Part III
Karen
Chapter 11
After spending nearly a week at the family mansion in Westchester, north of New York City, most nights with Cheryl, her belly demonstratively rounded by our child and, to me, looking all the more beautiful because of it, with a certain subtle maternal glow, Pat joining us for the last couple nights, visiting us from much farther upstate, Buffalo to be precise and her work on the corrupting corporation there, a needy Molly getting me one night for a relentless ride and my sister Sarah's girlfriend Brenda, the Irish lass becoming remarkably intimate for another, along with some pleasant time being around my mom, I headed to DC.
A taxi from Ronald Reagan Airport (sorry all you Reagan lovers out there, but I can't help finding the name ironic since he busted the attempted strike of the air traffic controllers and other sympathetic airport unions, and maybe even for the best considering possible economic ramifications, but putting scabs in the tower instead of negotiating in good faith seems a bit extreme and illustrates the anti-unionist, pro-corporate bias of the Grand Ole Party) brought me to a posh apartment in the Watergate complex. Karen, light brunette hair, thick and loose, very pretty girl-next-door visage, her soft average curves covered in a short colorful robe which revealed strong and somewhat thick thighs, cleavage revealing the probability of her being naked beneath the robe, greeted me with a smile.
"What can I do for you?" I asked, returning her smile.
"Leave the rest of the bags and I'll show you," she replied, grabbing my garment bag with my suit and hanging it in the coat closet before turning and walking away. I briefly admired the subtle shifting of her ass, neither big nor small but a pleasing medium, before letting go of my rolling luggage and the day bag attached to the handles and the shoulder bag from my shoulder and followed her to her bedroom.
A sizable room with a queen sized bed, a homespun patchwork quilt covering it, frilly pink drapes covered the window, the southern exposure bringing late sunlight into the room, not quite sunset but nearing it, giving the room, otherwise unlit, a pinkish cast. The femininity of the room surprised me considering the defiant, mostly lesbian, anti-male dominant, strong willed women who made up Mistresses Incorporated. Any questions I had would have to wait since Karen beckoned me to her having pulled aside the quilt and the sheet beneath it, opening her robe to reveal her moderate, perky breasts with brown areolas and nipples, also moderate sized, a soft but not fat belly slightly darker than her breasts, setting them off along with the slim tan line at her hips and the area above her pudendum, the slightly darker and curlier hair there naturally shaped yet trimmed at the edges and shaved around her slit, all there for me to see with her sitting at the edge of the bed.
Standing between her thighs, I let her unbutton my shirt, which I removed, and undo my pants, pulling them away from my growing cock. "As nice as reported," she smiled at it, not touching it, but it felt like I could feel her gaze. "Let's find out about the rest of your rave reviews." She slid back onto the bed while I sat to remove my shoes and socks, my pants and underwear soon followed. Her thighs remained open, and I took the invitation to bring my head between them, tasting her musky sweetness without any other flavoring and figured she'd bathed for me. My tongue and lips encouraged more of that flavor, succeeded with more and more abundance until I teased out a mouthful after several minutes.
"Gods!" she trembled, barely heard what with her thighs squeezing my head, imprisoning my mouth there, preventing any breathing. Not one to panic, in fact feeling the restriction as proof of success, I waited for her to relax her thighs. When she did I moved up over her, bringing her flavor to her mouth. She actually licked my cheeks and chin and giggled. "I taste good, don't I?"
"Delicious," I agreed with a grin.
She pulled me into a soft kiss while my cock pressed against her slit.
She broke the kiss with a sigh. "There's condoms in the bedside drawer," she explained. "I'm on the pill, but the jackasses I deal with sometimes don't listen to me when I demand they wear them. When it happens, I get checked out of course, fortunately with anything I find out about curable. Even if nothing turns up I let them know they gave me something," she giggled. "If they get it checked out, I figure they'll just think of me as a whore when it comes out negative. Men like virgins and whores, and I give them both."
By the time she finished her explanation, I'd gloved up and brought the tip of my cock to accumulate the abundance of juices at her pussy before pushing in. Again I found the moderate in her tightness, further proving her being medium everything which I found surprisingly sexy, a kind of female perfection, woman qua woman. And her cunt being medium tight was plenty tight enough.
I kept my strokes long and slow which she seemed to prefer, bringing my mouth to hers and her moaning within our kiss. When she broke it she pressed on my shoulders and I understood what she wanted, bringing my mouth to her breasts, sucking each one and worrying the nipples, my fingers working the other breast. It soon became clear something not moderate about her, her intense sensitivity, whether from her breasts or my strong stroking inside her, probably both. Within seconds she climbed to the heights of ecstasy. Arched, with her head back, a loud guttural moan filled the room almost viscerally, containing one elongated word: "Fuck!" Within the tension of the arch she shivered subtly, and inside, surrounding my cock, interior shivers soon followed by a flow of fluid wetting my balls. The quickness and intensity of her orgasm surprised me and I became indecisive. Should I keep fucking her, extending her bliss or push deep and press against her clit in another form of extension? After a couple strokes, I chose the latter, better to feel the complicated pulses that surrounded my cock, pulses that seemed to cohere, to change from chaos to purpose which was to attempt to squeeze out my cum via my long column of flesh inside her like some sort of biological milking machine. And it succeeded, and feeling every moment of succumbing ended up bringing me as intense an orgasm as I'd ever felt, even if it probably wasn't nearly as intense as hers.
"Fuck," she murmured once we relaxed from our mutual bliss, a much shorter version of the word. "That was...fuck."
"Yeah," I agreed with a soft chuckle.
We both sighed when my penis slipped out and I hurriedly caught the edge of the condom. She managed, however weakly, to coax me to turn over, our genitals remaining pressed together as she straddled me. Her arms crossed at my chest and her chin rested at the center. Her face expressed a deep satisfaction along with curiosity.
"I heard you last longer," she said.
"Sorry. After a first cum and especially a second I usually can."
"No, Joe, that was...astonishingly perfect. To tell you the truth, I either get bored or it gets to be too much if it goes on too long. Probably the latter with you from what I've heard."
"Good to know," I chuckled, thinking, "How do I adjust my modus operandi for this woman whom I like already and find wonderfully sexy?"
"Hungry?" she asked, ending my thoughts.
"Starved," I told her.
"Good," she smiled, slipping off my body and off the bed. "Shower if you want, and you can put on some comfortable clothes."
"Where should I put my bags?" I asked.
"Here of course," she replied, putting on her robe and tying it. "Unless it's too girly for you."
"It's not what I expected," I admitted. "But I like it."
"Good."
She started to leave.
"Uhm," I stopped her. "Are we eating out?"
"Home cooking," she grinned. "I'll bring the bags in. Go ahead and shower," she gestured to a door.
Showered and dressed in my "comfies," my label for t shirt and sweat pants, what I wore to bed, I found Karen in the kitchen bent down in front of an opened oven and pulling out a lasagna. She'd already plated a simple salad on the kitchen table at two places across from each other.
"I kept it warm," she explained, scooping out slices onto a couple plates. Pour us some wine?"
A bottle of red sat open and I poured some into the wine glasses up to the widest point. "Water?" she asked.
"Thanks," I replied and she used the contraption on her fridge to fill two glasses with ice and water.
"Bon appetit," she smiled, and after pouring Italian dressing on her salad, dug in. I chose the bleu cheese.
"Wow," I said after my first taste of lasagna.
"Thanks," she grinned.
Between bites and swallows, she told me her story.
"I was born into an Amish community, but was far too rebellious and intelligent to stay."
"The quilt?" I asked.
"My mom gave it to me when I left, or more kicked out, at sixteen."
"Sixteen?"
"I'd already run away a couple times. But finding me getting inappropriately familiar with an older boy's penis was the last straw. Probably intentionally found. By the way what I was found doing I've gotten quite good at, probably what I'm known best for. It's what I'll do for you so you won't be too much, if you don't mind," she smirked.