“You should let me make you dinner before you go back to school. It would be fun to spend some time with you outside of work.”
Well, there it was. The curious alchemy of proximity and boredom that had been brewing all summer since Nicole showed up for work at the warehouse was now a formal declaration of intent. She was in her mid-20s maybe, tawny-haired, wiry, and if this is the right word a bit feral-looking though not in an unattractive way.
I never gave Nicole much of a though at all until about a week before I was scheduled to quit and she mentioned seeing some crap called I Was A Mafia Princess or something on TV. Nicole was just fascinated by the premise and kept going on and on about how sexy the whole thing was, how passionate Italian men were, how the whole thing turned her on.
“Jimmy, aren’t you Italian…?”
I admitted that I was in some modest percentage of my heritage, and Nicole was thrilled.
“I knew it, I knew it!” she boasted. “You just have that look.”
Which led to my dinner invitation, and since I had some time to kill before I moved back to school, dinner sounded dandy. I agreed to stop by her house that Saturday night around seven for “spaghetti and a full Italian meal! ” All that pasta in the late August heat didn’t sound terribly appetizing, but I suspected there would be other courses to consider.
Nicole greeted me at the door with a big smile and a cuter outfit than the clothes she wore to work, cutoffs and an open cotton blouse with a wife-beater tank top underneath. She was barefoot; if there is anything sexier than barefoot women in the summer, I’m not brave enough to see it.
Fortunately for my stunted courage, the reason for my invitation became obvious almost right away. Nicole sat me down on the couch and asked from the kitchen what I wanted to drink. I requested bourbon and coke, if she had it, and she cooed that bourbon was her favorite beverage to lick off her lovers. So when she brought the drinks over in separate glasses, I picked up the soda and took a sip while pouring the bourbon down the front of my shirt.
“Ooh, honey, I should have brought you the bottle,” she smiled, taking the glass out of my hand and proceeding to undo my shirt’s buttons. An eager tongue emerged from her grin, lapping up the amber streams across my chest.
“I am so thirsty, it must be the heat or something… ”
Or something, I mumbled in reply, and her grin grew wider.
I started stroking her head with one hand and sliding the other down her shoulders and back to her denim-clad bottom, which was looking quite tasty. She asked if I liked Nikki’s ass; it was a little more 3rd-person than I was expecting, but no matter who was asking or on whose behalf, the answer was the same: hell, yes.
She licked up from my collarbone to my neck, and then leaned over to whisper, “I’m going to bring dinner out now, but if Nikki is bad in any way during the evening, you need to tell her. She likes a firm hand.”
Well, now I was curious, and I asked if Nikki was the Nicole I knew from work or not. “She looks the same,” she said as she stood up, “but she doesn’t act the same.” I wondered if she was referring to how she helped mop up our little spill, a safety technique we never used in the warehouse, when she turned back from the kitchen and said in a baby’s voice, “Nikki is just a little girl who really wants a daddy’s attention. Will you be my daddy?”
I replied in the affirmative, as if there any other answer, and then Nicole asked me to come to the table. Nikki would be available to talk to after dinner, she said, but that didn’t stop Nicole from removing her blouse and showing off her gumdrop-shaped nipples, poking up through the tank top on top of round firm breasts. She watched me intently as I tasted the first forkful of her handiwork.
“How is it?” Terrific, very good, I nodded between chews, but of course I could have been eating Styrofoam peanuts in motor oil and said the same thing. After a few minutes where she took two belts of bourbon from the bottle, I asked her if she was going to eat anything while it was still hot.
“I’m not much for pasta, but I do like meat. Did you bring any meat for me tonight?” I put the fork down to properly respond to this corny but suddenly stimulating challenge and said that I bring some wherever I go. “Oh, I’ll bet it’s more than some,” she breathed, “I’ll bet those college girls are always talking about how much meat you have when you’re fucking them with that huge Italian cock of yours.”
I told her that, as the meat expert, she should take a look for herself. My shorts were discarded with the pretense of the meal as Nicole aggressively investigated their contents. My penis swelled with her touch into a full erection, having been thick with anticipation since I walked in the house. Her fingers traced the outline of my testicles as she whispered, “Dinner, at last…” and began nibbling the length of my erection, leaving a trail of her saliva and no complaint about the size of, uh, her portion. Nicole wanted me in her mouth like she really was enjoying a delicious feast.
I was excited beyond words by all these new sensations: her wet tongue, her head bobbing about with the occasional smoldering glance up at me, the sweaty summer evening, my nudity before a clothed woman and one that I had considered in a sexual context only very recently. It was all fantastic, but what excited me the most was that Nicole had taken the initiative and demonstrated her desire in no uncertain terms – I was in her mouth because she wanted me there and made it happen. In other words, I wasn’t going to last long.
