The Cuc

A very good blowjob

Another boring dinner with a potential client and his wife. Another mediocre restaurant; not

too

cheap, but definitely not expensive. Just... inoffensive. Meant to impress me without making too much of a dent in the expense report. I'm sure it succeeded at the latter, but it failed at the former.

When times are good, my services sell themselves. When the economy tanks, on the other hand, I have to have dinner with spineless men who can't make decisions, and try to convince them to take a chance on me. Men who are constantly in fear of spending their money unwisely, and pissing off their superiors. But he's been instructed to take me out, and is afraid of saying no, so here we are.

This particular man is incredibly boring, but, as further proof that the world is unfair, his wife is smoking hot. Long brown hair, a body that has

clearly

never borne children, and I suspect she'd have a beautiful smile, but so far I haven't seen it. I've barely even seen her eyes, since she keeps them downcast at all times. The one time she did look me in the eye, however, over the rim of her wineglass, it sent a tingle down my spine. It wasn't brazenness, exactly, but there was a confidence in that look that was even sexier than her cleavage.

So, because I'm not a

total

idiot, I'm avoiding any further eye contact with her, and trying to pretend I'm listening to her boring husband. It's actually not that hard, to be frank, because I'm usually a step ahead of him: whatever he starts talking about I'm always more knowledgeable than he is, so it's easy to figure out where the conversation is going to go.

I'm not even trying to get his business anymore, really, because I know it's a non-starter. He doesn't have the budget. So all I want from this evening is to avoid burning any bridges, so that the next time he needs someone like me he'll have a good impression.

His wife is as bored as I am, but she's not hiding it as well. It would be obvious to him, too, if he cared, but I don't think he does. He views this as part of her job: he wines and dines contractors -- I'm

sure

he thinks of it that way -- and she, as his wife, comes along for the ride, looking pretty.

Just after we order dessert I excuse myself to go to the bathroom. I don't have to go, I just want a moment to myself. I'll check my email or something, to reset my brain, then get back to my boring dinner. But then I hear the door open behind me, and resign myself to the fact that my moment alone is not meant to be. "Oh well," I think to myself, "I'll be home soon enough." And then I look in the mirror, and for the second time I lock eyes with my potential client's wife. It's clear she didn't come in by accident, she's here for me.

I turn to face her, but make no further move. It's her show, I'll let her decide how this plays out. Without a word she comes forward to kneel before me, unzips my pants, and exposes my cock, already semi-hard. She takes a moment to admire what she sees, and then locks eyes with mine as she smiles and licks up the slit of my cock head. It's the first time I've seen her smile, and it makes my cock twitch. But as soon as she finishes that initial lick, she's all business. She forgets about me, and the bathroom, and everything else. The only thing in her world right now is my cock.

She knows what she's doing, too. She sucks me like she's been doing it all her life. More importantly, she sucks me like she

loves

it. The way she pulls me down her throat, and licks and suckles the head, and even works the shaft, in this moment she perfectly embodies the term "cock worship." I know it won't take long for her to make me cum, and I want her to swallow it all.

And then I remember:

she didn't lock the door behind her

. This is not a girl who makes mistakes, this is

clearly

not her first men's room blowjob, and yet she wasn't worried about someone coming in. And that tells me something.

So far I've been letting her have her way. She's clearly enjoying herself, and she's one of the few women I've met who's actually good at this, so I've been fine letting her do her thing. But when I'm ready to cum I take control back: I surprise her by taking her by the hair and pulling her head back, and with the other hand I give myself a final couple of strokes before letting my cum rain down on her face and hair.

At first she seems disappointed that she can't swallow my cum, but then she realizes what I'm

really

doing, and relaxes and smiles while I coat her face. She's so content to have cum on her skin that she's practically purring. But she doesn't forget her place: as soon as I'm done, she looks me in the eye again while she cleans me off with her tongue.

Finally, when she's convinced I'm clean enough, she stands up. I straighten up while she wets down some paper towels to clean off her face. I glance in the mirror to make sure my tie is straight, and then watch her. One more time she looks me in the eye as she thoroughly cleans her face... but leaves a thick line of cum running along the top of her head on her scalp. She turns back to the mirror to adjust her lipstick, and turns her head from side to side and up and down a few times to ensure she hasn't missed anything -- even straightening a loose hair or two -- while clearly leaving behind my cum. It's one of the sexiest things I've seen in awhile.

We both go back to the table at the same time. We're past playing games, like leaving a minute or two between us. We just go back to the table together.

"I got you the creme caramel," he says to her. "It's what you like, right?"

"Mm hmm," she responds, playing the docile wife again, and as she responds she nods her head slightly, giving him a perfect view of my cum in her hair.

He looks at her head, for a moment, and then looks at me. He looks surprised... but not shocked. I can see, in that moment, that my intuition has been correct: she has been cheating on him, yes, but more importantly: he knows.

When we first got here he thought he had the power, because he thought he was interviewing me for a job. I knew the truth: that we were equals, and I was interviewing him as much as he was interviewing me. But regardless of how things might have started, they've now changed.

"What good is dessert without a drink?" I ask. "Let's order some scotch."

"I don't think I'm allowed to expense alcohol," he mumbles.

"Oh," I respond, signalling the waitress, "I'm sure you can find a way."

The alley

Luckily the restaurant has good scotch; maybe it's not as bad as I thought. She joins me in a drink, which allows me the pleasure of "teaching" her how to drink scotch properly. (There's no special trick to it, really, but it's always fun to teach a girl anything.) He, meanwhile, has water, as if he's psychologically distancing himself from the violence we're doing to his expense report.

After dessert -- and the pleasure of watching him pretend to be nonchalant as he pays the bill, including the drinks -- it's time to go. Personally, I'm ready to go back to my hotel and veg out with a tablet and Netflix, but she has other ideas.

"Why don't we all go back to the house for drinks?" she asks him. The suggestion surprises the hell out of me, to say nothing of him. He can't even maintain eye contact with her as he tries to formulate a response; his gaze keeps drifting back to the top of her head, in spite of himself. The lovely line of semen along her scalp has started to dry and crack. It's still sexy, but with every minute that passes it's getting more...

dirty.

In the space of thirty minutes she has gone from the demure woman sharing a meal with us, to the cock-hungry girl kneeling in front of me in the men's room, to the cum slut sitting with us now, sipping contentedly at her drink, secretly thrilled with the feeling of her semen-caked hair.

I don't know what the night has in store, but I'm interested in finding out.

"I'd love to," I say, overriding his protestations. "Do you live far?"

By all rights I should be asking her, but I'm looking at him. He gets the message.

"No," he responds resignedly, "it's not far."

"We can take our car," she adds helpfully.

"S-Sure," he stammers. "It's just down the street in the parking lot." And that gives me an idea.

"That's a great idea," I respond. "Why don't you go and grab the car, and come pick us up from the alley behind the restaurant?"

"It's just down the street," he says. "Just a two minute walk."

"I understand," I say, with forced patience, "but I still think it would be best for

you

to get the car, and come

back

for us."

"Are you-"

"Yes. I'm sure."

So he gets up and heads out the front door. And I point her to the back. She leads the way out, and luckily the alley is empty. I come up close behind her, and growl in her ear, "Take them off."

There's not a moment of hesitation, she knows what I mean. She leans forward and rests one hand against the dumpster while the other removes her panties. Without even turning around she hands them to me over her shoulder, but I take them and immediately stuff them into her mouth. "Mmm," she moans lightly. From the brief moment her panties were in my hand, I could tell that they were damp. She probably hasn't had this much fun in weeks.

Without much ado, I free my cock and start to rub the head against her pussy lips. She has both hands on the dumpster now, in anticipation. I grab her hips and pull her back against me as I thrust into her. With one plunge I'm in her up to my balls. She gasps; I don't know if it's pain, pleasure, or both -- and I don't care.

I start to move in and out of her, using her hips to move her as I wish. Before long I'm fucking her hard. I'm not interested in endurance; we only have a few minutes anyway. I just want to deposit my seed in my fuck-toy.

And after a few minutes, I do: pulling her against me, the head of my cock as deep in her as it will go, I unload into her, thrusting deep with each burst. For good measure, I slap her bare ass, and she gasps in surprised pleasure.

I finally pull out of her and zip myself back into my pants. She does that sexy wriggle that women do when they have to pull their tight dresses back down. With a mischievous glint in her eye she takes her panties out of her mouth and makes to hand them to me. "Throw them in the dumpster," I say. "You don't need them anymore." She does, just as her husband pulls up in the car.

As we walk over, I can tell she's a bit unsteady on her legs. Frankly, it's flattering.

I hold the door open for her, and then get in the back.

Drinks at the house

When we get to the house, she and I get out of the car first, while he's a beat behind us. The townhouse has a half dozen steps leading up to the front door, and as we walk up, I slide a hand over to move her dress up and squeeze her bare ass. With him behind and below us, he sees not only my familiarity with his wife's ass, but staring directly into her bare pussy tells him better than words that she's discarded her panties somewhere along the way. With any luck, there might even be some cum leaking down the inside of her thigh, leaving him no room for doubt.

Inside, we congregate in their modern kitchen, around the island.

"What do you feel like?" he asks, gamely trying to pretend everything is normal.

"Shall we continue with the scotch?" I ask.

"I haven't got scotch," he replies, "but I've got some good rye. Crown Royal Blue."

"Fair enough," I say. "Make it neat."

"How about you, dear?" he says to her.

"The same," she says, "on ice."

He mixes the drinks, and for a few minutes, as we sip the whiskey, it almost starts to seem like any gathering of friends or acquaintances. He's on one side of the island, his wife and I are on the other, and we're talking about his golf game -- of all things! -- when I casually reach up behind her to unzip her dress.

As it pools on the floor around her feet, leaving her stark naked, he gapes across the island at us. He knows I've already fucked her, probably twice, but he can't comprehend what he's seeing now. She, meanwhile, takes another sip from her drink. She's obviously comfortable in her own skin.

"Why don't you go sit on that table?" I ask her, nodding toward the little two-seater breakfast table in the corner and lightly clapping her on the ass to send her on her way. "And maybe you should go somewhere comfortable to wait," I tell him, as I unzip and walk toward her, "because we're going to be a while."

I lean in to kiss her, and she hungrily kisses me back as I slide into her. I don't know if this table will be able to take it, but it's not high on my list of worries.

My first hint that he's still in the room comes when he asks his next question: "Do you honestly expect me to just sit by while you violate all of my wife's holes?"

I stop moving inside her, and break off the kiss. "Why that's a good idea!" I say. I am looking her in the eye, so I see the emotions passing through them as easily as if she were speaking out loud: confusion (what does he mean by that?); shock (he

can't

mean

that!

); and finally apprehension (oh shit, I think he

does

, but nobody has ever fucked me there before!).

I pull out of her, and then grab her hips to slide her off the table. I turn her around and bend her over, and start to nuzzle her pucker hole with the head of my cock. It occurs to me, as I prepare to enter her, that this might have been his form of revenge on her: "if you're going to be so brazen with your cheating, I'll have your asshole punished," is what he was probably thinking. What he doesn't yet realize is that sitting in the living room while a stranger fucks his wife's ass over the kitchen table will be much harder on him than it will be on her.

And I assume the living room is his destination; after his parting shot he left the room. But I no longer care about him. I'm consumed with the beautiful, whimpering woman before me, whose asshole is currently puckering with all its might, in a vain attempt to keep my cock out.

"Please," she whispers, "I've never had anyone in there before. Please go easy."

"No worries," I murmur, rubbing my cock back and forth over her entrance, "once the head is in, the rest is easy. All you need to do is relax. It'll hurt... and then it won't." That might not be 100% true, every woman is different, but I'm trying to help her to calm down.

Back and forth I move, over and over, occasionally putting some pressure on to see if she's ready to receive me, and all the while she's breathing shallowly, mentally preparing herself for the invasion. And suddenly I'm in.

"Oh!" she cries, in pain and surprise, and if he's listening from the living room he probably thinks he's got his revenge. If so, the next thing she says should clue him in that he's miscalculated. "More!" she says breathlessly, "Give me more!" and I start sliding into her, feeding in a bit more with each thrust, until I'm all the way in.

As I continue to fuck her, she's getting more and more vocal. "It feels so... Fuck! It feels so big! Oh shit... oh shit it feels so BIG! I've never felt so full!" I don't know how much is coming from her pleasure and how much is just for her husband to overhear from the living room, but frankly I don't care. Every man loves hearing these kinds of noises from a sexy woman, and I'm not averse to hearing about how huge my cock is. If I hadn't already cum twice, all of this stimulation would make it a thirty second job, but I

did

already cum twice, so I'm going to be a while.

She reaches down with a free hand to stimulate her clit, and before too long she brings herself to a loud orgasm -- and then, a few seconds later, another one. Just as she seems like she's going to start to come down, I grab her hair and give it a good yank, and use the other hand to give her a hard slap on the ass. It sends her even higher. She practically shrieks, she's cumming so hard.

Now that I've taken my hands off of her hips I need to get leverage in a different way, so I keep hold of her hair, and use it to pull her back against me as I fuck her. My other hand makes itself useful in little ways, reaching up to tweak her nipple or running tenderly down the soft skin of her back, or smacking her ass. Her own hand never leaves her clit, and from time to time I feel another orgasm wracking her body.

When I'm finally ready I pull her hair back to the point where she's almost upright, grab her breast, and growl into her ear, "take it, slut." And I unload in her, as she has another orgasm of her own.

When I'm done I let her hair go, and she collapses onto the table, panting. I'm still in her ass, and I'm kind of breathing heavily myself.

I finally pull out of her -- she lets out the tiniest moan at the new empty feeling -- and ask her where they keep the dishcloths. "Right drawer," she says, "second from the bottom." I find one and wet it at the sink, so I can clean the ass off my cock.

When I'm done I come back over to the table, where she's finally starting to get up. As she does, I notice a small pool of liquid on it, and much larger pool on the floor under the spot where I'd had her. "I squirted," she whispers, on unsteady legs. "I've never squirted before!"

I lean over and kiss her behind the ear. "Why don't you go get cleaned up," I suggest, "and then come join us in the living room."

She gives me a look that can only be described as adoration, and kisses me lightly on the lips. "OK," is all she says, as she turns to what I assume is the direction of the bedroom.

A polite conversation between adults

I grab my unfinished drink on my way back to the living room, then at the last minute I grab the bottle as well. He might need to have his drink refreshed.

I find him at the couch. He looks kind of numb, and, as expected, his glass is empty. "Here," I say, as I pour him a healthy belt of rye. "You look like you could use it." I almost laugh when he says thanks, it's such a surreal moment, but I keep a straight face.

I sit in the chair opposite, and sip my drink.

"We can't have children," he eventually says. "Doctor says it's my fault. She's fine. So we decided to get a donor. Except... Except she said she prefers 'the natural way.' Next thing I know, she's having sex with all kinds of men.

All

kinds. Sometimes she comes home late and asks me to... clean her. And I do it. I clean her. With my... you know... with my tongue." He takes a sip of his drink, with a shudder. In his mind, I think he's tasting the cum of a dozen men. He might also be doing the math, and wondering to himself: if that many men have cum inside his wife, why isn't she pregnant yet? (I also wonder what he means by "all kinds," and whether he's a racist, but it's not important at this particular moment.)

When she comes in the room I'm pleased to see that she's still naked. Her skin has a pink, freshly scrubbed look, and there's a subtle, pleasant scent from whatever body scrub she uses.

She hesitates at the door, unsure where to sit, and I nod down at the floor beside my chair. She immediately comes and virasanas by my side, and I reach up and rest my hand on the back of her neck.

I turn my attention back to him. "So you don't think you're looking for anyone right now, but maybe in the spring?" I ask.

"What?" he asks, trying to regain the conversation.

"The consulting position," I remind him. "You said you don't need anyone until the spring?"

"I... er... yes. That's right. Unless you think I should get someone... uh... sooner?"

"It's your division," I say, a smile on my face, "you'd know better than I do what you need."

"Uh, yes. Yes, you're right. Well... I'll look at the staffing needs again when I go in on Monday."