Negotiating With Ms Baxter

David and I got to know each when we were about 15, pushed together by parents who assumed that a love of Dungeons and Dragons was more than enough common ground for a friendship. And they were right I guess; we hung out for most of a summer and had a good time.

David's mother , Carol Baxter, was exotic compared to the moms I knew. It wasn't that she was a single parent; it was that she was a single parent who was so obviously doing well for herself. She was a printer's rep, earning big commissions on sales to people like my dad – which I suppose is how they met. And she was young and beautiful – she was, put plainly, very sexy. She kept her dark hair short and framed her emerald green eyes with a variety of stylish glasses. She looked very like the actress Suzanne Pleshette, except that her body was leaner and more athletic. I saw a lot of her body because she and David lived in a condo with a pool and she would often come out with us, in a bikini, sunbathing or swimming endless laps.

Does it go without saying that I fantasized about her? I was horny and shy, my hormones pushing me to places I wasn't ready to go... and Ms. – she

insisted

on Ms. – Baxter's legs and face and butt and breasts were well known to me, familiar. The fact is, I did little

but

fantasize about her; in the private dungeon of my mind, she regularly stripped and opened up her body to me, sucking me shamelessly, begging me to fill her various holes. Her long legs spread wide for me constantly, and she dressed in various costumes and uniforms as my desire dictated. Nurse, hooker, teacher... she played all these parts and many, many more.

So I lived for most of a summer in a state of flagrant, aroused embarrassment. I was uncomfortably tumescent nearly always; when she was actually

present

I was febrile with shame and at the same time rock hard – hiding my ever present erection was a challenge I often failed to meet.

Of course my friendship with David was strained. In fact it was ruined. We didn't talk of it – of

course

we didn't talk of it – but how could he

not

be aware of my furtive, covetous admiration of his mother? Perhaps we could have been lifelong friends, but in the event we drifted apart. He discovered computers and I discovered football and that girls would go out with, and sleep with, a football star. So after that summer David and I never saw each other again. But his mother is no stranger to me.

College, for me, was a blur of frathouse parties, hot dates, meaningless communications classes, and the painful, gradually dawning realization that I would simply never be good enough to play wide receiver in the NFL. So I came back home and started working for my father. It was hard at first, eating words that went back to high school, but I got over it and applied myself and business became something I was good at it - not that it's hard to be a success when your father owns the company. In the process I discovered that there was more to like than hate about old Dad... I swear, I'll be voting Republican pretty soon.

I began to solicit bids and negotiate contracts, and that's how Carol Baxter came back into my life. Dad casually suggested I get new bids on the next year's printing contracts and said I could sign off on whatever decisions I made. This was something of a pat on the back - until then he had made a point of reviewing and signing off on all my work.

So I took it seriously - the company's yearly printing needs are huge and complex and our number is on the cell phone of every printer's rep in town. Carol's firm had handled our printing for several years, but with youthful zeal I started over, letting all involved know that the contract was up for grabs. I spent a full month crunching numbers, comparing contracts, and enduring several expertly choreographed dog and pony shows. And in the end I realized, uncomfortably, that Ms. Baxter's firm had to be let go. Her bid was far too high and her firm's equipment was outdated. Looking at the numbers it was easy to be pragmatic about it; my acquaintance with her was actually rather slight, and the money saved would buy me a new Lexus. And yet... she

was

a family friend; I decided to meet with her and discuss it in person.

"I'm sorry, the conference ran over a little - I hope you weren't waiting too long"

"No Ms. Baxter, don't worry about it." In fact I had been waiting 20 minutes and was fuming a little - I had gotten used to fawning treatment from printer's reps. But my irritation faded as I took her in; she hadn't aged, it seemed, and she certainly hadn't gained an ounce. She was dressed in a plain black dress so perfectly cut it resembled a sheath and her eyes were greener than I had been able to recall. Carol Baxter was a handsome woman.

"Well Mark, all grown up I see. You're not the gangly boy I used to know."

Something about the way she said it put me at a disadvantage - I suddenly remembered very vividly the uses I had mentally put her to that summer, and felt again the shame of being so hopelessly infatuated with her. Something must have showed in my face, for she continued -

"I'm sorry, this is business and it isn't polite to bring up our past. Listen, I have a suite here - I like to be able to entertain during conferences - and most of the papers are there. Do you mind coming up?"

I didn't mind, and we went up together. We had the elevator to ourselves and she stood rather close to me. I smelled her pleasant, musky perfume and had an unexpected memory of her applying perfume from a fancy bottle in her bedroom - when would I have seen Ms. Baxter apply perfume?

I was 24, and alone in a small space with the first erotic focus of my life, breathing in her scent and looking slightly down at her - does it go without saying that my prick began to stir, that I was once again wondering how I could hide an erection around this woman? As we stepped out of the elevator she stumbled and I reached for her. Somehow she turned it into an offer of my arm, and held me lightly as we walked to her room. She opened the door and then turned, blocking me, looking directly at me.

"Mark, will you do something for me?"

"Certainly, Ms. Baxter. What is it?"

"Will you call me Carol? We're

both

adults now, negotiating a business deal."

"Of course, Carol. As you say, we're both adults."

Then she lightly grasped my lapels and drew me closer to her. Her fingers moved from my coat to my shirt, and then down to feel my swelling cock, all the while looking directly at me with her large green eyes.

"You know, I've rarely seen you when you didn't have an erection. You always tried to hide it, but a big one like yours is hard to hide, isn't it? Can I tell you something?"

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

"When you were David's friend I wanted to fuck you... I wanted to take you to bed and put that beautiful young cock to good use. I wanted your first blow job to be a good one, and I wanted a cock in me that wouldn't quit, a big stiff boy's cock. I even wanted to lube you up and have you in my ass. Would you have liked that?"

I nodded, still not able to speak, and she nodded too, satisfied.

"Come in. You're still young. Let me fuck you now."

Does it go without saying that I agreed?

Carol Baxter was a practiced lover. She took my coat from me and removed my tie and told me to sit on the sofa and watch while she undressed. It wasn't stripping, but it was graceful and absorbing. Her body was perfect, her skin flawless and smooth, and as she removed her clothes she posed so that my eyes could drink in all of her. Then she undressed me. She kneeled to untie my shoes, removed my socks, and blew teasingly between my toes. She straddled me and removed my shirt and tee, placing them carefully aside. Then, like a woman unwrapping a present she expects to be expensive, she unbuckled my belt and pulled down my pants, and then my underwear, and then she kissed my cock and admired it, telling me it was large and fine.

"Sit on the edge of the bed. I want to kneel in front of you and service you. I want all of your cock in my mouth and down my throat."

She was wonderful; her mouth moved to my balls and suckled them, her tongue slipped out and teased my anus. She nibbled my shaft and moaned charmingly. She drew back, breathing through moist lips onto my swaying cock. Then she bowed her head reverently and slid her face down over me, my whole length sliding smoothly into her and lodging in the tightness of her throat. She held me there briefly, sucking hard, and then began to bob her head rapidly, sucking hard as she pulled out and swallowing all of me as she plunged back down. She brought me very close to release, my prick clenching like a fist, blood roaring in my ears. And then she stopped. She pulled back and kept her eyes on my cock, like a fascinated cat.

"Mark. You should understand something."

"What's that?" I managed to say.

"You can have what you want from me tonight, and I'll give it... but before you leave I want a signed contract."

Her favors were worth a Lexus. I nodded and motioned for her to continue. She did so, diving down on me again and sucking powerfully. Does it go without saying that I came violently? That I held her head between my hands and pumped vigorously, spurting hard into her mouth? Does it go without saying that she swallowed every drop, milking me with her mouth and draining me?

I lay back on the bed, comfortably naked. The fact was, I'd never paid for sex... but

now

I was paying, paying a lot, and I liked the feeling. Carol went to the bathroom and returned with a washcloth. I let her clean me, enjoying it. Since I had thought about it when I was 15, I turned over and told her to wash my crack and she obeyed. I told her to kiss me there, and she did. She even tongued me, and I writhed with pleasure. Then she carefully took the lead again, turning me over and mounting me. I regained my erection easily, stiffening inside her cunt, gratifying her. Her rhythm wasn't fancy but it was effective and I watched with interest as she let herself climax. She was lost in herself briefly, tightening on me and shuddering. She recovered and thanked me, smiling, and began to move up and down on me again but instead I picked her up, supporting her on my prong and turning us over. I held her hands behind her back, pinning her with my weight, and fucked her hard and fast. She shrieked with every breath, squeezed hard with her strong swimmer's legs and we came together this time, shouting.

I was willing to be done; I lay back and even dozed briefly. But in a little while Carol got up and stepped into the suite's other room. I listened to her dress with suggestive rustlings; when she came back and stood before me she had my full attention. She was a young man's wet dream - specifically,

this

young man's wet dream. Spiked black boots that came to mid-thigh, a tight black corset that held her tits high and close to enhance her cleavage, a mask through which her green eyes shone... and in her hand a riding crop. Her ensemble made me wonder how she "entertained". She reached out with the riding crop and lightly stroked me, coaxing me to yet another full erection. Then she motioned with the whip, telling me to stand before her... does it go without saying that I stood before her?

Carol walked around me slowly, inspecting me, using the whip to prod my buttocks and to urge my legs apart so that she could trace the shape of my balls. Then she sharply switched my rear, saying, "

Straighten up

Mark!" and I

did

straighten up, and my erection tightened. She smirked, then reached for a small bottle on a credenza near the bed. She tossed it to me.

"Lubricate yourself young man, get that big cock slippery for me."

So I used one hand to smear myself with lube, masturbating while she watched greedily. She stopped me with a gesture of the whip, then sauntered to the credenza and bent over it. The boots and the corset were a fine setting for the jewel of her ass, and she waggled it coyly, looking at me over her shoulder.

"Mount me, boy. Put that big young cock in my butt."

I did just that, hurrying in my eagerness and making her gasp. But I settled in and fucked her with an urgently increasing cadence. She leaned back hard against me, taking in all she could and occasionally she would reach the whip around and crack it across my thighs, becoming both mount and rider, enjoying herself hugely. She came loudly several times as I fucked her, but then it was my turn and I spasmed mightily up and into her and as I came,

just

as I came, she whipped me hard across the ass and I made a sound I'd never made before, didn't know I

could

make. My knees buckled and I grabbed her arms, bruising her and knocking her forward. And then I staggered to the bed, spent. Carol turned, and for a second her eyes looked old behind the mask - for a second she was Ms. Baxter. But then she went into the next room and when she came back she was dressed in a nightgown that was sensible, not sexy, and I knew we were done for the night.

In the morning there were papers to sign and we signed them. Coffee was brought and we drank it, not talking much. I was tired and pensive, considering how I would explain the contract renewal. Finally I stood and made to leave; she stepped to the door and opened it for me. I turned.

"You know, that bit with the whip and the mask... I didn't know I... that was remarkable."

"Yes," she said, smiling as she closed the door, "your father likes it too."

Does it go without saying that I wasn't particularly surprised?