Deirdres Downfall Ch 03

Innocent Dee continues her gradually deepening affair, captive of her hunger for more adulterous sex. Read Chapters 1 and 2 to catch up. Just click on my name and go to the link. And, please vote!

I awoke at six on Saturday morning after a dream-filled night. My couple of hours the afternoon before at designer Jack Taylor's house, rutting like a mink, had placed me on a sexual plateau from which I'd not yet descended. And he'd be here at ten today! I exulted to myself, trying unsuccessfully to quell my excitement. He was coming to discuss our house remodel project with my husband Frank and me. My pulse rate spiked each time I reflected on our time together the day before. My God! I thought heatedly, how exquisitely our bodies had meshed! After leaving him shortly before six o'clock, I'd stopped at the bank, then for Chinese food for Frank and me, since I'd wanted to eat quickly and clean the house a bit. At midnight I'd put away the vacuum cleaner and gone to bed, not waking Frank.

After grabbing a quick coffee and roll this morning, I'd showered, shaved my legs, fixed my hair, and done my makeup. I even did my toenails with dark rust polish. Crystal earrings with hanging rust and white glass discs highlighted the color of my eye shadow and matched my straight, frosted, dark hair. I wanted to look casual, though very sexy for Jack this Saturday morning, so I chose my clothes carefully. To make me feel secretly desirable underneath, I put on a new black, lacy pushup bra and boy-cut lace panties that showed the bottom of my butt cheeks. For an informal meeting, flare-legged, hip hugger blue jeans would work, I thought, with white, high-heeled sandals. On top I wore the new white pinstripe duster shirt I'd gotten the previous week. It's a cotton, form-fitting, long-sleeved blouse ending at mid-thigh, with sleeves slightly flared at the cuffs. It has a long, pointed collar, nearly as wide as my shoulders, and a gradual, deeply plunging neckline that ends two inches below the navel. I have a really nice, "innie" belly button and wanted to tantalize him with it.

Without an undershirt of some kind, though, there would have been a daring, nude vee from the collar to the top of my pants, with a lot of generous breast cleavage showing. So, for modesty, underneath I added a rust-colored, knit tank top with cropped tail. With the duster shirt fastened by a hook-and-eye just below my breasts, I was covered, with just a sliver of my tummy showing sexily at the bottom of the placket. Turning around, I noticed that it hugged my bottom nicely, though facing the mirror again I lustfully wondered what a diamond stud would look like, flashing from my navel. Gosh, you're getting silly, Deirdre! I thought.

Frank got up about nine and showered. "Morning, kiddo," he mumbled. "House looks great. So do you. Up late?"

"Mmm, no," I fudged. "Just cleaned up a little. Want a bite to eat?"

"Yeah, thanks. How long's this gonna' take?" he asked.

"What, the meeting? I don't know. We'll have to see," I said. "Why?"

"Got a tee time at 12:30. Bruce got a foursome together. I'll be gone all day," he said.

"Oh, Frank! Jack Taylor's going to need a lot of information from us!" I admonished, handing him a cup of coffee. "We can't just blow him off with a 'sorry, gotta' go play golf now'!"

"Honey, it's a business game! New prospects! Bruce promised a bonus if I can sell 'em," Frank said, speaking of his fat, overbearing, lecherous boss.

"Alright, but Jack's not the kind of guy you can put off!" I warned, sounding as if I knew my patient quite well.

"Ah, he's a businessman. He'll understand," Frank allowed. "Besides, if he wants to do our project, he'll have to march to our tune!" he said, arrogantly, munching on a croissant.

From what I'd seen of Jack, I thought, he did very little marching to anyone else's tune. If pushed beyond his affable limits, I surmised, he could be a formidable opponent.

A few minutes later he arrived. My pulse rate doubled, and my crotch started its throbbing cadence. I beamed a smile as I let him in and he returned it, saying, "Hi! Beautiful morning, huh! I brought my camera to get some shots of your place."

"Oh, good thinking!" I said, leading him into the living room and nervously introducing him to Frank.

Jack looked fresh and delightful. He was dressed in tight, tan jeans with a red, wool plaid shirt, snugly covering the muscled upper body that I'd tasted and felt pressed against me the afternoon before. On his feet were brown engineer's boots, very worn but highly polished. He looked like the guy on the

Brawny

paper towel roll. I wanted so much to hug him, and got wet as I watched him talk with Frank.

I faded into the background, becoming very quiet, except when asked a question, and compared both of these men whom I'd known intimately. Frank's about 5'10", 175, with dark hair, his body growing soft around the edges in that Italian way. He's a good-looking guy, but the boyishness that attracted me to him in college has been replaced by...a sneering overconfidence – the only way I can put it – and he justifies it by saying it's "real," that it's businesslike, that it's "no bullshit," an indelicacy for which I criticize him.

Jack, by contrast, is more quietly confident, not afraid to show a broader range...and depth, of feeling. Aside from his occasionally devilish humor, that quality, coupled with his Anglo Saxon good looks, and the sensitivity in his eyes when he seeks an uncoached response to a question, makes him a very desirable male package. I watched, finding it difficult to stem the palpitations in my tummy, as he sold himself to Frank in his deep, modulated voice.

I'm always amazed at how men interact, particularly when they do business. There's usually no more than fifteen minutes of small talk, whereas with two women this might take two hours as they settle into one another. Jack didn't work in the typical male way. He asked us about our ancestors in Italy. Frank's were from Rome and mine from Milan, the home bases of our respective families. He spoke to Frank about Rome, where as a college student my husband had spent two weeks with relatives. Sounding like a tour guide, he rattled off trivia about the

Campo de Fiore,

the Spanish Steps, the famous piazzas,

Navona

and

del Popolo,

the

Via del Corso

and a dozen other places. His eyes flashed happily as we became charmed by his humorous anecdotes. Then he cited the work of the sculptor Bernini, whose statuary of Apollo and Daphne had helped inspire his love of the arts and design. "The pathetic part of the tale, of course, is that Apollo's heart was so pierced with pain for loving a mortal woman that the wound caused a divine, bittersweet memory that lasted forever," he said softly. This caused Frank to exhale audibly – a bit confused by the touching mythical image – and tears welled in my eyes as an empathic pang shot through my vitals.

Of course, Jack was on his best behavior – calling me Dee rather than Dee Dee – and his attention had been focused almost exclusively on my husband. Then he turned to me, extolling the virtues of

La Scala

opera in Milan and the Italian Alpine region above it, about which I know little. My Gosh! my mother would be captivated by this man, I marveled! His glance lingered on me for a moment when he stated that we should one day travel to Italy, stimulating a throb...and moisture...in my crotch as he spoke of the beauties of

Lago di Como

and other sites.

Frank was nonplussed, though impressed by his worldliness, and Jack launched into his design philosophy. Following that we talked specifics – with Frank being very didactic – and Jack took voluminous notes, recording our detailed wishes about lifestyle and how it would be enhanced by the house remodel. We also talked about plans for a family, and how they'd affect the remodel design. An hour later the three of us did a slow walkthrough, and Jack saw each of the rooms, closely examining the nature and quality of existing materials in the house.

Finally, Frank excused himself, saying that he was being picked up about noon for his golf game. It was 11:45 and Jack stated that he wanted to get detailed measurements, take pictures – inside and out – and perhaps look in the basement and attic, since they might be affected by the design. Frank shrugged, and said, "Well, stay and do what you need to do. Okay with you, Dee?" I nodded assent, and a horn sounded out front. "That's Bruce. Nice to meet you, Jack. Dee, give him my office numbers and e-mail address. Gotta' go," he said, breaking the heady mood as he had for so many years, and left.

"Well," Jack exhaled, "I can work better with just you, anyway," he said, watching as Frank loaded his golf clubs in Bruce's car and then walking into the dining room. "Shall we start with measurements?"

I put a hand on one hip, smiled and, suddenly feeling very wicked, said, "I'm 34C-24-36." I waited to see what he'd do, acting casual but with my insides in turmoil.

"You know, that's about what I figured," Jack grinned, visibly relaxing as he leaned against our mirrored armoire in the dining room. "Sorry I wasn't more specific," he said, rather contritely, appearing hesitant to approach me in my own home.

I walked to him, slowly, and put my hands on his hips, looking up into his clear blue eyes. "Want a bite to eat, Jack? I haven't had a thing since six."

"Not just yet," he whispered, and we kissed for the first time this day, gently running our hands over each other. Though internally tense, I felt strangely in control, partly because of my familiar surroundings, but also because Jack and I had hours to spend together. What I couldn't control was the way my body reacted to him. As before, our first kiss led to more, and our hands relentlessly traced the wondrous topography, the hills and valleys, of our hungry, undulating bodies.

The hook on my duster was the first to be released, then the button and zipper on Jack's jeans. My shirt was drawn over my head, and his pants fell to the floor. My cropped tank top was still on, with my breasts pushing up – tingling from want of his hands – and a generous portion of my olive flesh shone above my pants. We grappled for a moment, seemingly testing one another to see whose appetite was the greater. I think Jack let me win, since he raised his hands in a helpless gesture as I yanked down his plaid boxers and – uttering a low cry – grasped his tumescent cock and jammed it into my mouth with an "Uuunghk."

My emotions of the past two hours had tortured me. At first, when Jack had charmed us with his knowledge of Italy, I was mesmerized and fantastically high. Later, when discussing remodeling details – things that once had seemed of paramount importance to me – my mood had crashed and they'd lost their high priority. Each time Jack had made a point, Frank had attempted to dispute him or second guess his judgment. Whether this was due to male ego, the "negotiation dance" or mistrust, I don't know. Regardless, Jack's observations seemed based on sound assumptions rather than merely an extension of his...his penis, as it seemed Frank's were. Then again, I thought, maybe Frank was just trying to save money, without specifically saying it. All I wanted out of the project was...what I wanted. And, I was more than willing to pay any price for it.

Jack was included in the package, of course. In early morning I'd launched into fantasies about having him supervise the project on a daily basis, being here after Frank went to work, when we could discuss each day's plans, after which I could arrive at the office on time. Each day, of course, I could do with him what I was doing now: slowly sucking on him noisily, humming quietly in my throat as I engulfed his wonderful cock, and dragging my full lips off of it slowly, stopping and tonguing just as they caressed his coronal ridge.

I looked to my left in the mirror on the armoire door next to us – just a foot away – and, for the first time in my life, watched myself worship a man's penis orally. Jack watched me look and, as I glanced up at him, he placed his hands lightly on my head, weaving his fingers into my hair, and groaned. I was so pleased that he could see me pleasure him this way that I exaggerated each of my moves for his benefit. First, I lifted his cock up to bare his large balls to me so that I could place one in my mouth, then the other, just holding them there and swirling my tongue slightly to massage each of the tender orbs. Then I pushed my face between his legs to lick him behind his scrotum, slowly, five or six times, tasting the rich, acrid dew that had gathered there in his tight pants.

Jack was breathing heavily and moaning, trying to watch me through slitted eyes, while looking at me from above as well as at our side image in the mirror. I grew emboldened at his sounds and pulled off of him to whisper, "Mmm, Jack...sweetheart...I'm

really

going to suck your cock now," and slurped my mouth back onto him. I watched my upper lip stretch over his huge, shiny glans while my tongue lapped at him underneath over my drooling lower lip. Stirred by the licentious sight, I pulled off again and murmured, "I want you to fuck my hot mouth...want you to cum...want you to cum...all over me." After mouthing him again, I rasped, "I want to feel...smell...drink your cum, darling," which caused him to issue a little, high-pitched cry from his throat, a sound very unlike Jack. Feeling like an absolute slut, I then proceeded to take him into my throat, slowly. As I had on Friday, I placed his cock head at the top of my throat after a deep breath and swallowed several times, each time gaining a bit of depth, until I needed to breathe again. With my tongue dropped low, I again pushed slowly onto him, wanting to take all of his length...but in this position I couldn't. He was just too large...too thick for my throat.

As I pulled off of him again to breathe and stroke him wetly with my hand, Jack groaned, "Dee Dee...sweetness...let me touch you," and pulled my top off to bare my uplifted, bra-covered breasts. I quickly unfastened the bra and threw it aside, my tits heaving with excitement, and Jack leaned down over me to cup their hot flesh in his loving hands, kneading them and rolling my protruding nipples between thumbs and fingers. "My God, you're so beautiful!" he said, which caused me to gush juice into my panties. I'll have to put in my diaphragm soon, I thought, unless I can...mmm, and I renewed my sucking of Jack, which caused him to straighten up and crane his neck to the ceiling, once again issuing a long, drawn-out moan.

A new lascivious impulse occurred to me. I unbuttoned my jeans and quickly slipped them down over my thighs, leaving enough room for me to touch myself. The fingers on one hand found my erect clit, which I soon began rubbing with juices slurped up from my pussy, causing me to accompany Jack with my moaning. I glanced in the mirror and hardly recognized the twisted, wanton expression on my face as I then looked up, beseeching him to understand how much I wanted his seed. "Now, Jack. I want you to cum all over me!" I again grunted sluttishly, something that a few days before I'd never in my life imagined. With a vengeance, I then began sucking as much of him as I could – masturbating myself with one hand – while rapidly plunging my drooling mouth on and off of him and jacking off his exposed cock with my other hand. The glass discs on my earrings clattered together as my head bobbed against his crotch. I stroked his hardness with twisting motions, remembering that the first penis I'd touched – my first boyfriend's in college – had responded favorably to such ministrations. Jack responded similarly. His hips began to flex, yet he was careful – mindful of my small, shallow mouth – and tempered his thrusts so that I could control them. I watched as his balls gradually pulled up into his body and I knew that he was getting close, further indicated by his sharp, staccato panting. And finally he pulled from me and took his tool into his own hand, grunting out his joy...and his cum.

"Ha-aah! Ha-aah! Ha-aah!" he moaned, as I diddled myself furiously, trying to catch up to him. I opened my mouth as widely as I could and stuck out my tongue, wanting to capture gobs of his delicious juice as they poured forth. I felt the first flash of my own orgasm start as a thick rope of hot cum shot from Jack's cock to land in my hair and plaster itself down over my face. He pointed his member lower, and this time aimed a powerful blast at my right cheek, then another jet that flew down into my mouth and onto my chest. Its heat, its smell, its taste all combined to help me reach my climax, and I threw myself at his groin and absorbed at least four more spurts of thick, viscous jizzum on my tongue and upper body. As my orgasm began to wane, I mouthed him deeply and sucked forcefully so as to drink whatever was left of him, so obscenely starved was I for his taste.

We gasped the last of our passion, and I discovered that my legs had gone to sleep due to my kneeling position. As Jack's hands continued to stroke my cum-streaked hair, I looked in the mirror and was shocked to see the mess on myself. Rivulets of sperm dribbled from my chin and nipples. I was what Mandy would call a cum slut! I mused, shivering with guilty delight as Jack dropped to his knees and hugged me close to him, squishing the copious strands of his harvest between us. I'd swallowed what was in my mouth and kissed him, smearing our faces with his spunk, ecstatic at the new degree of intimacy that we'd shared. Yet I wanted so much more.

"Still hungry?" Jack asked softly, nuzzling me in an ear.

"Mmm, yeah, but that snack'll hold me for a while," I giggled, a bit embarrassed. I again glanced in the mirror and said, "Uh, can we shower? I feel really grungy, even though it's your...uuh..."

"My cum," he said, finishing my sentence. "Yeah, that'd be nice," he murmered, "but let's put in your diaphragm first," he grinned, kissing me.

"Okay. C'mon upstairs," I said, gathering my clothes and getting unsteadily to my feet.

"Wait a minute," Jack said. "Take off your shoes and pants. I want to watch you walk up in front of me." I peeled off my jeans, felt his eyes, and heard his gasp, as all I was wearing were my new black, boy-cut lace panties. "God! Leave those on 'til we get to the bathroom," he pleaded. I turned to the mirror and looked at myself over my shoulder and thought, yeah, girl, you look pretty hot! As we walked slowly upstairs, with me moving liquidly to accentuate my hips and bottom, Jack murmured, "Jesus, Dee Dee, your whole body is exquisite, but...your legs! You're phenomenal."

I felt on top of the world – so wanted! – as we proceeded up the stairs, with Jack licking and nipping softly at my cheeks as we made our way. In the bathroom I ran a comb through my hair to break through the knots of cum. Jack peeled down my panties and kissed all over my bottom as I did this, licking between my cheeks and tonguing my rectum, which caused me first to gasp –

wanting to pull away – yet, after thinking about it, I wiggled back toward his talented tongue and let him take his time deeply probing my private, nasty hole. I don't know how long we did this, but I remember gasping and groaning and gripping the cold basin 'til my fingers hurt as – in the mirror – I watched my panting, slack-jawed face register the pleasures of his sodomizing tongue. When we finally broke, I pranced away for a moment to get my new diaphragm from its secret place in my small dressing room.

I'd never before used a diaphragm, having no need for one given Frank's sterility, so was a novice. Though my gynecologist had shown me how to apply spermicidal gel and insert the device, Jack showed me how to fold it between two fingers, with a third finger on a folded end to keep the slippery, springy thing from shooting across the room. I sat on the toilet with it poised in one hand and spread my legs, and Jack interrupted me for a moment to lick and suck at my pussy noisily, shooting flashes of joy through me. I could just imagine what it'd be like living with this man! I reflected. Soon the "trampoline" was in, as Jack called it, and we were ready to bathe. As the water warmed up, I looked at my face and upper body and marveled that the dried, silvery streaks left by Jack's cum could actually help life begin. Mandy called them "snail tracks," I remembered, and I was momentarily saddened by the fact that we were using contraception, especially such a primitive method as the diaphragm. Once it was inside me and seated, I washed the gel from my fingers and put up my hair to keep it from getting wet.