This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, past or present, is completely coincidental.
*
Missy had a reputation. She didn't really care though. She'd never cared much for what other people thought of her. Even though she knew those old busybodies at the ladies quilting circle weren't the only ones who gossiped about her. She'd never cared much for 'ladies' either.
She lived in a moderately sized town with a population of about ten thousand or so. The neighborhood she lived in was securely middle class. Most of her neighbors were single men with a few married couples of varying ages. When she'd moved here she'd made sure she rented a house right in the middle of all the single men. She wanted a man. Not just any man would be good enough. She wanted a man who wanted her enough to take her.
That purpose was how she'd earned the reputation of a slut. She knew she'd never get a man just going to work and sitting in her house reading. She got a job at the closest convenience store, selling gas and cigarettes from behind bulletproof glass. She knew the men only bought a few dollars of gas at a time so they could come back as often as possible.
She knew they wanted her. At work she had to wear the buttoned- down shirt and pants of a uniform but she made sure to order them in the smallest sizes she could wiggle into. The pants would have shown a panty line if she'd had one. Not that she didn't wear panties. She did. She wore thongs to keep the center seam of her uniform pants from chafing her pussy lips. The shirt of the uniform stretched quite a bit so she was able to wear one two sizes too small. The buttons strained over her size 36C breasts. She was careful not to sit when she had male customers. The buttons strained rather more than she liked over her belly when she sat. She wore an unlined, satin bra under her shirt. The air conditioning was always set on cold, making her nipples stay hard. She always left one more button undone than any other woman in the neighborhood, making sure to show plenty of cleavage. She found it amusing to check out her male customers, eying their cocks to see how hard they got from staring down her cleavage. She made sure they knew she was looking.
The clothes she wore at home were much different. She liked to wear very loose, very short shorts with a too small bikini top to putter around in her flower garden in her front yard. Whenever possible, she bent over at the waist to pull the weeds, flashing a glimpse of her shaved pussy lips. When she mowed the large yard she wore just a bikini.
She liked to lay out and tan in the early afternoons before she went in to work the evening shift. She had a chain link fence around her back yard, letting the single men in all the houses around hers see her as she tanned. She sprayed oil all over her body before reclining on her cushioned lounge chair. When she flipped to tan her back she untied her top so she wouldn't have a tan line from the ties. The bottoms she wore to tan in were thongs.
She knew most of the men were home on weekends. One of them, Wayne, had such an erratic schedule she was never sure when or for how long he'd be home. He was just like all the others though, stopping by her work anytime he was around, watching her lay out. She knew he wanted her, they all did. He was hard from looking at her erect nipples through her uniform top much more often than any of the others. The question was: did any of the men want her enough to take her the way
she
wanted?
Wayne was a man of rather simple needs. He needed to not be idle, which was the main reason he worked two jobs with 24 hour shifts. He needed a house to eat, sleep and shower in when he wasn't working. He needed a vehicle he liked. This was a black Porsche 911 fastback. It was also one of the reasons he worked two jobs. It was an expensive car. He needed a sex with a woman much more often than he had time for. That was one of the drawbacks of having two 24 hour shift jobs. Since he noticed that he had a new neighbor, and heard about her reputation, he decided it would be convenient to have sex with her on the one or two days a week he was home. He was sure it'd be easy to convince her of the same convenience.
He'd chatted with her a couple of times through her fence when he was home. She was tanning both times, lying on her belly with the ties of her top undone. He was sitting on an old tire swing the previous owners had left hanging from a branch of an enormous oak tree. The tire looked like an old semi truck tire mounted horizontally instead of vertically. Even though it had been meant for kids it was a nice place to relax with a cold drink on a hot afternoon. After working 48 hours straight he needed a nice place to relax.
He'd gotten hard from the conversations with Missy. Just looking at her plumply curved body in that too-small bikini would have been enough. But knowing that if she were to turn over, or even if she just got up to go into the house, she'd have to adjust her top to keep her nipples from showing made his cock throb. Added to that were the topics of their conversations. She was very open about discussing anything related to sex. Their first chat was about sexual positions. She told him her favorites, some she'd never tried, and some she didn't care for. He told her he'd tried many different positions, his favorites, and the ones he found difficult to do. Their second conversation involved details of encounters they'd each had. He had the oddest sense that she was a little inexperienced. He trusted his instincts and intuition but this time they were totally at odds with her reputation. How could a woman almost every man in the neighborhood claimed to have fucked be inexperienced?
Every other single man in the neighborhood had gone out on one date with her and told very similar stories afterward. She wore tops that just almost revealed her nipples, skirts that just almost revealed whether or not she wore any panties, or dresses that did both. She smiled a lot, touched a lot, and made a lot of deliberately obvious glances into the men's laps. Some of the touches were just as obviously deliberate brushes of her fingertips, ass, or a hip against their flies. By the time they got back to her place every single one of them had sported a raging erection.
Their stories varied some after that. Some of the men claimed she was so wild to fuck they barely got the front door closed before she was taking their cocks out of their pants, raising her skirt or dress, and having them fuck her standing against the door. Some of the men claimed she continued the tease all the way to her bedroom, making them slowly undress themselves and her and fucking slowly on her bed. Still others went wild with her, taking their own cocks out of their pants and bending her over the back of her living room couch, pounding into her pussy from behind.
Missy didn't care what kind of stories they made up about her. It was public fact that she had dated almost every single man in the neighborhood and that she did dress and act the slut on those dates. It was publicly accepted that, because of her clothes and actions on those dates, what the men said about her actions after the dates must also be fact.
She
knew that her slut act was just that, an act. Almost all of the men took her to dinner at the Four Seasons forty miles away. The specialist doctors bored her silly with talk of this knee surgery or that sprained ankle. The lawyers droned on about mergers and takeovers and settlements. The accountants carried on a monologue about taxes. She had to put on an academy award performance just to get through the evening, much less smile, laugh, and tease.
Tonight she'd gone out with what seemed like the last available man in a ten mile radius of her house or work. John was an accountant, a junior partner in the largest firm in town. Missy could tell within five minutes exactly how the date would go. It would be almost an exact replay of all the other dates she'd gone on with accountants. She was right too. He picked her up exactly on time in his very respectable tan Buick. She wore her almost-black hair down in ringlets around her shoulders and down her back. Her dress was white satin, spaghetti strapped, and very low cut. The length would have been a modest ankle length but for the slit in the left side all the way up to her hip. On her feet were sandals with 4.5 inch stiletto heels. She looked hot and she knew it.
John had told her he was taking her to a nice dinner in a town an hours' drive away. He claimed it was because he didn't think any of the restaurants any closer were worthy of her. Missy knew it was because he still lived with his parents and didn't want anyone he knew to see him with her and get him in trouble with his father. She knew his father hated her because of her reputation. Image was everything with that family.
The restaurant was very high class. The dress code was black tie making Missy glad that she'd worn a nice dress instead of a denim mini skirt and tank top with a built in bra. She ordered one of the few menu items she could pronounce, salmon with whole green beans and wild rice, and made a show of eating. She never took a large bite; she didn't want her cheeks to distend while she chewed. She made sure to take the prongs all the way into her mouth, close her lips around the tines and slowly draw the fork out from between them.
The table was perfectly sized for two people, giving Missy the opportunity to slide her foot up and down the inside of John's calf. The angle was wrong for her to look directly into his lap but when she got up and returned from her single trip to the ladies' room she looked and saw the bulge of his erection. She knew he saw her looking. She also knew that he knew the glance was deliberate.
She continued to stroke his inner calf with her foot. She also reached out to touch his hand or arm as he droned on about how she should file her taxes next year. She kept her eyes on his whenever possible, nodding and smiling whenever he paused to take a breath. She barely spoke a single sentence during the entire tedious hour. It was taxing her acting skills to even appear mildly interested. She concentrated on keeping the top of her dress pulled as low as possible and her breasts thrust forward.
Finally the meal was finished. They walked back out to his boring Buick.
What happened to men who drove exciting vehicles? Or at least interesting ones,
Missy thought
.
That was when the evening took a turn for the worse that she never expected.
