By Margo Perry  (margo707 AT rogers DOT com)
Copyright 2001 by Margo Perry, all rights reserved.

It was Sunday morning and Joe Browning was exhausted. He’d spent all weekend designing lesson-plans, correcting papers and trying to forget Libby Crawford. Forgetting Libby Crawford had been, and still was impossible. She was under his skin, coursing through his veins, seducing his mind as relentlessly as she’d done his body. Memories of her ran rampant, driving him to distraction: Libby at first sight, her cock-thrilling massive breasts sweeping the show-table as she reached for a shoe. Libby, her voice growling with erotic intent: “Show me that beautiful hungry cock of yours. Do what you wanna’ do, Joe Browning.” Libby Crawford spreading Joe’s palm to soaking wet with her hot, saliva-rich tongue, watching as he stroked himself to cataclysmic orgasm. Libby, her moist-earthy scent as she reached under her dress, to thrust and grind her pussy against her own fingers until…

Joe’s cock surged and seeped just thinking about it.

So what had gone wrong?

Saturday: “Wanna’ come back tomorrow, Joe Browning?” she’d asked.
“Yes, Libby,” he’d answered.

Sunday, she’d telephoned: “Something’s come up. I’ll get back to you later this afternoon.”
And he hadn’t heard from her since.

What could have happened to her? She’d sounded so tense and anxious. Joe had tried calling her, left messages, but to no avail. He’d even resorted to pretending that he desperately needed to pick up his sneakers. Still, no response.

Depressed and confused, Joe had struggled through his days with what he hoped was seeming normalcy, but had found himself rushing home and staying there because he didn’t want to miss Libby’s call. He’d behaved like an obsessed adolescent and as the week wore on without her, hope faded in the shadow of doubt and his cock shriveled in the lonely cold of rejection.
She’s played me. Seriously played me. And she still has my sneakers…

Instead of crying, Joe directed his attention back to the Grade 11 English essays on his desk. The class had read Ray Bradbury’s, Fahrenheit 451 and had discussed the importance of books, of sharing life’s experiences, of the value of independent thought and personal freedom. He’d asked them to select a favorite book and give reasons for their choices in 600 words or more. Their responses had been interesting and varied…from ‘Tom Sawyer’ to ‘The Color Purple’, from ‘Harry Potter’ to ‘The Stand’ and Joe was very pleased with their efforts.

One more to go…

Joe picked up the last of the thirty-five and read:
“The book I’d memorize and save from the firemen would be Superman, the comic and I’d describe the pics. Why? Because it zaps me, man. It really zaps me. End of story.”

End of story, indeed…

George Martin was a committed smartass who’d worn Joe’s patience thin. Joe slashed a bold red F across the top of the sheet, dropped it onto the completed pile and shoved the graded papers into his briefcase. Sighing, he stood up, stretched and headed for the kitchen and a cup of coffee.

The phone rang as he was reaching for a mug. He opted to screen the call.

I’m sorry, Joe. I should have called sooner…

Libby…Oh God. He moved quickly, collapsing in the chair next to the phone. His heart pounded so hard and fast that it frightened him.
I’m not making excuses, but I’ve really been dealing with something here. I haven’t stopped thinking about you, Joe. I miss you. I’ll leave your shoes at the store if you want but I’d really love to see you. Call me. 222-416-2020.

She wants to see me…

Joe had never experienced a woman like Libby and her words affected him as immediately as the most potent of mainlined drugs. His anxieties were tranquilized and all confusion disappeared. Time was cut and spliced until he could actually feel his cheek against her breasts, hear her whispering, “Why don’t we try again tomorrow.” Courage, anticipation and giddy excitement propelled him. He called Libby. He grinned. He showered, humming. He drove quickly but carefully and in no time flat he was tapping on Libby’s penthouse door.

It opened immediately.

“Hi, baby, please come in.”

Joe did. He hadn’t remembered the absoluteness of her beauty because it couldn’t be contained in his mind’s eye. He needed his cock to transmit, with rock-hard directness, the fullness of her power over him. Interlocking gold rings dangled from her ears, stopping just short of her shoulders, accentuating the length of her swanlike neck. A black lacy, elastic bodysuit started high at her neck and meandered across oversized breasts that spilled from a bra that couldn’t quite contain them. It cinched her tiny waist, stretched across her softly rounded belly, and along her shapely legs.

“Welcome back, Joe Browning,” she teased, leading him to the couch.

He sat blushing, his cock turgid with memory and the sight of the panther standing over him.

“Did you miss me, Joe?” She stood with her legs spread wide. She swayed her hips and her swelling breasts undulated invitingly. She smiled down at him, slowly tracing her lips with her wet pink tongue.
“I missed you, Joe.” Still rocking, she smoothed her sculpted head, back to front. Her hands continued across her face. She caressed her mounds. She squeezed them together with both hands. She twisted, pulled at her nipples.

“Stop it, Libby,” Joe struggled, “I need to know what’s going on. I’ve been worried about you.”

“Sweet Joe Browning,” she said. “Don’t worry about me. I can handle myself. Do you know how beautiful you are with your caring blue eyes and…?”

“Don’t try and change the subject,” Joe interrupted, with quiet determination. “I need…”

“What you need is…me.”

Hopelessly, Joe watched as Libby slid her knee between his legs, nudging his balls and caressing his cock. She lowered herself and her tits grew larger and more overwhelming as they moved toward him. Joe felt his skin’s temperature rising, felt desire somersaulting in his belly. And he trembled because he wanted to grab her and knew he shouldn’t, because his dick and his balls were threatening to explode and because he had no idea what this woman would do, or make him do, next.

“Ooooooh,” Joe groaned.
“Shhhhhh,” Libby soothed.

Her tits pressed against his chest and his cock against his jeans.
“Relax. I just wanna’ make you happy,” she breathed into his ear, whistling hot breath before her tongue lazily licked his earlobe.

“I’m already…”
“Shhhhhh…Come with me.”

Libby took Joe’s hand and led him down a hall to her bedroom. Joe barely noticed the dusky rose walls, sleek modern bedside table, mirrored chest of drawers or window seat that appointed the lovely room. What dominated Joe’s attention and the room was a large circular bed and Libby gliding toward it.
“Wanna’ please me, Joe?” Libby asked, pulling something from under a pillow.
“Yes, anything…”

Libby stepped in front of Joe and slipped the elastic of a pair of Sleepy Time’s over his head.
“Undress for me, Joe. I wanna’ look at you.”

Libby’s voice resonated in the sudden darkness. Joe felt disoriented and more than a little nervous.
“Libby…” Joe started, but there were no more words. She’d unleashed a passion in him that responded only to the demands of her pleasure.

He pulled his shirt over his head.

Careful…Don’t disturb the blindfold!

He unzipped and pulled his jeans over his obscenely erect cock and hips. His jockey shorts followed and he stumbled out of them. He felt unbalanced in the newly imposed darkness. He pulled off his socks. He stood naked.

“Come to me, Joe.”

He moved unsteadily toward the sound of her voice until his shins touched the edge of the mattress.
“So lovely. Lie down, Joe.”

He obeyed.
“Now all you have to do is feel,” Libby sighed.

He felt smooth nails tickling the soles of his feet and her wet tongue lapping. Joe shivered. He felt warm fluid oozing between and around his toes. Teeth nibbled, lips sucked and a million volts of erotic current shot through him.

Joe moaned as he felt a shift in the mattress and then hard nipples along his legs and her hands all over him. Soft but heavy breasts rolled along, engulfed his thighs, balls, cock, belly…

“Stop…I can’t…”

Her mouth devoured his words and her tongue invaded him. She was on top of him, around him…everywhere. His hands grappled mountains of flesh. Her legs were hot along his, pussy against prick, belly against belly. Her lace ground into his hot nakedness until their kiss dissolved them into one flesh. And then she was gone and his body ached with longing.

“Oh God…More. Please,” Joe begged.

“Mmmmmm…,” Libby growled.

And then his cock was floating in a river of hot, viscous fluid; being circled, licked, squeezed between tongue and cheeks. He felt teeth lightly scratching. He felt…
“Do what you wanna’ do, Joe Browning.”
He thrust with his hips. Withdrew. Her mouth met him, wet and slack, then hot and firm. They fucked…his cock and her mouth. They made soft and then desperate love…his cock and her mouth. Her tits smacked against him and he reached with his torso and hands to grab them, fell back, thrust, until…
“Oh…baby…ohhhh,” she said, greedily gulping the endless river of him into herself.

Libby gathered his limp and vulnerable body into her arms. She lifted her teat to Joe’s mouth. He suckled through lace. Libby hummed.

“Time to rest, baby,” she said, stroking Joe with feathery touches.

Joe had never been happier in his life and was drifting, drifting when the phone rang.
Libby started so violently that she jolted Joe awake. He snatched off the blindfold and shifted onto his elbow to look down at Libby. He struggled to adjust to the light and the darting fear that he saw in her eyes. The woman had completely disappeared and a frightened child had taken her place.
“What’s the matter, Libby? Aren’t you going to answer the phone?”
“No! I can’t.”

“Talk to me, Libby.”

“I can’t.”

She was shaking uncontrollably.

What the hell…Who’s on the phone and what’s the problem? Is somebody stalking her or …

Joe didn’t know the answers but he sure as hell was going to find out.
Libby was sobbing quietly.

“Shhhh….” Joe soothed. “We don’t have to talk about it now.”

He took Libby in his arms and rocked her gently, stroking her with feathery touches until she fell asleep. Eventually, Joe felt himself crossing the threshold of consciousness and his last thought was that whatever Libby was facing, she wouldn’t be dealing with it alone. If it were up to him, she’d never be alone again.