âI see ya, ya slut bitch. I see yer big floppy tits anâ yer hot little ass. I see yer naked cunt, too, and it makes my dick hard.â He rubbed the crotch of his cotton golf slacks as he continued to whisper to himself. âYou oughta get fucked by a real man âstead of that pussy wimp. Iâd have that cunt shootinâ cream all over me. I jusâ might give ya a real treat and bust that little ass-cherry for ya, too. I betchyaâd like that, ya little âore. Youâd take it all and beg for more. Yeah, yaâd like gettinâ reamed out sâmuch youâd beg for it agin. Well, Iâd give it to you agin...right after ya sucked it off.â He chuckled silently. âYer sâbig a slut, yaâd probably like that too, wouncha? Suck off my cock, and suck up all my cum.â
The slightly drunken man stood quietly looking through his binoculars at the apartment complex. The tall hedges that defined the property line provided excellent cover for his surveillance activities, and even though the park officially closed at sundown, it had been a simple matter to push through an opening in the brushy growth a block away, and walk to this vantage point. The rise was the high point for several blocks, and afforded an unimpeded view into the bathroom and bedroom of her apartment.
Veronica stepped out of the bath and reached for a towel. The subtle scent of peach still seeped from every pore as she patted herself dry. She looked in the full length mirror that formed the shower door and smiled at the woman who stared back. Her body was not the silicone-laced and hip bone studded exotic dancer type, but she was comfortable with the lush curves and soft valleys that posed in the mirror. She was accustomed to the stares of most men she met, and always fancied they really liked women the way nature made them. Had she the inclination, her life could have been filled with lovers, but she had become selective after her divorce. It was better to live alone than to give herself to another man who would treat her like a mindless machine suitable only for his own pleasure. Tomas had come into her life as the wind off the ocean; she had blinked, he was there, and she had known he was special. After they made love on the beach, she was convinced Tomas was the man for whom she had waited. Still, she was cautious. The hurt was still there, just under the surface of smiles and laughter, and wouldnât allow her to reveal her true feelings.
Veronica sat on the closed commode and stroked the cream rinse over the soft skin between her thighs and then over her rounded belly. The growing hair was beginning to itch, and she wanted to stay smooth for Tomas. She trimmed to the edges of the small strip of brown, close cropped curls that pointed the way to her sex, and then spread her thighs wide as she concentrated on the satiny smooth lips that would sheath his manhood. After completing the practiced series of short careful strokes with the razor, Veronica washed away the residue with a cloth and relished the sensations the soft terrycloth towel imparted.
The final act of her nightly cleansing ritual was the application of the almond scented lotion to every inch of her skin. Before Tomas, this ritual was an excuse for the self-pleasure that eased the tensions of the day and prepared her for sleep. After their meeting, it had become a recapture of some of the feelings she had experienced as he thrust deep into her belly until she cried out in ecstasy. Quickly, she finished her arms and shoulders, and began caressing the rich, white liquid into her breasts. She watched her dark brown nipples rise at the touch of her open palms, and remembered the rougher skin of his hands. Her hands slipped down to cup and massage the undersides, and then circled each as far as her hands would reach. Squeezing gently, she allowed her slippery breasts to ooze between the grasping fingers until she was lightly pinching the nipples between thumb and forefinger. A slight rolling motion and a gentle tug made her catch her breath. Again, she cupped the soft, yielding globes before squeezing them through her hands, and when she closed her eyes and gave way to her imagination, it was Tomas causing the sharp spasms that tightened her womb.
Her hands lightly stroked the lotion into the slight round of her belly, and for a second, she imagined the hands were his. The lotion had become absorbed, and she poured more into her palm before anointing her legs.
Veronica used both hands to circle her toned calves and rubbed the lotion into the smooth skin. She paid careful attention to her knees before beginning on the velvet surface of her thighs. She was proud that her thighs were tight with the fitness of walking and swimming, but were not the muscle-bound hams that some women spent hours developing. To her, a womanâs thighs should be a soft cradle for her man, and she loved the feeling of Tomasâ hips brushing against them. She could almost feel him as she massaged the almond scent into their inner surface, and she let her mind drift to their encounters on beach and bed. Her fingertips unconsciously swept the length of the sensuous separation of the puffy lips and then dipped between them to the soft, swelling wetness that circled her passage. Her head went back as she stroked the wrinkled skin, and she gasped when she brushed the side of the hood that cloaked the center of her sexual being. Veronica brought her other hand to her breast and began to tease the firm nub of the nipple and the dark bumpy circle that formed its base. The fingertips between her thighs began to circle the growing little bud, and ripples of pleasure surfed the contours of her belly.
Had she known how to prolong the sensations, she wouldnât have had the will. Since the experience of Tomasâ caress and the feeling of him inside her, she had only to drift on the stream of her memory for her own touch to plunge her headlong into the pit of her release. As her fingers fluttered over her slippery lips and swollen button, Veronica writhed in the rapid ascent to climax, and suddenly, with a tiny cry, the shuddering explosion shook her from head to toe. She continued to caress herself until the coursing waves subsided, and then capped the lotion bottle. A quick rinse removed the scent of passion from her fingers, and she turned out the light as she stepped into the bedroom. In a few moments, she was lying in the dark, and curled into the pillow she held against her front. In a few minutes, she was asleep.
âAh..., fuckâ. The rope of semen shot from his cock to land on the hedge leaves that partially concealed him. The man had pulled the swelling organ from his pants as he watched Veronica shave, and as she began rubbing in the lotion, he stroked himself slowly. When it became evident that she was pleasuring herself, his excitement heightened, and he pumped himself to release just as she was leaving his view. âThat shouda been in yer sloppy wet cunt. I betcha were thinkinâ âbout havinâ a big dick stuck in that hole. Either that, or you were thinkinâ âbout suckinâ cock. Well, weâll see. Iâll betchaâd hate havinâ my cock shoved in that little box, wouldnâtcha. Youâd scream yer fuckinâ head off, wouldnâtcha? Iâd shoot my load in ya and make ya hold yer legs together to keep it in there. Iâd make ya suck it off, too, jusâ like the âore yâare. Weâll see. Weâll jusâ fuckinâ see, bitch.â
Veronica woke late and hurriedly dressed. Her new boss seemed like an understanding guy, but she didnât want to push her luck. She grabbed her purse and locked the door on her run to her car. In a few minutes she was speeding down the highway to the exit for the office. She thought it was unusual that almost every car pulled alongside her for a few hundred feet, then honked and drove away. Crazy California drivers, she thought. She made it to the parking lot with ten minutes to spare, and saw Jennifer parking in the spot behind her. She liked Jennifer, and waited for her to catch up.
âVeronica, who the hell did that to your car?â
âNothingâs wrong with my car.â
âWell, itâs the only one Iâve seen this morning that says, honk if you wanna fuck me, on the back end.â Jennifer giggled. âHoney, you may be horny, but you shouldnât advertise the fact. Itâs not ladylike.â
Veronica stared at the white shoe polish that spelled out the crudely written message. The longer she stared, the more infuriated she got. âThose damned kids two apartments down must have done this. I yelled at âem to get their skateboards out of the parking lot last week, and this is their way of telling me to get screwed. Just wait âtil I get home and talk to their mother.â She opened the trunk for the old towel she always carried in case she had a flat, and scrubbed the chalky letters off the paint. It was still barely visible, but the little Honda was due for a wash anyway, and she made a mental note to take care of that on the way home.
It was a pleasure working for the new manager, Harry Cromwell. He was organized, thorough, and never asked for changes to her work. If anything, Harry seemed to be overqualified for the job. It appeared to Veronica that he knew everything about the business from the moment he set foot in the office, and the change was refreshing. She looked forward to coming to work everyday, and Harry seemed to enjoy working with her. He was constantly asking her about what had happened with this account or that, how her old boss, Peters, had done things, and most importantly for her, how she thought things should be done in the office. Sheâd noticed herself smiling from ear to ear whenever Harry asked for something. It did seem odd to call him Harry, but the first time she had said âMr. Cromwellâ, heâd said that made him feel old, and that she should call him by his first name. And God bless his balding little head, he always called her Veronica. Peters had called her Ronnie even though she had repeatedly asked him to use her full name.
The carwash took a half hour of her free time, but it did remove the last traces of the shoe polish. Veronica parked in front of her place, and walked down to talk with the skateboardersâ mother. The third time she pounded on the door, the next door neighbor yelled through the window that the family had been away for three days. Veronica walked back to her apartment in mild shock. She had no enemies of which she was aware, but someone had picked her out of all the other residents to write that crude message on her car. She was still wondering why as she drove to Tomasâ house for dinner, and thought of everyone she had known for the last couple of years. She had caused no harm to any of them. She continued trying to solve this riddle, and took no notice of the beat-up white Toyota sedan that had worked itâs way to follow two cars behind her. She took the exit to the coast road, and was soon cruising up the blacktop that led to Tomasâ drive. The rickety gate that stood sentinel over the gravel drive to Tomasâ private beach brought a smile to her face. Tomas had still not locked it, but it really didnât matter; now, she just took the steps that led from Tomasâ patio to the secluded horseshoe of sand. A half mile later, Veronica made the left turn into Tomasâ drive and in two minutes was parked in front of the sprawling two-story beach home.
Veronica had been surprised at the grandeur of the place on her first visit. The home had been built in the fiftyâs, and sported the opulence befitting her movie producing first owner. The mission style blended well with the view of the Pacific that filled the glass paneled rear of the living and dining rooms and den. Though the deep blue of the ocean beckoned one from the large expanse of manicured back lawn and gardens, an in-ground pool with pool house grew from their center. She had sampled the crystal clear water of the pool, and often on weekends, she and Tomas spent the entire day lounging on its brick paved shore. When the evening breeze wafted salt air up the slope to the house, they would take Rocky, Tomasâ black lab, for a walk on the beach.
Since their chance meeting, and her resulting incredible sexual experience with Tomas, Veronicaâs life had taken on a fairy-tale feeling. Tomas was a vice-president of the corporation that had just purchased her employer, Osborne Products. The day after their meeting, Tomas had fired her old boss, and asked her to dinner at his house. They had made slow, lingering love on his bed, and she woke the next morning filled with a love of herself, a love of live, and a love for this slender, dark man who had magically appeared in her life. In the three weeks since, she had floated through the days and nights on the stream of her thoughts of the present and the possible future. The crude message on her car had been an abrupt bend that had caused her to pause, but she decided not to burden herself or Tomas with the incident. She had decided it was probably just the handiwork of one of the teenagers who frequented the park behind her apartment.