Seducing the Art Student

It had been another busy day at the office. I was sitting at my desk in the bright open-plan office I had at Michelson Accountancy and Tax Consultants, Inc. in downtown Philadelphia. It was May already and the weather was heating up. The office was crowded with people as people wanted to finish up their work, since it was Friday afternoon and the weekend was coming. Tempers were flared and I wasn’t really in the mood for any more stress and I couldn’t think of anything but the end of the day and the time I could get out of here. My desk was covered with papers, plus a desktop computer, a laptop, a desk calculator, a telephone, my cellphone and a potted plant. Just then, the mainline phone rang once.

“Who’s this now?” I said, irritated. I picked up the phone. “Bridget Cashman, Marketing Manager.”

Marcia, the receptionist, answered. ” Bridget, David Griffiths on line one.”

“What does HE want? OK, put him through.”

The line clicked. “Hi, Bridget, this is David. Listen, I won’t be able to get the new logo to you by Monday morning. Something’s come up and our firm’s been inundated with new work, so there’s a backlog.”

“Oh, really?” I said, sarcastically.

“We think we can clear it by Wednesday, so estimated time of delivery will be Wednesday afternoon earliest, possibly Thursday morning.”

“WHAT! I need that new logo — I’ve presenting it to the CEO at 10:00am on Monday!”

“I’m sorry, Bridget, but we’re unlikely to get the new design finalized until then because it needs to be signed up by my superior and he’s away until Tuesday at least.”

“Oh, great! Thanks for nothing! This is the third time you’ve done this to me, David!”

“It’s all these new contracts -”

“Oh, so, your firm prioritizes new customers, while old customers have their stuff relegated to the back burner until you can get around to it, yeah?”

“It’s not like that, Bridget -”

“It IS like that, David — you just admitted it yourself. Your company is so eager for new customers, yet it’s the fact that you just don’t care about old customers that you have to keep getting new ones. Let’s face it, David — THAT’S IT, ISN’T IT!”

“Bridget, calm down -”

“Don’t tell me to calm down. Your firm has screwed us over so many times already — delays in deliveries, wrong specifications, endless pointless meetings about tweaking designs — HOW DIFFICULT IS IT? It’s just a simple logo! Why can’t you ever deliver?”

“Bridget, I -”

“No, forget it! That’s it! I’m speaking with Purchasing first thing Monday about your company’s contract and request to cancel it.”

“No, Bridget!”

“You CAN’T deliver, you CAN’T meet expectations — what am I supposed to tell the CEO? What can I show him on Monday?”

“Well, I -”

“Right, I’m canceling this order. I’ll talk to Purchasing about your contract on Monday but as for this logo, cancel it. I’ll find someone else.”

“Who’s going to deliver at such short notice?”

“OBVIOUSLY NOT YOU!” I paused for thought. “I’ll find a freelancer. There are plenty around and they’re probably cheaper.”

“What about quality?”

“I don’t think you’re qualified to speak on that, David, huh? Cancel it. I’ll confirm it in writing later.”

“Oh, Bridget -” He sounded crestfallen, but it was his own fault.

“Sorry, David, but you’ve done this too often. I can’t afford to wait. The meeting’s important and I must have something to show. Now get off this line because I’m busy and I can’t spend all this time talking. Catch you later.” I hung up.

Stuff him. David Griffiths was just another middle-aged, bearded, overweight, misogynistic know-it-all trying to screw me over. I had a sneaking suspicion that he was doing this because he didn’t respect me. Griffiths was mildly well-known in the industry locally and could do some good work but he always seemed to do it for clients who just happened to be male. Nobody seemed to have trouble with him except me, and I would have ignored it if it hadn’t been for that story in the paper about him feeling up a pole dancer at an after-party event for a contract signing between the company he worked for and a major new client that had just set up in town.

I sighed. It’s Friday, I’m not in the mood and I want to go home. What time is it? 3:30, according to my watch. An hour and a half to go.

Five o’clock came and I couldn’t wait to get out. “See ya, guys!” I waved to my staff as I slung my coat over my arm, grabbed my handbag and left.

“See you, Bridget! Have a great weekend!” cried Mark, one of the guys in my department.

“Thanks!” Then out the door I went, thank goodness.

Outside the building, I hailed a taxi to my apartment. As I was being driven along, I sat on the back seat and had a think about what Griffiths said.

Bummer, I would need to find a freelancer fast. I had spent the remainder of the afternoon at work Googling possible freelance candidates, in between the one hundred and one other things I had to do. I hadn’t found much but had been intrigued by an art exhibition going on at the local community college tomorrow morning, starting at eight.

I quite like art. I got sort of interested when I was younger, after taking an art minor during my Bachelor’s degree, before giving up the subject when I had done my Master’s. Since then, I had been working on my career, working my way up through three marketer positions for various local firms before getting this job for Michelson’s at thirty-three. Now I was Marketing Manager and making a decent salary.

I’m thirty-seven already! I’d celebrated at a really nice Italian restaurant two months ago with my staff, and there had been some questions about when I was gonna settle down. I had joked at the time that they were starting to sound like my mother — ‘Bridget, dear, why don’t you get yourself a nice boyfriend before it’s too late?” The fact was, I had had a few high school crushes, maybe three or so, then four or five non-serious boyfriends during college, then a semi-serious brief thing that lasted four months during my Master’s. Since I was twenty-four and finished my studies, I had been on eight or nine dates with a variety of guys. In my twenties, they had been fun, party animals, but basically shallow, with no conversational skills, drinking too much and being useless in bed.

When I hit thirty, I became super-horny all of a sudden. I was too old by then to care about looking like a “good girl”, so had hung out in bars now and again, which had led to some one-night-stands and short-but-exciting flings with totally unsuitable men, all beer, pizza, muscles and tattoos, who had pounded me senseless in bed before leaving in the morning. That had been a short-term fix, yet once I had achieved a management position at work, I had focused on work, perhaps a little too much, since I had neglected my workouts, eaten convenience food and had now piled on some pounds. My once-lithe frame was fleshy and out of shape, which did me no favors in the romance department, plus once I had hit thirty-five, guys had avoided me, figuring that a woman of my age was gonna be all “tick-tock-tick-tock” and want to settle down at lightning speed, with a ring on my finger, a house and three bratty kids. Huh!

The taxi pulled up outside my brownstone, where I had a small apartment on the third floor. I paid the fare and made my way inside and upstairs. Turning the key in the lock, I walked inside with a sigh, dumped my handbag on a dining table chair and headed for the bedroom.

Stuff it, let’s take a shower — I’m tired. Looking in the closet mirror, I saw a tired, 37-year-old woman, with long, straggly blond hair; my longish face had two big, brown eyes and a medium-full mouth, painted with a reddish-brown lipstick. I took off my navy-blue suit jacket and impatiently yanked off the scarf. I undid the buttons on my blouse and ripped it off my torso, revealing a slightly damp, beige bra. I felt slightly sweaty as I reached around the back to unclip it. It fell to the floor, revealing my fleshy 34D breasts. They had lost their shape from how they looked in my early twenties, had perhaps move southwards by about an inch, but they were pleasingly large, the wide areolae surrounding my small, nub-like nipples smooth and light pink compared to the expanse of white flesh adjacent to them. Removing my skirt, I stood in my underwear, which was also beige (I like matching bra and panties — not matching looks cheap, I think). My stomach and abdomen was soft and squashy but no muffintop or love handles yet, thank goodness. My thighs were slightly thick, but that was good because my legs were long and still elegant. I viewed my body in the mirror. Not great, but not bad, either.

Heading for the shower, I stepped into the bathtub, yanked the shower curtain across and turned on the water. It was luxurious and refreshing, as I lathered the shower gel over my body. My fingers slid across my breasts and nipples, and I was surprised to feel a slight burst of desire. It was just a brief split-second, but it was simultaneously zingy and wanton. Suddenly desirous, I massaged my breasts, feeling them and mashing them between my fingers. I undulated my body, working myself up for several minutes, before my right hand ventured south. My neatly trimmed pussy felt soft as my fingertips stroked over my pubic mound to reach the nub of my clitoris. Impatient, I began rubbing it furiously, the desire I felt and pent-up frustrations of the day spurring me on. I wanted release, and my back arched and my mouth opened as I looked up at the ceiling. Finally, a burst of pleasure erupted, my thighs quivering as a bolt of pleasure shot up my spine. Briefly plunging two fingers into my pussy, I rode them for a few seconds as I took my well-deserved pleasure.

That done, I finished showering and got out. Wrapping a towel around me, I walked back into the bedroom and plonked myself down on the end of the bed. The warmth from the clitoral orgasm made me feel better and my head felt clearer and more at peace. When I was younger, I was more orgasmic and would stimulate myself for longer and with more abandon. That was a long time ago, though, when I was more confident about my body. Now, just a clitoral orgasm would do and I was too tired to bother doing anything else. I decided to make dinner, watch TV for a few hours, then get some sleep.

The next day was Saturday. I woke up at around 6:30am, ate some cereal and grabbed some coffee. I was scrolling through a news site, then remembered the art exhibition. It started at eight but I didn’t want to show up as soon as the doors opened. I had nothing else going on that day, so decided to get there at around 9:30. In the meantime, I did some laundry and pottered around the apartment. I thought about what I would ask when I got there. I needed to find a freelancer fast for the meeting on Monday, so once I got there, I would have to nail someone down by lunchtime. I figured if I could get whoever said yes to run up a few logo designs by tonight or tomorrow morning, I could have the final product done by late afternoon tomorrow. If necessary, I could pay the person cash, ask for a receipt, then put it through Accounts first thing Monday to get a rebate on my next pay packet. Great.

I grabbed a taxi to the community college. When I showed up, I saw that it was a large, stone building, with a lot of pillars and masonry, all Doric columns and faux-Greek alabaster urns with bushy plants cut into animal-shaped topiary. There were two wrought-iron gates, then a large courtyard behind, filled with about fifty or so people milling around, interested to see the artwork. I walked inside and stood in the courtyard to get my bearings. Some temporary signage had a list of different types of art and arrows pointing to different areas of the exhibition. Unsure where to start, I picked one and made off towards that area.

Over to the left, a large stone building with big, dark brown, wooden doors stood, eminent and imposing. Impressed at the architecture of the place, I stepped inside.

There was a large, open space, with students arranged in lines around the edges, sitting on wooden stools, with a collection of their artwork on canvas boards behind, complete with brief descriptions of each piece. In addition, each student was busy creating a new artwork on an easel in front of them, and I saw various members of the public discussing these with students.

I wandered around. Mostly, I saw oil on canvas, with a range of countryside scenes. I was particularly taken with an Asian-looking scene of a street with low housing, old brown roofing and yellow walls, with an old woman carrying a stick with heavy loads in front and behind her, plus an old 1940’s bicycle leaning up against a wall. A pretty, blond girl in blue jeans, white top and Wayfarer shades perched on her voluminous mane of hair sat on her stool in front of her art collection, busy painting a new picture on a canvas held up by an easel.

“Hey,” I began. “I really like that one there, the Asian-looking one.”

She smiled and turned her head to look where I was pointing. “Oh, yeah, thanks. That’s Hoi An in Vietnam. I went backpacking in southeast Asia last summer with friends and took lots of photos. I felt inspired to paint one when I got back because I missed the place so much.”

“Wow, it’s great,” I remarked. “Does it really look like that?”

“Yeah, it does! Hoi An was AMAZING. I wish I could have stayed there forever. It’s just so laid-back and chill. We had an awesome time.”

“Fantastic. Well, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

I moved on. Wow, yeah — traveling to Asia would be great — so wild, so fun, so much freedom. I felt a burst of inspiration. Hmmm, yeah! Why don’t I travel?

In another building, I saw a bunch of earthenware pottery. I wasn’t so interested, although I liked this one fresco with voluptuous-looking naked Greek women eating grapes on a couch in ancient Athens. I liked these larger-sized full-figured women in art. I felt like I could compete. The Venus de Milo had the same kind of slightly fleshy arm as I did, which made me feel good. In fact, I’m better than her, because I’ve got two.

There was also an exhibit of modern computer-generated artwork. Laptops bleeped and there was loud electronic music playing. I was interested and decided to spend some time there. Perhaps my logo could be here. However, a lot of the designs were kind of generic stuff anybody could see anywhere, and I felt somewhat deflated. I didn’t feel there was much imagination on display, plus the artists were all really nerdy-looking guys. After looking around this section for a while, I saw one design that looked semi-decent. I approached a skinny dweeb with a shock of curly brown hair, thick glasses, a V-neck sweater and brown trousers and shoes.

“Excuse me, could you tell me about that one?” I asked him, pointing at a large letter M in a blue and white design.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, uninterested. “It was done on my laptop. It’s blue and white. It’s made with Illustrator.”

“I see. Did it take a long time to make?”

“Not really.” There was a pause.

‘Well, how long?”

“Oh, I can’t remember. I did it last year.”

I felt a sudden impatience. “Well, what if you made it again? How long would it take you with the skills you have now?”

“Oh, I’d never make it again. It was just a one-off.”

“OK, but what I mean is -” I stopped. “Er, never mind. Thanks, anyway.”

“Whatever.”

I walked off. Huh. Stuff that. Maybe the design was OK but I couldn’t work with a guy like that — he would drive me up the wall. Onward.

In the next building were watercolors. I had always thought that watercolors were rather ethereal paintings with really watery-looking shades of seascapes and fishing boats and stuff, but I was surprised to find that many of the paintings were in bright, vivid colors, and the topics and scenes were dynamic images of flowers, street scenes, portraiture and a range of others. Hmmm, this was a bit better, I thought. I wandered around, looking at various pictures. One young guy, about twenty-four, sat casually on a stool in front of his easel. I told him about what I thought of watercolors, how I always imagined them to be really light, watery hues, not like these bright images.

“It just depends on how much water you use. Less water means thicker paint, and different amounts can create a wide variety of palettes,” he explained.

I smiled. “I see. Thanks.”

He smiled back. Walking on, I saw many large paintings, some absolutely exquisite. These were great! I began to get lost in the scenes, spending time dawdling, gazing for long periods, occasionally minutes on end. Suddenly snapping to attention, I decided against looking gormless and remembered why I was here. It was now almost 10:30, so I’d better get a move on. Towards the back of the gallery I saw some smaller pictures. I really liked these. They were small, perfectly square, around six by six inches. They were studies of flowers, but just a single bloom for each, rather than any stems or leaves. They were painted looking down straight on one flower. There were roses, tulips, poppies, hydrangeas, sweet peas, bluebells and chrysanthemums, carnations and daisies. Each one was detailed, with minute shades of color, adding light and shadow to the artwork.

I turned to the artist. He sat on his wooden stool, just like all the others, with an easel in front of him. He was painting a woman and didn’t look too happy. He frowned and tried hard to draw her eyebrows. The palette in his hand was awash with a smear of dark colors, and I can see that he was trying to mix red and brown to get the correct shade for the woman’s skin.

“Ahem,” I coughed politely.

He looked up. He was fair of face, with a longish face, rather like mine, with blue eyes and an aquiline nose. He had blond hair, which was long and fell to his shoulders. His frame seemed medium build and, although I could see a toned bicep that showed he worked out, he wasn’t particularly muscled. He wore a white T-shirt, blue jeans and some white sneakers. He raised his eyebrows with a small smile. “Hi,” he said.

I turned to the flower paintings. “I really like these. They’re awesome.”

He smiled modestly. “Thanks. They’re the work I did in the first semester.”

“I really love the detail. It must have taken you ages.”

“I spent a long time studying up on watercolors. A lot of the students try to learn a bit of everything. So did I, but I liked watercolors best, so I decided to concentrate on them in my free time and learned them in-depth for my own amusement.”

“So are these for your studies or just a hobby?”

“Well, a bit of both,” he said. “Initially, I did them at home for myself, just to practice techniques. Then, about two-thirds of the way through the semester, my lecturer suddenly announced a competition on plant drawings and paintings, and I told him about what I had been doing so far and he agreed to let me submit what I had already done.”

“Wow, that’s great,” I remarked.

“Yeah, it was a stroke of luck, really.” He gazed at me.

I felt suddenly abashed at his attention, for no apparent reason. Ignoring this, I asked, “So what are you working on now?”

He looked downcast. “Oh, well, this semester, we’re doing human and animal subjects. I must admit, this is a whole new arena. I felt confident painting flowers and plants but I’ve found it challenging to draw or paint animals, and especially people. Look at this woman.”

“It’s OK,” I said. It looked reasonable enough. It was a picture of a woman with an umbrella, or perhaps it was a summer parasol. She was wearing a flowing white dress with black shoes and had long hair.

“No, see, I can’t get her body shape right. Look how the side of her body right there has kind of a bulge. I’ve tried so many times to draw her with a more svelte appearance, but I find that if I make her sides more concave, suddenly she turns into this pneumatic blond sex doll, really plastic-looking. See, look.” He grabbed a large sheet of paper, with the same woman drawn in pencil. Sure enough, he had drawn her with a more hourglass figure but now this made her previously average-sized bust look huge. She looked like a Playboy Bunny in a negligee, instead of a more pre-Raphaelite woman in a flowing dress.

“Haha, I see. Her boobs look enormous,” I laughed.

“Yeah, I know — but I can’t figure out why. If you look carefully at the first picture, I actually drew them the same size.” He put the first picture in front of me, then bent the paper of the second picture so that the two sets of breasts lined up. They were equal size.

“That’s because when a woman has this kind of hourglass figure, it makes her boobs look bigger.”

He looked confused. “Is it an illusion?”

“Yes and no. If her waist is smaller, for sure her bust and hips will look wider.”

“Is it an art thing? Or fashion?”

“Well, a little bit of both. If a woman with an hourglass figure wears a dress with vertical stripes, the stripes will make her look taller and thinner, so her breasts and hips, even if they’re quite big, will look smaller. Similarly, if a woman with narrow hips and a smaller bust wears horizontal stripes, those stripes will make her look more curvy. It’s a matter of maximizing what you’ve got and choosing patterns that accentuate your assets to the best advantage.”

He laughed. “Haha, I get it.”

“That’s not all, though. The way you’ve drawn this other picture, a woman in real life with that amount of curve in her waist would need to work out in the gym absolutely flat out. If she was naked, she would have the most ripped abs and midsection and would need to have absolutely huge breasts, maybe a G-cup bra, and enormous baby-birthing hips, plus a butt that would put Kim Kardashian to shame.”

“Well, huh,” he said, slightly red-faced. “I guess I’ve got a lot to learn about women.”

I bit my lower lip as I looked at him. “HOWEVER,” I began. I had a sudden idea. “Why don’t you make her less thin? How old is she supposed to be?”

“Oh, I don’t know — young, maybe twenty-three.”

“Why don’t you make her an older woman — maybe thirty or more, with maybe a little more weight?”

“Oh, really?” he asked, curious.

“Yeah. If she’s carrying more fat, she’ll put it on her hips mainly, but also kind of around her bust, with extra fat deposits in her breasts, plus her waist will get wider but it will still look in proportion because her hips will grow in size, too.” I paused and thought. “Hmmm, do you know about bra sizes?”

“Er, no.” He smiled awkwardly. He looked like he thought this conversation was getting a little weird.

I decided to reassure him. “No, it’s OK. Let’s say a woman’s size is 36C. C is the cup size. 36 is the number of inches around for the strap and the cups altogether. Now let’s imagine she puts on weight. Some women get fat deposits in their breasts, in which case, the 36 stays the same but she needs a bigger cup. Other women tend to get wider around but their breasts don’t change much, in which case, she needs to go up to 38C, with a longer strap but the same cup.”

“OK.”

“So if you draw her slightly bigger around, you can give her a concave shape and the same breast size, and she will look more normal.”

“Aha!” He looked impressed. “That’s great!”

“Like me, for example,” I said, deciding to take command of this situation. “When I was in my twenties, I was 32B, but now I’m 34D. I’ve gotten slightly bigger around but my hips and breasts have ballooned.”

He laughed out loud. “You’re not that big! You look great.”

“Oh, really?” I smiled. “Well, thanks.”

“Wow, huh, I can’t believe I’m sitting here in front of all these people talking about boobs and bra sizes with a complete stranger.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot,” I said with a shock, feeling ditzy. “My name’s Bridget Cashman.” I proffered my hand.

He shook it. “Caleb Boseman.”

“Caleb,” I repeated. I liked it. It sounded — artsy.

“Well, thanks for your explanation, it’s a great help. I’m gonna need to think about maybe looking at some magazine pictures of older women. I’ll need to get acquainted with those kinds of photos, but I’m not sure which magazines to try. Most fashion models are really young. Which magazines would you suggest?”

I paused for a moment. “Actually, I’ve got a crazy idea. Listen…” I explained to him my predicament — how I needed a logo for my boss by Monday. I told him it needed to have the letter M somewhere in it and that it was for an accounting firm. I offered to pay him $200 to get it to me fast, preferably tomorrow night. It was then that I decided to sweeten the deal. “I think it would be easier for you to take photos of me, rather than look for fashion magazines. Are you good at photography?”

“Well, that would be great! I’m not too bad at photos, reasonably decent in fact — but I’m not a professional,” remarked Caleb.

“No problem,” I replied.

“Where?”

Could I trust him? I sized him up, with his baby-blue eyes, tousled hair, breezy attitude and laid-back demeanor. “I’ll need to pay you cash, so it won’t be upfront. So give me some examples of your work. I’ll select one, then you can take some snaps of me. Then you go home, make the finished logo, then deliver it back to my place. Then I’ll pay you.”

Caleb thought for a moment. “OK. I get off from here at around noon. I’ll grab lunch, then head home to work on some preliminary drawings. If you don’t mind, I could show up around three-ish.”

“That fast?”

“Well, they’ll just be pencil drawings. You can show me which one, then we’ll go from there.”

“OK. It’s a deal.” Then I gave him my address. “All right, thanks for helping out.”

“No, you’re helping ME,” he replied. He looked genuine enough.

“Listen, though,” I warned. “I don’t want my photos being shared around, ending up on Pornhub or Instagram or any junk like that. Do that and I’ll sue your backside before your career’s even started and get you kicked out of college. Understand?”

He looked suitably shocked. “Sure, I understand.”

“All right.” I softened. “See you at three. Don’t be late. I’ll be waiting!” Then we said our goodbyes and I left.

I had a Danish and a coffee at a cafe nearby, then headed home in another taxi. I spent the early afternoon clearing up the house ready for Caleb’s arrival. I decided the living room was the best place. I arranged the curtains to get the best light, then spent time in the bedroom looking through my closet for suitable clothes to wear. He wanted long, flowing dresses. I only had two — kind of a light gray, floating thing for daytime summer cocktail parties, then a more dramatic, plunging evening gown in green. What about make-up, lipstick? I would need different make-up for each dress. Bummer. Stuff it, I’ll go minimal. He’s just an art student — he won’t care.

Admittedly, Caleb was kind of cute. It had been a long time since I’d had a decent, adult conversation with someone outside work. Someone younger, creative, and good-looking to boot. A breath of fresh air. He might be worth pursuing, I mused. Also, my threat for him to not use my pictures for any other purpose might go unheeded, despite my warning of a lawsuit. I couldn’t really afford a lawsuit. If it had been Griffiths, Michelson’s could have sued on my behalf, but since this guy was a freelancer I’d just met…hmmm. Let’s see how things go when he shows up. A little flirting might be in order. If that goes well, perhaps I can make his obedience worth his while.

Around three, I was wearing the light gray dress and looked out the window at the street below. I could see in both directions, so if I kept a look out, I could see him coming and rush downstairs before he made it to the front door of my apartment block.

Presently, I saw him walking along the street with a kind of felt satchel under his arm, held up with a shoulder strap. There was a camera on a strap around his neck. I felt a sudden excitement. Right, let’s go.

I made it to the front door before he did. Opening the door to my block, I stood on the steps that elevated the brownstone entrance from street level. Caleb grabbed the railing and climbed the six steps. He looked up with surprise when he saw me standing there.

“Oh!” he exclaimed. “You’re here! I didn’t notice earlier.” He had changed into a beige T-shirt with a pair of chino-style pants.

I smiled. “No problem. Come on up.” We made small talk as I led him upstairs. I sashayed my hips to make the dress swirl.

Once inside my apartment, I welcomed him into the kitchen first, which was nearest the door. “I wore this dress because it’s similar to the figure you were painting at the exhibition.”

He smiled at my appearance. “I figured. You look great. It does look similar. Thanks for making such an effort.”

I grinned. “Now, how about those drawings?”

Caleb paused as he gazed at me. Seeming to snap to attention, he said, “Er, yes. Here.” He opened the felt satchel and produced some papers.

There were five samples. Each had a letter M drawn in various designs. I didn’t like two of them. Of the others, one was a little too flowery for an accountancy firm, although I loved it. Another was very modern, with mini-icons of a computer terminal and spreadsheets. Hmmm. Possible. A little gimmicky, though. I would prefer something more classy. Then there was an elegant M, where the two inner lines of the letter made the V-shape of a pen nib, with a swirly script portraying it writing numbers on a ledger. The pen was at an angle which, juxtaposed against the vertical left line of the M, created a large tick, like a check mark.

“I like this one best,” I said, happily. “It’s great!”

“Fantastic,” said Caleb. “Do you want it in color or black-and-white?”

“Oh, color,” I decided, quickly. “Let’s push the boat out!”

“Great! Any particular color scheme?”

“Make the ink black,” I announced. “Make the check mark red, though. The ledger can be blue.”

“Cool. I’ll get on it.” There was a long pause as we looked at each other.

“OK, that’s sorted, then. Get it to me by 5:00pm tomorrow.”

Caleb smirked. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Now, the photos. Follow me.” I strode purposely into the living room.

“Directly,” smiled Caleb.

Once he had got set up, I positioned myself standing up by the window.

“That’s no good,” said Caleb. “The light coming through the window will turn you into a black shadow. Stand opposite the window, so I can get the light behind me.”

I moved to the wall opposite, which had pictures on the walls. However, between the window and the wall, the sofa dominated the living room. Caleb took a few photos of me standing up, but it was a pain in the neck attempting to shoot at an angle that avoided the sofa. Everything was close-up because long shots included the back of the sofa.

“Hmmm, I have an idea,” remarked Caleb. “Let’s close the curtains and move the sofa against the window. Then lie down on the sofa.”

I raised my eyebrows, but agreed and I closed the heavy drapes. Then the two of us shoved and heaved the sofa against the window. Then I reclined on the sofa. The light still came through a little, but it created a pleasing ambiance. I lay on my right side, facing Caleb’s camera, my head to the left of the frame. The gray, floating dress settled on my curves, rising up to my wide hips, then down to show off the curve of my waist. The front of the dress encased my breasts, which fell forward within to create folds in the material that emphasized their size, while my bare arms, neck and shoulders led to a mane of hair that framed my face.

“Wow,” commented Caleb, appreciative. “That’s much better.”

He took a few snaps, then I lay on my back with my left knee up, to show how the dress moves across the front of my body. Then I faced the back of the sofa, so he could take a shot of my back. I could hear his breathing as he saw the curve of my butt, the sinuous line from there to my shoulder, plus the way my thick hair tumbled down the front of the sofa. Then I turned back to my original position.

“That’s great, Ms. Cashman,” said Caleb.

“Bridget, please.”

“OK — Bridget.”

I smiled at him languorously, and stretched out on my own sofa. “That’s better. Now, you said you needed to see how a woman’s body looks more normal when it’s slightly bigger.”

“Er, yes,” replied Caleb, hesitantly.

“Come here,” I smiled, beckoning to him with my hand. “Kneel down in front of the sofa.”

He did so, somewhat apprehensively.

“I don’t mind if you take some close-up shots. Do the curve here, that we talked about, from my hips up. Then focus here.” I pointed to the outline of my breasts. “You can just about make out the shape through my dress. It’s kind of translucent, anyway.” I noticed he seemed a little nervous. I reached out and touched his arm. “Don’t worry,” I said softly.

Reassured, Caleb gave a brief sigh, then snapped away, doing as many shots as he wanted. I changed positions a number of times, so he could get both sides of my body and all the angles he needed. Then he hesitated. I saw that he appeared to have all he needed.

I sat up. “Right, is that it? Is that all you need?”

Caleb shifted backwards on his haunches, looking down slightly. He stood up, backing away from me a little, as he said, “Er, yes, I think that’ll be fine.” He looked at me. I looked back. “Hey, look, I really appreciate your time, Bridget,” he continued. “I’m really grateful that you’ve done this for me, and I’ll get the logo done by tomorrow night, as I promised. I can -”

“Caleb.” My voice was firm. I stood up. Then I paused, looking at him. “Would you like some shots without the dress? Then you can see the actual curves.”

“Er -”

“I don’t mind. I THINK I can trust you.” I continued gazing at him. “Can I?”

“Well, sure,” he blurted. “But -”

“Fine. Come on. I’m old enough to take care of myself. I’m not a kid any more — and neither are you.” I paused again. “Right?”

Caleb blinked. “Yeah.”

I reached for the side zip of the dress. Unzipping it, I slipped its straps from my shoulders. The thin material fell to the floor.

Caleb breathed in deeply. I stood there in my bra and underwear in the middle of the room. I savored the silence as he drank me in with his eyes. His gaze pampered me, and for the first time in a long time, I felt desired. “Come on,” I said, at length. I returned to my original position on the sofa. “Kneel down like before,” I commanded.

Caleb said nothing as he obeyed in earnest. Bringing the camera to his eye, he began snapping.

“Do the same shots as before, if you like,” I suggested.

He murmured in agreement.

I undulated my hips. My panties were high-rise, so I used them to maximum effect. I scissored my thighs. I leaned my torso over, my breasts falling forward in the bra. I flicked my hair. Then I sat up and leaned forward, my legs spread wide, my head tilted back. Then I leaned back, with one foot over the back of the sofa, showing off my long, straight legs. Then I flung my arms over the end of the sofa, with one knee up, in a seductive pose. Then I lay down facing the back of the sofa again, so he could get a shot of my butt and back. My wide hips and still-rounded glutes caused Caleb to emit a sudden rush of breath. Then I got up on all fours and leaned back, my butt in the air, to show my breasts from the side.

All through this, I could hear Caleb’s breathing. It was deeper, more insistent, slightly erratic. He was getting the message, and I wanted it to be loud and clear.

Then I sat up, returning to the position with my legs wide open, my torso leaning forward to emphasize my breasts and cleavage, which was deep, created by the glorious mounds of flesh that pressed against my D-cup bra. In this leaned-over position, I spoke. “So, Caleb.”

He was slightly breathless, as he simultaneously lowered his camera and raised his face to look at me. He was sweating slightly, and looked apprehensive, unsure what would happen next.

“I meant what I said about a lawsuit before. I don’t want to see a single one of these photos anywhere online. I think I can get your agreement. Let’s just say you’ve seen a woman’s body now. You can see a lot more of it if you keep your end of the bargain. This is how a mature woman’s body looks.” I paused for a moment. “I don’t know if you have a girlfriend and I don’t particularly care; but this is the deal. If you get me that logo tomorrow, and keep these pictures to yourself, I’ll let you keep them and you can get yourself off with them as often as you want in your own free time.”

Caleb looked shocked.

“You know what I mean. Come back tomorrow with the logo and I’ll give you the best sex you’ve ever had. I’m an experienced woman and I know what to do. It’ll be better than anything you could experience with those younger women at college. Don’t kid me around — I know you like what you see. I like what’s in front of me, too. Right now I could really use some stress relief in my life — and you’re it. That is, if you’re not already taken.”

Caleb hesitated, still shocked. “I don’t — have a girlfriend,” he managed.

“Good,” I continued. “Now, listen — I give the orders. I’m a manager at my firm and we do a lot of work with law firms. I know most of the lawyers in Philadelphia, plus others elsewhere. All I need to do is pick up the phone. You behave yourself and you can come here any time I’m free if you need to blow off some steam. I mean it. You keep my reputation and I’ll keep yours. In the meantime, I could use some redecoration in this apartment. I really like your designs and I’d like to buy some of your pictures to put around these rooms. Plus, if you’re really good and we get to end up having quite a long-term connection, I know some other firms that might be interested in buying or commissioning your art. I can help launch your career. Screw this up, and you’ll get slapped with a lawsuit – plus I’ll move away and you’ll never see me again; and good luck finding someone your own age who can do you as good as I can. You might never experience it again.”

Caleb looked blown away.

“So how about it? Is it a deal?”

He looked around the room for a moment, then turned back to me. I was surprised to find he looked slightly hurt. He spoke. “I’m just surprised you needed to threaten me, then offer this.”

I was taken aback.

“It’s totally fine, Bridget, really. I’ll do it; and I won’t upload your stuff anywhere. I use my Instagram to upload my designs, so I can’t use it to spread your stuff around. I’d like to make a watercolor portrait of you if you want and you can hang it on your wall. But look — I’m an art student. My classmates and I are a really open-minded crowd. Some guys do weed; I don’t, but others do. A lot of the women are lesbians. Quite a few of the girls are bisexual, and hook up with them on the regular. When they get horny for some cock, they come and see the guys. They prefer the cleaner-living ones, rather than the stoners. I’ve had my share of sleepless nights with them, and you’re right; they’ve got amazing bodies, but I guess neither they nor I have a huge amount of experience. In fact, we kinda get in, get off and get out. However, some of the butcher lesbians, some of the fat girls, with shaved heads and quiff hairstyles and no bra — they’ve been talking about doing a video production with a softcore love scene with some of the bisexual women in class — and they’re up for it!”

Now it was my turn to be surprised.

“So don’t worry about my uploading your pics to some cheap porn site. We can make our own!”

I cracked a smile. “Well, huh — this is totally different to what I thought. I expected you to be this strait-laced preppy college kid.”

“Not that we would ever use Pornhub. Maybe some kind of alternative art site with an open mind.”

“I see.” I replied, with a smile. I looked around the room like he had just done, processing this new information. I looked back at him. After a pause, I said, “Well, I guess my offer still stands.”

Caleb grinned. “Great. Then I accept.”. He gazed at me. “You’re a master of persuasion.”

“I prefer ‘mistress of seduction’, but OK,” I smiled.

“Whatever you want, mistress,” said Caleb, grinning again.

I thought. Then I spoke. “Oh, my goodness, I really need to get out of this rut. It’s been years since I’ve hung out with anyone with vibe and creativity, with…” My voice trailed off.

Caleb leaned towards me, mirroring my body language. “Missing your mojo?”

I said nothing but rested my arms on his shoulders.

“Maybe I can help you find it,” said Caleb, softly.

“I think you can,” I replied. I leaned forward and kissed him. Our lips met, and I felt a sudden hunger for him, to feel him. We parted, as I held his face in my hands. Then I tilted my head back and pulled his head down to bury his face in my cleavage. He inhaled my scent, and quickly kissed down through the valley between my breasts. I reached behind to unclip my bra, then slid the straps off my shoulders and removed my arms from the garment. I tossed it aside. My breasts now free, Caleb hungrily grabbed them, kneading them, pressing them together, his kisses urgent and rapid. YES, I needed this. I grabbed the back of his head, pushing his head against my breasts. I needed his masculinity, needed to feel him desire me. His lips found an areola and sucked greedily. My mouth opened and moaned. I felt his tongue licking the hardening nipple, the tip tantalizing the urgent bud.

Caleb ravished my breasts, giving them his full attention. He lavished hands, mouth and tongue on the other one, quickening my desire, making me ache inside. My hands pawed his back and shoulders as I took my pleasure from this young lover, a lover I’d only met this morning, who had awakened me to what I had been missing. He moved down, kissing my abdomen, my soft flesh yielding to his mouth. He kissed over my panties before raining kisses in the join where leg meets hip, his lips softly grazing the panty-covered outline of my outer labia.

He began to reach for my panties to remove them. I decided to take control. “I’ll do it,” I said breathlessly. I felt super-horny and felt a sudden, intense desire to take as much pleasure as I could. I stood up from the sofa. Caleb moved back, surprised somewhat. My gaze in his eyes was absolutely steady. I didn’t blink or break my gaze as I hooked my thumbs in my panty waistband, wiggled my hips and seductively removed my panties from my hips. I smoothed them over my thighs until they dropped to the floor. I walked over to Caleb, who was still kneeling on the floor. “Eat me,” I commanded. I held the sides of his head in my hands, spread my legs, and positioned my pussy lips directly over his mouth. My inner labia protruded between the outer ones, hanging down slightly, their blood-engorged state rendering them almost purple with pink-tinged edges.

Caleb was beside himself with desire. “Oh, wow,” he murmured, his eyes half-closed, as he opened his mouth. His made contact with the inflamed flesh of my pussy, and I began thrusting my hips against his mouth — gently at first, then, as his tongue plundered my wetness, my juices covering his mouth and face, I increased speed. I looked down between my breasts and leaned back slightly, allowing me to see my inner labia sliding back and forth against his face. The image ignited my passion, and I ground my hips against his tongue and lips, now with a ferocious desire. I felt fabulously in control, standing up with my legs wide open, pushing his head hard against my pussy, thrusting my hips wildly against this young stud who had come into my life. Several seconds passed, before I paused momentarily. Caleb seized the opportunity to engulf my clitoris with his mouth. I moaned out loud and threw my head back, my full breasts quivering, as I felt the hard nub of my clit in his warm mouth. Inside, his tongue lashed at the tip mercilessly, and I felt a rising tidal wave of pleasure. An ecstasy of passion rose up my spine, and I arched my back as I felt a wall of bliss rising higher and higher. Finally, I reached the crest, and I pumped my hips wildly against his mouth as the huge wave broke. I cried out in pleasure as my orgasm shot like a bolt through my body, my undulating body riding the waves for what seemed like an age before finally coming down, my lungs heaving as I slowly regained my breath.

Looking down, Caleb’s face was covered in a mix of my juices and his saliva. He looked amazed. Smiling, I fluffed his hair and moved away, my pussy satisfied — for the time being. My body was damp with a thin sheen of sweat.

“Wow!” was all Caleb could manage to say.

I kneeled down in front of him and held his chin in my hand. “OK, boy, that’s your lot for now. There’s more where that came from, but not yet. I know you love eating my pussy, and I sure love smearing my juices all over your face.”

I could see Caleb was ridiculously turned on. “You talk so dirty,” he panted.

“Well, you’re with a real woman now, not one of those dainty little things you’ve bedded so far.” I stood up. “Come on, let’s go.”

Caleb stood up. He produced a tissue from his pocket and proceeded to clean himself up.

“Thanks for everything, Caleb. I hope to see you again tomorrow with the finished product.”

“Same here.” He smiled. “Well, I guess I’ll be going, then.”

We said our goodbyes and I saw him out of the front door of my apartment, hiding behind the door because I was still naked. As I closed the door with a click, I bit my lip with a smile. “Woohoo!” I yelled, as I ran through the kitchen into the bedroom, throwing myself onto it. YES! I had everything lined up the way I wanted — the logo would be done by tomorrow, I had a handsome young man panting for my body, plus a potential new chapter of my life beginning.

Rolling over onto my back, I laid down on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. Haha! I had been so outrageously forward with Caleb, much more than I would normally be. I was normally more submissive. I had enjoyed getting railed by tattooed, beefy-looking gym rats maybe five year ago, and it felt good being bent over and taking it like the good, healthy woman I was. There was something different about the situation with Caleb, though. He was so much younger than me. He couldn’t be more than twenty, while I was thirty-seven. For the first time in my life, I knew I was definitely more experienced than my partner, and that had turned the tables for me. I felt dominant, plus the situation where I had laid down the law with him about doing the logo on time and helping him out with his watercolors of women had initially made me anxious. I had probably gone a bit heavy with what I said. Bummer, I felt kind of bad now about what he said after, about he and his classmates being open-minded. Still, my anxiety about controlling the situation had burst and transformed into this roaring flame of passion when I had been doing the poses, that led to a stunning level of confidence I hadn’t experienced before. I had buried his face in my boobs and felt so wanton; my boobs, in all their glory, with this young lad worshiping them. Then I had practically rammed my pussy against his face and taken my pleasure from him any way I pleased. The poor guy had to practically cling on for dear life. IT WAS EXHILARATING! My eyes sparkled just remembering it.

The next day, I got up late, had breakfast and an instant coffee, pottered around the house and basically took things easy. I cleaned the house, lazed around on Sunday afternoon, then took a long soak in the bathtub and a shower, painted my nails, shaved my legs, washed my hair, and put on make-up. I dressed in the green evening gown I had chosen before.

I felt a tingle of anticipation as 5:00pm approached. If I wanted to keep this guy around, I needed, at least for the time being, to maintain the aggressive, confident manner of yesterday. Perhaps, once we had got to know each other better, I could ease off a little and show him a more vulnerable side of me; but for now, I wanted him to stick around long enough to still come back after the logo had been given and the weekend was over. The Mistress of Seduction was back in action.

At 4:57pm, the buzzer on my intercom by the front door sounded. HA! He’s early. I wonder why? I walked across the kitchen in my evening gown and pressed the button. “Yeah, who is it?” I faked.

“It’s Caleb,” came his voice.

“Oh, yeah,” I replied. I must have forgotten. “Come on up.” I hit the button to release the lock downstairs. Oh, look, I just happen to be wearing this fabulous evening gown, like I always dress like this on Sunday nights.

Presently, I heard a knock on the door. “OK, I’m coming!”

I opened the door — and there he was. He was standing there, his shoulder-length blond hair combed back over his ears, and his toned body was encased in a crisp, denim shirt, with white chinos, paired with black shoes and belt. His longish, handsome face broke into a smile. He carried a bunch of flowers. The satchel was under his other arm. “Hi, Bridget,” he began.

“Well, hi. Come in, Caleb,” I grinned.

He looked me over. “Wow, you look amazing. I love that dress. You’re -” he paused to find the words – “ravishing.”

I smiled even more broadly. “Thanks.” I closed the door behind him.

Caleb turned and put his satchel down on the kitchen table. “I’ve finished the logo — here, look.” He opened the satchel and took out some papers. “Here’s the original, plus I’ve made some color photocopies in different sizes, just in case you need them.”

I looked at them. The logos looked fabulous, exactly how I wanted them. “Thanks,” I sighed. “You’ve saved my life. I need this by tomorrow for a big meeting.”

Caleb fished around inside the satchel, then produced a USB flash drive. “I also have a digital copy. If you have a computer at home, I can upload it if you like, or else you can borrow the flash drive and upload it at work, then give it back to me later.”

Still smiling, I sidled up to him. “Oh, later, huh? So you’re thinking of paying another visit to my humble home?”

Caleb gently held me by my arms as I stood near him. “Well, here’s hoping,” he smiled.

“Well, we shall see, shall we? Actually, I have a laptop at home. Here — follow me.” I walked into my bedroom, where I opened my laptop and switched it on. “Let me just have that a sec.”

Caleb passed the USB to me. A couple of moments later, everything was uploaded.

“Great,” I said. “Just one thing more.” I reached for my purse, opened it and found two crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. I felt a pang of conscience. Was I using him? Had I already?

Caleb noticed. Concerned, he asked, “What’s up?”

I stood there with the money in my hand. “It’s just that — this feels so transactional. I’m really sorry I gave you a hard time yesterday — you know, after we got done with the poses. It’s just that — I wanted to protect myself and didn’t want to get used. I hope I’m not using you.”

Caleb shook his head. “Not at all, Bridget. I’m gonna have to make a living like this. I’m grateful to have someone who wants to buy my art. Not too many of my friends can say they already have a buyer. I’m excited beyond belief that you even want to pay anything. It’s awesome. I’ve never received money for anything I’ve done before.”

I laughed. “You know what, Caleb? This is what I like about you. Just when I think you’re going to judge me for something, I find out that you’re not going to. This is the second time you’ve done this in two days.”

Caleb took the money and stuffed it in his pocket. “Well, now,” he announced, expectantly. “I can do it a third time, if you want.”

I put my hands on his shoulders, moved closer, then held his head in my hands like before. “I’d like that.”

He stepped forward and I sank into his arms. We embraced, then kissed passionately. His mouth was urgent against mine. His tongue parted my lips, and tentatively explored. My tongue met his. I kissed hungrily back, my desire awakened.

Our lips parted. He said, “I want you so much. I’ve been thinking about this all night and all day.” He rained kisses down on my cheeks, then nibbled my ear. He made his way down my neck, then planted a passionate kiss right there.

“Mmmm,” I moaned, feeling suddenly weak.

He moved south. My evening gown revealed quite a bit of cleavage, and I ran my fingers through his hair as he kissed the tops of my breasts. I reach to undo the zip at the back, then his hands embraced me and found the skin of my back, now exposed. I moaned again as he pulled at the dress, the front coming away from my chest. I released my arms from the armholes and the dress fell to the floor. My voluptuous breasts were encased in a white silken brassiere, the lingerie matching with my panties. Caleb murmured with desire at the sight of them. His hands grasped at the flimsy fabric, wild with his rising desire. Unclipping the bra, I leaned forward and shook my shoulders, allowing the bra to fall sultrily away from my breasts. This seemed to inflame Caleb, who hungrily began kissing, licking and sucking at them. The feel of his breath and the warmth of his mouth contrasted with the cool air in the room, arousing me, my nipples hardening as his tongue circled one of them. He engulfed the whole areola in his mouth, his hands cradling the whole breast, alternately squeezing, as if trying to suck the whole breast in. An impossible feat, but well done for trying.

“Get up on the bed,” I commanded. He rose. “Sit down. It’s my turn.” He sat at the edge of the bed, while I leaned over him. His hands roamed over my breasts while I undid the buttons on his shirt. Finally, it opened and I removed it. His chest was hairless, not too much muscle, but very toned, with taut abs just the way I liked them, and an expanse of abdomen leading down to diagonal sex lines that pointed to what lay beneath. I slid my hands up his torso, ranged them over his handsome chest, then briefly massaged his shoulders. I leaned my weight against his chest, kissing down the wide expanse of manliness, my breasts making contact with his flesh. He moaned softly as I moved lower, my lips savoring the firm hardness of his chest. I kissed his abs, my hands feeling his sides. I licked his hard abdomen briefly, before rising up to straddle him, my panty-covered pussy making contact with his stomach as I stretched out my arms along his sides.

Caleb raised his arms above his head. His biceps were toned and obviously trained from the gym, but not large. They were well-shaped, and I squeezed them as I ran my hands up his arms. Leaning forward, I lowered my full breasts to his face. His mouth opened and sucked on an areola greedily. His hands moved to my breasts, and I let him have his enjoyment. For several minutes, I savored the attention he gave to my 37-year-old breasts, their voluptuous softness covering his face with their wanton flesh. Having this young stud beneath me made me feel strong, desirable and desired. Almost in answer to that, a strong desire for him rose up within me. I moved my pelvis forward and sat up, so that my knees were either side of his head. I got off him briefly, to remove the panties, then returned to the position. “Eat me,” I commanded, my voice thick with desire. “Eat me again, like you did yesterday”. I leaned forward, my hands out forward onto the bed supporting me, then spread my thighs wider to lower my pussy directly onto his mouth. I felt fabulously sexual, marveling at how raw and primal I felt in this position, just blatantly using his mouth to get myself off.

Caleb’s tongue was hot, darting, urgent and insistent, as his hands grabbed my butt cheeks hard against his face. My mouth opened and I heard myself moan as he parted my inner labia, my already-wet opening eager to receive him. He groaned with desire, loving the rawness of the contact, his tongue awakening tantalizing tingles. He was thirsty, his tongue pushing deep into my entrance, licking, sucking, then circling my clitoris. I could feel the nub hardening with desire. My hips began to rock against his mouth as I began to climb higher, my need for satisfaction rising as he sucked my clit into his hot, warm mouth. My breasts, now flushed and swollen with need, the nipples almost painfully hard, quivered in the air as I gripped the bedsheets harder with my fingernails.

Suddenly, I decided to turn around. Now facing his chest and legs, I lowered my inflamed pussy back on his mouth, then leaned my body against his chest. Determined, I undid the belt on his pants, the button and the zip of his fly. I saw Caleb’s hands grab at the material, then pull both his pants and underpants down together. His hard cock slapped loudly against his abdomen as it was freed. It was quite thick, around 7.5 inches long, veiny and vascular, the head dark pink, almost purple with need, a huge, thick vein standing out on the underside.

Upside down to me in this position, I lunged forward and licked along the swollen shaft, up towards his large ballsack, as I felt his tongue re-enter my pussy. His hands were on my butt, and he pressed a thumb against my butthole, which was both sexy and grounding. His tongue got busy licking the folds of my pussy, while I fondled his balls in my hand. Then I opened my mouth, engulfing one of them in my mouth, feeling incredibly turned on. I slid my fingertips further between his legs, then pressed down on his butthole, hoping to create the same feeling he had given me. I felt his mouth clamp down upon my clit, sucking it in and out between his lips.

The sensation caused me to groan loudly, releasing his ball as a spasm of pleasure bolted through me. My pussy contracted as I felt my pleasure rising. Hungrily, I took the other ball in my mouth, my lips and tongue teasing it inside. “Oh, wow,” murmured Caleb, as I slowly released it, millimeter by millimeter between my lips, as he was doing with my throbbing clit. Then my right hand grabbed his shaft and I set to lashing the head with my tongue, circling the glans with the very tip, along the opening, then exploring the frenulum.

Caleb groaned in pleasure at this, and I felt his large hands range hungrily over the round glutes of my butt, as he began to establish a rhythm of sucking on my clit. I felt a sharp increase in desire, as I simultaneously engulfed his hard cock in my mouth. The two of us sucked each other off in unison, my hands cradling and massaging his balls as I loved every second of his hardness in my mouth. He increased speed on my clit until I began undulating my hips. He knew enough to know to keep that rhythm, as my pleasure began to climb the heights of ecstasy. I removed my mouth from his cock and licked his shaft down to the base and balls, then back up again. It pulsed once.

I plunged the head back in my mouth, but my rhythm began to falter, as my clit started to spasm. I could feel the crescendo building. A wave of pleasure rose quickly within me and my mouth let go of his cock as I cried out. My orgasm roared up my spine, then suddenly burst over me, covering his face in my juices as I came hard, the waves rocking my body on top of him, as pulse after pulse of ecstasy rolled through me. A thin sheen of sex sweat suddenly broke out on my now-flushed skin, as the good vibes slowly subsided. I pushed myself up off him with my hands. Surprised that he hadn’t come yet, and delighted at his control, I rose back up to sit on him, then turned around to face him.

When I saw his toned body, his face a picture pleasure, I went wild. I grabbed his cock from behind and rose up, sliding the swollen head between my pussy lips to tease him. “Oh, Bridget,” he managed, before I prostrate myself on his chest and kissed him. I grabbed the back of his head as I devoured his mouth with passion. Wow, I needed this guy’s hot body now. After our tongues locked, I made out passionately with him for what seemed like an eternity. Our bodies were now damp and I felt luxurious and wanton as I slid my body up and down his, my boobs sliding across his chest.