and kept pushing, leaving drunk little me trying desperately to relax her throat and make more spit to lube him up. But I couldn't. I gagged and when I coughed he pulled my head off so I could gasp. Then he went back in, further, harder. This went on a few times. My makeup was running, I knew I didn't look like an angel any more. I looked like a whore ruined in the rain.
He kept going harder but not any further because my body wouldn't let him. Honestly I don't know how I kept from throwing up on him right there (I guess practice... I didn't know how much gag reflex I had left in me after one short year of university, booze or no booze). I could hear him grunting with frustration each time he hit my wall but I wasn't in a place to apologize for it. Not that he would have accepted it. Blowing Mr. Richards was already the apology for me fucking up.
The last time he tried to go deep was the worst! I was gagging, full-body spasming on his cock, couldn't breathe, couldn't move. I was slapping his thighs as hard as I could but he wouldn't budge and neither would the back of my throat. Then I felt an awful pressure building up from my chest and my throat felt like a latex balloon with thick wet walls. I gagged hard and something shifted with a physical pop. And then his cock shot down, deep into my neck. He groaned. My lips were stretched wider than they ever had been. I had never been this full in my life I could barely pull air into my nose and around the girth of Mr. Richards.
Never have I felt so greatful as when he pulled out. A mess of fluid followed him and rolled off my chin and over my tits and my thighs. Never have I been so grateful for air.
"Haven't been seeing boys, huh?" He said.
Before I could answer his cock went back in, all the way, with only a little bump of resistance before it was balls deep in my throat again. He jerked off with my head in his hand for a while until I could feel his mass throb like a clenching wrist and then he pulled out. More spit splattered on me, getting caught up in my pubic hair. I looked up at him panting. He had an awful smile on his face.
"Did that taste better than dinner, Elly?"
"Yes... sir..."
"I knew you wouldn't be a respectable woman. Your father tells me everything. And you know what? I knew you would be used to this. Look at you," he smeared my spit back over my lips. "Nothing but a slut. Do you like being a slut?"
I hated admitting it. "Yes sir," I said.
Mr. Richards laughed.
"Bad girl. Time for you to go to bed."
He yanked me up and shoved me towards the hall. It's a small apartment and I guess his eyes followed the trail of tights and panties to where the bedroom was. My body slid against my wall on the way there and it felt as cold as ice.
A shot rang out all down the hallway and off every wall in my place. It was his hands spanking the big round target of my ass. I shrieked.
"Bedroom. Now."
I fell into the darkness and caught my bedspread. A second later the light turned on. Greg laughed. "Jesus christ."
He picked the vibrator off my pillow and pointed it at me.
"You don't even have time to put it away, huh?"
He flicked a switch and a familiar whining buzz rattled out. My body felt comforted instantly, like I was Pavlov's dog. I shook my head. "It... I was doing... the laundry... it just fell... out?"
He pulled it over my lips and got it wet from the mess I was still covered in. I wish I'd washed it after this morning's session. I tried to put it into my mouth because I figured he would want to throat fuck me with that now but he gave me a playful bop on the cheek with it and disappeared behind me. Then I felt it gently pulsating against the hot entrance of my cunt.
I moaned. If wasn't drunk I could have cum right then. He sawed it slowly up and down my opening, getting it wetter and wetter. Am I any different from a toy?
"That's why I like young ones like you," he said. "No need to buy lube for you little tramps."
I pushed my pussy against him and he withdrew the buzz. "Uh-uh," he said. "Like I told you, you're just lubing it up for me."
He pressed the point of the dildo against my ass and my back straightened up like an arrow. He laughed and rotated the point around my asshole. I could feel my own slick on it.
I was bent over the bed with my feet on the floor, and now I was trapped in the waves of vibration booming through me from my ass. Mr. Richard's hand groped my tits as they hung. Who knows how long he was working me like that, I was lost to the second-hand joy begging to be shoved just a little bit lower, into my pussy. You lose track of time when you're getting played like a violin. But at some point he got the dildo inside me. Then he got it deeper. And deeper until there was nearly five long, wide inches of throbbing surging in my asshole and out into the rest of my body.
Then his cock found the hole beneath it, which was flowing with desperation. I heard him grunt in approval and then Mr Richards slipped his cock, which was at least twice as old as me, between my begging lower lips.
I guess he was still excited from the face fucking because he didn't bother building up his stroke. Mr. Richards was at top speed almost immediately. I couldn't believe someone his age could move like that. He was pounding me from behind without a moment to waste! And I couldn't believe how hard he could fuck without stopping or even missing a beat. It was like being held down by an eager piston. Big as it was his dick wasn't even the hardest part of him though. When he grabbed my throat and yanked my slender back into his chest I felt how sturdy his body was. Greg had fat on him but it was just grease for the muscle. It almost hurt to squeeze up into him like that. His tongue flicked my earlobe and slid into the cannals of my tiny little ear. I moaned but his grip was so tight around my neck I think he felt it more than he heard it.
"You moan like your mother, you know that?"
Wha--? What?
He laughed cruelly. He could see my dumbfounded expression in another cheap mirror I had propped against my closet.
"You're a lot tighter than she is. Even with your sloppy drunk little cunt. And your tits are bigger. Mmm, yeah, even this young. You've got her shape but she doesn't have your size, baby."
I tried to pull his hand off my throat but I never had a chance. So I just held on, like the leverage would somehow soften the two-hundred-fifty pound mass driving his cock against my bottom.
"Of course it's a lot easier to relax without your goddamn father in the corner slapping his meat."
I came. My orgasm was so explosive it cut through the alcohol and stars burst in front of my eyes. I went limp against him and whatever my body did to his cock must have been good because he hissed in pleasure. He moved my body in some new way that he liked and I felt my thighs rub together: soaking wet. Sloppy. Sticky.
His hand left my throat alone and yanked my face up by the back of my hair. One of my buns had come loose and he had the other.
"You like that? Fuck that's disgusting. You must be a little whore, just like Miranda. If a boy ever asks you, slut, you can tell them you get it from your mother."
The sound of his cock fucking me had gotten squishier. He was fucking a much wetter hole than before.
"Wha-- what do you... AH... mean..."
He laughed. "You're gonna need a nice older guy to guide you, baby."
He slapped my ass and I yelped again. He hit so hard it already stung and glowed red. I knew it was shaped like his hand. My body tried to come again but it didn't get past my tummy.
I hated how much I needed his cock inside me in that moment. I hated how much he was turning me on with every awful word. I hated that I didn't have any strength left to grind against him, pull his orgasm from him and into me. All I could do is lay there while he finished using me.
"Maybe next time I buy you dinner you bring one of your little boyfriends."
He fell over top of me and I was crushed with no where to squirm. His hips never slowed. He turned my head and whispered salaciously with hot breath. "He can sit right over there and watch his best girl get her lights fucked out."
I groaned so loudly. "Yessir..."
"You want that?"
"I.. wannit.... SIR..."
I could feel the heat building again. SLAM SLAM SLAM, like a hammer hitting an anvil.
"You know who could sit there?"
He was throbbing so hard I couldn't feel the vibrator in my ass anymore. Just Greg. Just Greg's veins building his cock even thicker, getting ready.
"You know who would hate to see you like this?"
Getting ready to breed some young ditzy thing that needed an older man to put a baby in her belly.
"You know who we'll force to watch you get fucked?"
I came again and so did he. I never heard what he said, the whole world went black and I screamed so loud he shoved my face into the sheets. I felt a new wetness flood my cunt and I as I faded off I knew it would spill out of that hole just like the spit that followed Greg's cock from my mouth.
When I woke up I was still naked but under my sheets. There was a cold cloth on my forhead and a bucket by the bed. It must have been some time like 3 or 4 AM because everything was black. I rolled over and went back to sleep.
My hangover the next day was brutal and every hole I had was too sore for my usual cure. I did get myself off later on, during a long hot bath. By then Greg's text had arrived.
Learned to use text in a night, didja grandpa?
He said that he would be happy to treat me to dinner any time I liked, not that he had to pay for my company. Next time I would have to apologize to Ned, and Tony of course. Apparently the Boar in Steel had a back room I would love. I didn't know about that. He sent along a video too, and I guess my father's best friend Greg was nice enough to clean off his buddy's daughter after fucking her into a pile of filth. After I had come in bed he dragged me into the shower. I was surprisingly talkative in the video for not remembering a second of it the morning after. I rubbed my sore throat as I saw him get another blowjob. He visited a few other spots again, too.
Jesus, Mr. Richards... do you have a viagra perscription or something? I don't know how you got that thing up the first time.
There was a lot to think about before I accepted any more invitations but I did text him back: "Thanks for dinner
"I only got one other message that day, and I ignored it and everything else until my head came back into one piece. It was a message from Mom.
"Hey.... How was dinner?"
