Chapter 22

Connie

 

There was a pot of fresh coffee brewing when I stepped into the kitchen, barefooted and wearing a fluffy white robe. I looked at Mitch sheepishly. “I hope you don’t mind,” I gestured at the robe. “But I didn’t bring anything else with me to wear. I found it in a wardrobe.”

He shook his head and smiled from over the rim of his coffee mug. “I don’t mind at all,” he said and then sharpened his gaze. “In fact you look pretty good in it.”

The robe was white and I’d belted the sash loosely around my waist, which allowed the long lapels to gape apart when I leaned across the kitchen counter for a mug. I saw Mitch’s eyes slide slyly to my breasts.

“There’s milk in the refrigerator, sugar in the bowl by your elbow,” he said. He took another sip of his coffee and then wandered through an open archway into a living room area beyond. I made coffee and followed him.

The room was large, decorated with stuffed leather chairs and antique bookcases. There was a fireplace against one wall, the blaze in the hearth burned down to just embers. Mitch tossed a log onto the fire and stirred the flames back to life with a poker.

“Are you okay?” he asked without turning. The question, I suspected, had a deeper significance than just an enquiry about my health.

“I’m very, very good,” I said. And I meant it. I could still feel my whole body glowing. My skin felt alive; the sensitivity of my lips where he had kissed me so fiercely, those tender places within my pussy where he had driven me to orgasm, the lingering tremble in my thighs from clinging to him as we climaxed together. I felt the way I imagined I would feel when I arose from a lover’s bed as a freshly fucked woman.

“I’m glad,” he turned and set the poker down. The fire crackled to life, casting his features in red-orange light. There was a lamp on a small ornate table. He switched it on and we stared at each other for several long seconds beneath the spreading pool of light. Mitch set his coffee cup down and went to a green leather sofa. He beckoned me to join him.

We sat close together but not touching.

He stared into the glow of the fire for long moments and then turned his face to mine.

“Tell me,” Mitch said, “now that you’ve paid the debt you felt you owed… tell me, Connie. Why did you take the risk of auctioning your body off to the highest bidder?”

I smiled but it was a timid, reflective gesture without humor or warmth. I set my coffee cup down and looked Mitch directly in the eye so that he could see the truth of what I was going to tell him.

“My grandmother owns a bookstore in Galveston,” I said. I had rehearsed this explanation a dozen times, but now the words seemed to choke in my throat. “She’s the only family I have. Both my parents are dead. My grandmother raised me.”

Mitch’s gaze didn’t flicker. He was studying my face minutely.

“My grandmother’s store is struggling,” I went on, “It has been for some time. The market has changed. People don’t buy books the same way they used to. Technology…” I shrugged and then lapsed into silence.

“So?” Mitch frowned. “How does this – ?”

“She’s about to lose her store,” I blurted. “The banks won’t extend her any more credit and she can’t get a loan. There is a promised deal with the Canadian government for educational texts. It’s going to come through in the spring. But Nana can’t keep the doors open until then. She’s desperate.”

Mitch leaned back in the seat, his eyes still fixed on mine.

“I tried to get a loan myself so I could help her,” I went on, starting to weep as I explained. “But I wasn’t working a full-time job. No bank would touch me.”

“Your grandmother must mean a lot to you,” Mitch said softly.

“She means everything,” the emotion came into my voice then, and the first tear rolled down my cheek. “She raised me from childhood,” I wrung my hands, feeling as though I was failing to explain the relationship. “She was there for me when no one else was. She means the world to me, and the bookstore means the world to her.”

“So you decided to auction off your virginity.”

“No,” I shook my head. “I didn’t plan this, Mitch. But when you took me to that nightclub in Moscow, I saw the opportunity. I knew we were flying back to Washington in a couple of days. There was no time to plan – no time to think logically through the implications… all I could think about was the money my grandmother needed to keep her bookstore. I thought I could do it, earn the money, and fly back home without anyone knowing. I thought I could put the whole sordid affair behind me… and it would have been worth the depravation and humiliation to save Nana’s bookstore.”

Mitch looked mildly bewildered. “Why didn’t you ask me?” his voice had lowered to a whisper. “I could have loaned you the money.”

“Fifty thousand?” I scoffed.

Mitch shrugged. I shook my head. “I could never have asked you,” I dismissed the notion as farcical. “I’d only been working in your office for a couple of weeks. I wasn’t even sure you knew my name.”

Mitch grunted and then fell into thoughtful silence. We both sat quietly, watching the fire.

“So that’s why you did it,” he said at last with realization and understanding.

“Yes. Truly.”

Somewhere down a hallway a clock chimed ten times.

Mitch scooped up our coffee cups and carried them away to the kitchen. I heard a running tap, the clatter of china.

In the gloom of the living room I sat and pensively fretted. The sex with Mitch had been a joyous relief and a wonderful experience. But I sensed that it had opened up a whole Pandora’s Box of deeper, more significant questions… emotional and relationship issues that Mitch was in the kitchen right now seeking answers to.

How does the sex we shared change things between us?

Does this open the way for a relationship?

Does Mitch even want a relationship with me?

Does he accept and understand that my motives for auctioning off my virginity were for the most noble of reasons?

Would he want to see me ever again?

I let out a sigh and pushed myself to my feet. I went into the kitchen and found Mitch leaning against the counter. His arms were folded and he was scowling at the ceiling. I had seen him with that same expression when I had worked in his White House office. He was deep in thought.

“Connie, I…”

I went to him wordlessly, unfastening the loose knot of the dressing gown’s sash as I approached. I let the gown slide off my shoulders and pressed my naked body hard against him. His arms opened to enfold me and I felt his fingers knead the muscles of my back.

“Connie, I…” he tried again.

I leaned back and stared into his deep troubled eyes. “Not tonight,” I said in a husky whisper. “Let’s make this one evening perfect. The issues will still be there tomorrow. They can wait, Mitch. I can’t.”

I sank to my knees and reached for the buckle of his belt. He arched his back and his fingers tangled in my hair. I felt his cock harden again in the warm cup of my hands and I licked my lips.

“Can I suck it again, Daddy?”

He sighed. “Yes, baby girl.”

I devoured Mitch’s cock, taking it deep inside my mouth with more confidence this time. He was still hardening. His cock was coated with the mingled juices of our lovemaking; I could taste the lingering flavors of his cum and my juices – and I lapped them up and let the tang of it spread across my tongue.

I was squatting on my haunches before him, my knees parted, the dressing gown gaping wide open with every happy bob of my head. I felt the heat slowly come back into his shaft and he hardened against the back of my throat.

Mitch grunted and I let his cock slip from between my lips long enough to stroke him lightly while my tongue licked at his balls. He shuffled his feet apart. His hands moved to cling the edge of the countertop with a white-knuckled grip. I took one of his balls into my mouth and sucked it gently. Mitch bucked his hips.

“Do you like that, Daddy?” I asked in a sugar-sweet breath.

“Yes, baby,” Mitch moaned. “Daddy loves when you lick and suck his balls.”

I filed that gem of information away in the back of my mind. He was hard and vaulted now, his cock leaping and twitching in the palm of my hand as I stroked the last couple of inches of his shaft. I heard his breathing become more strained. I wasn’t yet able to read the instant before his orgasm, so I kept stroking him at a steady rhythm and from the corner of my eye I kept watch on his features for telltale signs.

“I want you to come in my mouth, Daddy,” I said earnestly. “I want you to spill it all right here.” I stuck out my tongue like a petulant child so he could see exactly where I wanted his warm creamy seed to land. Mitch’s eyes were slitted, his face tightening.

I sucked and stroked for several minutes and I could see Mitch straining on the brink of release… but never quite tumbling over the precipice to his orgasm. I sucked the head of his cock harder and then tightened my grip on his cock as if I could physically draw the cum from him. There was sweat on his brow and his arms were beginning to tremble. I licked at his balls and lathered them in wet sloppy kisses… but still I could not arouse him past the point of no return.

The dressing gown had fallen from my shoulders with the frantic actions of my mouth and arms. It rucked around my waist and my breasts swayed as my head bobbed up and down his shaft. Finally, I sat back with a gasp for breath.

My lips felt numb and puffy. I wanted to please him so badly.

“Fuck my mouth, Daddy,” I said. “Force your cock down your little girl’s throat and use me for your pleasure.”

Mitch re-balanced himself on the balls of his feet and clamped his hands tightly in my hair. I propped my back against a kitchen cupboard and opened my mouth wide. Mitch drew the head of his cock across my tongue and then thrust himself forcefully down the back of my throat.

My eyes watered and I felt an instinctive need to gag. I fought against the urge, letting my jaw hang loose. Mitch was grunting like an animal and the sound of it was raw and incredibly arousing. I surrendered myself completely. I became like a ragdoll. Tears streamed down my cheeks but they weren’t tears of sadness. Mitch’s cock was like an invading army storming the gates of a medieval city. His shaft rampaged inside my mouth, pressing against the back of my throat and sawing across my tongue. I clamped my lips around the pistoning drive of him and tried to breath through my nose.

“Yes!” he growled. “Yes!”

The tension came back into his body quickly, reaching the point where he was impossibly strained. I felt it in his cock too; it swelled and pulsed. It burned on my tongue like fire.

Then, at last, he erupted across my tongue with a great wail of relief and release.

His cock seemed to burst like a balloon, flooding my mouth with his sweet sticky cream and then beginning to deflate almost immediately afterwards. I kept his cum in my mouth, swilling it like brandy until he withdrew himself. The salty taste of him tingled my taste buds. I swallowed every drop and then captured his cock between my lips again to suck him dry.

Mitch reeled away gasping and heaving to regain his breath. I licked my lips and rose to my feet. Mitch looked at me from the corner of his eye like I was a possessed nymphomaniac.

Maybe I was. I felt insatiable. I wanted more of this man.

“I’ll get better,” I said softly as I went to him. “I promise. I just need a lot more practice at sucking your cock so I know the best ways to please you.”

Mitch laughed with irony. “You did perfectly well,” his voice had steadied and he had regained his composure. His cock hung wet and soft and glistening. He went to tuck himself back inside his pants but I took his wrist to still him.

I marveled for an instant at the play of power between us. When I’d worked in his office, and while we were in Russia, I’d been the dutiful, obedient assistant who was always respectful, always polite. I knew my place and I never, ever overstepped the bounds.

But here, it was so different. The roles of boss and assistant were shredded. We were man and woman: Daddy and his little girl. I felt strangely empowered now that I saw Mitch intimately as a man, and no longer as my boss. It gave me new courage and confidence, so that when I took his wrist he looked into my eyes, unsure.

“I could just play with him for a little longer,” my sugar-sweet little girl’s voice was deliberate.

Mitch shook his head. “I think you just sucked all the life out of him.”

I arched an eyebrow and wrapped my hand gently around his wilting shaft. “Please, Daddy…”

A steely gleam came into his eye, triggered by my words, and I sensed in an instant that he was slipping seamlessly back into the role I had so desperately fantasized about.

“Daddy has had enough orgasms,” Mitch’s tone became stern. “But you – little girl – are going to come for me once more before bed.”

I was still sore from being fucked; my pussy felt tender and gently bruised by the thickness and length of him. Mitch saw my expression waver with uncertainty. His smile was all knowing; all understanding. Nothing needed to be said.

“Get up on the kitchen counter and spread your legs,” he instructed. “Lean your back against the wall. I’m going to lick your pussy and taste you until you come.”

 

 

 

Mitch

 

Connie was wild; utterly limitless in her sexual appetite. She was every man’s dream – young, gorgeous and hungry for sex.

And the daddy-daughter fantasy she wanted to act out so completely piqued my interest, I confess.

I’d never given myself over to such fantasies through my marriage, or with any of the other women I had formed relationships with. The real world moment of each sexual situation was always aphrodisiac enough. Maybe it was the uniqueness of Connie. Maybe it was the obvious age difference that made the role-play a practical extension of sex. Maybe there was something deep inside of me that I could only now, with Connie, really begin to explore.

I didn’t instinctively know the answer… but I did instinctively know how to act.

“Spread your legs for Daddy,” I said with the sternness of a parent admonishing his child. “Wider.”

Connie was propped on the kitchen counter beside the stainless steel sink, her body slumped against the wall for support, her legs splayed wide apart so that I could see the pink enflamed lips of her pussy. She was naked. The robe lay on the floor at our feet and I used it as a cushion for my knees as I lowered my mouth to kiss the top of her thigh.

Connie shivered and gasped. Her skin felt hot and quivering with the energy of her arousal.

I drew my tongue tenderly along the length of her pussy, salving the folds of her flesh with gentle touches. She made a little whimpering sound and there was a spill of juices from within her. It was the seep of her desire, mingled with the hint of my seed. I took the taste on the tip of my tongue and then rose and leaned over her. I kissed her so that she could taste herself and her tongue explored my mouth, seeking more.

I was in no hurry. The kiss lasted a long time and my hands became busy on her body, rubbing her breasts and then slipping between her parted thighs. My fingertip replaced my tongue; gentle and probing, teasing and touching without pushing inside her. Connie squirmed on the counter-top. Every breath was a more desperate gasp for air and satisfaction. When at last I kissed my way slowly back down her body and settled my mouth on her clit, she was tossing her head from side to side and lifting her bottom off the bench to press her sweet pussy against my mouth.

My lips went for her clit and I changed the flickering action of my tongue – swabbing the sensitive bud with broad flat strokes and then tightening the tip of my tongue for firmer pressure.

“I need more, Daddy,” Connie gasped.

Without moving my tongue from her clit, I carefully slid one finger inside her. She tensed for an instant and then shuddered like she was casting off a cloak of restraint.

“Yes! Oh, fuck yes, Daddy! That feels so good when you play with my tight little hole like that.”

We moved together in a slow grinding rhythm. The rock of Connie’s hips matched the thrust of my finger and each flicker of my tongue. It was like a slow sexy dance that was carefully orchestrated to build her to climax. The only sounds in the room were the ragged gasps of her breath and the moist echo of her own wetness beneath my touch. Connie wrapped her legs around my back and I felt the dig of one tiny heel against my shoulder blade.

“Faster, please, Daddy…” she whimpered.

I removed my finger and stabbed my tongue between the folds of her pussy. Connie wrapped a frantic hand around the back of my head and pulled my face against her. My finger was still slick with her arousal. I used it to draw tiny teasing circles around the tight pucker of her ass, and this strange new sensation sent her into a series of clenching jolts.

“Oh, fuck!” her voice broke. “Oh, Daddy. Fuuuuucck!”

Connie came explosively – drawn to the point of shattering release by my slow deliberate teasing. Her body went into convulsions and her hand at the back of my head almost broke my neck. I did my best to ride the grinding, plunging undulations of her pelvis until, at last, she collapsed back on the counter-top, with one hand thrown across her abdomen, her legs dangling limp and her hair fanned and awry across her eyes.

She gasped for breath like a runner at the end of a marathon. I brushed the tendrils of hair away from her face and then kissed her again. The taste of her own orgasm was coated thick and rich across my tongue. She savored the taste of herself without hesitation.

“You will stay the night,” I said simply. “It’s too late for you to go anywhere else, and I want you in my bed when I wake up tomorrow morning.”