Natalie and Conrad

Natalie paced back and forth alongside her parked car. She stopped alongside the cars passenger window. She bit a nail, trying to stem her nervousness. What if this man, this Conrad, doesn't like her? What if she doesn't like him? Yesterday she had been so excited after Katy had told her about him she couldn't think straight, but now, if Katy had come by and said it was all off, she'd be glad. Wouldn't she? She glanced at her watch for the sixth time since getting out of the car. It was time.

As promised, Natalie showed up at seven sharp at the Hilton's Bar.

Conrad introduced himself, offered her a cigarette, which she declined, then lit one for himself.

She was definitely a southern girl, albeit a Catholic one with a nervous habit of twirling a lock of her brown hair around a finger as she prattled on. He couldn't take his eyes off her breasts. Katy had told him they were enhanced, but he wanted to see for himself.

She'd explained to him that she had a lot of time on her hands just now because she was looking for a job. After two or three drinks she'd confessed that her husband hadn't been paying much attention to her of late, and might have a bimbo on the side. Then she added that she needed a job because she intended to leave him. This was while they were sitting on a black leather banquette with music blaring from ten thousand speakers that had a million dollar sound.

Conrad had his hand on her knee; Natalie's short skirt was riding clear north to Canada, but she was totally unaware of it. She had been carefully coached by Katy; but on meeting Conrad had quickly forgotten everything she'd been told. Now her major concern was that Conrad would try to get her into bed that night. She wasn't sure she was ready for that, not just yet.

And so when he'd casually mentioned that if she had that much time on her hands why didn't she stop by his condo the next afternoon, say about one o'clock, they could listen to some music and he'd make some tea, she jumped at the idea and promptly accepted. "I just might, she said, and arched her eyebrows to emphasize her acceptance. "If I'm in the neighborhood,"

"I won't make other plans," he'd said. "I'll look for you around one."

"What's the address?" she'd asked.

Conrad knew from long experience that most girls didn't pop into bed with you on the first date. Katy had reinforced this with her information on Natalie's list of do's and don'ts. So he asked her to drop by the next day. He also knew that exchanging phone numbers was not the best way to solidify a sexual relationship, especially since women tended to over-analyze every word spoken during the first meeting, and often sought another woman's opinion before making up their mind on whether or not to continue seeing the man. Asking to see them the following day served to convince the woman you were really interested in seeing them and wanted to ensure they met again. Of course, this also allowed them to consider it a second date; making it during daylight hours made it that much safer; at least in their eyes; especially if you offered them tea.

Besides, if you did get a girl to go home with you at three or four in the morning, she'd almost certainly be there when you woke up not knowing who she was or how she got there. Afternoons you played some soft music, offered them tea, or hot chocolate or even booze if that's what the lady preferred. The key was taking everything slow and easy. Then you took her to bed and fucked her brains out with the drapes drawn and daylight peeking around them. If by chance the afternoon turned out to be a bummer, you cut her loose before dinner. If it went well you asked her to have dinner and took her to a nice Italian or Chinese place, and then you took her back, knowing that if she did spend the night it would be a mutually pleasurable experience leading to other such nights in the future.

Besides, this girl turned him on. Then too, there was the promise of a later three-way with Katy to keep him stimulated.

Catholic girls. Conrad thought of them as religious little darlings who'd suck your cock and then run to a priest the next day to confess their sins and say penance at the alter. As a younger man, he'd developed a penchant for Irish redheads. A real Irish redhead could drive a person crazy, that wild carrot-colored hair on her head and between her legs. He loved to part that flaming thatch below, spread those innocent pink Irish-girl lips, lick her into an Irish frenzy that would later cost her a hundred Hail Mary's and a thousand Our Fathers, not to mention a dozen or more Act of Contrition's. He despised the Catholic religion, but loved fucking religious Irish Catholic girls.

He wondered all at once if Natalie Stevens was Irish. She wasn't a redhead, but sometimes you settled for less.

Natalie found his condo easily enough the following afternoon. It was one of the more opulent condos located on Wrightsville Beach. She counted upward and realized his condo had to be either the top floor, or penthouse, or just below it. Either way, it was prohibitively expensive and afforded the best views on the Island.

After talking with Katy on the phone earlier, Natalie knew she would probably go to bed with him. She uttered a silent prayer, and then conveniently put aside any feelings of guilt. Maybe I'm just a common slut, she thought as she entered the lobby and approached the elevator bank.

It was no surprise that he kissed her the moment he closed and locked the door behind them. He pressed her against the door, kissed her much more fiercely than he had the night before as they had said their goodnights a block from her home. His hands were on her ass, and his erection pressed against her.

Oh, Jesus, this was going to be more than I bargained for, she told herself as her knees weakened. Her next thought, on the heels of the last was, Oh, Jesus, I'm doomed to hell and my marriage is gone, and then tilted her pelvis into him. Katy, what have you done to me?

She scarcely saw the room. The room was a swirl of colors and impressions that only served as a setting for him. She saw a fireplace, lit and comforting in its warmth. His lips found hers again, and his hands were under the light-weight sweater she wore, she felt her breasts fall free, realized that he had unclasped her bra, and stepped slightly back from him so that he could slide his hands under the sweater to find her naked nipples.

Just a moment before Natalie thought she couldn't stand another second of his caresses before throwing her arms around him and begging him to fuck her; she awkwardly excused herself and ran to the bathroom. When she came out, she knew where this was going; and half-hating herself for betraying Vic, grew wet with anticipation.

Conrad took his turn in the bathroom while Natalie got him a beer and herself a glass of wine, and they ended up on the floor in front of the fire, leaning against the couch. Just silently taking it all in; waiting to see what was going to happen.

And what was going to happen did. He began to kiss her, and she kissed him back. Natalie was surprised to find him what she considered a sweet kisser. In a sense his soft mouth reminded her of Katy, and that added to her excitement.

Conrad's lips left hers, and before she knew it his head was down near her crotch and he was lifting her skirt. The only protest Natalie made was in her head, which was spinning with yes-no-don't protests with no solid conclusions as to what she should do. So she did nothing as Conrad methodically put his mouth to the crotch of her panties and breathed hot air, and she felt her neither lips spreading as they grew wetter.

"YES," she hissed, although she never knew she had.

His fingers pulled aside the cloth, and Natalie ached for his tongue to touch her flesh. She clenched her buttocks, raised her hips and tried to find him at the same time as his mouth found her, gently licking up and down her slit.

Natalie lay there, eyes closed tight, hands fisted at her side, whimpering little noises and silently willing him to go harder, tongue deeper. She wanted him inside her, but wasn't able to voice the words because that would be admitting too much, too soon.

He stopped, and she blurted, "NO, DON"T STOP!"

Chagrined, Nat realized it was only to pull down her undies and she raised her hips to help. Her pussy was completely exposed to him, gaping in its excitement.

"DO ME! DO ME, PLEASE!" she whimpered, as she felt the pressure of his mouth and chin on her pubic mound, knew he could feel how wet she was, how desperate she was for him she was, and she thought, For Christ's sake, fuck me!

The warmth began in and around her pussy and rapidly spread deeper inside; she sensed rather than felt the liquidity hot juices flowing through her vagina and the blood engorging everything between her hips. The sensations in her body mounted like mercury in a thermometer sitting in sunlight. She thought she could feel her clit jutting out and her pussy lips hardening, Natalie couldn't hold back her moans.

She began to worry that he was going to tease her right out of the greatest orgasm she would ever have. He was kissing the insides of her thighs on either side now, licking the most tender of flesh there, and she moaned, still thinking he would leave her there, panting and cursing him for not bringing her to that point she so wanted to attain.

Oh, please, she thought, just please, as he bunched her skirt in one hand and sent two fingers into her cunt to stir the juices now freely flowing from her shamelessly sodden slit.

And then he stopped — stopped cold. She was almost there, seconds away from release, when he lifted his head and she was left hanging there, like a trapeze flyer left spinning in midair. He moved up above her body and she looked at him though heavy eyes, panting, wondering, anticipating; and then felt his stiff cock against her stomach and froze. He had dispatched his pants somehow, and now he was poised above her, rubbing gently against her groin.

"Yes, do it!"

He rubbed himself against her open furrow and she gasped, "Yes, fuck me!"

He entered her, but did not fill the wet aching void.

"Oh, Jesus!" she moaned, and wrapped her legs around him, and lifted herself to him, and murmured almost contentedly, "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!"

"First let's get naked," he said in a voice that dripped sex. He took her hand in his and led her to the bedroom. Breathlessly, she broke away and sat in a chair facing a smaller fireplace than the one in the living room; took off her shoes, dropped them to the floor, stood long enough to pull the sweater over her head, draped it over the chair, tossed the already opened bra over that, unbuckled her belt, stepped out of her skirt and threw them over the rest of her clothing. Then she turned to him, wearing only black thigh-highs and placed her hands on his bare chest while his clenched her buttocks and they kissed, long and hard.

After the kiss, Natalie allowed her eyes to peruse his body, lingering upon his cock, which was measurably larger than her husband's. She realized that she wanted to touch him, suck him; take him inside her. She felt suddenly girlish standing there in just the thigh-highs then realized just how excited she was; how wet she was; and how she might come any second now without the benefit of him touching her one more time.