Breakfast is Nearly Ready

An erotic story, originally posted on my Lust Illustrated Site. I’m doing all that stuff over here now. Not Femdom, just a bit of fun.)

AMY: Breakfast is Nearly Ready

This was my first glimpse of Amy.

…sir…?

I know, right?

Sir?’ she said. ‘Your breakfast is nearly ready.’ I think this may have been the only time she has ever called me sir, so far. The fantasy that she was serving me lasted about twenty seconds.

I stared into her eyes then I sat up blearily, wondering where the hell I was. A vague memory came back to me, of being moved into Business Class in the early morning, when they worked out I was an infection risk. I’d been sent to Malawi, working on an AIDS project and somehow thought I’d be immune to malaria because I was only there a few weeks. Guess which dumbass got malaria anyway? Yeah. You got it.

I looked around the cabin and realised there really isn’t anyone else in this section. The flight is to JoBurg. We should be there by now. What time is it?

‘Uuuuhhhh.’ I say. She may never let me forget this is the first thing I said to her.

what is it, sweaty?

‘What is it, sweaty?’ she says.

Sweaty? Did she say sweaty or sweetie? Either would be annoying. I want to be angry with her but she smells like jasmine.

‘Uhhhh.’ This is my second vocal effort to her. A bit shorter, but still pretty pathetic.

‘Do you need anything?’ she says. ‘Breakfast will be here shortly’. She is still smiling.

‘Water.’ This is my first proper word.

‘No, silly. No water on planes. It’s not allowed.’

‘Whuh’?’ I said.

‘Because it could be an explosive. I don’t want you to get all blowed up.’

‘But I have malaria,’ I said. Finally, a sentence. Subject, verb, the whole thing. Maybe she will be impressed.

‘Malaria! Really? I must the only person on the entire plane who didn’t know that!’ she says, rolling her eyes.

Do you want something from your cabin luggage?

Christ, have they deliberately given me the single most annoying hostess in the entire world? Feels like it at the moment. I am sweaty, it’s true, and delirious and starting to wonder if this is a dream.

‘Did you want something from your cabin luggage?’ she says, reaching for it. ‘I saw a big butt plug when I was looking in there earlier.’

‘Whuh?’ Yes, that’s right. After one complete sentence, I’m back to the caveman stuff again.

‘That’s right. After you asked me to show you my tits and then passed out, I looked in your cabin luggage to see if you were a pervert. And I found your NJoy. You want it with breakfast?’

you were quite awful

‘What? Hang on. I said what to you?’

‘You asked if you could see my tits.’ she grins. ‘Very rudely. You were quite awful.’

‘Really?’

It’s on the cabin video log if you want me to get the other cabin crew to check for you’, she says.

‘Uhhhhh. Look, I’m really sorry. I must have been in a fever or something. I have malaria.’

‘How nice for you.’ she says. ‘Anyway, I showed them to you, and you passed out.’

‘Whuh?’ Yep, Í said it again. There wasn’t much else to say.

‘Man, conversation with you is hard work,’ she says. ‘I said, I showed you my tits, and you passed out….’

and you passed out

After that, she just stood there smiling like I am mouse, and she is holding me by the tail.

The moment was not brief. I sat there with mouth open, until the sweat from my forehead dripped onto my nose. She was fresh as a daisy.

Did she really flash me? I can dimly recall it actually happening. But maybe I am imagining it and she is just messing with me. Her smile is impossible to read.

Finally, a call bell rings in Economy, and she starts to move away.

‘Wait!’ I say. ‘Ummm…’ Great job. I wish I didn’t feel so terrible or I might have been able to at least say something.

‘I like you more when you are delirious,’ she says loudly. ‘You’re kinda more direct. Anyway, enjoy your buttplug!’

Then she walks off and one of the other staff brings me my breakfast, and water, and head towels, and apologizes for the delay, and tells me I will be in Cairo in half an hour.

Cairo? Why the fuck did I check on to plane to Cairo?

Wish she hadn’t been so sexy

This is my ex-girlfriend Caprice, settling in for a bath. Last time, I told you about how she basically got me to invite her to move in, by letting me take candid pictures of her on a train. I hope that gave you some idea of what she was like.

After she moved in, the games continued. She kept working as a temp and made a little money, although she spent most of it on herself. She hated her job, and moaned about it constantly. She said her main passion was to be a masseuse and she was going to train to be one, some day. But I had a few massages from her and they were ordinary. She just pinched my shoulder muscles for a while, to no real purpose. It seemed to me that she had no passion for it at all. She always seemed to like getting them, though. Went to some place in the city once a month or so.

In fact I don’t think Caprice ever really had much passion for most things – especially me. No matter what I did, I never really got very far with her. She liked being able to say she was going out with a successful sound engineer, and she loved my apartment, but I never made her smile (on purpose), and in bed, I doubt that gave her a single real orgasm in the whole two years I was with her. She was so good at faking things, it was impossible to tell.

On this particular occasion I came in when she was having a bath – her second of the day, in fact – and I found her masturbating. She quickly covered herself, as though her pussy was something I wasn’t supposed to see, even though we’d had sex the night before.

‘What do want?’ she asked.

‘I just wanted to see what you were doing,’ I replied.

‘You saw what I was doing. Happy?’

‘Caprice…maybe I could stay. Maybe I could just watch, to see what you do.’

I said this because I wanted to see what she was like, masturbating. Maybe if I watched her give herself an orgasm, I would know what it looked like. That’s how desperate I was.

‘So you’re just going to stand there?’ she said.

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Go for it. Just pretend I’m not here.’

‘Okay,’ she said. (I realised later that that this was what she did most of the time, anyway.)

So she ignored me and got down to it. She pulled out a glass dildo that I did not know that she owned, and moved it in and out of herself, very slowly, with her eyes closed. I was surprised by how gentle the motions were. She hardly seemed to be moving at all, but her body started to stiffen and sway in time with some rhythm she was keeping in her head.

After about five minutes of this she lifted a leg and came in from a slightly different angle, and she started making a soft, sighing noise that I had never heard before. Her eyes were still closed, and I suspected she was fantasizing about something, probably not me.

I had no erection as I watched this. In fact I was dismayed by how little it looked like what we did together, and how little I seemed to know about my girlfriend.

After a few minutes with her leg up, she went quiet and held her breath, and I think that was when she actually came, her face calm with concentration.

But then she opened her eyes just for a moment and looked at me, and then I saw her give a faint smile as she looked away. She still had the dildo inside her, and she moved it in and out a few times, and made a sound, a little gasp, exactly the noise that she makes when she comes with me.

I’m pretty sure it was fake.

Who fakes an orgasm while masturbating? Especially if they have just had one? I can never be sure that this is what Caprice actually did that day, but my instinct is pretty strong. It just fits with everything else about her.

Afterwards I asked her what she had been fantasizing about.

‘Nothing,’ she said. I knew she was lying.

I wish she hadn’t been so sexy, honestly. I wish that cold, manipulative people were all ugly, and warm-hearted generous girls were gorgeous. Then, I’d never have gone out with her. And I’d never gotten into that total mess when her sister Tiffany came to stay.

This one is complimentary

20100801-max-049This is my ex-girlfriend Caprice. When I met her she was 23, working as an office temp and absolutely hating it. In fact she hates a lot of things about life, but she is very well-named – she is capricious, and loves games.

Anyway, I took this photo of her on a train down to Dover. We were just starting a three week break over summer. I just couldn’t resist snapping her. We’d known each other four months and she knew I loved taking pictures of her.

‘Hey John,’ she said. ‘You know how you wanted to take nude photos of me? Well, now is your chance.’

‘On the train? What if someone comes?’ I said.

‘Do you want to take photos or not?’ she responded.

‘I do.’

‘Well, it will cost you. You have to let me stay at your house for a week when we get back.’

‘I…sure, sweetie. I’d love to have you over.’

She took off her panties, lifted back her skirt, and let me take this photo.

erererer

Then straight away she pulled it back down again and crossed her legs.

‘I wasn’t finished. Can I take some more?’ I said.

‘Another week,’ she said, straighfaced.

‘You want to spend a whole fortnight at my house just for two photos?’

‘You want to take photos of the scenery?’ she said. (The scenery was trees and fields.)

‘OK. Another week. You know you could just ask to stay at my place and then I could take photos, seperately.’

‘Two weeks, you get another photo,’ she said.

The deal made, she let me take this photo.

01

‘I get so absentminded when I am on holidays. I totally forgot to pack a bra,’ she says, deliberately coquetteish. Then she covers it all up again.

‘I still want to take more,’ I said, loving the moment, even if she was being a pain. ‘How about the other one.’

‘A third week?’

‘A third week! Sweetie, why don’t you just move in?’

‘I thought you’d never ask,’ she said.

”Is that what this is about? You want to move in with me?’ I said.

‘Yeah. I really do. Then I won’t have to send the next three weeks thinking about money. I hate worrying about money.’

So I agreed to let her move in with me and she let me take this photo. Totally worth it I’m sure you would agree, even if she was a bit of a troll.

20100801-max-060

Then, she covered up temporaily, and made a phone call to her landlord and gave him the obligatory six weeks notice, and told him that she hated him. Then she started flashing me again, but just a split second at a time, not long enough for me to take a good shot.

‘I can see the door, you know,’ she says. ‘If anyone comes down the hall I can put it all away again. I have great reflexes.’

She keeps demonstrating this, by quickly covering herself and then exposing again.

‘You look like you have practiced that,’ I said.

‘I have to do this quite a lot when I am teasing myself at work,’ was her reply.

The thought of her playing with her clit while she is at her desk makes me ache to fuck her and I can’t wait to get her to the holiday house.

‘You are too talented to be working as a temp,’ I say.

‘I’m working on it,’ she says. ‘But you know I hate working!’

Then she throws her underpants out the window, and shows herself again, this time letting me take it all in.

12

‘What do I owe you for this one?’ I said.

‘Oh, this one is complementary.’

 

Retire Hurt

I work in real estate, and quite often I need to go to clients’ houses to assess their value. After my new secretary Loora had been working in the office about four days, I got an opportunity to go to assess an empty house in the suburbs, and I invited her to come along. There was really no reason for her to go; she was just supposed to be my secretary, after all. But I thought maybe if I could get her out of office surroundings, she might loosen up, and stop calling me ‘sir’, and I could find out a little bit more about her life. As I said last time, I had a crush on Loora, which I did not quite care to admit, but which still influenced a lot of things I did around her.

Things did not go as planned. To begin with, Loora did not take the opportunity to dress any differently than she would normally. She came to the house looking like this.

I walked in to the empty room and said hello, and asked her if she was all right, and she said: ‘Yes, sir. But it is very cold in here.’

She was right. It was March, and still freezing. The bar heater by the window was the warmest place to be, by far. I moved over and stood next to her. My eye was immediately drawn to her left hand, and I noticed there was no ring, like she normally wore.

‘What do you think of the place?’ I asked, trying to make eye contact, and not to stare too hard at her ring finger.

‘It’s too good to sell right now,’ she said. ‘The last few Victorian terraces along this street sold for 350,000 pounds. I don’t think they will get that in this market.’

As she says this she moves herself onto the heater to keep warm, and I found it impossible not to stare at her ring finger, although it is hidden behind her leg. I keep hoping the musky smell of her will wash over me like it has done in the office, but someone has sprayed the place with cheap air freshener just before the inspection and all I can smell is ‘Pine Breeze’ or whatever stupid name they all it. Certainly it is nothing like the smell of Loora.

‘Sir?,’ she says. ‘Are you all right?’

I realize I have been staring at her hopelessly for half a minute and clutch for an excuse. ‘Ah, you’re right, it is very cold in here,’ I say, effecting a shiver.

‘Do you want some space by the heater?’ she says, and sits down next to it, and like a fool I squat down next to her, and just then I do catch her smell, and this time, I am pretty sure it is of salt, and spice, and is coming from the places in her body where hair wants to grow, and which she cannot cover.

‘So, ah, Loora,’ I said. ‘What would you do with the place.’

‘Rent, definitely,’ she says. ‘You could get  500 pounds a month here. I’d be having that as income, and trying to buy in somewhere a bit closer to town.’

I try to remind myself that she is only twenty-five, but at this point she seems to know as much about the market as I do. Not that it matters, because she turns to face me so she can continue the conversation, and sits down with her legs towards me. I catch sight of her left hand, and there is definitely no ring on that finger.

‘Sir?’ she says again. ‘Are you sure you are all right? You look a bit red.’

‘Ah…’ I do not know what to say, and then another wave of her incredible musk comes over me, the strongest I have known it, and I am forced to go to the bathroom, claiming a stomach upset, and let her deal with the client (which she does very well, needless to say).

Retire hurt, is the cricket term. I have had to retire hurt.

But sooner or later I am going to find out about that ring.

A Few Things To Remember

Things went so nicely that first night with Saori, I made the decision to have her stay the night as often as she could during my fortnight in Tokyo. It would save her from having to deal with any other leery businessmen – just me, and as I already explained, my intentions were pure (ish). I didn’t want to sleep with her. I just wanted her around, and wanted her to stay the night with me, but in her own bed, and get paid for it.

Good evening sir

So I rang her up and invited her to come and have dinner with me, and she sounded pleased, and accepted straight away. She showed up very early, at five thirty, wearing a different kimono to the one she’d had on last night. I was immediately curious to know if she had anything on underneath this time, but I manned up, and restrained myself from asking or peering.

‘Good evening, sir,’ she said demurely, no eye contact, but much warmer than she had been the night before.

‘Won’t you call me Pete?’ I said. ‘You did last night.’

‘All right, Pete. And you can call me Saorin. A name for friends,’ she said.

Saorin,’ I said, relishing the name. ‘What do you want to do tonight, Saorin?’

‘Oh. I thought we were to stay here,’ she says. ‘I am not dressed for anything else.’

‘Right. We’ll order from the room service menu. But tomorrow night, we’re going out to dinner, OK? I want you to take me to a great restaurant. Somewhere the guide books don’t know about.’

You are buying me dinner?

Saori looks very confused, and blushes slightly. She sits down in the bench on the sunny side of the room and asks: ‘Pete…you are buying me dinner?’

‘Yeah, sure. Why not? A girl has to eat, right?’

‘And you want me to stay again tomorrow night? I didn’t have plans to work.’

I hadn’t expected this and forgot she only works two nights a week. ‘Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.’

‘No, it’s good,’ she says. ‘I’d like to stay. I’ll just have to arrange a few things.’

So she sits down and gets comfortable and we get talking. I ask her about her background and she tells me she is actually a quarter German, which unfortunately means the local businessmen think she will be “exotic”, and also, easy. I find it strange to think of German as being exotic, but different strokes, I guess. Then I tell her that I am a typical Aussie, part Irish, part mongrel, and she laughs at my freckles. We drink tea, then wine, and I start to order the meal.

I ask her what she wants and she explains she already ate because she was not expecting to be fed. I remind her that I am taking her out again tomorrow and tell her to come hungry this time, and also, not to show up til it is dinner time, and to come dressed to go out.

She laughs. ‘Yes, I will do all of that. But, I do not know high class restaurants. I only know student places. You want to go to somewhere like that? I know a place with good gyoza.’

‘Sure, that sounds great.’ (I don’t want to admit I have no idea what that is).

‘What do you want me to wear?’ she asks.

‘Whatever you are comfortable in,’ I say. ‘Just what you would normally wear out.’

‘All right. Pete, thank you. I’m not really used to being treated like this by customers,’ she admits. ‘Some are very nice, but a lot of them they want me to act submissive.’

‘Hah!’ I laugh, and try to parody the domineering businessmen. ‘Drop that kimono and show me some respect, woman!’ I say. I am joking, but it is way off base, and she takes me at my word.

‘Like this?’ she asks, and lays back, letting the kimono expose her shoulders.

‘Uh…’ I am momentarily speechless. ‘Saorin, I was kidding. I didn’t actually…’

She sits up and the kimono falls gracefully off her shoulders. ‘Or like this?’ she asks.

‘That’s enough,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry. It was a joke that went wrong.’

She smiles and covers herself, slowly. ‘Pete, you should remember what I do for a living,’ she says. ‘And, you should remember that I sometimes enjoy it.’

The food arrives, and I get left to think about that for the rest of the evening. In particular; if she knew the date was just for conversation this time, then why is she still naked under there?

Not that I am really complaining.

Birthday coming up real soon

An ongoing illustrated erotic story…

Darren is my son Richard’s best friend. He is seventeen and has shoulders like you wouldn’t believe and not an ounce of fat on him.

Such a sweet kid, too. I’ve known him since he was about fourteen and him and Richard would play football in the back yard and I noticed the smile he had and the way he always called me Mrs Robbins, or Ma’am, and was ever so polite and cute.

Then he hit sixteen and the adult body started to kick in and his jaw got a little wider, and all of a sudden, every time he came anywhere near me, my stomach started to hurt. In that way.

After a while, I think he noticed I liked him. Lately, he started coming round on Thursdays, all innocent, still with that boyish smile, but with a young man’s face.

‘Is Richard here?’ he’d ask.

‘No, sweetie. He has basketball on Thursdays.’

‘Oh yeah, I keep forgetting. Oh well, now that I am here, would you like any help with anything round the yard, Mrs Robbins?’

‘Sure, thanks. You can clear out all that dead wood from the plane tree, and I’ll fix you a lemonade.’

It was all pretty innocent that first time, but he came round the next Thursday and I was ready for him. A low cut top and high cut denim shorts did the trick. He got in lot of good looks at me, and I could see his thick cock in his jeans as he did some pruning and I stood beneath him and told him just where to cut. We both knew exactly what was going on. I thought about it all evening.

The third Thursday, he helped me wash the car. And I went all out for the wet t-shirt thing. So sue me.

11

Hi, cutie!

‘Hi cutie. Richard is out, remember?’ I said as he came into the yard, right when I thought he’d show up.

‘Oh yeah, basketball. Anyway, you want some help?’

‘Sure. I love it when you help me out,’ I said.

‘No problem. You look nice today, Mrs Robbins’.

kinda clumsy

‘Thanks. I’m kinda clumsy, though.’ I point to my t-shirt.

‘Oh, you can hardly notice.’  He smiles, not so innocntly, and I giggle. I can see his cock again.

‘You’re such a sweet kid,’ I say. ‘Although I guess you aren’t much of a kid any more. Are you?’

Are you?

‘Actualy that reminds me,’ he said. ‘I have a birthday coming up real soon. Eighteen.’

‘Age of consent, huh?’ (We live in Florida, right? Otherwise I might have had him already. But he was a sweet kid, good mannered, traditional CoC parents, and I knew he’d be worth the wait.)

‘Yeah. In a few weeks I can do what I want,’ he said, grinning.

‘I bet you’re looking forward to that,’ I said. (I knew I sure was.)

‘Yeah, it’s gonna be great. Hey, let me finish this. Why don’t you take a rest? It’s hot out, Mrs Robbins.’

‘You’re so great,’ I say. ‘Thanks.’

So I spend the rest of the afternoon lying there watching him polish my car, flirting, making small talk, watching his ass, his shoulders, fantasising about his incredible stomach. My pants ended up as wet as my shirt. OK, not quite, but it sounds good.

take my word for it…

And after he’d done, he agreed to let me have him round for dinner when he turns eighteen. It’s in a few weeks time.

Anyway, you can say all you want about using cliches, milfs in wet t-shirts and all that, but they sure did work, and if you had the crappy life I have had, you might go for a few cliches too if they worked out in your favour.

And take my word for it: that kid is getting a whole lot of yours truly for his eighteenth birthday.