My Second Client

To recap the situation described in The Entrepreneur, I was having an affair with a crazy married woman named Connie, who almost as a joke thought it would be fun to rent me out to other ladies in the neighborhood. I visited one such client a week ago and it had gone surprisingly well. Connie lined up the meeting, collected the fee, and paid me. I don't know what she told these women but basically my role was to drop by at an arranged time when a husband was gone, provide some services that a wife was not getting in her marriage, then leave again.

Connie had told me she had a new prospect lined up, she was going to introduce me to somebody at the Conquistador Club. She had a kind of grand vision for where this whole thing was going, it would be a win-win-win for everybody. Some lonely wife would have her fantasies fulfilled, I would obviously have a good time, and Connie would be hearing about it later, from the woman and from me. She would be the real center of attention, the one with all the power, which she enjoyed. Also she'd make a few bucks.

Tuesday night the Conquistador was dim, that noisy-ass jukebox was pounding, pool balls rattling, glasses and bottles cracking down on the formica bartop. The usual idiots were standing at the bar doing the same thing they always do, trying to get into each other's pants and somehow failing night after night, even when both of them wanted it.

Connie was sitting with her husband Jerry at the bar, with a knot of people standing around them. Both of them are major cut-ups and are usually the life of the party. Connie had been friends with my ex in another life, and Jerry and I had worked together and had been friends for years. Which was how he met Connie. I'm sure he knew there was something going on between me and his wife but my sense was that he was somewhat relieved to be able to share the responsibility for keeping her happy with someone he knew and could trust. We never talked about it, but if you knew Connie you would understand that one man was not going to be enough for her. And even if I was Man Number Two, I knew there were almost certainly others, too, but I could not see how that was a problem.

I sat at my usual place next to the jukebox and after a while Jerry waved at me and called me over. "Bring your drink," he hollered, "Come on down." There was a little bustle at their end of the bar and he waved me to the empty seat next to his. The crowd was noisy, joking and carrying on, and Jerry kind of introduced me to a bunch of them. I forgot their names as soon as I heard them, you know how that is. Connie was on the other side of Jerry and she leaned over and waved and smiled and went back to chatting with somebody. I talked to a couple named Rob and Julia, who had just returned from a vacation to the Dominican Republic and had some stories. Seems they go topless on the beaches there, which Julia had a little trouble accepting at first, until she tried it. There was a lot of loud laughter as they told their basically-G-rated story about a shy wife and a teenaged tourist trying to peek through the bushes. It was funny and you could see Julia lighting up all over again as she talked about it, both embarrassed and proud.

One of their friends, introduced as Carol, gravitated over toward my other side. She had heard the story already, in fact I had the feeling there was more to it than Julia's husband knew, but as a good friend Carol was keeping her mouth shut. Carol and I started talking about crazy things that had happened on vacations, while the rest of the crowd went off on their own topic.

Once nobody was paying any attention, Carol said quietly, "So you're Doc huh? Connie has been telling me about you."

"I hope it hasn't been anything bad," I said.

Carol smiled lasciviously at me. "Oh yes, it was very very bad."

"Yikes," I joked.

Carol was the kind of woman you don't notice until you actually do notice her, and then you wonder how you missed her. She had auburn hair, blended in with the crowd, but then up close she was actually built like a slender model, and with a fragile face with neat thin eyebrows, full lips, a straight Roman nose. She glanced at the partying crowd. Nobody was looking at us, we were in our own little world. "Connie was saying you might be able to help me with something," she said.

"Oh, sure, what is it?"

"I think you know," she said.

Right then Julia pulled at her arm and said, "You remember that, Carol? That one guy scared the shit out of me."

"What one guy?"

"That guy at the Home Depot that time."

"Oh yeah, he was scary all right. He scared me too." And Julia turned back to the other group, waving her wine glass as she gestured, forgetting about us again.

Carol looked into my eyes. "Would you like to come over for a little visit, maybe Thursday? My husband has to fly to New York that day."

"Thursday, huh, okay, I'll try to make that work," I said.

"Here's my address," she said. She had already written it on a napkin. "If something comes up, Connie knows how to reach me."

"What time do you want me?"

"Can you come at noon?"

Now the gang was laughing hard, and Carol and I got drawn back into the conversation. I saw Connie smile at me from several seats away.

Thursday I had prepared an excuse about a meeting with a client; I slipped out of the office and headed over to the address Carol had given me. I didn't want to put it into my GPS because I don't trust anybody, I don't like to put incriminating data on the Internet, you know, but I know my way around town, and I pulled up in front of her house a few minutes before twelve.

I saw the curtains move, and the door opened as I walked up. Carol let me in and shut the door quickly. We stood there looking at each other. She was looking, actually, delectable, in a kind of scooped-neck tank top over tight jeans. Barefoot. The tank top was white, a thin fabric that my brain sees as "rayon," almost see-through but not really, and it was clear there was nothing under it. Her hard breasts jiggled a little when she moved and her nipples left the slightest hint of a shadow on the surface of the fabric.

"I'm glad you could make it," she said. "I wasn't sure this was for real."

"Well it is a little crazy," I replied, "But yeah, here I am. For real. Ya got an hour or two?" I laughed but she remained serious.

"Let me tell you, I have never done anything like this before," she said.

"Anything like what?"

She studied my face. "I have been married for eleven years and I have never even touched another man in all that time."

Now I studied her. "So why now?" I asked her.

"I deserve it. I'm lonely," she said. "I need someone to want me."

I laughed softly. "Well, you have accomplished that already. I mean, look at you." My eyes roamed over her body; the statement seemed self-explanatory, and she seemed to take it in stride. She had spent some time, I was sure, thinking about how she would present herself in this moment. I was confirming that it worked.

Words spilled out of her. "I would like to lay myself down and let someone have me in every insane wild unspeakable way they ever dreamed of. I want to be someone's fantasy for once." There were tears in her eyes. I knew she had never expressed this to anyone, and probably had not admitted the depth of her need, even to herself.

She glanced down and blushed slightly. "I know I can never have these things but I hope it's okay to try at least once," she said. "My life has none of this. None."

"Are you kidding me?" I said, and I stepped up to her and wrapped my arms around her and crushed her mouth to mine. We took about a half a second to figure it out and then our tongues entangled in a most comfortable way, as if we had been making out for years. My hand came up to her breast and felt her firmness and I held her for a minute.

"Oh my," she said when we finally backed apart. "I think I am going to like this."

A wave of propriety swept over her for a second. "Uh, would you like something? Have you had lunch?" Like she was trying to go back to the suburban wife schtick, in case she had gone too far in her confession to me.

"I'm not here for lunch," I said.

"Yeah, okay," she said. "Well, what are you here for?" She smiled at me.

"I'm here for whatever you want," I said.

"Hmm, whatever I want." Her eyes gazed into space. "I like the sound of that. Well I guess I did sort of shoot my mouth off already, didn't I. I don't know what I want, really. I'm tired of making all the decisions."

I spoke. "Looking at you here, you are possibly the sexiest woman I have ever seen. I don't know if you realize that men on the street have to consciously hold themselves back. I'm sure they think the kinds of things I am thinking right now."

"I would never imagine that."

I said, "I have an open mind and did not have a plan when I came to see you here today. But looking at you, listening to you, you seem to be a woman who is overflowing with sensuality. Is that right?"

"I don't know," she said. "I am just a regular twice-a-week wife."

"But there is more to you than that."

"Oh my god, yes," she said.

"And you love to give a man pleasure."

"I don't know," she said again. "I think about it but I'm, you know, it's just me here, and my husband."

"Okay," I said. "So I have an idea for today. You can go along with this or not, it's entirely up to you. How about for the next hour or two you are an erotic love-goddess and your role is to give me more pleasure than I've ever known in my life?"

She looked into my eyes. "I wouldn't know what to do," she said. "I mean, it sounds wonderful. Unbelievable, really. But I don't know how to do that."

"Don't worry," I said. "I'll show you what I want, if you don't want to do something you just tell me. Really, I'm here for you." She nodded. "But today I want you to be here for me. How does that sound?"

"I don't know what to say," she whispered. "It sounds wonderful. I just don't know what to do."

"Are you wearing panties?" I asked her.

"Yes," she responded.

"Okay, good, take off your jeans. Leave your top on, and your panties, I just want to have a look at you."

She slowly unbuttoned her jeans, standing in the living room. They were tight and she rolled them down each leg, then tossed them into a corner near a piano with a bunch of sheet music on it.

"Let me see you," I said. "Put your hands behind your head and turn around for me, slowly."

Carol was slim and relatively tall for a woman, maybe five-seven. Her C-cup breasts stretched the translucent fabric of her top in the sexiest way, I think you know what I mean. They had a little heft, a little substance, very feminine and voluptuous. She put her hands behind her head, watching me.

"Those are amazing panties," I said. "There's almost nothing there." She was wearing a thong, dark blue lace.

"Well I don't usually dress like this," she said. "I got this because I knew you were coming."

"Look at that ass," I said out loud as she turned away from me. "That's the kind of stuff that causes car wrecks."

"Oh, I don't know --" she started.

"And I have to say, I do love that look with your nipples pressing against that silky material."

"Oh, do they? I, uh, didn't --"

"Dance a little bit, will you please? Shake that bottom a bit for me."

"This is so embarrassing," she said.

"Just let me appreciate you, okay? I am the luckiest man in the world right now. Just to look at you. It's more than I deserve."

She gave her hips a slow twitch, then another. Her fingers were looped through her hair and she began to dance a little with her back to me.

"Turn around," I said. And she turned around, dancing in her flimsy tank top and nearly-nonexistent panties, just a little patch of fabric covering her pubic area. "Shake your tits a little bit, side to side. Oh, that's amazing. Your body is like a dream." She danced slowly, those beautiful breasts swaying under that fabric in slow motion, like a wave on the deep ocean.

"Let me see your bottom again," I said, and she turned around, still dancing. Her body rippled gracefully from her feet to her shoulders and back. "People always tell you what an amazing bottom you have, don't they?"

"No," she said, "Nobody has told me that, ever."

"But your boyfriends always wanted to spank you, right?"

"No, never. Nobody has ever suggested that."

"Nobody spanks you?"

"It sounds like it would hurt."

"Hmm, yes, I suppose from your point of view," I said. "It should sting." I sat down on a hassock in front of the couch. "Come here," I said. "On behalf of all the men in the world who did not follow their impulses because they were being polite and respectful gentlemen, and because I am not going to be that kind of gentleman today, I want to start today's adventure by enjoying that beautiful bottom. Let's put a little color on it."

"Are you going to hurt me?" She asked.

"Carol, if somebody was going to hurt you and you asked them that, would they say yes?"

"Probably not."

"It's your choice whether to trust me or not. If you want, I can leave and we can pretend none of this ever happened." She did not look like she wanted to kick me out. "Or you can lay across my knees right now," I said. This was a moment of shifting gears, the not-in-Kansas-any-more moment when I was asking her to make a commitment to herself and her new role as an erotic goddess.

She slowly lowered her body to my lap and lay with her hands touching the floor. "Relax," I said. "I'll hold you up, you don't have to brace yourself."

"This is for me," I said. "Not necessarily for you. Though it's okay if you enjoy it, too." I put my right hand on her bottom and began to stroke it. Her skin was smooth as velvet and firm, the globes of her ass were round and full -- it was not a big butt, but tight and hard and perfectly curved. I could feel her relax a little as I rubbed her skin. Then I popped her lightly and rubbed that area.

"Does that hurt?" I asked her.

"No, not really," she said.

I popped her again in a different spot. Neither of these were enough to bring any blood to the surface. I began going left and right randomly, not hard, using the flat of my hand to sting her flesh. After a while she began to squirm.

"Does that hurt you?" I asked.

She paused. "Well it stings a little." Another pause. "But it's okay. It doesn't really hurt."

I increased the tempo and the intensity. Her cheeks began to glow with the Zinfandel blush that I love so much. She was squirming now, and moaning in a way that sounded like she was fighting with herself, trying not to tell me to stop, trying not to flee. After a while I slowed and stopped the spanking and began rubbing her skin, kneading, letting my fingers run between her legs. The light from a window lit the curvature of her cheeks in a religious way, it'd make a believer outta ya, trust me. "That is an amazing ass," I said, stroking it sensuously.

I slipped a finger under the string of her thong and pressed on her asshole as I stroked over it, paused and pushed a fingertip into her maybe a quarter inch, and asked her, "Do you like anal sex?"

"I don't know," she said.

"You don't know?"

"I've never tried it," she said. "It sounds like it would hurt."

"Lots of things sound like they would hurt," I said. "Spankings sound like they would hurt."

"Well spanking does kind of hurt," she said. "But in a good way." I was stroking her pussy now, with just a string covering it. She was wet, of course. Without looking up at me she said, "Is that something you like?"

"Anal sex?" I asked.

"Yes," she replied.

"Oh yes, I love it," I said. "It is a whole different feeling for the man."

"I see," she said.

To punctuate the conversation I slipped a fingertip into her asshole again and pressed lightly.

"Do you have some lube?" I asked her.

She paused and said, "There is something in the medicine cabinet. It's not for that."

I laughed. "Sure, it's always good stuff to have."

She got up and sat on my lap, cuddling with her head against my chest. My fingers touched her breast through that thin fabric, tickling her in a friendly way. She had taken the spanking well but it is still important to welcome them back to earth afterwards. We sat quietly for a minute, just snuggling and stroking.

"So tell me, what do you like?" I asked her. "Sexually, I mean."

"I don't know," she said. "I know that sounds dumb and naive. There's nothing I would say I don't like, but I don't have a ton of experience and honestly it kind of depends on who you're doing something with, don't you think?" And she laughed sardonically; I figured she was editorializing about her marriage.

"Definitely," I said. "Sometimes the chemistry is there and sometimes it's not. Well the thing today is, I am not here to judge you. I am here to enjoy you."

"Oh my god," she said. "Let's go. I'm ready."

"Okay, young lady, these cheeks are now nicely pinkened. Did that hurt?"

"No, well a little," she said. "It's worth it."

"Okay, so stand up and let me have another look at you."

She stood and put her hands behind her head, as before, and did her little swaying dance.

"You know how fucking sexy you are," I said. Not a question.

"I know how I feel inside," she replied, swaying. The rosy highlights on her butt-cheeks emphasized her hotness, it really was the perfect touch. She was an undiscovered goddess.

"Let's go to the bedroom," I said.

Carol grabbed a tube of lube from the bathroom as we went upstairs, and set it on the bed table. She had given some thought to the presentation of the bedroom, just as she had thought about what to wear to greet me at the door. The lighting was dim, mostly in the corners of the room. The bed was perfectly neat, with the covers pulled down and the pillows fluffed up. There were no clothes on the floor, no stuff on the dresser.

I kissed her and said, "Undress me. Take your time."

Her head was against my chest and she brought her hand up to unbutton my shirt. As my skin was exposed she pressed her lips against my chest. She was a natural. She untucked my shirt and when the last button was undone she left it hanging on my arms and began to kiss my nipples very gently, moving her hands over my trunk. She was pure, flowing sensuality. After a few minutes she worked my shirt off me and gave it a careless toss toward the dresser.

She looked up at my face and unbuckled my belt. She was shivering a little bit as she unsnapped my jeans and pulled the zipper down. At that point she stopped and rubbed my tummy, kissed my chest again, then pushed my pants down a little. I'm a tighty-whitey kind of guy, and she let the denim slip down to reveal my underwear. Eventually my pants cleared the obstacle of my raging penis, and she let them fall at my feet.

She took off my shoes and socks, pulled my pants over my ankles and tossed them, too, toward the dresser. Then she stood up straight again and kissed me. She began to stroke my cock through my underwear, eventually reaching in to grasp my shaft. I moaned lightly.

"Make love to my cock with your mouth," I said.

She looked up at me with a bit of a shocked expression. "Now?" she said.

"Yes. Get on your knees and suck it."

I did not feel that she was resisting me, but she was clearly not used to this kind of talk. I think she thought I wanted her to finish me off, but that was not what I had in mind, at all. She was still dressed in her sheer tank top and thong, ravishing at the threshold of nudity.

She lowered herself to her knees and worked my underwear down my legs, tossed them, and took my erection in her hand. She held it up and looked at it, then touched her tongue to the tip.

"I'm not very good at this," she said.

"I'll be the judge of that," I said. "And don't worry, if there is something I want you to do I'll tell you."