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  Hesitation, then, "Yes."

  "Oh fuck!" I exclaimed in full voice, "Now this is what I call meeting in the middle!"

  The porpoise dug deeper into the treasure chest, plucking the best coins from the pile, one-by-one.

  "How hard is your cock?" I asked.

  "Hard," he said.

  "How hard?" I gasped.

  "Hard. It's very hard," he explained.

  "Goddammit Norman, how hard is your fucking cock right now?!" I demanded.

  "Hard enough to fuck you with," he whispered.

  "Then fuck me, Norman, show me what a dirty girl I am," I begged, "Are you fucking me, Norman?"

  "Yes, I'm fucking your vagina," he quietly informed me, "I mean your tight, wet…pussy."

  His breathing intensified and I could hear the faint squeak of his bed. The dolphin buried its head deep in the treasure chest, flipping it over on its side and sending the coins spraying across the ocean floor.

  "I'm coming Norman," I screamed through gritted teeth, "Your making my pussy cum with that big, fat cock of yours."

  I leaned back and pulled my legs up as waves of fresh ocean spray landed on the glass coffee table.

  "I think I'm about to shoot it, Lauren," he whispered, "Yes, I'm going to shoot my penis in you now."

  "Your cock," Norm, "Your fuckstick."

  "I'm going to shoot my cock in you," he said.

  "Aim for that counter-offer," I ordered.

  "What?" he said, gasping for air.

  "Just do it. I know you have it right in front of you. Plaster that pathetic offer with your white, hot come."

  "Okay," he said.

  His convulsions were painfully intense, yet barely audible. I imagined his beat-red face as he quietly hummed in ecstasy even as he destroyed his own contract. I waited for the humming to die down, becoming a single exhale.

  "Feel better, Norman?" I asked, carefully removing the porpoise from its pink playground.

  "Yes," he answered, sounding half asleep already.

  "Good," I said, "Now get me a new offer by tomorrow. And do better."

  "Okay," he whispered before the phone went dead.

  Chapter 3

  When my alarm sounded at 6 a.m. the following morning, I scrambled for the snooze button, rolled over, and cringed. That really happened yesterday. All of that! Had I lost my fucking mind? I was raised Catholic for Christ's sake.

  As I dressed for work, I told myself that this--whatever this was--must end today. I was clearly in over my head. Even my sluttiest girlfriends back in college didn’t talk about entertaining mystery men with panty fetishes or phone-fucking married real estate agents.

  There would be no afternoon coffee break today. That much was sure.

  I even considered calling my lake property client with Norm Larson's counter-offer. After all he was right, it was a buyer's market out there. Of course that would most likely require a follow-up call to Norm, himself, which I didn’t even want to think about.

  To hell with it, I would focus on the Robertson open house I had scheduled for three o'clock. Just turn off my fucking mind and go buy some damn balloons. Maybe the rest would just all go away.

  As I watched Jenny from the balloon shop fill three fat mylars, my phone rang. I fished the still-stupid ringtone from my purse and answered it without even looking.

  Shit! It was Norm.

  "Lauren I've managed to rework that counter offer we spoke about last night," he said, sounding all business.

  I appreciated his tone, but my mind was still on fire.

  "Oh," I said, "Really? I mean…that's great, right? Well, I assume that's great, I haven't heard it yet, but I really appreciate…you know what, I'll shut up now."

  He paused, waiting for me to regain my composure.

  Then he said it, "We're offering full asking price, Lauren."

  I reached for the counter to steady myself.

  "Are you there?" he asked.

  Jenny smiled over at me to signal that she had tied off the last balloon.

  "Um, yes, I'm here," I managed, "Well that is certainly exciting news."

  "I thought you'd like that," he said, "It seemed like a win-win, all things considered."

  I didn't even want to think about the "things" he was considering, but the fact is this would mean an $18,000 commission in my back pocket. Nearly double my largest to date.

  "Why?" I started, "I mean, do you mind if I ask how they arrived at that number?"

  He chuckled, "Well, let's just say they may have been under the impression that a big investment banker was considering buying the place for a hunting cabin."

  Jenny took my credit card and rang me up.

  "Norm, you know you're legally bound to represent your client's best interests in all matters pertaining to…"

  "What, you're going to preach ethics now?" he interrupted.

  It was a good point.

  "No, I suppose not," I said.

  And with that he hung up.

  Thanking Jenny, I gathered my balloons and made for the exit.

  I wasn't sure of Norm's intentions, but I did know this: I was going to that coffee shop at precisely 1:30, as ordered. I guess I felt like I had earned a little fun after landing my record-breaking sale. And for some reason having a terribly beautiful stranger use me for his personal entertainment seemed like just the thing.

  I raced over to the Rasmussen house to do some pre-staging before that afternoon's open house. Placing three signs, each with a balloon, on nearby cross-streets. Setting out cookies and punch. Making sure there were plenty of flyers strategically placed around the property. Running a rag over countertops and light fixtures. I completed it all in record time.

  Now the only thing left was to practice.

  I walked into the master bedroom, removed my panties, and sat on the corner of the bed facing a large wall mirror. Aiming my knees directly at the mirror, I slowly parted my legs and watched as my pinkness first came into view, then actually managed to part itself just enough to show off its glistening inner lips.

  I tried again, even slower this time, imagining its effect on my daring admirer. Would he prefer the slow reveal, or the quick, playful glimpse? Should I pretend to be reading something? Drinking my frothy cappuccino? Or--assuming I was capable--staring into the depths of those two bottomless green pools where his eyes belonged?

  I reached down with a middle finger and lightly stroked the outer lips, watching as moist droplets came to the surface then slowly descended along the seam of my cunt. My pink, perfect cunt. Why was I suddenly using that word? Women--particularly professional women--were supposed to hate that word. But for some reason "pussy" just didn't seem to fit anymore. Pussies had hair. Pussies wore panties and didn't take orders from naughty strangers. No, I was definitely looking at a warm, wet cunt. The same one he'd be looking at in just…holy shit...fifteen minutes!

  I jumped up, straightened out my skirt, locked the front door and raced for the car.

  Traffic was backed up on I-405 but I still managed to arrive with three minutes to spare. I used the time to freshen up my face in the rearview mirror, then waited an extra two minutes which was as "fashionably late" as I could stand to be.

  As I approached the coffeehouse entrance, I felt like I was leaving a dotted trial of girl juice on the hot sidewalk behind me. I paused for a moment, preparing myself for his soul-stealing gaze, then reached out and twisted the knob. My eyes eagerly launched themselves across the room to the table where he'd been seated just twenty-four hours earlier. And there to my complete amazement sat…Randy from Sunset RV Sales.

  How did I know Randy's name? Because over the years he had given everyone in town his business card at least ten times apiece. The man seemed to possess no memory whatsoever. Instead he just went through life meeting everyone he knew, again and again. How he afforded all those business cards, I will never understand.

  At any rate, on that particular day, all I knew was that he was not the man I was looking
for. I did a complete sweep of the room to find nothing but regulars. Boring, pathetic people reading books, researching school subjects and surfing the web while their cocks and pussies lay in coma.

  I told myself that it would be okay. After all it was only two minutes past the agreed upon time, and besides he could afford to be as late as he wanted. He had all the control; a fact that was as delightful as it was unfamiliar to me.

  I decided to simply order my usual, find a table, and wait. What else could a pantyless girl do? But as Ryan passed my order over the pick-up counter he blurted, "Oh, hey, I almost forgot!"

  "What's that?" I asked.

  He reached under the counter, produced a four-inch, silver colored box, and slid it across to me. A white satin ribbon was tied around it, holding the top in place.

  "Some guy said to give you this."

  "What guy?" I asked, feeling my face flush with excitement.

  "I don't know, didn't leave a name," Ryan said, "He kind of acted like you were expecting it."

  Oh, I was expecting it all right. I just didn't know what IT was.

  Thanking him, I took the box and tucked it safely under my arm, picked up the cappuccino and said, "Hey, by the way, has anyone ever mentioned that you look like a young Errol Flynn?"

  "I don't know who that is," he answered.

  "He was an old black and white movie actor."

  "Oh, well that explains it," he said, "I hate black and white movies."

  "Why?" I asked.

  "Because they aren't in color," he explained in all seriousness.

  And to think that just over a day ago I'd had a little crush on him!

  I smiled politely and found the nearest unoccupied table. Surveying the room one last time, I slowly pulled the end of the ribbon, lifted the box top and peered inside.

  Something purple. Sparkly.

  Whatever it was I couldn't risk revealing it in public. I took a long sip of my coffee drink--wishing it was something stronger--closed the box and made for the restroom. The door to the restroom had no lock so I commandeered the only stall and latched it shut. I took a deep breath, reached into the box and removed a stunning thong panty, covered with lavender rhinestones. A small card was attached emblazoned with strong, male handwriting: "Wear these for the remainder of the day."

  Not a "please." Not a "thank you." Just a shockingly arrogant command.

  Discarding the box, I immediately did as I was told. However, as I stepped into the unusual gift, I noticed something particularly odd. A soft, silicone nubbin was strategically placed such that it would likely nestle itself just beneath my clit. I finished sliding them on and, sure enough, felt the bonus feature gently part my lips.

  As I exited the stall and walked to the sink, the nubbin stirred my saucepan, bringing it to an immediate simmer. I placed my hands on the vanity, caught my breath, and looked into the mirror.

  Really, Lauren? Is that all it takes? For twenty-eight years you make the few men you've ever been with work tirelessly to earn your affection and now you're powerless to resist an Armani suit and a nice pair of eyes? And great cheekbones with a tall trim body? That's the winning formula? Just because he most likely has a beautiful, angry cock capable of fucking your tight, wet pussy until your twin brother screams? Next, you'll be begging him to pull your hair and bite your neck as his nuts come to a rapid boil and…oh, good God, what is happening to you!?

  I turned on the faucet and held some cool water to my flushed face, quieting my thoughts. I told myself that whatever happens, happens. There wasn't a damn thing I could do to influence the outcome anyway. All of the control was his to exercise as he saw fit. No, the thing to do was to put one delicious step in front of the other until further notice.

  And that's exactly what I did, feeling myself get panty-fucked as I walked right past my still warm cappuccino and out of the shop.

  Chapter 4

  The open house went amazingly well, if I do say so myself. The house itself was in a popular price range, so turnout was consistent for most of the afternoon. And I'm certain my sales pitch had an extra "glow" about it, thanks to the fact that I was being repeatedly jilled-off with every trip down the hallway, through the master bedroom and out to the spacious wrap-around deck.

  Unfortunately, as I was locking up, a family of four appeared in a mini-van.

  "We drove in all the way from Creston just to see it," said the wife, "Are you sure you couldn't give us the quick tour?"

  The husband secretly rolled his eyes in apology.

  "Oh, you know, sure. Why not," I said, putting the keys back in my purse.

  I invited them in and gave the kids the last of the cookies, then took them all on the deluxe tour. By the time we got to the spacious downstairs utility room, complete with Whirlpool side-loading washer and dryer, it was obvious the husband was flirting with me. Each time his wife looked away he'd throw me a subtle wink or a slight smile, just enough to send the message.

  As the tour continued, he got more and more brave, asking me whether I lived in the area, what I did for fun around here, that sort of thing. He seemed like an ex-jock who had married the second cutest cheerleader. She was my height with about thirty extra pounds that she carried awkwardly, as if they were new. But I could tell she was not as oblivious to her husband's antics as he seemed to believe.

  She caught him looking at my tits as I reached up to pull down the attic hatch. We both noticed the way he jockeyed for the position directly behind me as we ascended the basement steps. I wished I could assure her that she had nothing to worry about--at least from me--because this cad she had married was not even close to my type.

  Still, with just a year and a half of job experience under my belt, I was already well familiar with the concept of the "skirt sale." It was the one advantage I had over much more seasoned realtors like Norm Larson, and in light of the recently depressed housing market I was happy to have it. So when hubby asked if I could show them the master bedroom just one last time, I agreed.

  That's when it happened. I was showing off the walk-in cedar-lined closet, when suddenly my pussy started to vibrate. I mean literally.

  I reached for the garment rod to steady myself, trying not to let on as the little fuck-nubbin actually came to life and began massaging my hot little twat.

  "Are you okay?" asked the wife.

  "Yes, I'm fine," I said, caught somewhere between ecstasy, alarm and professional impropriety. Suddenly the vibrations stopped.

  "I'm sorry, I've had a little headache coming on," I explained, "If I could just step out and get some air."

  "Of course," said the wife, "Honey, let her by," she told hubby.

  He purposely hesitated a moment, then made just enough space so that my left hip would have to graze him in order to move past.

  As I stepped out to the master bedroom I instantly sensed that I was still not alone. I scanned the room and sure enough, standing at the foot of the bed was a tall, beautiful man. The Man, in fact.

  His green eyes pinned me to the wall from eight feet away.

  "Beg for more," he quietly ordered.

  "More?" I asked.

  Suddenly my pussy re-ignited as the nubbin grabbed me by the throat and fucked me against the wall, my hips writhing without my consent.

  "Please," I quietly pleaded, "I've got clients."

  He stood motionless, the smallest hint of a smile on his face.

  "I don't understand," I confessed as the panties took as much of me as they wanted.

  Suddenly the family emerged from the closet and I heard the wife say, "Oh, looks like you've got another customer."

  The nubbin stopped fucking me, saving itself for another round. I did my best to stand up straight and brush the hair back from my face.

  "Yes," I managed, "It seems that way."

  "You don't look so good," her hubby declared, stepping forward as if to help me.

  "She'll be fine," The Man said, stopping him in his tracks.

  The two men stared
each other down for what seemed like an agonizingly long time before the wife suggested, "Maybe we should leave."

  "Yes," The Man confirmed, "That might be best."

  "Let's go kids," the wife suggested, gathering both of them by the hand and exiting down the hallway.

  Her husband stood there, stupid and confused.

  "What's going on here?" he dared to ask.

  "Paul, let's go!" his wife demanded from the other end of the hall.

  The Man quietly reached inside his jacket pocket and produced a small electronic device with a single red button. He pressed and held the button causing the nubbin to initiate another round.

  "Oh, fuck!" I let myself say aloud, "Don't stop!"

  The Man walked over to me, placed a hand on my shoulder and slowly pushed me to my knees. Unzipping his trousers, he freed his rock hard cock and drove it straight down my throat, muffling my uncontrollable moans.

  As I began dutifully sucking him off, he turned to hubby and said, "Close the door on your way out, you little fuck."

  There was a slight delay, then the door clicked shut as a delightful wave of girl-cum spoiled my favorite skirt.

  Chapter 5

  Once the muffled sound of the family minivan faded into the distance, the room was suspended in almost eerie silence as all but the last inch of his cock enjoyed my warm, wet throat.

  Without removing it, I dared to look up and into his eyes, which appeared to be surprisingly grateful. His hand lightly stroked my hair as a smile slowly appeared on his face. He reached down and handed me the remote button without a word. I pushed it two or three times, jumpstarting my pussy again. After bathing his cock in gentle moans, my lips and tongue reached for the base, then retreated slowly to kiss the swollen head.

  It was an impressive piece of machinery. Long and straight with a slight upward curve that would, no doubt, come in handy later. The head was swollen and shiny, red but trying to become purple. On the extreme opposite end of the ergonomically designed shaft was a smooth, hairless pouch stretched tight around precious cargo. I extended my tongue and tasted his nuts, letting the cock itself lay pink and wet against my face.