It was 8:00 p.m. on a Tuesday. I'd just had a late supper and finished cleaning up the kitchen. I was ready to open a beer, settle down in front of the TV and maybe contemplate the pleasant reason why supper had been so late. That's when the doorbell rang.
An attractive young girl was standing on the porch. She flashed a businesslike smile at me and announced, "Hello. My name is Diane. I'm representing 'Evening Woods' cosmetics. May I speak to the lady of the house?" I was sure she'd practiced the smile and greeting in front of a mirror.
I looked her over carefully. Her body was slender and athletic. She was tall for a girl; about 5'10". Her blonde hair was cut short, stopping at mid-ear on the sides and collar-length in back. She was wearing sturdy but stylish black walking shoes, a navy-blue skirt ending near the top of her thighs, and a frilly white blouse with black buttons down the front. The neck of the blouse was cut in a narrow vee which ended between her breasts but modestly failed to show any real cleavage. The fabric was just sufficiently translucent to hint at the low-cut pink bra cupping Diane's small but beautifully formed breasts. She looked 19.
"There is no lady of the house," I replied. "I'm not married and my girlfriend doesn't live with me."
Diane's smile didn't waver. "Thank you for your time," she said as she prepared to turn away.
"You don't have to leave so fast," I protested. "My girlfriend's birthday is coming up soon. Maybe you can sell me some perfume or something to give her."
I ushered her into the living room and invited her to sit on the couch. I settled into the easy chair a few feet away and watched as she searched her big gray sample case. Most of the time, Diane kept her knees modestly together, but I caught a flash of white panties when she moved to retrieve a bottle from her case.
Diane asked me a few questions about my girlfriend. I had to make up the answers, since I didn't really have a steady girlfriend. If Diane realized I was describing what I imagined she'd be like in ten years, she gave no sign.
It was actually hard to concentrate on answering questions. I kept imagining what it would be like to peel Diane's athletic young body out of her business slut attire and take her right on the living room floor.
Her skirt rode up too high as she moved. I was trying to avoid obviously staring at her muscular thighs, but it was hard to look away and possibly miss another glimpse of those creamy white panties. The black buttons glistening against the white fabric of Diane's blouse were another distraction. They seemed to be begging me to unfasten them. When Diane took a deep breath, the sheer fabric tightened, briefly revealing the pink bra beneath it. The plunging neckline guided my eyes to an almost-invisibly tiny gold heart suspended on a slender gold chain between her breasts.
Even focusing on her face didn't help. Her bright red lips cried out for mine to press against them and her brilliant blue eyes seemed to be probing under my clothes.
When Diane took my hand to dab a perfume sample on my wrist, it was almost too much. I was glad I was wearing baggy sweat pants. After dutifully sniffing, I commented "That's a little too flowery. Angela usually wears something a little darker . . . more musky."
I got a nice view of thigh and a quick glimpse of cleavage as Diane bent over to get another bottle out of the case. "This is 'Silver Moonlight,'" she announced as she took my hand again, "one of Evening Woods' best sellers. It's subtle, but striking."
Somehow that smell evoked memories of retreating into a tiny grove of trees beside the track at the end of a 5K run with a former girlfriend. I REALLY like sweaty athletic girls.
"That's a great scent," I said. "It really seems like Angela."
"It's really popular," Diane replied. She paused briefly. "Some women put a little between their breasts to excite their men," she said, blushing slightly.
It was getting hard to breathe. "I bet they do," I said, trying to keep my eyes on Diane's face and failing. "I understand why it's called 'Evening Wood.'"
Diane stood up, looking slightly frightened. "It's 'Evening Woods,'" she responded. "Would you like to write me a check."
I ignored that. "Are you wearing it right now?" I asked as I advanced. Diane backed away until she ran into the wall. "Let's find out," I said as I pressed my face against her chest. She tried to push me away, so I pinned her hands against her sides and continued exploring her modest mounds.
"I can't smell it," I said after a few moments. "Guess I'll have to look closer." Diane tried to squirm away, but I held her thighs between my knees and pressed her against the wall. Somehow, a couple of the black buttons tore lose and fell to the floor as I unbuttoned her blouse and pulled it open. Her pale pink bra was cut so low it barely covered her nipples. It was the kind that fastened in front. When I released Diane's breasts, they didn't sag at all.
Diane's chest was heaving with passion. Her nipples were dark brown against her pale skin and were surprisingly large. They had a slightly salty taste. After a thorough examination, I remarked "I still can't smell that perfume, but you must be wearing it. It's sure giving me 'evening wood!'"
The pressure of my crotch against Diane's belly made my meaning unmistakably clear. She began sobbing. "Please don't do this," she cried. "Don't hurt me. Just let me go. I promise I won't tell." I silenced her by pressing my mouth against hers.
I pulled Diane away from the wall and gripped her buttocks to hold her body against mine. My exploring fingers discovered the zipper at the back of her skirt. An instant later, it fell to the floor, exposing those delicious white panties. The fabric was strong, but it only took an instant to reduce them to shredded ruins, leaving Diane's smooth pussy lips hidden only by a thin layer of silky blonde hair.
My hand slid over Diane's smooth pubic mound. She screamed briefly and her eyes misted with tears when my index finger suddenly invaded her snatch. "No! Please no! Stop! Stop please!" she moaned. She was incredibly hot and tight but, despite her protests, becoming slick and wet as I continued probing her snatch.
I sank to the floor, pulling her down with me. She tried to crawl away, but I rolled her onto her back and pinned her to the floor. Kneeling on top of her, I paused to admire the way she was spread helpless beneath me and to savor the anticipation of my impending victory. Then I pushed my sweat pants down around my knees and sank down, forcing myself between her legs.
Diane screamed as I penetrated her with one savage thrust. I was so aroused and the sensation of taking her so suddenly and violently was so pleasurable that I almost popped on that first stroke. But Diane, even impaled as she was, almost succeeded in squirming away from me. When I'd subdued her a few seconds later, the urgent desire to climax had receded. I pinned her arms against her sides with my elbows and gripped her breasts with my hands. Then I resumed ramming my swollen member into her defenseless cunt.
As I continued pounding her tight pussy, I noticed a gradual change occurring. Diane was still moving under me like a bucking bronco, but her pelvic motions were now synchronized with my cock thrusts. Her cunt was even tighter than it had been when I'd first entered her and it seemed to be caressing my pole, rather than resisting it. Her nipples were hard and swollen against the palms of my hands. She greeted each violent thrust with a scream, but the pain and fear had disappeared from her voice. Now she sounded . . . orgasmic.
To test my theory, I pressed my open lips against hers. Diane's tongue instantly darted into my mouth and began lashing my own tongue. I released her arms and she responded by reaching up to grip my shoulders with both hands, pressing her breasts against my chest.
I slid my hands down to grip her buttocks and rose to a kneeling position, keeping her impaled on my throbbing prick. She was now doing most of the work, bouncing on my tool. Her mouth slipped away from mine and she resumed screaming. They were definitely orgasmic screams; one each time she hit bottom.
