Christi and James

Christi screamed when he stepped up behind her and locked his arms around her. She had just stepped from the shower and was standing nearly naked as she looked out the window at her second story apartment's late afternoon view of Mt. Hood, a towel wrapped around her that barely covered her full breasts and really didn't reach below her hips. Her mind flashed from relishing the view from her condo to full panic at the assault by an unknown male. Her arms were pinned by his strong grip. She was thrashing, kicking her legs and swinging her head to and fro, water flying everywhere from her still wet springy blond curls. "Let go of me you fucker!"

"Aye, have you forgotten me so soon lass?" he said in a strong Scottish brogue.

"What . . . James?" She stopped screaming. He was still holding her, and she was still kicking. He had lifted her off the ground so her feet were cycling in the air, accomplishing nothing. As she realized that she was locked in the arms of a former lover, rather than a mad rapist, there was a wave of relief. A modest improvement, but she was still furious. How had he found her? How had he gotten in to her apartment?

"Aye lass," he said in his deep growling voice. "I thought you'd be happier too see me?"

It was definitely James. He had a smell all his own. It had been intoxicating when they were lovers. Unlike any man she had ever known. A smell that immediately brought back the memory of nights, afternoons, mornings, whole days, spent in wild sex with him. No man had ever been like him. There had been times when she thought he was going to teach her the whole Kama Sutra.

She also noticed that he needed a bath.

"How did you get in, you bastard?" she screamed, still kicking. They had not parted on good terms.

"I kept the key you gave me love. You don't think I would throw it away over the little tiff we had before I left to work the wells in North Dakota, did you?"

He put his face down to the notch between her neck and shoulder and begin to lick and nuzzle the sensitive space there. Christi stopped kicking. She didn't exactly melt into his arms, but as in the past his talented lips and tongue could take all the fight out of her in moments.

How could I have let myself get involved with a man like James she was asking herself? I'm thirty-two-year-old accountant about to make partner at a major firm and he's a twenty-eight-year-old construction stiff who loves nothing but motorcycles, drinking with his mates, an occasional bar brawl, and sex. Oh yeah, how he loves sex. My god she remembered, he has a prick that will stay hard nearly forever so long as he can find a place to put it. There can't be another man like him.

As he continued to kiss, and lick her neck, now just below her ear, now in the hollow where it met her shoulder, now in the back at that oh so sensitive spot where her curly hair stopped and there was just a little fuzz, she quit kicking, and he set her down on her feet. My god, my knees are weak, she thought. How can he do this to me? Dumb question. She knew the answer as well as she knew her own name.

"You need a shower," she said trying to regain her lost tone of outrage. He kept one hand still firmly around her waist as he used the other to strip the towel from her body. She should have cared, but she didn't. It was in the way of what she wanted. With the towel gone her breasts were resting on the leather sleeves of his motor cycle jacket, and as they moved around, James still kissing her neck and Christi squirming just a bit in response to the erotic sensations James was creating with his mouth, the short sharp brass zippers on the cuffs would occasionally brush her stiff nipples, sending a shock to her system that went straight to her core.

Now he had his hands on her breasts cupping them and occasionally twisting the fully engorged nipples, not hard like he did sometimes when their love making reached a peak of passion, but still enough to make her begin to squirm and press her round ass against his loins.

"Ahh you've got such lovely tits lass. Did you miss me?"

"No," she lied, trying again to sound angry and failing miserably as she continued to grind her ass against him.

"Oh I think you did lass. Aye, I think your body is telling me that you did miss me." He slid around her and pushed her up against the wall, letting the open zipper of his jacket scrape her nipples as he moved. Grabbing her hands and he held them up against the wall so her breasts were sticking out, the tips swollen and urgent. He leaned back and stared at her, a knee between her legs pushing the rough fabric of his jeans against her sex. She flexed her hips to push back against the intruding knee. It felt wonderful.

"What am I doing?" she asked herself. She knew exactly what she was doing. She was giving in, and she was going to fuck him. Not just once, but all afternoon and into the night. Yes, she knew that was what she wanted, and James would give it to her as he always had in the past. She arched her back and pushed her tits out further, enjoying his lewd stare.

James pulled her hand down to his face and she caressed his jaw, rough with three- or four-day's stubble. He turned his head and pulled two of her fingers into his mouth, caressing them with his tongue and then sucking on them and then more with the tongue, just as she knew he would with her tits.

She groaned. Fuck, she thought. How can he make love to my fingers and get me so aroused? She could feel her pussy getting wetter by the minute as he continued to suckle her fingers. First one hand and then the other. "Oh James, where have you been," she whispered in almost total collapse of her will power.

"I've been in the oil fields love. I was building a stake so you could go to Scotland and meet my mates. I told you that was what I was going to do."

That had been the source of their fight a year ago. If he wanted to go to Scotland, she had plenty of money to go and could easily arrange a week or two off, but James had insisted that he had to pay for it and her feminist side objected to his typical male insistence that she be dependent on him. She had learned to live with being dependent on his talented prick, but that was as far as she was willing to go.

Christi wasn't going to fight now. That could wait for later. He had been gone for a year and she done without since he left, other than some occasional mediocre masturbation, a weak substitute for James' love making. She pulled his head down inviting him to suckle on her tits, an invitation he aggressively accepted, using both hands and his mouth to make love to her breasts. "Oh god James. That's so good," she said with a moan.

While he continued to assault her breasts she began to pull his clothes off—first the motor cycle jacket. Then the T-shirt beneath it. Christ, she thought as she pulled it over his head. It's got so any holes in it I can't even tell which rock band it was promoting. She threw it across the room, hoping in vain the smell of two days hard riding would go with it. Didn't matter. There was still the smell of James. A smell she couldn't describe but had missed almost as badly as she had missed his seemingly perpetually hard cock—well maybe not quite that much.

Before she moved to his trousers she paused, holding his head against her breasts, her back arched away from the wall and her head thrown back, crying and moaning from the sensations her tits were experiencing from his hands, his tongue, his lips and even his teeth. Dropping her hands to his waist she released the belt and the zipper on his grungy jeans. She knew she would have to deal with his motorcycle boots eventually, but for what she wanted now, just pushing his pants and underwear down to his knees would do, and she did that.

His hard, stiff member stood straight out. She held the shaft in both hands while she arched her back and continued to push her boobs at his face, her head back, whining and moaning. She was torn. She wanted his titty play to go on forever. No one had done this to her since he left a year ago. But she wanted his cock too. That big hard throbbing cock she held in both hands. She wanted to suck on it and she wanted him to fuck her with it. She wanted him to shove his lovely cock into her hot cunt and just pound her as she lay on her back beneath him, legs spread obscenely.

"Ohhh!" she groaned as her need for cock, not just any cock, but the cock she held in her hands, won out over what James was doing to her boobs and what little was left of her anger at his uninvited invasion. She pulled away from him and dropped to her knees, his gorgeous prick sticking straight out at her face. She continued to stroke it with both hands as she had been doing ever since she pushed his pants down, her face pulled back far enough to let her focus on just how beautiful this big hard prick before her was. And it was beautiful. It was the first cock she had seen in a year. She stared at it, right in front of her, seeing the veins standing out on the sides of the shaft, the dark engorged head, with its drops of gleaming precum emerging from the slit, to be stroked over the head and down along the shaft by her needy hands. "Just fucking beautiful," she told herself.

But she couldn't just stare at it and stroke it forever, and James knew that. "Come on suck it lass. You know you want to suck my cock. I'll make it cum on your face and tits. I haven't cum in a week and I'm carrying a big load that I've been saving just for you."

He's so crude, she thought, but it was true. She did want to suck his cock. Sucking a man's cock was one of her favorite things to do. It made her so randy when she did that. And she wanted him to cum on her tits. That was so nasty when James did that. She loved it.

Cock sucking was something her mother had always told her nice girls should never do, but she had done it any way and just loved it, even during her college years when she was preserving her virginity for her marriage. What a stupid idea that was she thought. There had been a lot of cocks she had sucked that she should have let fuck her too.

Her husband, Arnold, wouldn't let her suck his cock. She had tried a couple of times and he absolutely refused. In fact he just wasn't very interested in sex in general or even in her. The marriage had been on the rocks before she met James, but her affair with James had finished it, or would have if her husband hadn't been killed. Christi was going to tell her husband she was having an affair and that she wanted out of the marriage. Not to marry James, of course. He was worthless . . . except in bed. But James aside, Christi had become fed up with living with Arnold.

She just couldn't stay married to a man who was so obsessed with . . . was it money or work, or something else. She was fairly sure he wasn't having an affair with someone else, but she could never figure out exactly what he was obsessed with. It sure wasn't her. Arnold even insisted that they file separate tax returns, further obscuring what it was he was doing with his time. He would barely acknowledged her existence, much less take her to bed and love her. He was gone on "business" most of the time and never really explained where he was or what he was doing. When Arnold was in town he didn't show up for meals and slept hours that didn't ever match hers in a separate bedroom in their condo. It was a marriage in name only.

Then a drunk drove his pick-up up on a Burnside sidewalk downtown on a Thursday afternoon and killed him. Christi was numb. She knew she should feel bereft and lost, like a major part of her life was lost, but that was the problem. Arnold wasn't a major part of her life. He was the lover who wasn't and so when he wasn't anymore, thanks to the drunk on Burnside, nothing had really changed.

Shortly after Arnold was killed James left to work on an out of town construction job. She missed him, far more than she missed Arnold. James returned a couple of weeks later and their affair remained intense until a few months later when they had their fight about going to Scotland. That was when he took off to work the wells on the Bakken. For the 12 months after that she had focused on her work at the accounting firm and winding up her late husband's affairs.

She had halfway expected the process of winding up his affairs to tell her something more about him, but it didn't, not really. No mistress, as far as she could see. He made plenty of money, apparently, developing and speculating on commercial real estate, and there were adequate records to file estate tax returns, but was that it, just the real estate business?

She couldn't figure it out and after a year, she didn't care. His real estate business was large and complex, a web of limited liability companies that owned realty throughout the country and had, as real estate businesses always did, a lot of debt and a number of partners in specific development projects. But it was more than solvent. There was a lot of real estate in development stage or held more or less for speculation or future development. But there were other properties producing significant rental income that serviced their own debt and contributed cash to the overall enterprise that rolled up through the structure to support other projects and investments. It was complex enough that she couldn't manage it without leaving her accounting job, so she hired a retired real estate manager who had worked for Fred Meyer, and he ran the business for her. Christi's husband had left her a very rich widow.

She pushed the thoughts of her late husband aside and concentrated on James' rigid cock, pushing it all the way to the back of her mouth and then sucking hard on it as she pulled back. It felt so good in her mouth, hard and soft at the same time, filling her mouth to the brim. She could feel it on the inside of both cheeks when she pulled back and sucked. God yes, she loved sucking cock. She rolled her eyes back and looked up at him, but his head was back and his eyes closed. She loved to make eye contact with a man when she was blowing him.

Christi took her time. Pulling her head back and licking the underside of his shaft from the balls all the way to the tip, then putting just the bulb in her mouth and treating it like a hard candy with her tongue, caressing the head while she stroked the shaft with one hand and gently massaged his balls with the other hand. Then she pulled as much of him as she could hold back into her mouth and let her mouth fill with saliva so it made a sloppy sound as she pulled back and sucked. She had learned years ago that men loved the sound of a sloppy blow job—except for her late husband of course.

She looked up at James again and caught his eye this time. They stared at each other. Sparks of lust flew back and forth between their eyes. He reached down with his hands and grabbed fistfuls of her wet, springy, blond hair, a hand on either side, and began to fuck her face. Men loved to do that, and she didn't mind as long as they weren't too rough. Actually she enjoyed it. It was a turn on for the men who did it, and for Christi, a key feature of sex was doing things that drove your partner wild.

"Oh fuck Babe," he said. "You're such a good cocksucker. God I've missed this."

Oh sure, she thought. As if they don't have whores in the oil fields who can suck cock as well as or better than me. She let that thought go. James wasn't a man to be jealous over—just enjoyed, and she was seriously enjoying him now.

Christi stretched out her blow job as long as she could, altering her technique, and doing her best to sense when he was close to cumming so she could hold him on the edge, but when she found she was spending most of her time holding back, it was time to let him go. She pulled her head back and looked up at him again. "Now babe," she said. "Let it go. Shoot that nasty white cum you've been saving up for me. Shoot it all over my tits."

She had completely released his cock and was sitting back on her haunches holding her tits out to him. He grabbed his cock and began stroking it. It didn't take long. Two or three strokes and he froze, holding it rigidly as he felt the cum rising up the shaft. Then he groaned and exploded, shooting stream after stream of hot pearly cum onto her tits, her neck, even her face and hair.

James staggered over to a chair, his pants still around his knees, and collapsed into it, panting as he recovered. His dick, no longer erect, hung alongside his thigh, but it hadn't shrunk appreciably either.

That was what Christi liked about him. She knew from experience that a few strokes of his hand, or hers, or her mouth and he would be fully erect and ready to fuck her, or anyone else available. She was sitting on the floor now, her legs bent at the knee and spread open so she was fully exposed to him, fingers of one hand slowly masturbating her sex. She had done nothing to clean up the gobs of cum he had sprayed on her, except for removing a blob from an eyebrow that was threatening to drip into her eye. She scooped it up with a forefinger and put the decadently coated finger into her mouth, sucking it clean as she stared at James. The rest she left right where it had landed or dripped to.

God this is fun she thought, and I must look like such a slut now, my legs spread, fingers in my cunt and gobs of his cum running down my face and chest. It's been a year. I'd almost forgotten how much I enjoy this.

James had managed to pull his boots off and push his jeans down and off so they were no longer tangled about his knees. The Bakken had been hard on him. Yes, he was stronger from the work on the oil rigs. She felt that immediately when he had wrapped his arms around her, but he was, if anything, even thinner than he had been a year ago. He was tall, perhaps 6-1 or 6-2, but he couldn't weigh more than 175 pounds. There wasn't an ounce of fat on his body. He's not particularly handsome either, Christie was thinking as she stared at him. His face was long and lean with craggy features surrounded by a mop of long dark hair that came to his shoulders. He really has nice hair she thought, when he washes it. But he's got one redeeming quality she told herself—his cock, which was now beginning to quickly recover as he stroked it and watched Christie do the same to her pussy. "My god yes, he has a great cock," she told herself as she watched him.

She remembered how she had met him a few months before her husband was killed. She was in a convenience store, stopped to pick up a six pack of beer on her way home to an empty house. Her husband was as usual away on one of his mysterious business trips and she had worked hard all day and wanted a beer. James was standing in line behind her, dressed in his customary grubby jeans, rock band T-shirt, and motorcycle jacket. When she turned to leave he spoke up, "You know they serve much better beer across the street."

"What?"

"The pub. Across the street. They have much better beers on tap. Come on, I'll buy you a beer."

There was nothing about him that should have attracted her. She was a conservatively dressed successful accountant. He was a construction stiff with a motorcycle jacket. But there was something about his eyes that got her attention. And she was bored and not looking forward to another night at home alone while her husband junketed about the country on whatever it was he was doing. So she said, " Okay." One beer turned into too many, and he seduced her. James could be very smooth when he wanted to.

They spent the night at his apartment and he introduced her to a whole new world. She lost track of how many times he made her cum and how many times he climaxed. It didn't matter. They fucked in every room in the apartment in every position they could bend themselves into, and then she called in sick to work in the morning and after a brief nap James awoke to find Christi sucking his cock. As soon as it was hard Christi straddled him and they fucked some more. By the time she got to work a couple of days later she was so sore she could barely walk.