By Margo Perry  (margo707 AT rogers DOT com)
Copyright 2001 by Margo Perry, all rights reserved.

“I’ll expect you at three-thirty sharp,” she instructed, when he called to confirm his appointment.

Harry got off the Vaughn Street bus and glanced at his watch. 3:10 … early. He walked slowly, hardly noticing the stately homes that graced the winding cul-de-sac or the people moving about him. His mistress of two years was retiring and this was to be his last visit. Harry sighed as rain began to drizzle from the gray December sky. He found comfort in the gloomy wetness.

3:15 … He could see the house now. He sat down on the park bench that stood just outside her property and waited for time.

Harry tried to order his jumbled thoughts. How had all this started? Right out of college, he’d landed a plum job as a financial consultant with one of the country’s leading investment banks and married the boss’ daughter, his high school sweetheart. Five years later she’d walked out on him, claiming he wasn’t giving her enough attention. She’d been right, of course. Serving the needs of a demanding client base in an ultra-competitive market had been overwhelming and he’d done what he had to do. When her father heard the news, he shook his head and said, “I’m afraid I spoiled that girl. She wants what she wants whenever she wants it,” and he’d returned to the stack of papers on his desk.

Devastated, Harry lost himself in work, building a portfolio of accounts that were the pride of his father-in-law and the envy of his associates. He was the boy wonder … driven, successful but desperately lonely, a loneliness that Harry realized had been with him all of his adult life. The truth was that Harry’s ambition for power in the marketplace was outsized by a greater, though secret, ambition. What Harry had wanted for as long as he could remember was to find a woman to whom he could submit; a huge-breasted woman who would bring him to his knees. He dreamt of her. He looked for her on the streets, in magazines and videos. He’d spent years pretending that his obsession didn’t matter, ashamed of it … but still the hunger grew. When his marriage failed, he felt he had nothing to lose. He surfed the net and sent e-mails. He examined ads in magazines and made phone calls. He searched until he found Deluxe and he’d been seeing her at least once a month for the last two years. It hadn’t been about sex, although he wanted her more than he’d wanted any woman in his life. It was about worship. He was her slave and with every meeting he’d come to learn more about the lengths and breadths he’d go to please her. He’d dated women during this time but only casually. Every woman, every encounter was casual in the face of his relationship with Deluxe. And now she was retiring …

3:29 … he was reaching for the bell when the door swung open as if by magic.

Deluxe stood in the foyer, her red curly mane cascading past her shoulders, her green eyes dancing with mischief. She was a siren, draped in a red see-through caftan that matched the fire of her hair. Creamy white breasts swayed, roaming free under the plunging V of her gown as she stepped back and gestured him in.

“Welcome,” she said.

Harry stood still, his eyes drinking her eyes, glazing across the waves of her breasts, measuring the distance down past her midriff to her softly rounded belly. Tufts of hair shadowed her naked cunt and her long legs stood firm in red stiletto sandals. In the two years he’d known her, he’d never seen Deluxe naked and the exploding passion that the promise of her unleashed, frightened him to death.
“Come in,” Deluxe said softly.

Harry stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Deluxe helped him out of his coat and hung it in a closet.

“Follow me,” she said.

Misty daylight filtered through filmy white drapes, shrouding the bedroom in mystery.
Deluxe moved slowly toward Harry. She pulled his sweater over his head and tossed it aside. She dragged her red manicured nails lightly across his chest. Goosebumps raised Harry’s skin and his legs trembled. She covered his brow with soft wet kisses. She licked his eyes and his ears, a lazy cat cleaning. She sat on the side of the bed. Harry gazed down at her mountainous tits, his cock throbbing with need. She unbuckled his belt, opened his jeans, ran her hands around his waist, smoothed his back. She teased his belly with her soft, spongy breasts.

“I gotta’ lie down,” Harry whispered.

“Soon,” Deluxe whispered, pulling his jeans and his underpants over his thighs, laughing at his cock that sprung to magnificent freedom.

“Oh my,” said Harry, marveling at its length, its newly found thickness.

“Now you can lie down,” Deluxe said, standing up and motioning him onto the bed.

Harry obeyed, wondering what was coming next. He’d bathed her feet, stripped for her, played with his dick and come on demand. He’d cooked for her while she sat toying with her nipples, squeezing her breasts into an endless valley of cleavage. “Look, Harry,” she’d said, licking her fingers and plunging them into her dripping pussy. “Get back to work,” she’d ordered, after letting him smell and then taste those fingers. “What was she up to now?” he wondered as she stood looking down at him. “What was she up to?”

“This one’s for you, baby,” she said, climbing over him, settling herself on his belly.

He could feel her wetness through the fabric of her dress, feel his cock slapping at her ass, feel pre-cum seeping, oozing.

“Look but don’t touch,” she said.

Ever so slowly, Deluxe crossed her arms and slid her caftan over her shoulders. Harry gasped at the expanse, the bounty of flesh, incredible mounds of breasts that she unveiled before him. She smiled as she touched her nipples to a ripe hardness. She moved her tits, pendulums, hypnotizing him. He reached. She slapped his hands. She continued absent-mindedly moving fabric down over her midriff.

“For you, Harry.”

She climbed off the bed. The caftan fell to the floor.

“Try not to come, not yet,” she said, moving between his legs.

Harry closed his eyes as he felt her breath on his legs. He tried to think of the weather as the wet heat of her tongue caressed his balls. “Please,” he groaned as her teeth grazed his tip, as she engulfed him … wet, warm, tongue and lips, hands and fingers stroking. “Please!”

She released him only to crawl over him: feet touching feet, legs touching legs, belly against belly, tits everywhere. She traced his lips with her tongue, nibbled and then moved inside, an explorer needing to discover every inch of his mouth. She plunged, she adored, she plundered and she teased.

“I can’t help it. I’m going to … ”

Deluxe grabbed Harry’s hair, yanking his head to one side.

“Not yet, you’re not,” she growled.

And in a flash she was easing herself onto his cock. Squeezing that head with strong pulsing muscles.
“Yes,” he moaned, feeling more warmth, more sticky wetness. More pleasure than he’d ever known.
One roll and she was behind him, her breasts pressing against his legs. She kissed, licked and sucked the cheeks of his ass. Her saliva soaked finger nudged, circled, tickled his asshole.

“Touch yourself, Harry. Touch yourself for me.”

And he did, as her saliva soaked finger invaded and withdrew, ferociously fucking his ass. And he stroked as she plunged until gobs of cum spewed out of him. He jerked uncontrollably and came and came some more. And his groans became cries and he wept with release. She gathered him into her arms and onto her breasts until he gently sobbed, until he sighed himself into a weary stillness.

“What am I going to do without you? I’m … ”

“You’re mine,” she said. “You’ll move in tomorrow.”

Harry drifted off, suckling her teat like a baby.

“I’m home,” he thought. “Finally, home.”