Tapas

Tapas

[This story should stand on its own, though it's part of a series about meetings that my crazy friend Connie set up for me to provide sexual services to neighborhood women, for a price. The story The Entrepreneur begins with an explanation of the origins of this arrangement.]

It was a late morning, and Connie and I were sprawled out on the soaked sheets, panting. This had been a good one. Well it is always good with her -- if it's not, it's my own fault. She's up for anything, and will up the ante in a heartbeat. Sometimes it's just a matter of keeping up with her.

"Oh, hey," she said. "I ran into Beth yesterday at the Seven-Eleven and she was asking about you. Of course, I know nothing." We both laughed. "But she said she wants to see you again. She wants to take you to lunch."

"Lunch?"

"Yes, is tomorrow okay? She didn't explain but she's paying full price for the pleasure."

"Huh," I said, "So I guess she's got something in mind."

Connie was smiling, eyebrows raised. "She didn't say what she's up to but I think you might be right. Can you meet her at one thirty tomorrow at La Tapateria?"

"Sure," I said. "That always looked like a cool place."

"Yeah it is," Connie said. "I've been there. Great food. Great margaritas."

As quick explanation, my crazy friend Connie had decided it would be fun to rent me out to women in the neighborhood. It seems that there are a lot of women who feel ignored by their husbands or are not getting the satisfaction they feel they deserve. Connie tells me I am a "good lay," and has started charging some ladies for me to visit them and make their dreams come true, as well as I can. She calls herself my agent and takes some of the money, I have no idea how much. I have visited two ladies so far, Beth and Carol, and both times were, I guess you could say, "successful." I had a good time and the women spoke positively of the experience afterwards. It's a strange thing to find myself doing but honestly, wouldn't you?

The first time I saw Beth she described herself to me as a "bossy bitch" and pretty much took charge, telling me what she wanted me to do. She is a lusty one who has not had opportunities to explore that side of herself and we had a good time together. She was the first client -- it feels strange to use that word -- that Connie set me up with, and she said she was not using birth control, so she finished me off with a kind of hand job. In the ensuing conversation she mentioned that her "go-to fantasy" was to have her face covered with cum. She was afraid I wouldn't like that, but I assured her it was fine. It seemed like a bold declaration but she was a bold woman all the way around, once you got past the the housewife act. I was curious to see her again, to see what other fantasies she had, since she seemed quite open about expressing them and was willing to take decisive action to make her dreams come true. For an ignored and inexperienced wife, she had some very vivid ideas. She had a rich imagination and seemed to have reached a point in her life where she felt she should go ahead and try things, whether her husband was part of it or not. She had not given Connie any clue as to what she'd come up with this time. Lunch. That could turn into anything.

La Tapateria is on a busy block downtown. It took a minute or two to find a parking place, and when I entered the building Beth was already there. The place had mostly emptied out after lunch and she had a nice table along the wall. She waved and then patted the seat beside her as I approached. Across is better for talking, side by side is better for getting your hands on each other.

"Woo, look at you," I said.

"Oh, this, I've had this old thing for a million years," she said. She was wearing a dark blue sundress with some kind of pattern, cut low enough to see a lot of cleavage, and as I sat down I saw that the skirt was almost not long enough to reach her thighs: just barely legal, at least sitting down.

"You are looking great," I said. "I don't know if I can keep my hands off you."

She gave a subdued chuckle and glanced around the room. "Well I don't know why you would want to," she said.

I put a hand on her thigh and gave her a friendly kiss, a little bit of tongue but, you know, appropriate. I said, "I'll try to keep us out of jail."

"Yeah," she laughed. "That would be a little hard to explain to the husband. 'What's this on the checking account statement, honey? AAAA Bail Bonds?'"

A waiter with an accent that was more Mexican than Castilian brought menus and we looked them over. "I'm buying," Beth said.

"Thank you," I replied. "I've never been here and I don't know what any of these things are."

"Okay, so I'll order," she said. We talked about tapas and Spanish cuisine. My hand rested on her thigh and I moved my fingers occasionally to keep her aware of that fact. She had chosen a good table, we were off on the side and had a tablecloth that hung down all the way around. You would almost have to be leaning against the wall behind us to see what my hand was doing.

She ordered and we chatted some more. She told me she had started on birth-control pills that week, and that she should be okay in a few more days. While we were talking her hand came down and began stroking me through my jeans, under the tablecloth. "Hmm, you seem ready," she said.

"Well, look at you," I replied, waving my hand toward her. "Of course I'm ready." I moved my hand up her thigh a couple of inches and was not at all surprised to discover that she was not wearing panties. She grinned up at me. "Feeling adventurous, I see," I commented.

"Bingo," she said. "I think a little bit of risk makes things more exciting, don't you agree?"

"I prefer not to get caught, but yeah, I'm with you." I reached over with my other hand and tweaked her nipple gently. It was an inconspicuous move, unless someone was watching us, and nobody was.

"See, I told you you don't need a bra."

"I thought you might approve," she said. It was hard not to dwell on the fact that all that trembling, vivacious flesh was only separated from me by a thin layer of gauzy cotton.

A team of waiters and waitresses started covering our table with little saucers with tasty things on them, and we got down to the business of eating. Between bites we had our hands all over each other under the table.

As we began slowing down, Beth said, "I like this place. It's got a downstairs area for when it gets busy, by now it's probably empty. But it's not really deserted, sometimes the waiters walk through to get dishes and stuff."

"I see."

"But," she said with a wink. "The bathrooms down there are very nice. Each stall has a full door that goes to the floor, and its own sink and towels."

I was beginning to get the picture.

We finished our tapas and she said, "I'm going to go powder my nose. I want you to come into the ladies room in about two minutes, okay?"

"Is that safe?" I asked.

"Not really," she said with a mischievous smile.

"Okay, see you in two." And she got up and headed for the stairs.

In two minutes I stood up and asked a waiter where the bathrooms are. He apologetically explained that they are downstairs and nodded toward the stairway. "Okay," I said, "Thanks. I'll be right back." Because I didn't want them to think we were leaving without paying, and I didn't want them looking for us, you know what I mean?

I followed the wrought-iron handrails down a spiral staircase to an elegant second dining room. There were in fact a couple of waiters down there, folding napkins and sorting silverware. They did not acknowledge me. I spotted the restroom sign pointing around a corner, and quietly stepped into the ladies room.

Beth was peeking through a cracked-open door. "Come in," she whispered, and she shut the stall door behind me as I joined her. "See how nice this is?" It was nice and clean, with a sink and it was true, the door reached the floor for full privacy. There was nice decorative tile and lovely brass fixtures on the lavatory. Nice place.

Beth wasted no time throwing her arms around me and I kissed her and we began seriously making out. Almost as if it were acting on its own, my hand reached under her hemline. She took a half-step to spread her legs and I wedged my fingers between them, moving against her. "Oh yes," she said, "I like that." She spread her legs wider and I began to work on her seriously. I ran my fingers up and down her wet slit and then squeezed her clitoris kind of hard. She groaned and thrust her hips forward. "Oh my god yes," she said, "Do that." I massaged her clit roughly, pulling on it and pressing my fingertips into it, and I felt her arms tighten around my shoulders as an orgasm hit her.

"Oh my," she said, gasping for air. "This is just as good as I imagined." I did not remove my hand but continued to stimulate her with an urgent tempo, tapping fairly hard with my fingertip directly on the engorged tip of her glans clitoris, and she looked into my eyes and then melted into another violent orgasm. Her whole body was shaking and her eyes squinted closed as she clung to me to keep from falling. "Amazing," she moaned. "See why I like you?"

I hooked my middle finger up inside her vagina and pressed on the inner surface. Some women are sensitive there, and some are not. Beth is, it turned out -- you don't know if you don't try. I finger-fucked her standing in the stall and she humped my hand for twenty or thirty seconds then erupted again.

"This is perfect," she said. "Just exactly what I needed today."

I pressed on her clitoris again and swept my fingers side to side over it and she began groaning as a super-orgasm slowly emerged like a wild storm and swept over her. This one made her heart stop, made her go blind, her feet floated up from the floor, her bones turned to rubber. And it lasted forever, close to two minutes. Spit appeared at the corner of her mouth and dribbled onto her sundress and she moaned softly.

"Okay, okay," she said. "That was amazing. That's it. I'm done. Whew!"

She sat down on the toilet seat and reached for my belt buckle. Looking up at me she said, "You got me thinking last time about that skin treatment we were talking about. It's something I have dreamed about since before I got married, it sounds so dirty and erotic." She pushed my pants to my knees and took my cock in her mouth. "Give this to me," she said, "I am going to want a big load this time. Lots of cum." She began sucking on me like a starved woman, fucking me with her lips, jacking me off with her hand while she did it. She took me as deep as she could, making little gagging sounds but pushing bravely on.

This was not a leisurely, erotic blow job, for the pleasure of oral lovemaking. No, this was goal-directed. Given the risk, time was not our friend. What she wanted was a lot of spunk, and fast. It took two minutes, maybe three, and I whispered, "Holy shit, Beth, I'm about to cum already."

She doubled down, using her hand more and bringing her lips to the head of my cock. I felt the fluids mixing within my hips, the firehoses opening up, I was panting and moaning and at the precise moment I exploded she pulled her mouth back off me. Jacking me off expertly she pointed my cock at her nose just as I shot a first blast of cum. She closed her eyes and aimed my pulsing cock at her cheek for the next blast, then her forehead and the stuff dripped over her eyelids. Another shot streaked across her cheek. She kept pumping me, trying to get a little more, until the well ran dry. Then she rubbed my cock against her chin and cheeks, getting every drop of it.

I reached back to the sink to steady myself and she hopped up with a big smile on her face, wiping her eyes. "That was great!" she said. "Even better than I imagined." She turned to look at the mirror over the sink. "Look at that," she said, with a quiver of emotion in her voice. Her face was painted with streaks and gobs of creamy, translucent semen. There was some in her hair and some had dripped onto her wonderful cleavage. "This is amazing," she said. "I'd take a picture but I don't think that is a good idea. Look at me."

I did look at her, and had to agree she looked pretty outrageously cool that way, in her sexy sundress, splattered from her scalp to her tits with cum. She threw her arms around my neck and gave me a deep kiss and I could feel the stuff smearing on my cheeks. She let go and turned back toward the mirror and began to rub the lotion into her skin. "I love this stuff. I'd like to have a gallon of it, a tub full of jizz, would that be great, or what? Look," she said as the lotion soaked into her skin, "You can't even see it. But I can feel it."

I pulled up my pants and she finished massaging my semen luxuriously into her beautiful face like it was a regular skin treatment. I loved the idea of knowing it was there, even though I couldn't see it. I could feel the smudges of cum drying on my own face.

"Okay," she said decisively, reverting back to being a bossy bitch. "I've got to pay our bill and we need to get out of here. Here's the plan. You open the door and hurry over o the men's room, it's right next to this. I am going to go up and pay, and you wait a couple of minutes and then come up. Okay?"

Nobody was watching when I opened the door, and I made the switch easily. I washed my hands and checked my face but I couldn't see any cum so I didn't wash it -- I am a bit of a pervert my own self, you know; I peed and straightened up, then joined her upstairs. I walked her to her Mercedes in the parking garage, and she seemed happy strutting and jiggling beside me with her face invisibly covered with my drying cum.

As I walked back to my car I wondered if I was in over my head. I felt like this had been a kind of trial run, to see what she could get away with, and to test how far I would go with her -- think about it, I was more at risk than her, a man with his dick out in the lady's room. Beth was clearly a woman with a lively imagination, and fearless now that she had a partner in crime to join her in bringing her fantasies into the real world. Clearly this was going beyond what I had expected, which was to drop by and bang the occasional lonely housewife for an hour or two. Did I want to go along with her in bringing her dreams to life? In some ways, Beth and I were like two peas in a pod. She was willing to step outside her own comfort zone, and I could always choose not to come along.