Note: This is Part 3 of a continuing story. The reader is advised to read Part 1, The Dance, and Part 2, The Dance Continues, to fully appreciate this erotic work of fiction.
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Dear Gary,
I know you said you wanted me to call you by your first name, but that would imply some kind of friendship. And friends don't let friends rot in jail. So if you don't mind, I'm just going to continue calling you Mr. Simon. Since you're going to make a shitload of money off my story, and I'm not going to see a fucking penny of it, I'd prefer it that way.
Sorry if I seem bitter, but a year in prison can do that to you. A year without sex can make it even worse. And reliving all the times I was with Lara by writing this is pure hell. I'm so fucking glad I don't have a cellmate, 'cause I'm jacking off all the time now, thinking about her.
Goddamn that woman... She definitely gets me bothered.
One time I was with her, I had been drinking pretty heavily before she came over, plus I'd eaten some hydrocodones. I don't know what happened, but after she'd been there awhile and she'd gone down on me, I passed out. And you just don't do that shit to Lara; if she didn't get any satisfaction, she'd blow a fuse.
I woke up the next morning to find her gone, a note on my nightstand saying:
"Dear Mr. Horowitz,
I took your car back to the parking lot to pick up my car. The keys are in the ignition - IF your car is still there.
PS: FUCK YOU!!!"
I threw some clothes on, swearing aloud as I ran the 4 blocks to the parking lot where I had picked Lara up the previous evening. I just knew my car would be gone, but there it was, right where I had parked it the night before when Lara had opened up the passenger door and crawled in beside me and began blowing me there in the parking lot. Damn, I knew this was gonna be bad - I was so fucking wasted that, when my cock didn't spring to attention right away, she knew why. "You've been drinking again, haven't you, Josh? Goddamnit, why do you have to do this shit before I come over?"
She got out then and came over to the drivers' side door. Opening it up and pushing me over, she got in, saying, more to herself than to me, "Honestly, Josh... I don't know why the fuck I put up with your shit sometimes."
Looking at her, the determined, angry look on her face as she shifted the Baretta in gear, I asked, "Why DO you put up with me, Lara?"
"Fuck if I know," she answered, tires squealing as she pulled out of the parking lot.
She helped me get inside once we were back at my apartment. I stumbled into the bedroom and crashed on the bed. I remember she made coffee for me, and kept bringing in cool washcloths for my forehead. She was holding the coffee cup, helping me to drink it, when I said, "You remind me of my mom, doing all this shit for me."
She just sat there staring at me for awhile. Finally, she said, "We talked about this, Josh. And I specifically told you that if you were looking for a 'mother figure' that it couldn't happen, that it would be wrong."
"Nah, I don't mean like that," I stated. "I just mean that you waiting on me, bringing me this stuff - only a mom would do that."
I took the coffee cup out of her hand and sat it down on the nightstand. Taking her hand, I laid back against a pillow and said, "Come here," pulling her down beside me.
"Just lay here with me," I whispered. I was so fucked up that I really didn't want to do anything more than just lay there.
I remembered her saying "I bet I can sober you up," and then she was taking off my jeans. My head was swimming in that dream-like state you get when you knock back several beers and eat a bunch of pills, but it didn't keep her from getting me off.
I can't remember the particulars because of the condition I was in, but, expert cocksucker that she is, she sucked and jacked me off until I came. At which point I passed out and didn't remember anything until waking up the next day and finding the note about her having taken my car.
So, yeah... that pissed her off. But a few weeks later, when I couldn't take not seeing her anymore, I called and left a message on her voicemail, telling her to call me back because I had to talk to her.
When she did, it was like nothing had happened. "Yeah, I've been meaning to call you, too," she said. "Both boys are going to be gone the weekend of the 30th, so I was wondering if you'd like to come over that night?"
Whoa... this was easier than I thought it would be. Neither of us ever really wanted to be the first to back down after a fight. Which was why I might call her, but I would never apologize to her - not to mention my car could have been stolen that night, so I felt I had a valid reason to be just as mad as she was.
And so that became a routine: If we parted for a few weeks after a fight, I always ended up being the first to give in and actually call her back. But then she would say something like, "Oh, I'm glad you called; there's something I need to talk to you about," and proceed to tell me she needed another ounce of bud, or maybe she had something planned for us… as was the case for this particular night.
The 30th was just a couple weeks away. And it was January, fucking cold as hell. I couldn't imagine what she had planned, and said so. "Well," she replied seductively, "you'll just have to wait and find out."
She picked me up that evening, saying she didn't want my car sitting outside her house, "Just in case one of Gabe's friends should come by looking for him and see your car there."
I looked over at her as she drove. She had her hair pulled back and pinned up high, with just a few loose strands hanging down the sides of her face. This was one hell of a sexy woman! With that long black leather coat on and her hair pinned up like that, she looked like a high $$ hooker, just as sexy as hell. If I had it my way she would have worn her hair like that all the fucking time – and dressed in high heels and mini skirts, stockings and garter belts. That's what makes an older woman so goddamned sexy, the way a beautiful one can dress like that and get away with it. A couple times I got Lara to dress like that for me, but she preferred jeans and T-shirts. Fuck, she looked good in anything, so I wasn't going to complain.
But I just might have to complain about the paranoia thing. God, she was just way too paranoid about us getting caught. "Why couldn't you just answer the door if that happened, and tell whoever it is that me and Gabe went out to a party, and he drove his car, or something?"
Shaking her head, she said, "No. What if the person didn't stop, but later on asked Gabe about your car being at our house that night? Or even if they did stop, they could still ask Gabe about the party the two of you went to. Gabe's not stupid, I think he could piece that one together pretty quickly."
"So, what's up?" I asked, wanting to change the subject.
She looked over at me warily, saying, "about... what?"
I would forget sometimes that she was more than twice my age. Patiently, I asked, "So what's the plan? What have you got on the menu for tonight?"
Smiling seductively, she said, "You'll just have to wait and see."
Once we got to her house she led me downstairs. At the back of the house, adjacent to the family room, was a glassed-in room, a kind of greenhouse. They had lots of tropical plants and a sunken hot tub in there. Lara led me to 'The Jungle Room', as the family called it.
Only the undulating blue light coming from the massive hot tub lighted the room. This thing could easily sit 8 people, and yet, except for that night, I never recall anyone using it.
Lara untied the belt of her coat and let it drop to the floor. She was wearing only a black bikini, a modest yet sexy one that showed just a hint of belly.
I raised my eyebrows in surprise, saying, "Whoa... so that's what you had planned, huh? You should have said something; I could have brought my swim trunks."
"We've been fucking each other now for several months - don't you think it's a little late for modesty?" she asked wryly. I shrugged and began taking my clothes off. "Yeah, baby," she cheered. "Strip for me, bitch!"
Oh, yeah! She was in that bitchy, playful mood that I knew from previous experience would make for some hot sex. I slowed down my stripping, letting her take it all in at a leisurely pace. "You know," I remarked, "I think it's only fair that you should take your swimsuit off."
She grinned. "Maybe later," she said with a wink, as she stepped into the hot tub. She sank down into one of the corner seats, resting her head back against the headrest. So that's why she has her hair up, I thought, so it wouldn't get wet. "Mmmmn…" she moaned, "this feels so fucking good…"
I stood there, bare-chested and shivering. The Jungle Room was heated, but since it was all glass, there was still a slight draft, which kept the room cool on a cold winter night.
Lara's eyes flew open. "Well?" she asked. "Aren't you going to get in?"
"You told me you wanted me to strip. I assumed you wanted to watch me as I did."
"Ahhh… okay, then. But I just meant get your clothes off and get your ass in here. If you wanna strip, though… by all means! Be my guest!" She picked up a remote then, and the next thing I know, the Beastie Boys' "License to Ill" is playing.
"The Beastie Boys?" I asked, unbuckling my belt. "You want to watch me strip to a bunch of white guys trying to rap?" I was just giving her hell; the Beastie Boys were the shit, in my opinion. She couldn't have picked a better CD for me to strip to.
She laughed. "I dunno… I thought you'd like this. But if you'd prefer something else, I can accommodate you." She raised her eyebrows and licked her lips as I dropped my pants, revealing that I hadn't worn any boxers. Hey, I knew what was in store for me that night. I always come prepared.
"I didn't come here for the music, anyhow," I said, stepping into the hot tub. Lara was right; it felt fucking fantastic.
I looked over at her as I leaned back, the blissful jets of water pulsating around me. A smile was playing at the corners of her mouth as she asked, "So what did you come here for, Josh?"
"Actually, I haven't 'came' yet, but I expect to cum many, many times tonight," I replied, reaching down to play with my cock.
She laughed and said, "Well, let's hope we BOTH do! You gotta make it up to me for the last time, you know? But before you start playing with that thing, maybe you can give me a hand with this." She reached behind her and produced a bottle of champagne, handing it to me along with a corkscrew.
I don't remember the French name, but I remember her reply when I tried to look disappointed and said, "Aww, you should have got a bottle of Cristal." She got all up in my face and said, "Hey – that shit's too expensive. But this ain't no 'Martini and Rossi' shit, either – it cost me over $70.00. And if you keep trying to open it like that, we're going to be drinking it with chunks of cork floating in it."
She was right; I didn't know what the hell I was doing. I'd never opened a bottle of champagne before. She took it from my hands and had the cork popped in no time. After pouring us a glass, she dried her hands on one of the towels lying by the hot tub and produced a cigar from somewhere and lit it. Inhaling deeply, she moved over beside me and, pointing to her mouth, asked, "Do you want a shotgun?"
I still couldn't believe what I was seeing. Maybe a part of me still couldn't believe this whole scenario, with the Beastie Boy's "She's Crafty" now playing in the background and the undulating blue light all around us… and a sexy, half-naked woman old enough to be my mom asking me if I want a shotgun from her. Indicating the cigar in her hand, I asked, "Did you blunt that out?"
Nodding yes, she pulled my head to hers with her free hand and began kissing me. "Surprised?" she asked after blowing a lung full of marijuana smoke into my mouth. She went back to the other side of the hot tub and sat down.
I thought about this as I exhaled. Shrugging, I replied, "Mildly. Let's just say you keep me on my toes… but not on the edge of my seat."
She said, "In other words, you never know what I'll do next, but you're not surprised when I do it?"
"Exactly. Now pass the blunt."
She took another hit, then leaned over and passed it to me. Shaking her head, she said, "Well, that's no good… there's gotta be an element of surprise, or what's the point?"
"I never said I was disappointed. In fact, I can't wait to see what's next."
She grinned then, leaning back into her seat. "That's the beauty of it… not knowing what's gonna happen tonight." We sat there awhile just enjoying the mellow effects of the bud, occasionally rapping along with Ad Rock, Mike D, and MCA.
At one point, Lara raised a leg out of the water, pointing her toes toward the ceiling. Running a hand along the side, she said, "Damn, I've got the best fucking legs, even if I do say so myself. I truly believe this is the sexiest leg I have ever seen." Smiling seductively, she added, " Don't you agree, Josh?"
The iridescent blue light from the hot tub illuminated the soft skin along the back of her leg, glistening with drops of water. She was right; I could compare women's legs the rest of my life, and none would come close to the sexy legs of Lara Hauptmann's. But I liked to push her buttons.
"One of the best," I replied dryly.
"What do you mean, 'one of the best'? They ARE the… Oh, that's right! This leg IS one of the best, because it's in a tie for first place with THIS one!" she laughed, lowering her left leg and raising her right. She placed her hands on either side of her thigh, twirling her foot and pointing her toes. "Damn, my legs are so sexy, I'd fuck them if it were possible."
I couldn't help it - I started to giggle. "Shit, woman, you're fucked up! How long has it been since you smoked weed?"
She looked at me and countered, "You think I'm talking shit? I'm not talking shit, you can see for yourself that these are some damn fine legs. Any man who says otherwise is a fucking liar." Looking down then, she placed her hands over her breasts and cupped them, gently squeezing. "And these breasts?" she asked, beginning to pinch and tweak her nipples. "I wouldn't trade them for the world. Pinch my nipples just the right way and I can cum buckets…" She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, continuing to squeeze and pinch her titties, while I tried to keep from giggling. That's when I realized that I was the one getting stoned. My usual vices were alcohol, pills and coke; I couldn't remember the last time I'd smoked bud, so the effects were already hitting me.
Just then, the sampled Latin beats of War's 'Low Rider' began the intro to the Beastie Boy's 'Slow Ride'. Standing up, Lara began swaying her hips to the beat as she made her way over to me. Sitting on my lap, she said, "You think this is some kind of well-orchestrated attempt on my part to seduce you, don't you?"
"Well, I hope it is!" I replied with a grin.
Rolling her eyes and nodding, she said, "Okay, okay… I admit I set the stereo up in here, and I had champagne and a blunt ready for us, but that's it. What happens in the next, oh, 18 hours is anyone's guess." She took the blunt from me and inhaled deeply.
I reached around her and untied the neck of her swim top. I started to lean down and take one of those delicious looking nipples in my mouth, to see if I could indeed make her cum, but she put a finger under my chin and lifted my head up to hers and kissed me deeply, giving me another shotgun of smoke as she did.
I was working on the hook on the back of her swim top as I took the smoke into my lungs. I finally got it unfastened and pulled it out from between us, throwing it somewhere in the room. Taking her by the waist, I lifted her up. I blew the smoke onto her nipples and watched as they went from soft and moist to hard and dangerous, beckoning my mouth to them.
I was sucking on a nipple when she picked up the bottle of champagne and, after rapping with Ad Rock when he said, "Hey, homeboy, what you drinking, man?" she took a swig from the bottle.
This gave me an idea. I swear it just popped into my head, I'd never thought of doing something like this before, but before I could give it another thought I started removing her bikini bottoms. I picked her up then and sat her up on the side of the hot tub. "I know what I want to be drinking," I said, taking the bottle from her. It was about half full. After taking a long drink from it, I said, "I want a champagne and pussy juice cocktail. And I believe you're gonna give it to me, aren't you, Lara?"
She didn't even have to answer; as I began rubbing the bottle against her belly, she arched her back and, resting her elbows on the floor, she replied, "You're talking about the finest nectar of the Gods – do you think you deserve it?"
I didn't answer her; I just began rubbing the neck of the bottle around her pussy, flattening that trim thatch of hers with the gentle pressure I applied. Watching the expression on her face, as I rubbed lower, the lip of the bottle rubbing against the lips of her pussy, was such a turn on. The sharp intake of breath when I parted those lips with the mouth of the bottle and began a slow rhythm of pleasure, rubbing from her clit to her pussy, made me almost cum right then and there. But I wanted to make her beg for this.
I stopped rubbing and took a swig from the bottle. Ah, it already had some of her juices on the edge. Mmmmn… it tasted so sweet. I dipped the bottle back into her wet cunt, maybe just a half an inch, then pulled it out and put it up to her lips, saying, "Taste it, Lara, and tell me if that ain't some fine shit."
She tried swallowing as I tipped the bottle to her lips, but some of it began dribbling down her chin. Before I could lean over and lick the drops from her chin, she rubbed them off with the back of her hand. She sat there staring at me, licking her lips, as if waiting to see what I would do next. "Tell me what you want, Lara," I demanded. "Do you want my cock in your pussy, or do you want some more of this?" As I said this, I started rubbing the lip of the champagne bottle over her pussy lips again, parting them to reveal her dripping wet snatch.
She answered me by lying back on the cold tile floor and spreading her legs. "I think you need some more champagne," was her only reply.
I resumed my attention to her throbbing clit, rubbing the lip of the bottle over it in a steady motion and watching each time as it sprang back to attention. I'd cover the little hard nub with the bottle's mouthpiece, watching in fascination as it disappeared inside the green glass, then reappear as I rubbed over it again, eliciting a moan from Lara. I felt like a goddamned gynecologist, my face just inches from her pussy – I wanted to see, wanted to watch her pussy lips as they became more and more swollen with lust. But I knew what she wanted, I knew she had harder orgasms with penetration. So I started again to rub from her clit to her pussy. As I picked up the rhythm, I began inserting a little of the bottle… first just the tip, then an inch, then another. Each time I'd pull the bottle out and rub back over her clit. "Oh, my God…" she said, propping her feet up and pulling herself up a bit by grabbing her knees. "This feels so fucking good… I gotta see it, I gotta watch you do this to me."
Damn! I wanted to watch that bottle disappearing farther and farther into her pussy, but I also wanted to watch the expression on her face as it did. What a dilemma…
Just then the line from 'Hold it Now, Hit It' – "ya'll are drinkin' Moet and we got the champagne"- came on. I couldn't help it; I had to say it. "Shit, woman, you was too cheap to even buy Moet." Like I'd have known the fucking difference.
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