Mrs Harts Ache Ch 03 Int 3

This is the sixth installment of

Mrs. Hart's Ache

Chapter III, Interlude III, Chelsea.

The typeface is Verdana, the body text is 12pt.

I wrote the work using Optima, 9pt.

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Author's note: see the Index of Terms for the definition of any word with which you are not familiar.

This is a simple tale of retribution, wherein the young hero teaches the mother of his newest girlfriend a few manners while enjoying a few adventures – sexual and otherwise – along the way.

James Mark Masterson.

Just your typical teenager. Smart… sexy… sophisticated… and always horny. With the time and bank to do pretty much what he wants to do.

And to do who he wants to do.

Here we meet our hero's newest girlfriend, Chelsea.

For once, James' only intention is to take a girl to dinner and a movie; he has no expectations of sex…

Okay, so that's his expectations. Chelsea has a different plan in mind…

…one that involves Mr Snake and a paddle – not necessarily in that order…

Hang on. Our hero is at it again: cool moves & hot sex, with a bit of a surprise at the end…

Happy reading.

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Mrs. Hart's Ache

III The Ladies in My Life (cont.)

"…Mowed the lawn. Bought a new computer. Saw a movie with Chelsea. Did her too…"

Interlude III: Chelsea

Next up: a new acquaintance, Chelsea.

Maybe I should say, 'Next down'…

Ya think…? Maybe… I'll let you decide.

I hadn't planned to do Chelsea that night. It sorta just worked out that way. It's not often that I'm caught out like that but…

What the hell, these thing happen, right? Besides, Mr Snake is always prepared.

I met Chelsea through mom, of all people: she and Chelsea work together at the hospital. Mom was the Recovery Room Charge Nurse that day. Chelsea's a freshly-graduated RN working floats at the hospital, on orientation.

I stopped by to drop off mom's cellphone. She'd left it on the kitchen island charging one morning. Dad doesn't like her to be without it, just in case. He asked me to run it to her while I was out that day.

Mom was with a patient as usual. Chelsea was manning the Nurse's station, talking on the phone and taking notes on a chart when I walked up. She had her back to me, so I took the opportunity to check her out a bit before she noticed me.

Time out.

Hey, it's a guy thing, ya know? Though I would bet my trust fund that girls do the same thing when a guy's not looking.

Time in.

It's hard to do, but she makes a set of scrubs look good.

Way good.

Maybe nineteen or twenty. (I found out later she's twenty-three!) Totally phat little body. And I do mean, 'little'. She looked to be about mom's size. Five foot plus a pinch, (5'-2" actually), and maybe 100 pounds (102 by the hospital scales). No rings on her fingers.

Hhmmm.

She looked even better when she turned around:

Nice tan. Sky-blue eyes and baby-fine, long, white-blonde hair done up. Cute little nose. Tight little bubble butt. Very nice chest. And a sweet mouth with cupid lips made for… kissing.

I glanced at her nametag – 'Chelsea Court, RN' – then back to her face.

Her eyes widened a fraction when she caught sight of me standing there. Still listening to the telephone, her eyes dropped to the chart, a flush creeping up her face. She fumbled with her pen, then asked that the caller repeat what he'd said.

Her blush deepened, whether from the response or from my presence I couldn't say. She finished the conversation hurriedly, then replaced the receiver, still making notes. Finally, she looked up and asked if she could help me with a little tremor in her voice.

I couldn't resist. I asked her what she had in mind.

Whoa! Her blush deepened from pink to red as her eyes dropped to the chart again.

I must admit, I can be an asshole at times, but usually not deliberately and never for long. I was just flirting, hitting on her a little bit. But that girl was too shy to give it back to me.

Not that she had any visible reason for being uptight. Chelsea, whether or not she realizes it, is a babe with capital BB's and a nice A.

Time out.

Here's another pointer for you guys: if you fuck up with a girl, whether or not you understand how you fucked up, apologize – right now! Not many people, particularly women, can resist an apology promptly given.

Time in.

I gave Chelsea my most sincere apology, then introduced myself. She smiled through her blush, then took my hand briefly while introducing herself. The fact that I was related to mom, a woman that she already liked and respected, apparently helped clear my goof.

She told me that mom was with a patient, then talked for a few minutes. She was more relaxed, though obviously shy and still a little nervous. During our conversation, I got the basics of her situation: just graduated; new in the city; originally from a small town in the middle of the state; a bit of a stranger in a strange land.

Taking that as a cue, I asked her out. Dinner and a movie: easy and non-threatening. Her eyes sparkled as she said yes, though she was blushing again. I got her address and agreed to be there at six before the telephone rang again. I thought I got the date because she knew mom.

About then, the lady herself stepped from a room down the hall. Chelsea turned away to answer the call.

Mom had the mom's 'questioning' look until I waggled the cellphone at her. She smiled and gave me a quick hug. I kissed the top of her head, which she hates, but tolerates from me. We talked for a few minutes before she had to answer yet another bell.

I waved to Chelsea on the way out. She put her hand to the mouthpiece and said, "See you at six."

I arrived a couple minutes early, but she was ready. I got nothing more than a glance at the Living Room of her little apartment before we were out the door together. The blush was evident again, but also a certain sparkle in her blue eyes.

I'd dressed casually: dark chino's and a white CD shirt rolled up to the forearm; boat shoes with no socks.

Chelsea, on the other hand, had dressed up a little: about twelve inches of off-white corduroy miniskirt that sat low on her hips and displayed a lot of leg; a navy cami top that showed excellent cleavage and left her belly bare (innie; no bellyring; girl padding; even tan); sheer dark hose and 3" heels. For jewelry, a simple silver chain necklace with a big silver cross pendant.

Still no rings.

Casual, on the verge of dressy, but definitely putting on a sweet show. For me, I guess.

Her blond hair was gathered in a series of colored scrunchies starting at the nape of her neck, running halfway down her back, then flowed loose from there, down past her butt. She cannot have had it cut. Ever. Down, it reached mid- thigh. She is small, but that is long hair.

All in all, she looked good enough to eat, never mind the Italian I had planned.

Chelsea fit ever so nicely in the Miata. She showed those trim legs again, plus a bit of smooth thigh, as I handed her in the seat. She tucked the ends of her hair beneath her bottom and belted herself in. "Come Away with Me" crooned from the speakers as we motored away, top down. The evening was warm.

Cappatti's is the best Italian restaurant in town. Not the most expensive or exclusive. Simply the place with the best food. We shared a plate of antipasta and a bowl of insalata, before the entrées. She had Chicken Castellini while I did the Mixed Grill. Mine was excellent. I expect that hers was too, though she seemed to hesitate, bowing her head before eating.

Curious.

The conversation was light and easy, once I got Chelsea to relax. The wine helped.

My favorite waiter, Alberto, served and brought Chelsea a fine Pinot Noir while I enjoyed a exceptional local Merlot. Alberto takes care of me. I take care of Alberto.

Mama Cappatti stopped by our table. Her eldest grandson is a homey. She shook her finger at me, but smiled. She knows that I only have one glass. Besides, she believes that one can't truly enjoy her menu without having a glass of fine wine with dinner. She and Chelsea seemed to hit it off, though Mama would like to get me connected to one of her granddaughters.

Been there; done that.

A couple of times. Nice girls. Phat boobs. Sweet pussies.

Time out.

What Mama doesn't know won't hurt her. It might hurt me though. Here's hoping that Mama doesn't find out.

Time in.

Dining and conversation took a bit longer than I'd planned so we had to hurry to make the movie, a routine action flick. Two hours later, Chelsea and I were in the Miata, on our way back to her apartment. She thanked me for the evening a couple of times during the ride.

Now I swear: I had only planned to take her to dinner and see a movie. Sometimes it's better to go slow, and Chelsea looked to be high maintenance. Like the kind of girl that would require a commitment of some kind before her panties came down. And we all know that I'm not at all ready to commit to anyone…

…not yet anyway.

But when I showed her to her door and made ready to take off, she came close to begging me to come in.

"Please James," Chelsea said, her hand on my arm. "Come in with me for a few minutes. I have a bottle of wine all ready for us. Have one glass with me, please."

What could I do? I let her pull me inside. Her face was pink with pleasure.

"Thanks for coming in with me. I haven't met many people since I moved here," she continued. "There's one kinda creepy guy down the hall that keeps hitting on me. I didn't feel like being alone yet tonight. He's always watching for me, and I think I saw his blinds move when we were walking to the door."

She flipped on the CD Player as she passed, still talking. Sting's latest. We moved into the kitchenette to open the bottle of Pinot Noir, just gabbing easily about the movie. I pulled the cork on the wine while Chelsea produced a couple of stemmed glasses. After I poured, she excused herself.

"Make yourself comfortable…" she said as she scurried up the stairs, her voice trailing off, "…I'll be down in a minute. I want to talk to you about something."

I heard a door click shut.

I stood in the center of her Living Room sipping the wine and casually glancing around. Nice apartment.

The furnishings looked to be new. The usual entertainment center with a 36" TV, DVD and CD players, and surround sound speakers sat in front of the bay window, dominating the room.

A fifty gallon saltwater fish tank with maybe five large fish, an anemone and some live coral stood atop a stand against one wall. Built-in bookshelves filled with hardcover books and a few knickknacks ran up the wall to either side of the window.

Framed paintings, etchings and posters filled the remaining wall, from the chairs and end tables up into the gabled ceiling. Some of the artwork was original. Very nice stuff. Not necessarily expensive, but certainly tasteful.

My kind of taste.

Though a few magazines were fanned artfully across the coffee table, from what I could see, the apartment and its furnishings were spotless.

My kind of place.

Wineglass in hand, I began perusing Chelsea's bookshelves.

Gray's Anatomy… a few theology texts… quite a few nursing textbooks… Laurell Hamilton... (love that Anita Blake… what's with that Richard anyway…?) organic chemistry… a couple of history books… Laurie King… (Mary, Mary quite contrary… can't keep Sherlock down…) a biography of Fonteyn… another of Jefferson… Dickens… a large bible… (huh!) Harry Potter (of course…!) Photography… Art and art history… (Steve Hanks… that guy does love women…!) Hillary's book… a Catholic catechism… (now that's interesting…!) The Joy of Sex… (talk about an eclectic collection of books…)

My browsing was interrupted by a presence and the whisper of silk at the stairs. I glanced over and was stunned by a vision.

Little Chelsea was leaning on the banister with a sheer black robe draped across her shoulders. Beneath the thigh-length robe she wore a black demibra, black lace panties and dark stockings.

The sheer bra emphasized her cleavage and did nothing to hide her swollen nipples. Her stockings were holdups with wide lace bands about her slender thighs. Clear Lucite mules with 4" heels completed the outfit.

Very nice tits.

For a small lady, Chelsea had a fine set of balangas: full cones of girl-tight flesh set high on her chest capped with large pink points. 34C, maybe 32D. Big bumpers for such a small woman. The bra was for show. She didn't need it. Her tits are firm.

Nice show.

Wineglass in hand, Chelsea stood with one knee bent, posing for me. She peered up at me through demurely lowered eyelids, then slowly shifted, swinging her leg aside.

What I had taken at first glance to be lace panties was actually a v-string with a wide band of black stretch lace riding low on her curved hips.

So much for the waistband.

The business end of the v-string were nothing more than a single strand of white pearls stretching down from the center, over her mons and clit, then disappearing into the folds of her bare vulva.

From my vantage, her pussylips appeared to be plucked smooth.

Some panties! Not very functional, but guaranteed to keep a girl on the edge. And get a guy hard in about two seconds.

I stared at her for a moment, too surprised to speak. She flushed, red down to the tops of her breasts, then spoke.

"James… I'm sorry…" she began in a small voice. "…but I haven't had sex for six months…"

"I need t-to get f-fucked…" (She stumbled over the words) "…or I'm gonna go completely nuts."

She looked at me almost embarrassed beyond words, but took a deep breath then went on gamely while moving toward me, her white-blond hair loose and flowing, wisps floating behind.

"Can you help me…?" She pleaded. "If you don't I'm afraid I'll have to let that creepy guy next door do me…"

She finished standing beside me, her hand on my arm, looking up with those blue eyes wide and pleading.

Chelsea's scent was enough to bring Mr Snake to attention, never mind the view.

Mr Snake had been shocked to insensibility too, but he always recovers fast. Usually before my brain. This time was no exception. He was standing tall before I'd lost the dumbfounded look.

Oh shit! Any caution I'd had was flying out the window along with my good intentions. Jesus, she was hot!

But before Mr Snake took over and I lost complete control, I had to set some ground rules. I took her glass and set both on the bookshelf beside.

"Chelsea, my sweet, you must have read my mind." I said as a pulled her into my arms.

"But you've got to understand one thing," I continued as I massaged her back, looking her in the eyes.

"We can fuck each other, if that's what you want, but this doesn't mean that we're committing to anything. We can be friends, but I'm not ready to settle down quite yet. Okay?"

She smiled up at me, yet another blush coloring her face.

"Okay." She said softly, kissing my chin. "I'm not looking for the man of my dreams here…"

Her hand brushed the bulge in my pants.

"…I'm just looking for a little relief."

Then she slipped into my arms, molding her body to mine. She slid her arms up around my neck and lifted up on tiptoes, seeking. I cupped the back of her head gently. Her lips sought mine and we kissed for the first time.

For a long time.

Ooohh baby! Soft lips. Sweet tongue. She tasted of the wine and something tart.

Chelsea massaged my woody with her mons as she flowed against me on tiptoe. A soft moan escaped her throat, more felt than heard as we kissed. I could feel her nipples crinkle through the sheer silk of her bra and the cotton of my shirt. I slipped my hand down her back to her bottom. Gently squeezing the girl-firm cheeks, I pulled her body to mine.

Another moan slipped from her mouth, somehow more urgent and needy as her lips worked against mine. She shuddered. I could almost feel the sweet dew gathering along the pouting lips of her sex, seeping.

Chelsea broke from the kiss, eyes closed, leaning back slightly. Her eyes opened languidly, as though on drugs.

"My goodness, that was good!" She whispered, her soft voice ragged with passion. "Do that again. Please…"

I kissed her again, more forcefully. Holding her head, tilted at an angle and lifting her slightly, my hand cupping her ass; letting her feel my strength and my need.

The moan was back. Louder. Greedier. Much more urgent. Her arms tightened around my neck, drawing herself up to meet me, rubbing her lips against mine, tongue dancing. Her taut little body writhed desperately against my chest.

Dropping my other hand to her butt, I lifted. She wrapped her legs around my waist as my cupped hands slid to her thighs, supporting her. She crossed her ankles behind my back; holding me close; rubbing her plump little pussy against my belly.

We held the kiss as I moved toward the couch. Before I could sit, she wriggled out of my grasp, dropping lightly to the floor, panting. She looked up at me with blue eyes gone feral as she pushed me down, then dropped to her knees between my thighs and attacked my belt and zipper.

Good thing those pants are rugged. She'd have torn a pair of slacks in her eagerness to get at my cock. Her eyes flashed round, then wild again as Mr Snake made his appearance.

"Oooohh my sweet Lord!" Chelsea's exclaimed. "Thank you!"

I guess she wasn't expecting that particular size of the erection waving in her face. She seemed thankful though; drooling all over it you might say.

She certainly seemed to be happy to see it. Without hesitating, she grasped my wood with a soft hand, laid the head of my dick on her velvet tongue and sucked it into her warm, wet mouth.

Mr Snake was in heaven again.

Kneeling on the floor at my feet, Chelsea looked up to me with lust in those bright blue eyes as her tongue swirled around the glans, teasing me. Tasting me.

Grasping Mr Snake with both hands, she locked eyes with me, almost forcing me to watch as she sucked the nut deep into her sweet mouth, her tongue slithering along the shaft. Lips stretched wide by the meat of my cock, down her head bobbed, then up again, then down. Slowly. Sucking softly. Savoring every inch that she could take within her talented mouth.

Her head pulled back, cheeks hollowed sucking until the head of my dick popped out of her mouth. She cupped my nuts gently, then kissed and licked each, her tongue dancing over, around and beneath the sac, watching my face all the while.

What she saw there seemed to make her hotter. She attacked my dick again, her tongue slithering up along the shaft, teasing. Releasing my nuts, she pulled my hand to the back of her head, then grasped my dick again with both hands and sucked the head of my cock deep into her mouth again.

Chelsea moaned, her lips buzzing around the shaft. I fed her fantasy by burying my fingers in her hair. She wanted me to hold her there, worshiping my cock with her sweet mouth. Her eyes closed as a shudder ran through her little body.

I began whispering to her, talking trash: telling her what to do; describing what she was doing. My grip on her blonde hair was tight, my other hand heavy on the back of her head.

Chelsea was loving it.

Maintaining my grip on her hair, I slipped the other hand down beneath her arm to cup one breast. The fat nipple was pebble hard against my palm. Moaning more deeply, more urgently, she pushed her chest into my hand, her mouth yet working my dick. Her moans became whimpers as I tweaked her crinkled nipples, pulling at the buttons and rolling each in turn between my fingers.

As I fondled her breasts and pinched her nipples, her pace quickened. Down, up and down again, faster each time. Taking more and more of my shaft into her mouth with each descent. The nut of my cock touched the back of her throat, but she controlled her gag reflex, her breath whistling through her nose.