Summary: An erotic Sunday afternoon with MaryAnn.
Keywords: M/F, bondage, cons, oral, tickling
ONE
Becky was out of town, attending a medical conference. She had left early on the Saturday morning after I had spent an...eventful...evening with her and her sister.
It was that Sunday afternoon when my phone rang. When I answered it, I heard MaryAnn's unmistakable throaty voice: "Hello, you."
"Hello, yourself," I replied. "What's up?"
She sighed theatrically. "Miss Priss is out of town for her conference. So I'm here by myself. And I'm bored."
"That's too bad," I replied. "Why don't you come over? We can play a few rounds of Parcheesi and watch reruns of The PTL Club."
"You bastard," MaryAnn laughed. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."
TWO
The doorbell rang eighteen minutes later, which I took as a promising sign. When I opened the door, MaryAnn was standing with her hands in her back pockets, her head tilted to one side and a half-smile playing over her lips. She was wearing a battered black leather jacket, faded, skintight jeans, and a pair of red cowboy boots. Underneath her jacket she had on a deep red t-shirt, and, it appeared, nothing else. As I stepped aside to usher her in, she moved forward and wrapped her arms around my neck. I looked down at her face, framed by her marvelous auburn-red hair. Her eyes were the color of coffee with small, ruby-red flecks, and her pupils were large and deep. She slowly closed her eyes and parted her lips.
I leaned in and kissed her.
As our lips touched, she moved against me and I could feel the warmth of her breasts against my chest. I put my hands around her waist and pulled her closer, so that her pelvis pressed against mine, and put my tongue between her lips. She gave a low growl of pleasure in the back of her throat as our tongues met.
After some minutes she stepped back and unwrapped her arms from around my neck. She put her hands behind her back, leaned forward slightly, and looked up at me. "Happy to see me?" she asked, a sardonic smile on her face.
"You bet...um...what was your name again?" I asked.
MaryAnn laughed in delight, her eyes twinkling. "Bastard," she said.
I put an arm around her slender waist and walked her into the living room.
"What can I get you to drink?" I asked.
"Whiskey?" she asked, making it a dare.
"I think I might have some around," I smiled.
THREE
When I came back from the kitchen with a tray and glasses, MaryAnn was looking through one of the bookshelves lining the room. She ran an elegantly manicured finger along the spines, passing rapidly over the antique books on science and mathematics, more slowly over the fiction, and finally stopping on the shelf containing erotica. She bent over to look closely at the titles, and pulled out a first edition of 'Story of O,' holding it up and grinning at me.
"There's a story behind that particular book," I said, setting down the tray and walking over to stand close to her.
"I'll bet," she said.
"I volunteer with the Friends of the Library," I said. "We get together once a week to sort donated books for the annual benefit book sale."
"'Friends of the Library?'" MaryAnn asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Hey, I like books, and they're a nice bunch of old ladies; they bring me casseroles, and try to set me up with their daughters."
"Obviously they don't know you like I do," MaryAnn interrupted, smiling at me sweetly.
"Anyway," I said with mock impatience, "one week we were at the library sorting through boxes of donated books when I came across that one. I asked the lady who runs the group--a retired librarian--whether I should put it with 'Foreign Authors,' 'Classic Literature,' or 'How-To.'"
"You didn't."
"I did," I replied. "In retrospect, I was probably lucky she had never heard of the book. And after thinking about it, I figured it probably wouldn't be good to have it show up on a table at the book sale. So I dropped a few dollars in the donation box and brought it home."
MaryAnn shook her head. "You know, I'd really love to get you on the couch sometime."
"Let's finish our drinks first," I replied. "Or did you mean in the professional sense?"
"Idiot," MaryAnn laughed, punching me playfully in the upper arm.
FOUR
I led her over to the couch and we sat down. I poured her two fingers of whiskey, and picked up my glass of soda water.
"You're not drinking?" she asked.
"I never do," I smiled. "I prefer to stay in control."