Desire Paths

PAM:

She was perfect. Bottle blonde with a round, smiley face, and a body to die for...full-chest and a big ass and thighs that always drew looks in her various smart-casual chinos, skirts, and Friday jeans. She looked like she should be doing make-up tutorials, or videos about being a mid-size influencer, rather than rotting away in an accounting firm. Emily's story went like this: she broke up with her boyfriend at the end of undergrad and spent the intervening years living a monastic lifestyle, dedicating herself to her graduate studies. The years paid off. Before she knew it, she'd blossomed into a sexy, young CPA (how many times has that ever been said?) Then she moved to a new city for her first big girl job. She was in her mid-20s, knew no one, and was desperate to finally live a life. Like I said, perfect.

She dumped all of this information during our first off-site lunch, about a month after she started in my office. She was so starved for connection that the words just came pouring out.

"I've been in your shoes, Emily. It's scary," I said. "But it's important to spread your wings and expand your horizons. There's nothing inherently wrong with being born and dying in the same place, but shouldn't it be something you choose rather than something you do by default?"

"Oh my God, Pam. It's like you're reading my mind. Like, I always thought that maybe someday I'd end up back in my hometown, but for now I want to see something else. I wanted to take a big leap," she said, raking the remaining bits of lettuce on her plate with her fork. "But to be honest, it can get pretty lonely."

"You should come out with me sometime. Me and Melody from the office get Friday margaritas with our friend, Tiff. We're a group of middle-aged broads but we have fun. A little too much fun, sometimes."

"I never have plans. I'd love to go sometime...as long as I'm not intruding."

"Nonsense. Next time we have a girls' night, I'll give you call."

Two weeks later, Melody, Tiff and I were parked outside the accounting office.

"Ugghh, Pam, it's been so long since we had a good one. Natalie moved like a year and a half ago," Tiff whined.

"All the more reason to make sure this goes well."

"Here she comes."

"Hey girlie!"

Emily had exited the office and was approaching the car, waving to us. She wore a pair of high waisted jeans that displayed her beautiful hips and ass so well I had to remind myself not to stare.

"That fucking body," Melody whimpered.

Tiff got out of the backseat of the car and extended her hand to Emily.

"Emily, this is my good friend Tiff. She's an incredible real estate agent."

"It's a pleasure, Emily."

Tiff was a gym rat with a pretty face and a short, layered haircut that was, by then, a little dated. Still, it suited her, reading as somewhere between cosmopolitan and down-to-earth, as if she could have had any hairstyle in the world and chose this one in particular. Altogether she looked like the Platonic ideal of a real estate agent.

"Emily, you've got a great grip. Do you work out," Tiff said, releasing her hand.

"I used to be very serious about it. I'm looking to get back into it, though."

"Why don't we take two cars? I'll drive mine. Tiff, do you want to drive yours too?"

"Why not? Weather's nice. I'm gonna take the top down. Emily, you wanna ride with me? Fastest way to avoid strangers is to make friends."

"Sure!"

Tiff walked Emily over to the silver convertible, helped her climb into the seat, then shut the passenger door behind her. The car started, and as the top retracted I had to admire the look of pure wonder on Emily's face. So non-worldly was she that a German engineered convertible inspired awe in her. She deserved more. And Tiff was the right woman to give it to her.

"Great idea having Tiff open," Melody said, as if reading my mind.

"She's good at it."

Tiff and Emily beat us to the restaurant. As we parked the car, I looked over at Tiff a few spaces away. They were taking a selfie together, Tiff leaning over the gearshift towards Emily, her arm draped over the girl's shoulder.

"What should the caption be?" Tiff said.

"How about, 'here's to new friends!'"

"That's perfect," Tiff purred.

We were seated in our regular booth, Melody and I on one side, and Emily on the other, with her new best friend. Tiff ordered us a pitcher of lime margaritas on the rocks, with salt on the rim, same as every Friday. It arrived quickly and we poured ourselves four tall glasses, clinking them together in a celebratory cheers.

"So, Em. You dating anybody?" Tiff said, suddenly.

Emily choked on the sip of margarita.

"Not currently. You know, I just moved here and even before that I wasn't really 'in the game,' so to speak."

"Emily, that's a crime! With that face and that body...it's a crime not to be seeing someone."

Emily blushed.

"You all know this area better than I do. What're the men like?"

Tiff suppressed a laugh.

"You'd have to ask somebody else about that. That's not really my area of interest."

Emily's eyes flickered, processing the implications of Tiff's statement.

"And I've been married for 19 years. Can't help you there." Melody added.

"I'm divorced. Basically, we're the three wrong women to ask about meeting men," I said.

Everybody erupted in laughter. Tiff leaned on Emily, resting her head on the girl's shoulder for a moment. This did not go unnoticed by Emily, though she said nothing.

We finished the first pitcher in no time, quickly ordering another. As we drank, Melody told us stories about stupid things that her husband Gary had done, while I regaled the table with my favorite anecdotes about the loveable dolts at our firm. The mood was high as we finished our drinks. Eventually the conversation turned to the strangest things Tiff had seen while staging houses.

"The walk-in closet of the primary bedroom is vital. VITAL. A buyer has to be able to envision themself in the space--in reality they need to be envisioning their ideal selves--not who they are, but who they want to be. So we have to make sure the walk-in is spic and span," Tiff said, pausing to look Emily in the eyes. "So I'm re-staging a stack of folded jeans and this black thing comes flopping. At first I think it's a bat, but it flops on the floor of the closet. I pick it up and realize it's a latex bondage mask."

Everyone at the table gasped.

"Now I've lived a life. I'm not a prude! But maybe put the bondage gear away when people are touring your home."

"Maybe that would help someone envision their ideal self," Emily quipped.

Everyone at the table laughed again. Melody, Tiff and I each exchanged a passing glance.

"I hate to break up the party, girls, but I gotta get home. I have to make sure Gary didn't burn down the house," Melody said.

"What? No! The night is young and so are we!" Emily exclaimed.

"Come on, party poopers. It's like 8 o'clock."

"Sorry girls. We're beat. Some of us have cats at home to feed. And Melody has a Gary at home to feed," I said.

"Well I'm not ready to go to bed. I'm not an old lady...yet," Tiff said. "Emily, let's go get another drink. Let these losers put their curlers in."

"Okay! Just let me hit the bathroom first."

Tiff stood so that Emily could slide out of the booth and we all watched her saunter towards the back of the restaurant.

"This is going well. Dare I say that Pam's cat is not the only pussy eating to occur tonight," Tiff said, drumming her nails on the back of the booth.

"You've got a gift, Tiff."

"Tell us everything that happens, with no detail spared."

We paid the tab and said our goodbyes. Tiff and Emily got back in the convertible and disappeared into the night. I went home, fed my cat, and masturbated vigorously as I imagined the debauched scene at Tiff's house. When I woke the next morning, there was a single message from Tiff in our group chat. No text. Only a photo of a black latex mask on a hardwood floor.

I had to wait until Sunday night for any further details, and when they came, they came in rapid succession. Below is a transcript of her messages (combined and modified for format):

TIFF:

Sorry to keep you all waiting, but she actually just left and we had a busy couple of days. So where to start? As soon as we got in the car, I told her there was a change of plans. I said that my house was better than any bar in town. I told her I had a big deck with a stunning view of the stars, and she agreed, without hesitation, to see some stars. I was feeling bold so I put my hand on her thigh as I drove and she responded with nervous enthusiasm. There was no confusion by this point. No innuendo. She knew what it was. So I started talking dirty. I told her that human beings had evolved beyond the need for men--that I was a better man than she'd ever had, despite being a woman. I told her that I was going to make her cum more times in one night than she had in a whole lifetime of sex. She said "you're bad news" in that breathy, piccolo voice of hers. I told her I know how to handle dirty girls like her--how it's not so different from real estate. How you have to show people the potential that exists in places they never imagined.

"Do you trust me?" I said, and she said yes.

I said, "dirty girls don't wear clothes in my house. If you want in, it'll be in a bra and panties."

She looked surprised when I parked in front of the garage rather than inside it.

"It's a private drive. Nobody around for a mile."

She peeled those jeans off her body, removed her top and it was like a painting: delicious hourglass figure with a hint of belly and a big ass you can't keep your hands off. I swatted her on the behind and told her "come on, dirty girl."

Once we were inside, I pushed her down on the sofa, probing her mouth with my tongue, my hands running all along her voluptuous body. Her skin was so soft--this girl moisturizes, no doubt. I sucked on her neck for ten minutes before removing her bra and making my way down to her breasts. They're bigger than they look: round, tear drop breasts and I took great joy in teasing her nipples until she was shivering with desire.

I moved south once more, squeezing, pinching and fondling her ass cheeks--it was as if my hands were competing against each other to hold more of her at a time. I turned her around on the sofa and buried my face between those meaty cheeks and she squealed with delight. It was a surprise, but a good surprise.

"Oh, Tiff, what are you doing to me?" she moaned.

I removed my mouth from her ass to admonish her. "You're a dirty girl--you and I are not peers and you may not call me by my name. It's Goddess to you."

This culminated in a series of convulsing orgasms on the couch. I got her some water and stroked her hair while she recovered.

"I always wanted to be taken by a lover," she said. "I've never been with a woman, but in grad school I had a really strict professor and I started to have these fantasies that I would go to office hours and she'd make me eat her pussy under the desk to pass. Then, at dinner when you were talking about finding that mask, I felt that feeling again. I was a little turned on. I kept thinking about the person who wore it. How they'd walk around all day and no one would know the life they led at home."

We moved up to the second floor. To start, I gave her a shot at eating my pussy, but truth be told she still needs a lot of work in that department. Cocksucking is another story. She had some experience with that, at least. I fixed up my strap-on and got her down on her knees. I guided her head up and down the shaft and she slurped greedily, getting it nice and wet.

"Get on the bed. Present yourself," I said.

She scurried up on the bed and instinctively got on all fours. The dildo was bigger than any she'd used, but she stretched to fit it in no time. And her ass...what more can I say that I haven't already? Watching her bounce on my strapon was the highlight of my year. So plump, so fleshy. So eager to please. I owned that little piggy. I'm obsessed. Frankly, I'm not sure anymore that I want to share her.

She stayed the rest of the weekend. I must have fucked her twelve times. By this afternoon her pussy was so sensitive she could barely stand it. But I didn't scare her off. She coming over on Wednesday to spend the night. Just enough time for my rush order of goodies to arrive.

PAM:

I think I masturbated to the string of texts four times on Sunday night. The next morning, I was in my office when Emily appeared at the door. She stood sheepishly for a second, waiting.

"Hey, girlie! How was the rest of the night out?" I asked, playing dumb.

"Can I talk to you?"

"Sure, Em. What's up?"

She stepped inside the door and closed it behind her.

"Did Tiff talk to you at all?"

"No. Why?"

"I went home with Tiff on Friday."

"No!"

"We...hooked up," she said. "And I think I like her. I think I want to see her again."

"Wow. Well you know I think that's great. She's sexy, has a good job...it's very exciting."

"I'm as surprised as you are."

"You can't plan these things. Things just happen."