I've written some stories about Helen and me, but before Helen there was Ruby, This is the story of our first meeting. We enjoyed a four-year relationship with fun of all kinds. She and Helen never knew of one another and never met. Two very similar arrangements, but with very different women...
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His train was late, so he was late. This was their first meeting, but he didn't have to look long to see which woman she was. At the bottom of the stairs she paced, looking up toward the platform. He was halfway down when she checked her watch in the way that lets the observer know it's not the time now that matters, but the time passed. He came off the stairs already apologizing.
"So sorry to keep you here so long."
"I almost left you!" She pretended to be angry, but she was as hungry as he was. The time, the place (closer to a hotel than to her apartment), the date... all her choosing. He was late, but she had been waiting for this all her life. She made a show of it when he was late, but the real show was coming later—soon, but later—and she was not going to walk away from that.
They hailed a taxi and she did the talking. His command of the language wasn't awful but no need to show off now. Let her handle the easy stuff. Anyway, the showing off she wanted him to do didn't involve common phrases to uninterested cab drivers. The hotel, as it turned out, was walking distance but not on a stifling July day. He paid the fare while she went into the lobby to register. She was walking toward the elevator when he got inside. She waved him to come along.
"What are you looking for?"
His eyes were roaming the ceiling.
"I heard these hotel elevators have cameras. I'm trying to say 'hi.'"
"They have cameras many places in the hotel. Have to be careful."
"Even in the rooms...?" He looked at her hard, and she turned away. In the mirror, she saw him behind her, still looking. She turned to face the door.
"You make me nervous. Should I be afraid of you?"
"Time will tell."
The bell rang, and the doors slid open. He waited for her to exit, and he followed her to the room.
They flipped on the TV to break the awkwardness, but then immediately fell into conversation and soon the television was forgotten. (The closed-circuit porn channels he purposely avoided. There would be time...) She opened a dish she had cooked and they sat on the corner sofa to enjoy the meal. He asked her to tell him what she did for a living and how she chose that career. He listened, but her long explanation gave him time to look her over, not for the first time but with more purpose.
Her tits were large, twice as large as the women he had met before. She wore a shirt that stretched itself across them, and their roundness pushed back hard. He started to move his eyes south, but stopped. He was a tit man, and why not? Hers were not only huge and imprisoned, seductively, but the low-cut shirt invited him to stay right there, and he did. She talked on, and he nodded when it was polite to do it, but his attention was their, not hers. Watching them, bound and full, made the food taste even better, though he knew he'd never remember a single detail about what they ate that afternoon.
He moved to her mouth. He knew they would start there, and he wanted a sense of it, its shape, the line of her lips, how his fat cock would slip through them. He knew from her messages, sent with more frequency over the last month, that she had never seen a white a cock and probably hadn't seen many Asian ones, but she was hungry and curious and was expecting big things. His wouldn't disappoint her. The girth alone would test her, and the girth was swelling now as she talked and he watched her lips part. It was time.
She was putting her plate down on the table in front of them. She was turned mostly away from him and didn't see him moving toward her. He slid along the cushion as she spoke innocently.
