This is a story about a FANTASY. The fictional characters in my stories are trained and experienced in acts of FANTASY - don't try to do what they do - someone could get hurt.
If you think you know somebody who resembles any of the characters here, congratulations, but you're wrong - any similarity between the characters in this story and any real person is purely coincidental, since all of these characters are figments of my imagination.
This is my story, not yours. Don't sell it or put it on a pay site. You can keep it and/or give it away with all of this information intact, but if you make money off of it without my permission, you're breaking the law and pissing me off.
Yes, I was staring, I made no effort to hide it, either. This was exactly the reason I chose this apartment complex instead of one filled with people my age. There were a number of young college students in residence, many of them female, and most quite lovely to my eyes.
Then there were the guys. No, I wasn't checking out the men, but on weekends many of them were likely to have girlfriends over, and the girlfriends only added to my viewing pleasure.
So, I spent a lot of time by the pool, in the shade of an umbrella, staring. If one of the girls made eye contact, I smiled, but I didn't try to hit on them. I knew my chances were somewhere between slim and none, but damn they were easy on my old eyes!
Every once in a while, I would get a smile in return. Mostly, I got that blank, 'you're not there' stare, meaning; 'How dare an old perv like you look at a sweet young hottie like me?!'
I didn't care. I wasn't on the make and I wasn't breaking any laws. I was just looking for inspiration.
See, I'm a writer. I write Science Fiction books. I do well enough that I don't have to worry too much about money, and I love the conventions and book tours. Problem was, lately, I had been struggling, looking for the next BIG IDEA. Now I know what you're thinking: what do sexy young women have to do with inspiration for a Sci-Fi writer?
Well, to tell the truth, I'm not sure, but I've found that when I get blocked like this, a little time around nubile young nymphets clears my mind, and the ideas just - come.
At least, they had in the past, and I was sure they would again, so I sat by the pool, tapping away at my computer, and ogling the youngsters.
At the moment, trouble was brewing over on the other side of the pool. There were about five young ladies gathered together, talking in low voices. From the furtive glances they occasionally shot my way, it was pretty clear what the topic of discussion was. I was about to be confronted for being the perv that I am.
True, I could have just picked up my laptop and gone back to the apartment, but that would only have sent them to the landlord, or worse, the cops. So I sat, drank some water, and watched them come. The chosen spokesperson was a petite, dark haired young lady, one of whose parents must have been Asian. When the group stopped about ten feet away, she kept coming until she was standing between me and the afternoon sun.
"Excuse me, young lady," I said, before she could decide how to begin. "I can see you've got something on your mind, but would you mind moving around here to say it? I don't like squinting into the sun."
I was more concerned with the fact that, with the sun behind her, I could only see her silhouette. Not that it wasn't a lovely silhouette, but I preferred to see the whole package, and not squint into the sun while looking.
"You keep staring at us," the young lady accused, obligingly moving to the indicated position, thus giving me a better chance to stare at her. "What is your problem?"
"My problem?" I repeated. "My problem, miss, is that I'm old enough to be father to most of you young ladies, so it would be inappropriate of me to hit on you, but you are all so lovely that I can't help but drink in your beauty."
I don't know what response she was expecting, but it apparently wasn't that one.
"Why us?" she finally asked. "Why don't you go find some women your age to ogle?"
"Have you seen what most of the women my age look like?" I asked, and in spite of herself, she giggled a little. "I'm sorry, miss. I don't mean any harm. I'm strictly an eyes only kind of pervert. I wouldn't even attempt to touch one of you without a very clear sign that such an advance would be welcomed. Now, let's see a show of hands from everyone who thinks that's going to happen any time soon..."
The other girls had moved closer so they could hear what was being said, and I addressed the last sentence to them. It got a round of titters, as expected, but it also lightened the mood a little bit.
"Yeah, the story of my life," I sighed theatrically, then; "Look, girls, you're all beautiful young women, and unless you're going to wear burkas or something, it's hard NOT to stare. I don't mean to be impolite, but watching you helps clear my mind so that I can get back to writing."
"Writing?" the spokesgirl asked.
I nodded. "For money, I write Science Fiction books. For fun, I occasionally write something really nasty to post on the web."
Their eyes kind of glazed over when I said 'Science Fiction' but that last sentence perked them right up again.
"Nasty?" one of the girls in the crowd asked in a hushed voice.
"Yep," I answered, "very nasty."
"Do you write about us?" the spokesgirl asked angrily.
"Of course not," I answered, "you're just my inspiration. I don't even know your names."
There was a whispered conference, close enough that I could have eavesdropped if I cared to, then the tall blonde asked shyly, "Can we see some of your stories?"
"Oh sure!" I answered, deliberately misunderstanding. I reached into my computer bag and brought out a copy of my latest Sci-fi book. "You can actually pick these up in any bookstore."
"Not those stories!" the blonde said, disgustedly.
Behind her, the shy brunette with the glasses said, "Hey, I've read that! It's pretty good!"
I gave the brunette a private smile and a wink, then turned back to the blonde as the brunette blushed.
"I don't know if I can show you the other kind," I said. "I think you have to be eighteen in this state to read that kind of thing. I wouldn't want to get in trouble."
"We're over eighteen," the blonde insisted, and got a chorus of nods from her friends.
"I don't know, girls," I said skeptically. "I think I'd have to see some ID, at least."
The blonde immediately turned to the bespectacled brunette and dispatched her to the other side of the pool to retrieve purses. I waited, smiling. If I really had been a sexual predator ... But I wasn't, and when the brunette arrived with the purses, and they all started digging for ID, I let them have it, before they got a chance to show me stuff I shouldn't know.
"You girls go to UCSD, right?"
A chorus of "Uh huh"s answered me.
"Well for smart girls, you sure are acting stupid," I told them, as the IDs started to appear. "Look at the front of your ID. What do you see besides the picture and the ID number?"
They looked and turned back to me with puzzled expressions.
"Your names and addresses are on there, dummies!" I almost shouted at them. "If I really was a sexual predator, you might as well give me the keys to your homes!"
There were gasps of shock and the cards quickly went back into their purses.
"Don't EVER show those to anyone who doesn't have a legal right to ask for them," I scolded in my best fatherly voice. Shaking my head, I continued, "Sheesh! You girls are easy! Look, if you really want to read my adult stories, you can find them at this URL..."
I gave them the URL to my StoriesOnline account, written on a scrap of paper.
"Uh, thanks, Mr. Hooper," the brunette with the glasses said. She was as pretty as the others, but from her demeanor, I guessed that she wasn't really part of their crowd. Probably a roommate to one of the others. "Um, if I, I mean, that is, could you, um sign my copy of your book?"
I took the copy that I had shown them earlier, and opened the front cover. Smiling, I said, "Why don't I just sign this one and give it to you? I get a few for free, and I've got no one else to give them to."
"Oh! Well. If you think ... I mean, sure!"
"Who shall I write this for?" I asked, pen poised over the page.
"Oh, um, Melissa. Melissa Drummond."
I have a number of stock dedications I use for such situations and I wrote one of them to Melissa without even thinking about it.
"Oh, thank you, Mr. Hooper!" she gushed, when I handed her the signed copy. The other girls had gone off with the scrap of paper I had given them, leaving Melissa with me.
"You're quite welcome, Melissa," I smiled, then took a flyer, "You're not really one of that group, are you?"
"Well, no, not really," she answered. "Candy, the blonde girl, is my roommate, and she kind of looks out for me, but I don't really fit in. They're all business majors, and I'm studying Environmental Science."
"I thought so," I smiled. "You'd better go join them before they start thinking you're weird for hanging out with the old guy."
She shrugged her slender shoulders. "They already think I'm weird. Would you mind if I asked you a couple of questions about your book?"
"Of course not," I pushed another chair away from the table to give her room. "I don't mind talking about my work, but I'd much rather talk about you."
She blushed. I didn't know there were still girls who could blush, but she did, for the second time.
"I just wanted to ask where you got the information for the main character's statements in Chapter 13, where he talks about the environment on Earth in the twenty-first century."
"I do most of my research on the web," I told her, "but I think I may have gotten that information from discussions with a friend of mine who's a professor over at the University, why?"
"Was that Professor Schwartzmann?" she asked.
"Why yes," I answered. "Yes it was."
"I thought that sounded a lot like what he taught us last semester. I..."
Whatever she was about to say was cut off when Candy called from the other side of the pool, "Hey Melissa! Come on! I forgot my key!"
She gave me an apologetic 'I've got to go' look and stood to join her friends.
Melissa had gotten about three steps away, and I was really enjoying the way her butt jiggled in her skimpy bikini, when she stopped and looked back over her shoulder.
"By the way, Mr. Hooper," she said. "I don't mind if you stare."
"That's Harper, Melissa. Greg Harper. Tom Hooper is my nom de plume," I smiled my appreciation of her invitation, "and you can walk away from me anytime, if you'll promise to come back."
She laughed a little and tossed her hair as she turned away again. Her hips had just a little extra sway to them as she navigated to the other side of the pool. Nothing slutty or obvious - just a little show for my eyes alone. I loved it.
I didn't see the girls again that day, but it wasn't long after I had staked my claim to my accustomed spot the next day, when Candy, Melissa's roommate, accosted me, a stack of laser-printed sheets in her hands.
She was hesitant and completely unsure of herself, so I tried to help her out.
"Candy, isn't it?" I asked. "Melissa's roommate?"
"Yeah," she answered. "Um ... I don't know if I should even be talking to you about this, but..."
That was as far as she got before she lost her nerve again. I pushed a chair away from the table and invited her to sit. She dropped the stack of papers on the table. The top one was one of my SOL stories, so I guessed that the others were, too.
"Did you like those?" I asked, nodding at the papers.
"Oh!" Candy seemed startled and a little embarrassed. "Uh, yeah, actually. That's, um, kinda what I wanted to talk to you about."
"Fire away," I said, enjoying the flushed, lightly freckled cleavage exposed by her top.
"Have you actually done all the stuff in these stories, Mr. Harper?" she asked, her face getting even redder.
I studied her for a moment, trying to figure out where she was going with this. A fruitless study, to be sure, but a lovely one.
"That's kind of a personal question, don't you think?" I asked.
"Oh! Uh, sorry!" Her eyes were everywhere but on me, which was okay, since it gave me even more freedom to ogle the lovely blonde.
"I know you said you don't write about the girls you see here," she said, and suddenly, her eyes were focussed on me like lasers, "but would you, if someone gave you permission?"
Well! That was delightfully unexpected!
"Are we talking about real life experience, Candy, or fiction starring a real person?"
"Um, the second one, I think," she said, again unable to meet my gaze. "I mean, I got thinking about 'what if it was me in one of those stories?' and I just got, like, so hot!"
"Have you ever experienced anything like what happens in those stories, Candy?"
She shrugged, looking embarrassed. "I've, like, done it with my boyfriend," she said, "but it was just, you know, vanilla. I've never even done, like, anal. I kinda figured if you were to write a story about me doing those things, I could, maybe, show it to him and he'd like get some ideas, you know?"
"And what if it backfires, Candy?" I asked soberly. "What if your boyfriend starts thinking you're a slut for wanting to do things like that?"
Candy stared at me as if I had slapped her before answering, "Oh! I never thought about that! Um, I'll, uh talk to you later."
With that, she got up and hurried off, her butt jiggling nicely under her swimsuit. Melissa was just arriving as she left.
Melissa watched her roommate leave, then asked, "She didn't actually ask you to write a story about her, did she?"
I nodded, saying, "Yeah, but she hadn't really thought it all the way through. What can I do for you, young lady?"
I greeted Melissa with an obvious head-to-toe scan of her lovely face and figure.
She blushed, stuck her hip out a bit further, and used one hand to pull some of her lustrous brown hair forward to cover part of her face, while giving me an enticing look.
"Well, you should probably take a good look, Mr. Harper," she said, sadly. "It looks like I'm going to have to drop out of school. The money's run out, and even with my parents co-signing, I couldn't get a loan approved, and I still haven't had any luck finding a job, so I guess I'm going to have to go back home."
"Well, why didn't you say something?" I asked. "Can you type? Of course you can type. Nobody gets very far in college these days who can't. Hmm, Environmental Science, you must be pretty good at math..."
She answered my questioning gaze with a nod. "It's not my favorite thing, but yeah, I get by."
"You know how to balance a checkbook? Make appointments and see that they're kept?"
She nodded, clearly puzzled, and a little excited. "I can do those things. Do you know somebody who's hiring?"
"I do indeed," I smiled smugly, "I happen to know a writer who is in dire need of a personal assistant."
"Really?" she could barely contain herself. "When can I meet him, or her?"
"You already have!" I replied.
"You mean you... ?"
"Yep! Me. Before you say anything, however," I said, "can you cook and keep a reasonably clean living space?"
"Yes," she answered, a bit more cautiously. "I used to cook a lot when Mom had to work late, and I did more of the housework than she did."
"Okay," I said, "how do feel about sharing an apartment with an old lecher?"
"You're not that old!" she said, then asked, "Would I have my own room?"
"Of course," I answered, "with a lock that locks from the inside."
"And does this job include benefits?"
"I can provide life and health insurance, as well as tuition assistance," I answered, but she was shaking her head.
"I meant, will you be expecting benefits?"
"I do hope you won't mind if I continue to enjoy the sight of you," I told her, "because, that's something I simply will not be able to control. Beyond that, as your employer, I would be liable for sexual harassment charges if I made unwanted advances, so that I will not do."
She gazed at me for a long moment, then began negotiating salary. The upshot of the whole discussion was that we came to an agreement with which she seemed very pleased. I didn't negotiate too hard. I really had been looking for an assistant, and she was the best candidate to come along who was willing to move in with me and keep house, too.
Candy was a little shocked when we packed up Melissa's things to move them to my apartment. Melissa was a little shocked when, with her two suitcases and her bicycle loaded onto the elevator, I inserted my key and took the elevator up to my apartment in the penthouse. It's really quite a spacious apartment, and the deck and Jacuzzi help make the outside of it habitable, as well. There were no buildings within a couple of miles that were higher than ours, so I had my privacy when I wanted it.
I gave Melissa her choice of bedrooms. I didn't really need four, but they came with the place, so since I had the master bedroom, she had three others to choose from. They were all on the other side of the apartment from mine, and she simply took the larger one on the ocean side of the building - the one with the great view.
Once we got her moved in, I showed her my study and my bedroom.
"You should know that I keep pornographic material in both of these rooms, and if I'm in either of them with the door closed, if you come in, you risk seeing me beating off, or, if I'm lucky, having sex with someone. I'm not going to tell you not to come in if you need to, but be warned that you might see things you're not prepared for. Also, if the pornographic material bothers you, I will need a day's notice before you clean those rooms to get it put away. Telling me your cleaning schedule is not sufficient. I can't keep track of my own schedule much less yours, so tell me each time you're going to clean them if you don't want to be exposed to that stuff."
"I don't care about that, Mr. Harper," Melissa replied, then gave me a speculative look. "Will you be thinking about me when you're masturbating?"
"Thanksgiving only comes once a year for a reason," I told her. "If we ate like that all year, there'd be nothing to look forward to on Thanksgiving, so while you will, on occasion, star in my fantasies, I think I will save the best for special occasions."
"Good!" she smiled.
I gave her a long, hard look. "I think you and I are going to get along famously, but be very careful, okay? Comments like that skirt very close to something that could be considered an invitation to do more than look."
"I'm sorry," she said. "That was not my intention, but I do like the way you look at me, and it excites me to think about you thinking about me while you're, you know..."
"Okay," I smiled. "As long as we understand each other."
"Speaking of which," she said, "do you have a dress code you would like me to follow?"
"As far as I'm concerned," I answered, "you can walk around here nude or any other way that suits you as long as I don't have visitors. When I do have visitors, I expect a modicum of decorum in your dress and in your manner. You are not a servant, but as my assistant you need to treat my guests with respect."
We discussed study time, allowances for extra study near exam time, dates with the boyfriend, etc. and in the end, Melissa went to her room and changed into a bikini, and began cleaning house. The apartment was sorely in need of it, and I retired to my study to work.
This arrangement worked out much better than I ever expected. Melissa was respectful of my work time and I, in turn, gave her plenty of leeway around schoolwork and her social life. She kept the apartment spotless, and she really seemed to enjoy cooking for me. My publisher appreciated the fact that I began making it to appointments on time, as well. Melissa did so well handling my finances, that I fired my accountant. I think he was stealing from me, anyway.
Melissa walked in on me on more than one occasion when I was busy at my favorite pastime. On those occasions, she would look, smile, and go on about her business, making sure I got a good look at her in the process. She returned the favor now and then by allowing me to come upon her watching one of my racier DVDs and jilling off in one of the main rooms. She was exquisitely beautiful at the moment of orgasm, and made me wish I was an artist instead of a writer.
When we weren't working, I found Melissa to be a pleasant companion and cycling partner. I cycle for exercise because running is too hard on my joints, and though she was in much better shape than I, Melissa would ride with me until my ride was done, then continue on with her more strenuous workout. I found that my young assistant did think for herself, and I had to watch myself in conversation with her, lest I get caught being sloppy in my own thought processes. It was quite stimulating, and I felt more invigorated with Melissa around than I had in years.
After about two months, she grew comfortable enough with me, and my ogling of her, to start going topless around the apartment when we were alone. I was quick to let her know how much I appreciated that, especially since her breasts were beautifully shaped, and just the right size. Not tiny, but just big enough to have that delicate, upturned appearance with no sag underneath. Her nipples were mouthwateringly beautiful, as well - about a quarter inch long, pink, and slenderly cylindrical, surrounded by small, pale pink areolae...
Soon after Melissa started going topless, I went to Thailand to do some research. I offered to take her, but mid-terms were coming and she needed to concentrate on schoolwork. While I was there, of course, I made the acquaintance of some of the lovely Thai beauties. One of them came to bed one night, wearing a golden chain attached by two small nooses to her brown nipples. From the chain was suspended several ounces of golden filigree that made her nudity seem even more exotic. Naturally, I had to know where she got that little piece of jewelry. The next day, I went to see the jeweler and commissioned an even finer piece to take home with me.
When I walked into the apartment, Melissa, wearing nothing but a skimpy panty, threw herself at me, embracing me deliciously to welcome me home. She didn't say so, but from the length and ardor of her embrace, I gathered that she had missed me. Well, she wasn't alone.
After dinner that evening, as we sat on the deck sipping port and nibbling on cheese from a platter that she had prepared, I gave her the box I had brought back with me from Thailand.
"Before you open this," I told her, "I want to be sure you take it in the spirit in which it is intended. Your presence here, and your willingness to allow these old eyes to drink of your beauty, has enriched my life considerably, so I thought I would see if I could enrich yours as well..."
So saying, I opened the box to reveal the golden filigreed jewelry suspended from a chain and embedded here and there with rubies, emeralds, and diamonds, in the shape of a butterfly. It was worth a small fortune, but then, so was she.
"It's beautiful!" Melissa breathed, then she noticed the loops on the ends of the chain instead of the catch one would expect on a necklace, "but how... ?"
"It's not a necklace or a bracelet," I told her. "May I?"
At her nod, I lifted the piece from the velvet lining of the box, and held the loops near her nipples, asking permission with my eyes before continuing.
My young assistant drew a sharp breath as she realized how the thing attached, then raised her eyes to mine and nodded slowly.
With trembling fingers, I gently slipped the loop over her right nipple, trying not to touch the flesh as I slid the little ring upward to snug it into place. Melissa's chest was rising and falling rapidly, and when I looked up, her eyes were closed and her mouth was half open.
"Shall I continue?" I asked softly.
Her small, pink tongue flicked out to moisten dry lips and her eyes remained closed as she nodded.
My hands were shaking even more as I placed the loop over her left nipple and tightened it - not too tight.
When I released the weight of it, the piece tugged at her nipples, drawing a gasp from the young lady, but her breasts, as I had suspected, were firm enough to support its weight.
"Keep your eyes closed," I whispered in her ear as I helped her stand and guided her to the mirror near the entry door. "Now, look."
"Oh my God!" Melissa exclaimed as she saw her reflection. "I - it - it's beautiful!"
"You look ravishing any time, my dear," I told her, my hands still enjoying the feel of her smooth, bare shoulders, "and this is simply icing on the cake."
"Can I wear it?" she asked, like a little girl asking about her new Easter dress.
"It's yours to do with as you please, Melissa," I told her. "Consider it a 'thank you' for all of the pleasure you have brought into my life."
She moved experimentally, exclaiming, "Ooooh! I love the way it feels when I move!"
Since I loved the way it made her look whether she was moving or standing still, I offered plenty of encouragement for either activity or repose.
Melissa wore the piece as she cleaned up our dinner dishes, then came to me where I sat watching my favorite program - the Melissa show.
"I know that, so far, our relationship has been me showing off and you watching, but this once, I would really like to offer you something more tangible in return for this marvelous gift," she said in a breathy voice as she slid to the floor between my legs and reached for my zipper.
Oh, how many times I had jerked off, picturing this moment! I could not remember the exact number, but as my swiftly hardening member slid luxuriously between those soft, warm lips, and continued into the velvet heat of Melissa's loving mouth, I was in a heaven the likes of which my wildest fantasies had never created.
Slowly, gently, taking great care not to scrape me with her teeth, Melissa nurtured me to a rigidity I had not achieved in many years. When her lips slowly nibbled their way down my shaft until my glans slipped into her throat, I thought I would die from the sheer, unadulterated pleasure of the sensation!
When, without pause, she continued onward until her lips and nose were firmly planted in my pubic hair, I thought I had died and gone to heaven, but the little minx was not done with me by a long shot.
She bit gently at the base of my shaft, as if delineating the limit of her travel, then, ever so slowly, worked her way upward, massaging me with firm pulses of mouth and tongue, and pausing every few seconds to bite again, the sharp hardness of her teeth an exciting contrast to the moist softness of her inner flesh.
I gazed at Melissa's radiant face as she made love to my shaft, her eyes closed, her face a picture of concentration, as if nothing existed in her world except the fleshy appendage upon which she so lovingly suckled.
At the top of her journey, that wonderful, soft, heated cavity worked over my glans, then suddenly plunged once again to its base. After a long pause, as if savoring the feel of my flesh in her esophagus, the little witch once again worked her way upward, slowly, ever so slowly, working me with lips, tongue, and occasionally, teeth, until I thought I would explode!
I am not a small man when aroused, and the very idea of this young beauty taking me so far into her throat sent chills up and down my spine.
I do not know how long Melissa's miraculous mouth worked its magic upon me, but each time I approached the ramp, ready to launch myself into space, she would stop and drag me backward.
Finally, she must have sensed that I was beyond the point of no return, and the lovely brunette took my full length, nuzzled my pubic bone with her nose, and began swallowing motions with her throat and at the same time groaning, setting up delicious vibrations as counterpoint to the swallowing, all the while working the base of my shaft with her tongue. As I rocketed toward my climax, suddenly, she bit - hard, though not hard enough to break that skin. I felt as though I had exploded into a million pieces! My guts emptied out through the too-small tube of my urethra, burning all the way! Even as a teenager I had never experienced such an orgasm, and Melissa?
Melissa prolonged the explosion by pulling me even deeper into her throat as her wondrous mouth milked me of every ounce of fluid that my poor old testicles could produce, her eyes still closed in loving concentration.
Eventually, I ran down, and she slowly, ever so gently, mindful of the hypersensitive state of my glans, released me. Wiping a last bit of my cum away with the back of her hand, she leaned forward and kissed me warmly on the mouth.
"Just this once, okay?" she said, and waited for my nod of acquiescence.
"As you wish, dear lady," I answered, when a little of my strength had returned. "I'm not sure I could survive another such occurrence, anyway."
Melissa took such great pleasure in wearing her expensive new bauble around the apartment, and even under her clothing when she went out, that I emailed the jeweler and commissioned an 'everyday' version. It was still made of 22 Karat gold, finely wrought in a slightly different pattern - a heart instead of a butterfly, but without the gemstones.
About a week after she began wearing the bauble, Melissa stopped wearing clothing altogether when we were alone. She confided in me that the constant tugging at her nipples kept her so aroused, that it was impossible to wear panties or bikini bottoms without showing her excitement as a spreading stain on the fabric.
This decision, to my way of thinking, deserved another reward, so I sent another email to the jeweler in Bangkok. Two weeks later, the items I had ordered arrived.
One was a gold filigree heart and the other a beautifully bejeweled golden butterfly. My assistant was very taken with their beauty, but was, once again, puzzled about how to wear them. I explained that, like the two I had gotten for her breasts, one of these was for 'everyday' and the other for special occasions - private special occasions, of course. I asked her to choose which one she would like to try first. When she chose the butterfly, I first sent her to her room to exchange her golden breast adornment for the bejeweled one.
When Melissa returned, I had her sit in a chair with her legs spread wide, and hold her labia apart. As I neared her moist, pulsing flesh with the device, she gasped as she realized the purpose of the stiff, slender golden wire that was attached to the back of the thing. It started as two gold wires that descended along the back of the butterfly and came together in a 'V' before continuing downward as a single wire. Shortly, this wire curved sharply upward, then forward, ending in a small golden ball, about a quarter of an inch in diameter.
I dipped the wire with its ball in alcohol and allowed it to evaporate dry, then applied K-Y to the ball and along the crevice beneath Melissa's clitoris. My gaze sought hers for permission to continue.
Past her heaving chest, Melissa gazed into my face as she solemnly nodded her permission. As gently as I could, I scooped some of the K-Y ahead of the ball and used the ball to push it into her urethra.
Slowly, gently, knowing that the passage was unaccustomed to penetration, I eased the little golden ball into her urethra. It was slow going because of the forward bend in the wire just behind the ball, but I gently twisted and turned, until, with about a half inch left before the bottom bend in the wire, the ball entered her bladder and hooked around the inside of her pubic bone, causing the butterfly to slip fully into place of its own accord.
Held in Melissa's pee-hole by its shape and the little golden ball, the wire held the bejeweled butterfly snugly against her pubis, embracing and hiding the little patch of fine hair left from her last bikini wax with finely wrought gold and expensive gems.
It looked, for all the world, as though a large golden butterfly had alighted on her vee.
As soon as it snugged into place, Melissa threw her head back and shuddered through a quiet orgasm. Taking a closer look, I realized that her clitoris was now wedged into the little 'V' of wire on the back of the butterfly.
"Keep your eyes closed, Melissa," I told her, guiding her feet to the floor before taking her hand to help her stand.
She was a little unsteady as I lead her, once again, to the mirror near the entry.
"Look!" I urged her, standing behind the her with my hands, once more, on her bare shoulders. God, how I wanted to slip them downward and caress that lovely flesh! But a promise is a promise.
Melissa gasped and came again as she beheld her newly decorated form. The butterfly was the perfect complement for the filigree that hung from her chain, and as she recovered, she turned and threw her arms around my neck.
"It's perfect, Greg! Thank you so much! Oh!"
As she embraced me, her pelvis started to grind against my thigh, causing the wire 'V' on the back of the butterfly to tug at her clitoris. As another orgasm started, she slipped to the floor, but as she did, she fumbled with my zipper.
Having enjoyed the effect my new gift was having on her, I was already erect, and Melissa simply took me into her mouth as if to verify that I was ready, then she struggled to her feet, and turned, placing both hands on the wall to either side of the mirror.
"Just this once," she said hoarsely, over her shoulder to me, as her writhing pelvis invited me into her hallowed halls.
I will not bore the reader with the details of our coupling, since I have no words to adequately translate the mundane physical motions that brought us together into a picture of the blissful paradise that I experienced while my eager manhood was engulfed by the long-forbidden flesh of the beautiful young lady who now shared my life. Nor are there words to pay homage to the cataclysm that left the two of us in a writhing, gasping heap upon the floor, only slowly recovering from our mutual petite mort.
When, finally, my wilting member slid meekly from her depths, a mere ghost of its former self, Melissa turned to me once more, kissing me, for the second time since I'd known her, and whispering, yet again, "Just this once, okay?"
I reluctantly acquiesced.
Melissa never failed, after that day, to wear the jewelry I had bought for her. It was a delight to see how utterly sensual their constant titillation made her appear. She was not shy about using them in my presence to bring herself to the most beautiful of climaxes, and I no longer bothered to hide in my study or bedroom when I felt the need to relieve the sexual tension, as happened with even greater frequency.
It was a deliciously frustrating game that we each relished in our own way. Melissa knew what her appearance and sensuality did to me, but that knowledge was a double-edged sword. True, I stayed keyed up with lust for the little vixen, but knowing the effect she had on me only served to increase her own sexual pressure.
The rules, though unspoken, were, nonetheless, rigid. Melissa would not let her work suffer, nor would I allow the game to come between me and my writing. No touching was allowed, by either of us, and there was a level of propriety beyond which neither of us would go. There were never, for instance, any mutual masturbation sessions. Neither of us worried about the other intruding on private moments, but when that happened, it was strictly a one person show. The other simply watched. It would have been impolite not to give the other one's full attention.
Since Melissa had become my assistant, I had not found much need for forays to the pool area. Indeed, my publisher loved the new manuscript, and I had another already in progress.
On one occasion, however, Melissa was busy cleaning, and I had to get some work done, so I took my laptop down to see who was about. I had not been there long, when Candy appeared, wearing shorts and a tube top this time.
"Can I talk to you for a minute?" she asked without preamble.
"Sure, Candy, have a seat."
She sat, and my eyes couldn't decide which to spend their time on - her lovely face or her enticing cleavage. Decisions, decisions!
"You remember what we talked about before, right?" she asked, ignoring my wandering gaze.
"Sure," I nodded. "Have you come to a decision?"
"Yeah," she nodded. "I mean, I want you to write a story, but I don't know if I'll show it to my boyfriend or not."
I studied her face before replying.
"Are you sure it's the story you want, Candy?" I asked. "Will you be satisfied with that, or do you want to experience some of those things?"
Her blush answered for her, but I waited for the words to come, if she could find the courage to deliver them.
"I, well, um, that is..." she gave me a desperate look. "It's really hard to talk to you about this! I mean, hell, I can't even talk to my boyfriend about it, and you're, like, almost this total stranger."
I nodded understandingly. "How about one of your friends? Are you close enough to them to discuss it with them?"
"What good would that do?" she asked, despair in her voice. "I mean, it's not like you go up to the girls one day, out of the blue and go 'Hey! You know what would be fun?'"
I nodded again. "How about Melissa? Maybe if you told her, she could find a way to help you tell me? We've gotten to know each other pretty well."
"Would she... ? No, I couldn't! I mean, well, maybe ... if ... Hell, I don't know!"
I took out my mobile and called the apartment, in part because I wanted to give Melissa fair warning that I was bringing Candy up.
Melissa answered,"Greg Harper's residence, how may I help you?"
"Hi, Melissa," I said, "It's Greg. I'm down here at the pool having talk with Candy. She's got a problem that we think you might be able to help with."
"What kind of problem?" Melissa replied.
"An experiential one," I told her. "She wants certain experiences, but it seems she's not comfortable telling me about them. I thought you might be able to help."
There was a long pause on the other end of the phone while Melissa digested, not only what I had said, but what I hadn't.