I was a block away from the club when I heard "Dennis?" I stopped and looked around, finally spotting a young blonde woman waving at me and hurrying over. I vaguely recalled seeing her last night.
"Uh, hi."
"Hi, its Nicole, from last night?" She was dressed for the office, but in the sort of office wear that would cause jealousy in the other women in the office, and the wives of her male co-workers to be deeply suspicious. High heels, nylons,
very
short skirt, white blouse with deep neckline, short jacket that couldn't possibly close over her ample chest, curly blonde hair that fell past her shoulders in loose ringlets, very bright red lipstick, large dark eyes. Did I mention her ample chest? She looked like she was already a D or so, and was happy to display a considerable amount of cleavage. She was carrying a small paper bag, as if returning from an errand or lunch.
"I don't know if you found my card, but I'm glad I found you!"
She walked with me toward my car, peppering me with questions about what I did for a living (nothing), where I was living, where I was going now, how I'd gotten along with Lisa, etc. We reached the parking lot, where I paid the exorbitant charge, collected my key, and went to my car.
"Say, you look like you don't feel so well," she said with concern.
"Actually, I don't."
"Would you like me to drive you? I'd be happy to." Her voice was almost too perky, but she was cute, and the thought of plunging into LA traffic was unappealing.
"Uh, sure, that would be nice," I said.
I opened the driver's door for her, then went around, got into the passenger seat, and handed her the keys. She drove carefully, and I soon fell asleep again.
When I woke up, we were parked on a driveway in an unfamiliar suburban neighborhood.
"Oh good, you're awake! I've been trying to wake you up, but you just kept going back to sleep. I didn't know your address, so I thought I should take you to my home. Come on, you can crash here until you feel better."
She was an irresistible force, at least with me in my present state, so I let her lead me out of the car (although I pocketed the keys), up the stairs, and into her bedroom. All the while, she asked how I felt, what felt wrong, what did I need. I told her that I hadn't had a lot of sleep ("I can understand
that
!" she replied), and that I had a burning sensation.
"Where?"
"Well,..., ah,..., well, we had really spicy Thai food for lunch, and then,... Her mouth..."
"Oh! you have capsaicin on your glans. I know how to take care of that. Let's get these clothes off."
She quickly and methodically undressed me, while explaining that usually for chili overdoses the best remedy was milk or starchy foods like bread.
"Wow! Oh my god!" she exclaimed when she got my pants off. "I thought I knew French better than that. Didn't Hilda say 'twenty four' last night?"
"Yes, and last night that was correct."
"Oh, oh, oh, Lisa must have exhausted you, getting you that big!"
"I won't argue with that."
I wasn't about to show her how much larger it could get, although the way she was cradling, then stroking my cock, it would soon be hard.
"So, do you bathe it in milk, or rub it with a loaf of French bread?"
"Well, neither of those works well on the glans, but there are other methods."
"Glans?"
"This part right here." She indicated the head. At this point, I was lying back on the bed, propped up on my elbows, with her sitting beside me, holding my cock with both hands.
"So, what do you do?"
"In your case, this."
She got up on her knees and began licking my now engorged head all around with long, slow strokes.
"Mm, it even tastes spicy."
However it tasted, it felt wonderful.
"Oh, I'll be right back."
She jumped off the bed and ran out of the room. Moments later, she came back, now wearing only the briefest of panties. Without a word, she climbed back onto the bed and applied her mouth to my shaft. She had a mouth full of ice! Her tongue was ice-cold, as she slid up the shaft to the glans, and then began licking around again. It was soothing and erotic simultaneously. After several minutes the ice was gone, and she stood up on the bed. Grasping my cock with both hands, she applied her mouth to the end and managed to get about half the head inside. Still dizzy, and not entirely well, it was difficult to hold back. I didn't. She seemed to really enjoy it, sucking hard and squeezing her hands around my shaft, dragging them up towards the head as if to wring every last drop out of my fountain. I let my cock go flaccid naturally.
"There, does that feel better?"
"Huh! it does. Actually, that helped a lot. Now it's just a slight tingle."
"Well, maybe we'll take care of that too. Do you mind if I examine you?"
"Examine?"
"Yes, I'm a urologist. I just thought that after what must have been an extensive night with Lisa, it might be a good idea to make sure there's no trauma."
"A urologist?"
"Yes. Explains my interest in the club, doesn't it? At least, that's my excuse. I never run into patients
there
. Oh, what
is
a urologist? A doctor who specializes in the urinary tract. In my case, I specialize in erectile dysfunction."
I knew I shouldn't make the next statement, but couldn't stop myself: "I thought you were a secretary or something."
Fortunately, she did not take offense. "Oh, because of the way I was dressed? I use that when I'm examining patients, to help determine where the problem is. If there doesn't seem to be a physical problem, I'll just unbutton my white jacket and nonchalantly expose a little cleavage, and sometimes the 'problem' goes away. Then we investigate to see if it is actually a relationship problem with the wife or girlfriend."
"Oh, OK. Uh, yeah, please feel free."
She had me stand up so that she could take measurements. I wasn't completely flaccid, so she had me stand on a chair, so that my cock could hang past my feet.