Dan sat at a broad, round table a few steps from the lobby bar, a vodka-and-soda set before him. Perspiration beaded the sides of the tumbler and soaked the napkin beneath it. The ice was almost melted, yet the glass was full.

Next to it was Dan’s iPhone, earbuds tucked into his ears. “I understand that, John. That was exactly the point I raised yesterday morning before you told me to hop on a plane and come out here. The infrastructure simply won’t work as it’s currently configured. Right now, I should be in Chicago, waiting for that to happen. Next week is when I should be out here doing what you sent me out here to do today and tomorrow.”

Dan paused as John, his immediate supervisor, responded. He had been talking for ten minutes, relaying the day’s events to John. Dan’s gaze fell to his drink. He picked it up and took a sip, almost sighing as the icy liquid slid down his throat, and cast his eyes around the Fairmont’s lounge as he listened to John speak.

A few after-work drinkers, probably hotel patrons, stood at the corner of the bar. A couple tourists, by the look of them sat four or five tables over. An attractive woman in business attire at a table to his right, a wine glass in one hand, was reading a thick document. Two guys in suits who appeared in deep conversation were off to his left. He could hear two thirty-something women gabbing behind him. He put his drink, now almost half gone, back on the table, and signaled the waitress for another.

“I hear you, John. Margie told me they’d have it worked out by noon tomorrow, so I’m going to hole up here, try to get some work done, and I’ll call her then and see if she was right. If they do, I can get started. If not, and it looks like it’ll take a few days, I’m outta here. I have too much going on in Chicago to fuck around here for a week.” Dan downed the rest of his drink as John again responded.

“All right, Johnny. I know I’m new at this, but I understand it and I know what I’m doing. I’ll keep you posted. Oh, and my dinner’s on you tonight I was thinking Kaiyo. Dan disconnected the call and pulled the buds from his ears as the waiter dropped off another vodka-and-soda.

“You could be in worse places than San Francisco in May, you know.”

Dan looked up to see the woman a table over smiling at him over the rim of a wineglass. He remained silent for a moment and then allowed himself to smile back. “I know. I’ve been to Minneapolis in January.”

Swallowing, the woman chuckled and brushed long, straight blonde hair from her face. “Forgive me for eavesdropping, but I couldn’t help but overhear you say you’d rather be in Chicago.”

“Not at all. That’s what I get for talking in public.”

“It just caught my ear because I’m from Chicago.”

“Really? So am I. I kinda got stuck out here for a few days.” Dan paused and nodded at the phone sitting silently on the table. “In case you couldn’t figure that one out.”

The woman’s soft pink lips parted and she emitted a soft laugh. Her baby-blue eyes sparkled when she did that.

“So, you’re from Chicago, too. What brings you to San Francisco?” Dan inquired, as they each took pulls from their drinks.

“Work. I’m a lawyer, and I have a big client here in San Francisco, so I get out here every month or so for a few days.”

The conversation lulled for a moment. Dan rose. “Forgive me,” he said, taking a step toward the woman’s table and extending his hand. “I should have introduced myself. I’m Dan.”

“Barbara,” she said, taking Dan’s hand in hers. It was soft and warm. As he pulled his hand back, the tips of her nails dragged along his palm. As Dan retreated to his table, she offered, “Join me for a drink, if you’d like.”

He hesitated a moment. “Sure, but just one. I have to get some work done tonight. I must have fifty unread e-mails on this thing,” he said, picking the phone up from his table and slipping into a chair across from her.

Barbara tapped the screen of her phone with a slender finger. “There’s no escaping these things. They’re great when you want to communicate, but awful when you want to get away.”

“You’re preaching to the choir.”

As Dan finished his drink and ordered them another round, he and Barbara made small talk. Every once in a while, Barbara brushed her lustrous hair from her face. Dan didn’t fail to notice her engagement and wedding rings.

After about thirty minutes, he looked at his watch and then back at her. “Well, Barbara, I better get up to my room. I need to do a few hours of work and then maybe get some dinner later.” He rose, and Barbara offered her hand.

“Pleasure to meet you, Dan,” she said, a broad smile on those soft lips as Dan took her hand.

“It was all mine. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Perhaps you will.”

Dan left her and went to the bar to close his tab, making sure the bartender put Barbara’s drinks on it. With a slight wave to her, he left the lounge and took the elevator up to his room. He pulled the tie from around his neck, climbed out of his suit, and put on a comfortable pair of jeans and a comfortable oxford. Connecting his laptop to the room’s wifi, he logged onto his company’s network and buried himself in work for a few hours.

Around 10:00, Dan yawned and stretched. His stomach rumbled, and he pulled the hotel guide from a table, thinking of ordering room service. Before he even found the menu page, however, he shut the guide and tossed it back on the table. When you travel enough, room service no matter the hotel becomes very unappetizing.

Dan left the hotel room and took the elevator down to the lobby, intent on hitting the street to find a place for dinner. Passing by the lobby lounge, he saw Barbara still sitting and reading. He took a quick detour and stopped by her table.

“Still here, huh?” he said, approaching her table.

Barbara looked up, startled at his voice. Then that wonderful smile crossed her lips, and she slipped the reading glasses from her face. “Actually, I’m back. I grabbed a bite to eat just down Mason Street.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” Dan responded. “I was hoping you might join me for dinner.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetie. I would have loved that. Barbara paused, then continued. “Probably better anyway, Dan.”

“And why is that?”

Barbara looked around, then back at him. “Well,” she began in a stage whisper, “I’m old enough to be your mother, for one thing. And I have a husband sitting at home, for another. Barbara sat back, placing one of the stems of her glasses between her teeth, lightly biting it, her soft pink lips closing around it.

Dan laughed. “Well, in that case, maybe I should leave you,” he played along.

“Oh, please don’t,” Barbara pleaded playfully, leaning forward. “I was just joking. Sit with me. You can order something here.” Innocence radiated from her beautiful face and kept Dan rooted to where he was.

He considered, then shrugged. “Sure. Why not?” He pulled out a chair and sat across the table from her. The waiter arrived and took Dan’s drink order, leaving a menu. Barbara put her reading materials away and discreetly slipped her glasses into the pocket of her briefcase. By the time his meal arrived, Dan and Barbara were chatting amiably.

“You seem to have relaxed from when I first met you this afternoon, Barbara,” Dan commented, pushing his plate away and wiping his face with the linen napkin.

“I have,” she said, flashing a brilliant smile.

“Well, that’s good.”

“Mmm-hmm. Thank you,” Barbara offered, bringing the wine glass to her soft lips.

“‘Thank you’? Why are you thanking me?”

“You took my mind off work, that’s why, she responded, setting her wine glass back on the table. Her light pink nails twirled the stem of the glass around, those pretty blue eyes gazing at the wine as it swirled around. “Plus, it’s kind of like being around my sons’ friends but not.

Dan groaned and turned red. “Thanks, Barbara. Had to put me in my place, didn’t you?”

Barbara laughed into her glass as she took a sip. “What? I’m the old one here. What are you getting embarrassed about?”

“Oh, come on, Barbara. Old? Look, I don’t know how old you are and I’m not asking--”

“Forty-four, she interrupted.

“What? Forty-four. Please! I thought you said you were old enough to be my mom.”

“Well, I don’t know,” she laughed. “For all I know you’re just some college kid.

“Right. Hanging out in the lounge at the Fairmont on Nob Hill. Whatever. Anyway, no matter your age, you shouldn’t complain. You look better than most women ten years younger than you.”

Barbara blushed. “Thanks. I know. Well, that’s not what I meant, I just know well, I take care of myself so .

“Right. Don’t worry about it, Barbara. I can tell you take care of yourself. In fact, if it wasn’t for that ring on your finger, I might consider picking you up.”

“Picking me up? she scoffed. “Really, Dan. You might consider hitting on me, but I’m the one who decides whether I get picked up.

He only laughed. “Point taken, Barbara.”

“Please, call me Barb. My friends call me Barb.”

“Your friends, huh? But I thought I reminded you of your sons’ friends?”

“True, but you can still call me Barb if you want.” Barb paused for a moment. “Excuse me for a moment,” she said, rising from her seat. “Be right back.”

Dan watched as she walked away. It was his first view of her out of the chair she had been sitting in. She was shorter than he had thought, maybe five-and-a-half feet tall. Now that her back was to him, he could see that her long blonde tresses hung straight, falling a few inches below her shoulder blades. Her proportioned bottom swayed from side to side as she weaved through the tables toward the restrooms. Her bare, tanned legs stood atop conservative black heels. She was clearly comfortable in them: she moved with an easy grace.

Dan’s attention returned to his drink as Barb turned the corner out of his sight. The waiter returned, and Dan took the liberty of having their drinks refreshed. The woman returned a few minutes later, and he watched her approach.

Sexy wasn’t the right word. Beautiful worked, but was too general, too broad. Wholesome, maybe? Trimmed eyebrows separated a high forehead and arched over those baby-blue eyes. A pixie-ish nose led toward pink lips that were just short of being puffy. So, beautiful? Yes, but very Midwestern, very girl-next-door.

As she sat, Barb tucked her black skirt beneath her bottom. Though Dan watched her discretely, a form-fitting black silk top beneath a pink cashmere cardigan sweater prevented him from discerning the size of her breasts. A strand of pearls was draped around her neck, matching a smaller strand on her right wrist. When he looked back at her face, an odd smile formed on her lips, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared.

“I ordered you another drink,” Dan said, nodding his head at the full glass of chardonnay. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not.” Barb brought the glass to her supple lips and allowed some of the golden fluid to flow into her mouth. “So, I’m sorry. Where were we?”

“You were telling me to call you Barb instead of Barbara.”

“Ah. Yes. That’s right.”

“So tell me, do you let all your sons’ friends call you Barb?” Dan teased.

Barb smiled at him indulgently, acknowledging his playfulness, but answered him seriously. “It’s not so much what I let them call me. I’m still their friends’ mom and anyway, you’re different. We don’t really know each other, and we’re just here having drinks, so we can have fun with it.”

“Well, what do your sons’ friends call you?” Dan took a long drink from the tumbler as he awaited Barb’s answer.

“What do they call me? They call me Mrs. Erickson. That’s what they all call me. She paused for just a moment. “If you wanted to be one of my sons’ friends, you’d call me Mrs. Erickson.”

“‘If you wanted to be one of my sons’ friends’? What does that mean?”

“Just nothing.” Barb fidgeted a little in her seat, her hands again twirling the wine glass around on its base. “Just that you can call me Barb, or you can call me Mrs. Erickson. It just depends on whether you’re my friend or one of my sons’ friends.

ÔThis is getting a bit interesting, ‘ Dan thought to himself. “Well what do you want me to call you?”

“Whatever you want it doesn’t matter to me.”

Dan paused. “You really don’t care?”

“Not at all,” she responded, meeting his gaze and holding it.

“Sure?”

“Sure,” she said with a curt nod, before bringing the glass to her lips again. The ring on her left finger sparkled in the dim light of the lounge.

Dan smiled. “Are you flashing that ring at me on purpose, Barb? Giving me a warning or something?

“What? No. Sorry. There’s nothing to warn you about, is there? I’m a married woman, and you’re young enough to be friends with my sons. Well almost young enough.”

“Okay. So, even though you don’t care what I call you, what do you think I should call you?”

Barb pondered the question as she discreetly swirled the chardonnay in her mouth before swallowing. “It depends, I suppose.

“On what?”

Her eyes wandered around the lounge before settling back on Dan. “On how you want me to look at you.”

“I don’t know what you mean by that.” He truly was confused, though still intrigued at the direction the evening had taken.

“Well, my friends are all women,” she began slowly. “Soooo if you want me to look at you like I look at them, then you should be my friend.”

Dan merely nodded and took another pull of his vodka and soda. “And?”

“And if you want me to look at you like you’re a young man instead of a woman, then you should be one of my sons’ friends.

Dan was enjoying this whatever this was. “Which do you think I’d like better?”

“Again, that depends.”

Dan smiled. “Are you sure you’re a lawyer?”

She laughed. “Yes.” Dan loved her laugh; it was so soft and graceful and pure.

“So, it depends on what?”

Barb took a long pull on her wine now and finished the glass. “It depends on whether you would like to sit here all night and have a few drinks while we talk.” She signaled to the waiter, who quickly arrived. “Vodka martini, please. Dirty. And blue cheese olives, two of them, if you have them.

As the waiter went off, Dan continued: “And if that is what I want, to sit here all night and have a few drinks?”

“Friend.” Another curt nod. “Definitely friend.”

“All right. And what does that get me?”

Barb looked perplexed. “What does it get you? Well, good company for a few hours, of course. And then, in the morning, a headache and a dry mouth, I would think.”

“Well, I suppose I like the good company part, but I’m not so sure about the hangover. Dan finished his drink just as Barb’s martini arrived. “Sorry, could you bring me another Ketel-and-soda?

“Of course, sir.”

After the waiter left, Barb replied, “If you don’t want the hangover, then perhaps being my friend is not the best choice for you.”

“You might be right.” Dan paused and looked around the room. Returning his gaze to Barb, he continued, “So what if I also don’t want to sit here all night and gab? What then?”

“Well, as I said, it might work out better for you if you’re not my friend. It might be better if you’re one of my sons’ friends. A shrug of the shoulders, as if to say, ‘The choice is yours.’

“Why?”

“Well, you wouldn’t have that hangover in the morning, for one thing,” she responded, arching her trimmed eyebrows.

“True. I don’t like hangovers, so that’s nice.”

“Yes, it is. Plus, you wouldn’t have to sit here all night.”

“Well, to be honest, that part I don’t mind so much, the sitting here with good company part.” The waiter returned with Dan’s drink. “Thanks.”

“Hmm. I see,” Barb said when the waiter had again left them. “I guess you could still have the good company part without having to sit here all night.” She was looking at her hands, resting on the table. The light pink nails of her right hand fiddled with the ring on her left. She turned the diamond so that it was facing her palm, seemed to consider it for a moment, and then turned it back.

“Really? How would that work?”

“You could signal the waiter over here, I suppose,” she said, tilting her head toward the departing waiter.

“But he just left. He might get a little upset with us.”

“I doubt he’ll get upset with me. Maybe with you, but not with me. Waiters like pretty girls as long as we’re not snotty to them. But anyway, just leave him a big tip when you close your tab. That’ll keep him happy.”

“Okay.” Dan decided to play, recognizing that it might just land him in his room, alone, but willing to take that risk. He raised his arm and caught the attention of the waiter, who nodded. Dan returned his attention to Barb. “All right, if I signaled the waiter, what would I do after that?”

“You might consider asking him for the tab.”

Nodding, Dan caught the waiter’s eye again and gave him the universal ‘bring the check’ hand signal. “You know, I think I might rather sit here and talk to you all night. Maybe I should backtrack here and choose the other option. You know, be your friend instead of one of your sons’ friends. Otherwise, I might be spending the evening in my room watching TV. Kind of boring, if you ask me.

“I think you should maybe give this option a chance. See what happens,” Barb said with a little sparkle in her eye and a crooked smile on her lips. Dan heard a soft thump below the table. Subtly casting his eyes downward, he saw that one of Barb’s heels had fallen from a foot to the marble floor below.

“I don’t know. It seems that if I follow this choice, you might be patting me on the head and sending me home soon.”

Barb laughed and took a sip of her martini. “Well, you never know,” she said, swallowing. “But seriously just trust me here. Just wait and see how this plays out.” Dan felt her bare foot brush lightly against his calf. He swallowed.

“If you say so. I’ll give you a little room here. After all, you know yourself better than I do.”

When the waiter returned with his tab, Dan signed it and left him a forty percent tip. Showing it to Barb, he raised his eyebrows questioningly. “Enough?” he asked.

“Sure, that’ll do.” Barb looked up at the waiter with her baby-blue eyes. “Sorry we had you running back and forth.” Her foot traced a lazy line up the inside of Dan’s leg, toward his knee, as she spoke.

“No problem, ma’am. Have a good evening.”

“You as well,” Barb said, smiling, as the waiter departed once again.

“All right, Dan said, once they were alone, leaning forward in his chair, elbows on the table. “So I want to be one of your sons’ friends, and I’ve called the waiter over and taken care of the bill.” Dan paused, involuntarily, when Barb’s pink-pedicured toes lightly grazed higher, along the inside of his thigh just above the knee. “What now? Why is this better than being your friend? I mean, we’re still sitting here. Still having a drink. I’m still enjoying the company. Seems like there’s no real difference. So why is this the better option for me?

“Hmm. I guess it’s not.” Barb frowned, but then her pretty face brightened. She slid her probing foot higher, and pressed the soft sole of her foot firmly against Dan’s straining cock, causing him to groan deep in his throat. “At least not yet. But maybe, if you followed me out of the lounge. Maybe then it might be better.”

“Really? How so?” Dan managed, his voice catching in the back of his throat, as Barb removed her foot from between his legs.

“How so? Well, if you followed me, I might lead you back to my room for an after-dinner drink,” she responded in a sultry voice, slipping her bare foot back into the heel and rising to her feet.

“Hmm. But couldn’t I have been invited back there as your friend?” Dan asked, looking up at her, the feigned confusion exaggerated both on his face and in his voice.

“You know, you’re right,” she said, placing a hand on her trim hip, staring off at nothing, before returning her gaze to him. “I never thought of that. I guess you could have.”

“So why, then, do I want to be your sons’ friend instead of just being your friend? Dan poured the rest of the vodka down his throat.

“Aaahhh,” Barb said, a smile quickly spreading across her face. “I see where you’re confused, sweetie.” She bent over him, cupping his cheek. Her scent wafted over him.

“You do?”

“Sure,” she said, smoothing the back of her hand over Dan’s cheek, bending over further toward him. “If you’re my friend, I’d show you my suite and we might have a glass of wine, but then you’d be on your way, back to your room for a good night’s sleep, she explained, her eyes wide as though talking to a child.

“And if I’m your sons’ friend? There was a little tremor in his voice.

Barb leaned in closer and whispered in Dan’s ear, her hot breath sending chills up his spine and blood to his cock. “I don’t fuck my friends, sweetie but if you’re my sons’ friend, I’ll send you back to Chicago and that pretty little girlfriend of yours with stars in your eyes.

With that, she straightened, retrieved her briefcase, and turned on her heel, sauntering toward the elevators.

Dan slid the tumbler away from him, not watching as it slid slowly across the table, gliding on the surface of the pooled condensation. His gaze was trained on the shapely butt that was receding through the lounge, watching as it swayed from side to side. Dan quickly got to his feet and caught up with Barb as she reached the elevators to the old part of the hotel.

As they waited for the elevator to arrive, the couple said nothing. Barb, briefcase in one hand, merely followed the numbers on the panel above the elevator door as they ticked down to “L.” An elderly couple joined them in their wait, and the four boarded the elevator when its doors chimed open.

Barb stood in the back of the cab as it began its ascent, again saying nothing to him, just watching the numbers tick, this time upward, toward the fourth floor. Her face remained expressionless, and she stepped from the elevator without so much as a glance in Dan’s direction. When she exited, he followed her, a puppy dog hoping for its treat. She led him down the wide, tall hallway, and around two corners, before stopping before a door. She waved her keycard in front of the reader, then pushed the door open.

“Have you decided? she asked with an arched eyebrow, her small frame in the doorway.

Dan tilted his head. “Decided? Decided what?

Barb gave him an indulgent smile. “Friend, or sons’ friend, silly.

Dan grinned down at her and nodded his head. “Sons’ friend. I thought that was obvious.

Barb shrugged and then stepped through the door, beckoning Dan to follow. Once through the doorway, he took a brief moment to observe the mini-suite that was Barb’s home for a few nights.

“Would you like that drink now?” she inquired as she set her briefcase on the desk, her back to him.

“Sure. What do you have?”

Barb turned on her heel to face him. “Actually, I don’t really feel like another drink tonight. I think I’ve had enough.” She paused, a sly smile creasing her features. “Hey, were you trying to get me drunk?” A hand floated to the pearl button that held the top of the cashmere sweater closed. A subtle flick and the button came free.

Dan laughed, somewhat nervously. “Not at all. I think it was you who was trying to get me drunk.” A second button came loose as he spoke.

“Don’t be silly, sweetie. That wouldn’t be appropriate. After all, I could get in trouble for supplying alcohol to my sons’ friend.” Barb worked the last button free and shrugged the pink sweater off her shoulders. She folded it neatly over the back of the desk’s chair.

Dan’s heart beat hard in his chest. “Lucky I picked up the tab, then,” he managed to respond, as Barb moved past him toward the couch.

“Mmm. Lucky for me, anyway. I don’t know how I’d explain such a large tab. Barb sat on one end of the couch, draping one tanned leg over the other, a heel dangling from her toes. She lightly patted the cushion next to her and Dan walked the few steps and sat down, but at the opposite end.

Barb’s lower lip curled out in a mock pout. “Over here, Dan,” she implored, again patting the cushion next to her.

“I don’t want to seem inappropriate, Barb. If it’s inappropriate for you to buy alcohol for me, then surely it would be inappropriate for me to sit so close to you behind closed doors.”

“‘Barb’? Don’t you mean, ‘Mrs. Erickson’?”

Dan looked confused for a moment but soon realized his error. “Of course. Mrs. Erickson. I’m sorry.”

“Think nothing of it. And of course, it would. Be inappropriate, I mean,” she said, slowly inching toward him along the cushions of the couch. Her lean legs uncrossed as she moved, and the silk of her skirt caught on the cushion, exposing more of her delicious thighs. “But wouldn’t you agree that this evening has already taken a turn towards the inappropriate?”

As Mrs. Erickson moved closer to Dan, he inhaled her scent. He felt a light sweat break across his forehead, and a small tremor arose in his hands. “Yes, I suppose it has.”

“You suppose?” Mrs. Erickson laughed at this, a soft, sultry laugh. “My husband’s two thousand miles away tucked safely in bed. I’ve invited a man almost young enough to be my oldest son up to my hotel room. Isn’t that inappropriate?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. Her body brushed against him, breasts pressed into his arm, and her right hand reached out and lightly rubbed his thigh.

“I’m sure your husband would think so,” Dan responded, his tone matching hers.

“I’m certain he would. And he would also find it inappropriate that I rubbed my little foot against you in the lounge, wouldn’t he?” Looking into her eyes as she spoke, Dan almost jumped when her fingers traced lightly over the bulge in his jeans.

“Mmm-hmm,” he managed.

Mrs. Erickson’s fingers traced a squiggly line up Dan’s bulge and found his belt buckle. Without tearing her eyes from his, she gently loosened the buckle and pulled the belt free. “And do you think what I whispered in your ear tonight was inappropriate?”

“Uh-uh.

“No? Well, let me ask you this, then,” she continued, her voice soft in the silence of the room. “Do you think my husband not you, but my husband would have found it inappropriate?” As the words tumbled over her lush, pink lips, Mrs. Erickson’s fingers grasped the fabric surrounding the button to Dan’s pants and popped the button loose.

“Positively,” Dan said with a nod. The sound of his zipper descending was momentous.

Mrs. Erickson gave a slight tug at his pants, and Dan lifted his butt from the cushion. “And what did I whisper in your ear, sweetie? What was it that I said to you?” she inquired, sliding his pants down his legs until they were pooled at his ankles.

“You said if I was one of Dan briefly lost the ability to speak when Mrs. Erickson reached into his boxers with her right hand and pulled his thick cock from its confines, her cool hand contrasting wickedly with the intense heat that emanated from the shaft.

“Yes continue, please, she taunted him as she gently scraped her nails lightly along the underside of the exposed pole.

Dan regained his senses, for the time being anyway, though he was beginning to pant. “You said that if I was one of your sons’ friends you would have sex with me.” As he spoke, Mrs. Erickson wrapped her dainty fingers around his cock and began a gentle up-and-down stroking motion. The sound of the pearls of her bracelet clattering against each other roared in his ears like the clickety-clack of a freight train.

Mrs. Erickson frowned. “Did I say that? Did I say I would have sex with you? She paused, her grip at the root of his cock, and seemed to ponder what she’d whispered in his ear in the lounge, then looked into the young man’s eyes. “No I did not say that. That’s not what I said, Dan. And I think you know it, she intoned. “I said I would fuck you. Not sex. Fucking. That I’d fuck you, then send you home to your sweet little girlfriend. Isn’t that right?”

“Hmm-mmm.” Dan again found it difficult to form sentences as Mrs. Erickson resumed her stroking, her grip tightening.

“Do you want to fuck, Dan?” she asked needlessly as she slowed to spread his leaking pre-cum around the crown of his cock with her soft thumb.

“Yessssss, he hissed, eyes closed, hands reaching out and grabbing the edge of the cushions.

“Yes, what?” Mrs. Erickson resumed stroking the thick shaft, picking up where she left off, her effort becoming more vigorous.

“Yes, pleeeease,” he almost whined.

Mrs. Erickson slowed her stroke. “I see your mother taught you manners, but that wasn’t what I was looking for.” She leaned toward him, her soft lips brushing against his ear. Her tongue flickered lightly at his earlobe. Blowing hot breath, sending chills up his spine and causing him to shiver in his lust for this woman, she whispered, “‘Yes, Mrs. Erickson.’ Isn’t that what you mean?”