Flesh For Fantasy. Joan Elizabeth Lloyd
swallow of her wine and sat up a bit straighter. “Okay. I guess I can’t be that kind of Margaret. What would you call me?”
“Well, Margie is young, pert, and too cute to be believed, so that’s not you. And Peggy is an Irish lass with red hair and freckles.”
“Okay. Neither of those sound like me. So who am I?”
“You look like a Maggie. Nice-looking. Interesting and interested. Open to new experiences.”
“What a line you’ve got,” Maggie said, realizing that, whether it was a line or not, this man had made her feel younger than she had in years. She lowered her chin and looked up at Frank through her lashes. “And I must say I like it.”
Frank grinned. “Me too. And it usually works.”
Maggie laughed. “You admit that it’s a line? How original.”
“The line’s original, too,” he said. “And you’re the first woman who’s picked up on it so quickly.” He tried and almost succeeded in looking like a small boy with his hand in the cookie jar. It helped that he had medium brown hair naturally streaked with blond, wide blue eyes, and a fantastic mouth.
They talked for an hour, then went to a nearby French restaurant and shared a sumptuous meal which included a bottle of fine Chardonnay and a glass of sweet, golden dessert wine. She learned that Frank was divorced, in town from Dallas for a week for his firm’s quarterly department meetings and that he was charming and sexy and determined to get her into his bed. As he dropped his credit card onto the check, he took Maggie’s hand. As he held it across the table, his index finger scratched little patterns in her palm. “We could be good together,” he purred.
She had to admit to herself that she was turned on. But this was a man who had picked her up, not someone she worked with or who had been introduced to her by friends. He was only in town for a short time. She couldn’t even delude herself into thinking this was the beginning of a long-term relationship. But she wanted to go to bed with him nonetheless. “How can you be so sure?” she said.
“I can be very sure. I can see it in your eyes, your body, the way you smile, the way you can’t quite sit still. You want this as much as I do. How do you like your sex?”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. How do you like your sex? Long and slow, with lots of kissing and stroking? Hard and fast, like the pair of animals we are? Standing up with your back pressed against the wall and your legs locked around my waist? In the shower under torrents of hot water? Tell me and I’ll make it that way for you.”
Maggie shrugged. She couldn’t tell him how she liked her sex because she loved it all ways. “You tell me,” she hedged. “How do you like it?”
“Oh, Maggie, I think I’d like it every way with you.” He lifted her hand and nipped at her fingertips.
“No,” she said, more seriously. “Tell me. How would you like to make love with me? Create the fantasy and let’s see how we mesh.”
“You’re serious. You want me to tell you.” When Maggie merely nodded, Frank said, “I see you slowly removing your clothes while I watch. I watch you reveal your body to me, one small piece at a time.”
Silently Maggie reached up and unbuttoned the top two buttons on her blouse and parted the sides so the valley between her breasts was visible.
“Shit, baby. I’m hard as stone already.”
Maggie raised an eyebrow but remained silent.
“Okay. I see you in your bra and panties.” He looked around the tablecloth at Maggie’s shoes. “Yes. Black high heels. I like that. You’re not wearing pantyhose, are you?”
“I won’t be,” she said, contemplating a quick trip to the ladies’ room. She watched the flush rise on Frank’s face. She was turning him on. What a trip.
“You’re walking toward me, then unzipping my pants.”
Maggie was very turned on and more than a little drunk. Without changing her expression, she slipped one foot out of her shoe and stretched her foot across the space between them and rested her stocking-covered toes against the swelling in his crotch.
His startled look, followed by a shift of position to place her foot more firmly against his zipper, told Maggie exactly what she was doing to him. “Shit, baby, let’s get out of here,” he moaned.
“The waiter hasn’t brought your credit card back,” Maggie said, feigning an innocent expression. She wiggled her toes in his lap. “As I remember, I was unzipping your pants. Tell me more. I want to know exactly how you see this evening we’re going to have.”
She watched Frank take a deep breath. “I can’t think when you do that.”
Again she silently raised an eyebrow. She was in charge now, quite deliberately turning Frank on, a man she had met only three hours before.
His voice uneven, he continued. “You were unzipping my pants and taking out my cock. It’s so hard it sticks up like a flagpole. You’re wrapping your hand around it and licking your lips.”
Maggie slowly ran the tip of her tongue across her upper lip. “Like this?”
At that moment, the waiter returned with Frank’s charge slip, which he signed with an obviously shaking hand. As he wrote, Maggie moved her toes in his lap. As the waiter took the restaurant copy, Maggie asked, “Could I have just a bit more coffee?”
“Certainly, madame.”
“But, Maggie, I thought we were going to my room.” He was almost whining.
“We will. But I need just a bit more coffee and you haven’t finished your story. I was holding your cock, as I recall. Squeezing it as it sticks up through the opening in your pants. Let’s see, I’m wearing a black lace bra, bikini panties, and my high black shoes. Right?” Bob had taught her about the power of a well-set erotic scene and he had marveled at her ability to use words to turn him on. Now she was using all her skill to turn Frank on. And it was working better than she could have imagined.
Frank was again lost in his fantasy. “Right,” he whispered.
“And I’ll bet you want me to take your cock into my mouth and suck you.”
“Oh, yes,” he groaned as the waiter refilled Maggie’s coffee cup. Without removing her hand from his, or her foot from his lap, she poured cream into her cup and stirred.
When he didn’t continue, she said, “You want me to touch the tip of your cock with my lips, kiss it, lick it, make it wet.” She deliberately slowed the cadence of her speech. “Then I can slowly suck it into my mouth. Very slowly. Pulling it deeper and deeper into that hot, wet cave.”
Frank’s eyes closed, obviously lost in the fantasy.
“Now I pull back, but I keep sucking so your cock pulls out so slowly. Down and up, my mouth is driving you crazy.” She remembered a trick Bob had taught her. “But I wrap my fingers around the base of your cock so you can’t come as I keep on sucking. I don’t want you to come yet, baby.”
“But I want to come.”
“Not until we’re both ready. So now I pull my panties off and rub myself. I’m very wet, you know. I let you lick my finger so you can taste me. Do I taste good?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Good. Now I pull off your pants, but I leave your shirt on. It’s very sexy for me to see you all dressed in your business shirt and tie while I slowly put a cold, lubricated condom over your cock. It feels tight, like it’s hugging you. Now I push you down onto the bed, straddle your waist and use the tip of your slippery cock to play with myself.” She looked at his closed eyes. “Can you see me?”
“Yes,” he said, his voice harsh and almost inaudible.
“Let me