Shalane

by

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Heterosexual, Slow, .

Desc: Romantic Sex Story: It was a blind date, but it changed when he said, "You have no luggage. Dressed like that, a hotel isn't going to. Well, taking you home with me is just better."

This is a long story, written as one piece, so I'm choosing to post it in one submission. There are actually only two sex scenes within a short period of time, but that means, of course, that the remainder of the story is not filled with that kind of content. Read as you like. The story reads better as one piece, rather than chapters.

A very heartfelt Thank You to ErikThread for his fabulous editing. His skills make your reading pleasure better. If you find errors, it's because I messed with the story after he worked on it.

"What the hell kind of name is Shalane?"

"It's just a name, Angus. Who the fuck cares what it means? Shalane, that's what Prissy said. All I care is that she's a redhead."

Although he was generally a silent man, Angus responded to Billy, "Okay man, okay. Don't get pissed at me 'cause your girl wants you to wear a suit. Look at me. I haven't had on a tie this tight since the last time I went to a funeral."

"Don't give me that shit, big man. I know what goes in your suitcase when you go out of town."

Angus growled, a fairly good imitation of the bear to which his personality was frequently compared. His few words reminded his friend, "You keep your trap shut, Billy."

"Yes, sir, 'Doctor' McCall, indeed I will."

The additional warning was clear in the tone of voice Angus used, "Billy."

Angus kept his non-ranch activities very private. That he was educated, no one doubted, although most people would have expected his education to be in a subject that benefited him as the owner of a large, very productive ranch. That his education was extensive enough to earn him a doctorate was something he kept rather quiet. His absences from the ranch were given little attention, even by those who lived there and worked for him. He was a private man. The ranch was enough distance from the city that he and the permanent employees who lived there did not feel they were residents of the city.

Billy's eyes may have twinkled when he did it, but he used his thumb and forefinger to pull the tab of an imaginary zipper across his lips. He likely did not understand Angus's absences had anything to do with insomnia. Billy had no problems with his sleep, nor would he have cared that anyone else had a problem. However, that did not prevent Billy from asking, "And tell me, why the hell are we going to this Valentine's Dance in a truck?"

Angus looked around the inside of his truck. The rubber mats on the floor were clean -- at least, mostly clean. The long bench seat wasn't ripped and the windows weren't too dirty to see through. "What's wrong with my truck?"

"Nothing Angus, absolutely nothing is wrong with it," Billy sneered and added, "Nothing that a new one wouldn't cure."

"I got a new car at home and I like this truck," Angus added, defending his choice of vehicles. "Get off my case or I'll leave you at Prissy's house and go back home."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me, asshole. This wasn't my idea."

Billy did not comment on the threat Angus issued; instead he easily changed the subject. "And don't forget to have Jose pick me up tomorrow when he takes Maria to church."

The two men continued their conversation, although if a stranger had heard them, he would not have thought the men were friends, much less very good friends who were employer and employee and had known each other their entire lives. Billy's comments often took some time and required his listener to have patience while other subjects were mentioned. From Angus, comments or responses were often one or two well-chosen words, spoken in the deep rumble of his bass voice. Part of their conversation concerned the weather and the occasional flash of lightning in the western sky toward which they were travelling. Several of their comments and questions involved the animals on the farm and what to do if the storm came nearer.

After one particularly brilliant flash, still a long way off, Billy asked, "Is that thing gonna soak us?"

"We could use some," Angus muttered. "Last I heard though, it's gonna stay well to the west."


Meanwhile, at their destination two women were frantically rushing through their final moments dressing for the event. Prissy had spent months planning, scheduling, and making telephone calls. The last few days involved executing those plans. Early today was devoted to last-minute decorations she added to their meeting facility, turning it from a hollow-sounding display hall to a softly lit, attractive nightclub. Perhaps as many as one hundred couples would spend that Saturday evening eating finger foods, drinking adult beverages, chatting with friends, and dancing.

Prissy was almost 40 years old and still very attractive, but she had to work hard to keep herself that way. She was short, had a very full figure and only her hairdresser knew she wasn't a natural blonde, at least that's what she thought. She was so obsessed with appearing to be blonde she had some very expensive and painful electrolysis treatments to remove any trace of her pubic hair. Billy had made a number of comments about her bald pussy, only some of which were complimentary.

For mid-February dances of previous years, no one had gone to the trouble to do much more than set a date, hire a band, and call a caterer. This year was going to be different. Priscilla Roundtree, affectionately known as Prissy, was the current chairperson of the Annual Valentine's Day Sweetheart Dance. She intended to use the success of the evening's festivities to launch her campaign for presidency of the Young Women In Business Association. While women fought to join primarily male organizations, there did not seem to be any male members, or even any applications from males, wanting to join YWIB.

One club member was married to a moderately successful talent agent. At her instigation, he had prevailed upon three of his clients to bring their newest adult comedy routines for a tryout before this discerning crowd.

The other woman rushing to be dressed in her finery before the men arrived was not similar to the wannabe club president. Almost ten years younger, in her own right and in her own sphere she was just as strong, as personable, and as organized, yet to many she was a mystery. As the few people who knew her would express it, "Oh well, that's Shalane." Whatever the "that" meant, it was appropriate for any situation when the speaker was unable to place a label on such an enigmatic woman.

"Shalane, help me" Prissy called from her bedroom where she stood in front of a full length mirror. "Look at this dress. Something is wrong with the front here."

Shalane stood at the doorway and suggested, "Take off your bra."

"WHAT! I cain't go without ma bra." Only because she was so startled did Prissy's voice sound like the natural heavy southern accent of her birth. Prissy would normally have used her more polished and practiced business tone.

"Why not?" Shalane questioned. "The only one who will know is Billy when he holds you and I assure you he will enjoy it. Besides, from what you've said, he already knows what those boobs feel like."

Prissy's next few words displayed her cultured professional tone, "Are you doing it?"

"Am I what?"

"Are you going braless?"

Shalane turned her back to Prissy, showing the rear of the deep blue dress that shimmered with green highlights. "Now, where do you suppose I could hide the hooks in this dress?"

Prissy nodded as she looked at the wide vee formed by the back of the dress, extending from the nape of Shalane's neck, showing her shoulder blades, to a mere inch above her waist. Prissy remarked that the woman was right, but for herself it was not a comfortable option.

"Well, that dress screams you're braless, but I can't stand at that microphone and welcome everyone with my tits bouncing."

"Suit yourself, Prissy. It was just a suggestion. So, tell me about this man Billy is bringing."

"Oh, Angus is Angus."

Shalane chuckled a moment at the way Prissy flipped her hand as if the original build-up she had given about the man was now inconsequential. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Well-l-l," Prissy's voice was muffled as she bent over to buckle the straps of her high heel sandals. "I think him, Billy, and me are about the same age. He's local, has a big place east of town. He and Billy do some male things together. He's not a loner, but I don't see him much. He's a big guy, not one of those overweight lugs, just big. I guess my grandma would have called him barrel-chested. He's sort of quiet, but in an intense way, looks at you, like he can see right inside you. It's hard to explain. You'll like him. He's fun, too."

"Oh, I hear car doors. Do you want me to..."

"No, I'm ready, I'll do it. You get your jacket or whatever. That hall's gonna be cold at first." It hadn't been much of a debate. Keep the meeting hall as cool as possible, because after everyone arrived and the dancing began, the room would grow progressively warmer. They had arrived the previous morning to begin decorating and needed to wear light jackets for the first few hours.

After a greeting at the front door, where both men were allowed to kiss Prissy's cheeks while she giggled at them trying to do it at the same time, she was singing Happy Birthday to Billy. Everyone turned to the corner of the room when Shalane closed the door to the upstairs guest bedroom and started walking down the stairs.

.... There is more of this story ...

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Consensual / Romantic / Heterosexual / Slow /