There are some girls that like to tease and play the flirt with any male they come in contact with. Then, there are girls that seldom show any interest in either displaying or bestowing their feminine favors on any member of the opposite sex. Fortunately, a sizable percentage of the female population is quite happy to submit to male attentions for various reasons known only to them.
I first came into contact with Belinda Montgomery shortly after that nasty business with her famous and distraught stepfather who confessed to an unnatural obsession with his stepdaughter on national TV right in front of the entire world. I was assigned to the pool of reporters who camped out on her everyday routes just to get some reaction to the scandalous events.
My editor told me that he kept me employed because I had the ability to size people up with a single quick once-over knowing instinctively if they were telling the truth or lying through their teeth. I suspected it was genetically passed down from my skilled interrogator of a parent who could smell a lie before it was even spoken. My mum was so good that no one in the family even attempted to be dishonest around her knowing her abilities in that regard.
After looking repeatedly at still photos and video of Belinda for the past week, I immediately recognized her sliding out the side door of the respectable old hotel being used as a "safe house" of sorts during the unpleasant period of notoriety.
Belinda Montgomery was one of those "Beautiful People" who never seem to be part of the mundane world us mortals were forced to plod through looking for scraps of happiness. It wasn't because she was fashionable or even possessed of a level of "posh" that inspired respect. I think it was a sort of aura that she carried with her like attached baggage making her stand out as both unique and unobtainable.
I felt a little guilty as I pursued her in the parking garage like some crazed "groupie" or a stalker with evil intent. It was my job but I really felt a little ashamed trying to corner the poor girl in a time of chaos.
"Oh, Miss, Miss Montgomery, can you spare a moment for a quick question?"
The harried girl saw there was no escaping my impertinent approach and resigned herself to my intrusive queries.
"I am in a hurry, sir, and I am in no mood for foolishness."
Deep down inside, I was kicking myself for being an ass, but if I wanted a paycheck on Friday, I had to continue my aggressive harassment.
"Miss Montgomery, is there any truth to the rumors that your stepfather has taken indecent liberties with your person?"
She looked at me with those eyes that made me want to melt down into my shoes and roll away in a puddle of guilt straight down the filthy drain in the middle of the garage floor.
"Let me get this straight, Mr... ?, you want me to accuse my daddy of doing something terrible to me so you can sell more newspapers? In the first place, I have already passed my eighteenth birthday and I am a grown woman. My stepfather is an honorable man and if anything happened between us it was just as much my fault as his.
Do I love him?
Of course, I love him.
He has taken wonderful care of me ever since my mother passed away. He has his own special girlfriend and doesn't need to hit on me for sexual favors. She is a Paris model and quite capable of ringing his bells whenever he feels the need. I wish he did need me for that. I would give it to him gladly.
Now go away and leave me be."
I replied in a much softer voice,
"My name is Harry ... Harry Lime and I work for the newspaper as a free-lance journalist."
This was a real conundrum now because the naïve girl had given me enough details for the mills of scandal to fill at least two editions. I knew instinctively she was telling the truth and that the poor man was being subjected to erroneous coverage. I think she realized it as well because she broke out into a flood of tears and collapsed against the side of a smashing red Range Rover just like a wilted sack of potatoes.
I reached out and wrapped my arm around her not knowing what else to do because we were quite alone and I knew her discomfort was all my horrible fault.
"There, there, Belinda, it is not that bad. The press will hound you for a while, but soon it will all die down and we will all go away and leave you quite alone."
I think my sympathy was unexpected because she cradled her head into my chest and sobbed like I was her long-departed mother. I could feel my nicely pressed shirt go limp with the torrent of tears that soaked right through the fabric and onto my welcoming breast. I saw the red smudges from her lipstick ruining my recently purchased shirt but I didn't care in the least little bit. I felt like I was the cause of her misery but I knew her emotions were long-repressed before I ever showed up on the scene.
I cuddled her there in the deserted garage cozily lodged on top of the Range Rover's curves. We seemed to be wedged into a comfortable position and I suddenly noticed my erection had sprung into play right between her splayed-out legs. It was already rubbing with serious intent right on her fantastically soft pussy mound like a familiar playmate with full rubbing rights. I think we both were caught unawares by the natural chain of events. It was on top of us before either of us had any idea of what we were doing.
.... There is more of this story ...