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Part 3: Sex Sells
by Shayla Pandava
[This is Part 3 of our ongoing story, Sex Sells. If you missed Parts 1 or 2, they are alive and well and lliving in our archives. You can look them up and read them there. But til then, here’s where we left off last week:
"He laid a couple of silky kisses on my ear, his breathing deep, animal. ’But then you’d hate me for compromising you. Especially if these people walked in on us, like they’re about to do. You have a lot to lose here and it’s my job to make sure that you don’t.’
But for the first time he put his hand directly on my cunt, between the lips, the place I’d tried to drag it to before, the place that wanted to feel him, where I was well and truly wet. His fingers made me tingle, and more juice escaped from my hole. A wet hole knows no discretion."
And now for part 3:]
"You’re a hot babe," he said. "I’ll do whatever you want me to do."
But when I reached for his crotch, he blocked my hand.
"Later," he said. Master of mixed message. OK, so I was at a business party and some couple outside the door was about to catch me with my panties down. I should have known better. Jim brought my hand up to his lips, the hand with all the horn juice on it. He kissed it -- back, front, and fingers. He licked them clean. If that was supposed to get my mind back on business, it only made me wetter.
"Right now," he said, "you’re so hot those money men won’t know what hit them. "You need to go out there and do some damage. Make business, not love."
More than hearing two anxious lovers necking just outside the door, I had needed to hear Jim’s promise to fuck me later. So I could disengage. So I could get my head back. Even though I knew he was lying. He didn’t intend for there to be a "later."
I backed up against the door, but when I went to slide the red lace of my thong boy up my thighs, Jim reached under my fingers and pulled the panties up for me. He took both my hands away and set them back against the door. He patted my mound: nice pussy. He kissed the silk at my nipple. He pulled up my panty hose, knowing how to bunch them just right and release the extra material slowly, so it’s not pulling downwards all night. I was his doll to dress. He ran his hands up my thighs, caught my crotch with one and pressed up slightly, a hugging pressure that eased the horny twat-twitch that tingled there. He landed two soft kisses on my cheek.
"You’re so sexy right now," he whispered. He let his hand rest on my crotch for a second more and slowly drew my skirt down, smoothing it out and brushing it off with his fingertips.
"I’ll make you just a little more sexy," he said, "since it’s part of my job." And he pressed his palms against my breasts, making a circular motion until my nipples turned into pink pearls and pouted through the silk. Oh my. Horny marketing types would be able to smell me throughout the house.
Just then the door opened, throwing me forward, and Jim let his hands drop to his sides. Another couple burst through -- the guy with his hand buried in the bodice of the girl’s low-cut dress, obviously playing with her breast. He used that hand to guide her into the room, as if the rather plump breast spilling out of her seams were a steering wheel.
"Oh," the blond girl gasped when she saw us. Her date was eying my just-primed nipples.
The girl had rosy cheeks and blue eyes. I didn’t know her. She was younger than the man by perhaps a generation. He didn’t remove his hand. In fact, I think by the way she started suddenly that he may have squeezed her nipple.
"We were just leaving," Jim said to them with that tip of his head and the smile I had melted over from the minute I saw his pic on the web site. His hand rested ever so lightly at my waist, guiding me forward out of the room. "Have fun," he called over his shoulder.
I loved the way everything was amusing to Jim.
After that, I really only made one more good business contact because by that time, things out in the main rooms had started to turn, the way parties turn after the limbering up period is over. After the business is over and the strictly business folk go home. My contractor as well as the three women I knew from my company had already left. Everyone else was a stranger. I was anonymous. The fact that most of the remaining women were hired "models," that they were inordinately sexy, that you could almost smell the testosterone in the air, made it time for "good girls" to leave.
I didn’t want to leave. And two drinks later, the sexual energy felt like a low-level electric current at my clit. (Too much time spent at home, in sweats, staring into a computer screen.) I found the energy in the place irresistible. And I felt safe, just knowing Jim was there in case of anyone too insistent. The music got louder. Men would grab the models’ asses as they walked by. I loved watching the broad hands sink into soft flesh, which gave way as if it craved handling. When someone wanted to stop the girl with the drink tray, he’d press his fingers into her arm, or her back. One man at the edge of the coffee table reached out and felt up her thighs, several thorough squeezes. I enjoyed it all, the accommodating give of thighs, the supple yield of breast flesh. The men grew hungry -- all except Jim, it seemed, still hiding behind his suave escort cool.
"We should go," he whispered.
The music started beating loud and low, deep, grinding music that sunk into the gonads.
"You’re not going to make any worthwhile connections at this point," he reprised into my ear.
"I’m enjoying myself."
"I’m not a bodyguard," he said. He put his arm around my shoulder. "Let’s go."
It was all so gentle and caressing, and so... well, sure of itself. He simply had the kind of charm you don’t want to say no to. I had started to love the way he seemed to have everything under control. Yet this other dark, beating energy that had taken over the house, this hint of danger and of something wild intoxicated me. And I knew Jim was just trying to get me home safely and get his tip -- not fuck me. So I was about to test Jim’s charm to the limits.
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