The Making Of A Gigolo (13) - Misty Compton
Copyright© 2008 by Lubrican
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 10 - Misty was an up and coming music star, when a series of unforseen circumstances landed her in Kansas for a series of concerts. It started badly, and seemed to be getting worse, particularly when she met an infuriating man named Bobby Dalton. Before the first concert was even close she almost got on a plane and went back home. almost.
Misty lay there, unbelieving. This wasn’t how it was supposed to work! She had seen the desire in his eyes. In fact, she had seen the kind of desire in his eyes that she had always dreamed of seeing in a man’s eyes. It wasn’t the raw lust of a horny man. It had been the look of a man who sees something rare and precious and wishes he could be part of that. She had seen romantic desire in his eyes.
Her pussy was much more than just damp after that kiss. When she moved her legs she could actually hear the wet sounds that would have embarrassed her to tears if he’d still been there. Her hand went between her legs and she felt the obvious slickness of her own arousal. He could have done anything he wanted to.
But he had left.
Her fingers automatically sought out her clit and rubbed, while she thought furiously about what his leaving meant.
His mother had said, He has a way with women”. That was no joke. With a shudder, her body gave up a small orgasm that distracted her. She closed her eyes and imagined herself to be holding the camera that had taken that picture on Christy’s bedroom wall. She imagined herself putting down that camera and walking toward him. Her fingers rubbed harder and faster as she imagined his penis getting longer ... thicker ... until it stood out away from his body ... for her.
Her next orgasm was a bone-crushing one that threatened to undo everything his fingers had done to relax her. Every muscle he had touched seemed to draw up as the ecstasy roared through her and she curled up, her fingers still digging and pinching her clitty. She almost cried out with the passion she felt as she jammed a finger into her slick pussy and thought of his penis. Unbelieving, she sensed that if she kept going, there would be another one of those orgasms. She’d never gone for more than one.
She did now.
Bobby had been just as affected by her body as Misty had seen in his eyes. He had smelled her arousal, and had felt her acceptance in the return of his kiss, but he had also known she wasn’t ready. Her body was ... but she was not.
And so, when he left her room, he went two doors up the hall and slipped inside that room. The twins were sleeping, but that didn’t last long. He woke Betty up with a kiss.
“What?” she asked sleepily. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he said, sliding his hand onto her breast. “Can I get in bed with you?”
“About time,” she said, moving over. “It’s been two whole nights, Bobby.”
She was naked, and within a minute he was too. She lay back, still sleepy and let him mount her. He got her ready by lovingly sucking her nipples and kissing her lips.
“What’s going on over there?” came another sleepy voice from Matilda’s bed. “No fair!”
“You’ll get your turn,” said Bobby, notching the head of his prick into Betty’s pussy.
“Ohhhhh yessssss,” she moaned as he slid deep, prodding her cervix. “Ohhh Bobby I’ve missed this so much.”
He rocked in her and she got louder and louder until he silenced her with a long kiss while she had a writhing orgasm under him. He rubbed her clitty with the base of his prick a little longer, and then pulled out.
“Not yet!” she complained. “Can’t you go a little longer?”
“I’m really horny,” he whispered. “You made me even hornier, and I don’t want to spurt and go all soft on Matilda.”
“Okay,” sighed Betty, pulling his face down for a last kiss. “But you owe me.”
“Right.” He grinned in the darkness and then got up and padded over to Matilda’s bed. She was naked too, waiting for him. He didn’t have to get her ready. She’d taken care of that. Like her sister, she wanted him on top this night and she arched her hips up at him as he impaled her.
“I want at least three,” she whispered, jerking her hips, trying to speed up the first one.
“You’ll take what I give you or I’ll stop now and go back to Betty,” he warned, grinning, even though she couldn’t see his face.
“Don’t be mean!” she whispered. “You know how much we need you, and you go off and give it to other women. You should love us more than them.”
“How do you measure love?” he asked, powering into her and rubbing. “Like this?”
“You’re doing fine,” she panted. “Just keep measuring.”
She did get two of her three orgasms, but he was too excited, and stiffened before she could get number three. He groaned and felt the soothing jets of semen ease the ache in both his prick and his balls.
“I love it when you squirt in me,” panted Matilda.
“I love squirting in you, baby,” he panted back.
Misty woke. She was warm and comfortable. She had dim memories of waking up, naked and cold, and rolling and thrashing to get covers over her. Then, finally warm, she had gone back to sleep.
Now, though, she was awake, with that kind of alertness that tells the sleeper that the time for sleep is past and will not return again ... maybe ever. It never lasts, but those mornings just require that you get up and do something. Lying abed is simply not an option.
She got up and saw her reflection in the big mirror fastened to the chest of drawers on one wall. She stopped, looking at her image as if she’d never seen herself. Her hair was a mess, but she didn’t concentrate on that. She looked at her breasts. A man’s hands had mauled them last night, but they didn’t look any different at all. They still had their perky pink nipples. They were still round, as if someone had slid half a grapefruit under her skin on each side.
Her eyes dipped to the honey-blond hair between her legs. He hadn’t touched her there. After he’d left she had wished he had. She remembered that now, but it seemed foreign somehow. She knew that, if he had touched her, she’d hate him this morning. She felt bad about that. He was more than a gentleman. She knew she’d have welcomed him last night. Somehow, though, he knew how she’d feel this morning. She was sure of that. She’d seen the desire in his eyes. As they’d raked up her body they’d paused ... staring at that honey-blond hair.
She looked down and bent over, trying to see what he had seen. There was a hand mirror on the dresser and, on impulse, she picked it up and moved it so she could see what it looked like from where he had been standing. She stood straddle legged, knees bent, as if frozen in some odd ballet position. It was too dark to see and she turned toward the brilliant light coming in the windows. The mirror brightened. Her outer lips were thicker than she thought they’d be from the feel of them. Her inner lips were protruding raggedly, as if someone had tried to tuck them in, but hadn’t done a good job of it.
She stood and put the mirror back. This was silly. She went to her suitcase and took out clothes. Putting them on, she wondered if he’d give her another massage tonight, after the concert.
“What am I doing?” she thought. “I don’t think about this kind of thing! What’s happened to me?!”
She ran a comb through her shag cut and closed her suitcase. It was quiet when she opened the door. She had no idea what time it was. She couldn’t remember where she’d put her watch, but didn’t search for it. She smelled meat cooking and went to the kitchen. Mirriam was there.
“Good morning!” she said, over her shoulder.
“What time is it?”
“Ohhhh, I imagine about seven-thirty or so. It’s late. Everybody was tired last night.”
Seven-thirty! Misty rarely got up before nine unless there was a recording session to go to. Yet she felt more vibrantly alive than she had in a long time.
“I’ve got ham, with biscuits and gravy,” offered Mirriam.
“That would be fabulous!” said Misty, suddenly ravenous.
That was another thing. She was rarely “ravenous”. She ate because it kept her body fueled. But on this trip she craved food. True, most of what she’d eaten was home-cooked, but even the hamburger she’d eaten with Bobby had been delicious in a thoroughly decadent way.
She was halfway through her plate when Bobby sauntered into the kitchen. He was barefoot. His jeans were faded and soft looking, and he had on a shirt just like the one Mirriam had loaned to her when she first arrived. That lock of hair was down on his forehead again, as usual. He looked at her and winked.
She blushed, almost choked on the soft mess in her mouth, and stopped chewing to get control of herself. His mother hadn’t been kidding. He did have some mysterious power!
He went to his mother, who was standing at the stove, and hugged her from behind. Misty watched as Mirriam’s head lolled back onto his shoulder and he kissed her cheek. His hands were out of sight, but they seemed too high to be on her waist, somehow.
“Stop that!” barked Mirriam.
“What?” He sounded injured.
Crying sounded from another part of the house.
“I’ll get him,” said Bobby, and left the room.
He returned with Theodore in his arms, nuzzling the little boy’s neck. The child obviously loved the attention.
As breakfast progressed, Misty felt more and more like she was home. It wasn’t anything she could put her finger on. Bobby sat Theodore in a high chair and fed him with a tiny spoon. Mirriam kept cooking. The twins showed up, looking fresh and happy and sat down. There was light chatter, and the girls said they were going to her concert that night. They asked a few questions about what it was like in Nashville, but they weren’t as avid as they had been.
She thought about the bed and breakfast she was supposed to stay in. If it hadn’t caught on fire, she’d never had experienced this family.
“You know what?” she asked suddenly.
Mirriam turned around.
“You should open a bed and breakfast in this house.”
“I’m serious. You have made my stay so wonderful. You took care of me. I love being here.”
She blinked. Why had she said that? She decided it was because she did love being here.
“Really!” she said, feeling excitement. “I mean it. I’d pay to stay here, and I have a lot of friends who would love to get away from it all and relax in a place like this. You could make a lot of money Mirriam.”
“I wouldn’t know how to run a bed and breakfast,” said Mirriam, turning back to the stove.
“You already know,” said Misty. “Just be yourself! All you need to offer your guests is what you offered me. A room, good food, and a place where they feel like they’re at home. That’s how I feel.”
Mirriam turned around again. Her face was smooth and she seemed ready to smile.
“Thank you,” she said. “That’s the nicest thing anybody’s said to me in a long time.”
“You should think about that,” insisted Misty.
“We could be your maids,” said Betty suddenly.
“You girls already have jobs,” said Mirriam. “You should be thinking about finding husbands, instead of working at home.”
“Who needs a husband?” snorted Matilda. “Men are too much trouble if you ask me. And just because we work for Renee doesn’t mean we couldn’t do a little light work around here. All it would mean is a little extra laundry and making breakfast every day. You should be used to that. Besides ... how are you going to survive if we leave?”
“I do just fine,” said Mirriam. “There’s the rent we get for the land, and with most of you girls gone, I don’t buy nearly as many groceries as I used to. It’s getting so the hens lay more eggs than we can use!”
“Well, at least think about it,” said Misty. “Now that I know about this place, I know I’d like to come here again, to get away from things when they get too hectic. I can’t do that if you don’t open a business.”
Mirriam laughed. “You’re welcome to visit any time you like.”
“Wow!” said Betty. “Misty Compton wants to stay at our house sometimes!”
“I do!” Misty agreed loudly, as if she wasn’t sure they believed her.
“Just give us a call before you show up,” said Bobby. He grinned. “So we can stock up the larder. You eat like a horse!”
“Bobby!” Mirriam scolded.
“That’s because the food is good, you oaf!” Misty glared at him. She couldn’t hold the glare when he winked again.
“What’s the matter with your eye?” asked Matilda.
Bobby flushed. “Nothing. I just have a speck in it or something.” He looked back at Misty. “What’s on the agenda today?”
“Just rehearsal,” she said. “Jasper has more songs. He writes pretty good songs. I may ask him if I can record a few of them.”
“You’d give the poor guy a coronary if you did,” said Bobby. “I need to see a few people today. You want to tag along? I can come back for you later if you want to be lazy and stay here.”
“Bobby Jordan!” barked Mirriam. “You mind your manners!”
“She knows I’m just teasing. I know she works hard.”
“Well,” said Misty. “You do seem to know the most interesting people. I might come with you if you’ll listen to your mother and mind your manners.”
“I always mind my manners,” said Bobby solemnly.
Four women shrieked with laughter at that. He took it for thirty seconds and then got up to go put on shoes, in an attempt to salvage what was left of his dignity.
They stopped at Janet Griswold’s house first. Bobby simply described her as a friend who was pregnant, and had no man around to help out. When she opened the door her face lit up in a way that Misty was slowly becoming used to when women greeted Bobby Dalton. She looked to be about six months along, maybe less. She was obviously a healthy woman because her pregnancy looked good on her and she hadn’t gained weight anywhere except in her womb.
“Just checking in,” said Bobby. “This is Misty Compton. She’s the latest rage in Nashville on the country scene. She’s doing the concerts at the festival over in Hutch.”
“Come in!” said Janet. “It’s so nice to meet you. I read about you in the paper. Everybody’s in a tizzy about you being here.”
“Thank you!” said Misty, liking the woman immediately.
Misty got to see Bobby Dalton in his role as a handyman, as he fixed a lamp that had quit working. A chair with a loose leg went into the back of the pickup, with a promise that it would be returned in a day or two. Then Janet had to leave for work, and they got back in the truck.
Next was a neat little house a few blocks away. The woman who opened the door was known to Misty. She’d been at the concert on the first night, and had helped Bobby restore order in the unruly crowd.
“I thought you might like to chat with Misty when there weren’t a thousand other people around,” said Bobby. “Is Connie in her room?”
“As usual,” said Prudence. She ushered Misty into the living room and sat down.
Bobby started down a hallway, and then backed up.
“Help!” he cried in a falsetto voice. “They’re after me!”
A little boy and girl, about the same age, came running after him, laughing and yelling. Bobby “tripped” and fell down. He became a mountain for the children to climb on.
“Ha!” he yelled. “My plan worked! Gotcha!”
He began making growling noises and pretended to eat the children’s necks as they squealed and yelled to “Mamma” for help.
“You two know what he’s like,” said Prudence smiling. “You got yourselves into this.”
“Got to get away!” growled Bobby, rolling to his hands and knees.
That he wasn’t really trying to get away was made clear as he paused for the little boy to climb up on his back. He had to help the little girl with a hand under her butt, but then she settled in behind the boy, holding onto him with her arms around him.
“Giddyap!” yelled the little boy.
Bobby crawled back down the hallway he’d started down originally.
“Twins?” asked Misty.