CLEANED IN PUBLIC

He was first to be woken by the morning light, and he 
glanced over at her to check if it had all been real.  
It had been.  She was.  She looked lovely, almost 
angelic as she slept.  At peace.

He drew back the cover from her slender shoulders, 
past the bas-relief of her collar bones and throat, 
across rising slopes with a deepening valley between 
them, until all was revealed.  Jutting black-tipped 
hillocks, standing well up from her chest.  She even 
had cleavage when lying on her back!  Oh, the beauty 
of young breasts.  Big, young breasts.

He leaned across and gently dabbed his tongue at the 
nearest fat round nipple, wetting it with his saliva. 
Then he flicked harder, causing a slight tremor go 
through the mass of her breast each time his tongue 
lashed at its teat.

Her eyes fluttered open, and regained their focus 
after a few seconds.

“You’d better masturbate” she said, “I’m not really a 
morning person.”

“Can I look at you?”

“Sure.”

She swept off the cover until her whole naked brown 
torso was revealed to his eager gaze.  Lying on her 
side facing him, her boobs pressed together into a 
veritable canyon of cleavage.  This posture 
accentuated the broad flare of her hips, dipping like 
a roller coaster to her narrow waist and rising again 
to her chest.  

He inserted his left hand between her smooth silky 
thighs until its edge rested against her pussy, and 
she clamped it there, not allowing him to move.  He 
took himself in hand with his free arm, coaxing 
himself to maximum stiffness while feasting his eyes 
upon her.  She watched him dreamily, not yet fully 
awake. 

He was still not completely comfortable about wanking 
in her presence, but he was starting to get used to 
the idea.  It made her happy, and he liked for her to 
be happy.  Anyway, he wanted to come pretty bad.

The visual stimulus of her pose made this pretty good 
as wanking goes, but it got better when she reached an 
arm across and used one of her long fingernails to 
idly flick his nipple.  His neurons jangled and sent 
repeated messages to his dick to get even harder.

He felt the familiar tickle at the root of his prick, 
and got quite breathless as he pounded with increasing 
vigour.  Then “Oooofff!” and he was shooting, so far 
that the first jet landed high on his chest.  The rest 
ended up clinging to the mat of body hairs across his 
stomach.

She had a bemused look on her face, arching an eyebrow 
expressively as she idly stirred one of the gobs of 
semen on his tummy with the tip of her finger.  Then 
she raised herself up to lean over him, boobs hanging 
and swinging, and started sucking the lumps of whitish 
gel up into her mouth one by one.  

Lifting her head again, she stuck out her pointy 
tongue to show him the accumulated mass of semen 
coated upon it.  Then suddenly she frenched him full 
on his lips, driving her tongue into his mouth.  His 
senses were invaded by the tart, salty taste, but he 
softened his surprised lips and sucked her extended 
tongue tenderly until it was all cleaned off.

She drew away and asked “So … what else is there for 
breakfast?”

“Shit, you are always so full of surprises!”

She smirked.

“Always.”

She kissed him again on the mouth, slowly and 
tenderly, in a way that would stir him to passion were 
it not for the fact his prick was already wilting and 
rather sticky.

Then she jumped up, boobs bouncing all over the place, 
and headed for the bathroom to have a pee.  He 
followed her, and managed to get most of his shaving 
done before she completely steamed the place up with 
the hot blast of her shower water.   

By the time he emerged she was dressed again in her 
green party dress and high heels.  He just left his 
towel wrapped around him.  They sat at the table for a 
quick round of cornflakes, toast and instant coffee.

“Can you lend me a twenty for a cab?  I need to go 
home first - can’t go to work dressed like this.”

“Stay here! Take the day off!”

“I need to keep this job.  Unless, of course, you want 
to pay me on a retainer?”

Unprepared for that one, he tried to deflect it with 
humour.

“What’d your job title be?”

“Executive Comforter” she replied softly.

It was true.  He did feel comforted by her presence. 
And a little empty in her absence.  Without further 
comment he peeled off a bill and passed it over to 
her. 

“Thanks.”

She kissed his cheek, slung her bag of tricks over her 
shoulder, and headed for the front door.

“I’ll call you later.  We can meet for lunch.”

The door closed behind her.  The place was silent and 
empty now.  

Why should he notice that, particularly?  This is how 
his apartment was every day, now that Hurricane Julie 
had cleared off and left him to it.  Up till now he’d 
appreciated the stillness and silence as a welcome 
alternative to the sounds of sharp words and breaking 
crockery.  

Now it seemed there should be more to life than 
silence, and solitude.

But how much store should he put in her words about 
being kept on a retainer?  What exactly did she mean 
by it?  Was she hinting at providing him with 
meaningful and on-going companionship?  Or was she 
merely an amateur dominatrix about to turn pro?

He pondered this as he suited up for another day of 
doing battle amongst the thickets of corporate take-
overs.

True to her word, she called him at twelve and 
proposed lunch at one.

“I can’t, I have two negotiators arriving for a 
meeting at one.”

“Put them off until three.”

“But this deal is big, I have to be th …”

She cut in with a voice that became frosty.

“I do not appreciate you prioritizing a pair of ivy 
league jerks higher than my own good self.  Answer me 
this question about your meeting – in one year’s time, 
who will give a fuck?”

Initially he bristled, but then on further reflection 
he took her point.  She certainly had a way with 
words.  He mulled it over.  Meanwhile, the phone 
connection seemed to crackle with impatience.

“Okay, one it is.  Where?”

She named the food court of a nearby mall, and hung 
up.

He still smarted slightly at her dictating his workday 
program like that.  On the other hand, she was right.  
It wasn’t going to change the course of history if 
their deal got done at three rather than at one.  
Might even be a good negotiating strategy, to keep 
them dangling another couple of hours.

He found her in the crowded court, at a fake marble 
table under an equally fake palm tree.  She’d already 
ordered for the both of them – big chunks of Chinese 
red pork on plain rice with dark-leaf cabbage.  He 
noticed she could handle chopsticks pretty well.

She accepted his peck on the cheek, and continued 
eating.  He started on his.  It was a simple meal, but 
delicious.

Maybe it was a sign of how comfortable they were 
becoming in each other’s company, that they didn’t 
feel any need to speak for the first couple of 
minutes.

She’d been and done a morning’s work of office 
cleaning, judging by the slacks and smudged t-shirt 
she had on.  Her bust pulled it pretty tight in front, 
though she appeared to have a sturdy bra on for a 
change.

She spoke.

“You can come and help me with some shopping in a 
moment” she informed him.

“Help? How?”

“I need some outfits.  My wardrobe is not nearly as 
extensive as I’d like it to be.”

“Oh.  And how can I help with that?”

Jingers! He’s a bit dense today, she thought.

“Me shop.  You pay.”

“Ah.  Okay.”

“It’ll help close that economic gap you’re so worried 
about” she explained.

“Right.”

“I’m glad that’s settled.  I’ll just go change.”

For the first time he noticed her carry bag.

“You change to go shopping for clothes?” he asked.

“So like a man.  I suppose you’d stroll into Brooks 
Brothers wearing oily overalls?”

“I never wear overalls.”

She flashed him A Look.

“Well baby, I do.”

In five minutes she was back from the Ladies restroom, 
decked out in a floral-print dress and fashion shoes.  
It was simple, but looked good on her.  As usual, she 
could convey the impression of being about to fall out 
of her clothes at any moment.  

They strolled off down the rows of shops, stopping in 
anyplace to do with women’s clothes or shoes.  She 
didn’t go for cheap stuff, nor did she look at any of 
the high-end designer labels his ex-wife felt 
compelled to be seen in.  More middle-of-the-road 
gear, well-made and representing solid value for 
money.  

Some of it was practical, some downright sexy.  Like 
the stretchy boob-tube tops, and the low-slung jeans 
now in fashion that showed plenty of cute round belly 
above a waistband that barely covered her pubes.  At 
the back, you could just about post a letter.

In a department store, she’d sorted through some racks 
of dresses, some quite showy.  Holding about four or 
five, she headed for a changing room.

“Have a look at these and tell me which you like.”

The first two could have been quite smart on her, but 
were tight across the hips and loose at her waist.  
The third had a halter top which showed off the 
glorious brown complexion of her shoulders and back, 
and a hemline that ended about four inches above her 
knees.  He saw straightaway that she’d taken her bra 
off.  The dress was thin, and hot pink, and her 
nipples poked out like bullets.

“Hey!  This one I like!  But where would you wear it?”

“Anyplace I want woodies galore.”

She wriggled her shoulders, and made her boobs wobble.

“I’ve a woody going all galore right now!” he told 
her.

She ducked back inside and changed into the floral 
dress again.

“Hold these, they can go back.  The other two I’ll 
buy.”

Handing across the reject dresses, her front was 
momentarily covered.  He was tempted by the 
opportunity to touch one of those delectable breasts, 
but held off the urge.  He remembered she got upset at 
being touched without permission.

She had a different rule for him, though.  Brushing 
past him to the check-out, she squeezed his dick 
through his pants.  It was a woody, alright.

Lining up behind her, he dared to edge forward until 
her glorious round bottom was pressed against his 
thighs and crotch.  She pushed back slightly to 
increase the pressure of their contact, grinding her 
hips discreetly.  Then she stepped forward with her 
purchases.  His proffered credit card was duly zip-
zapped, and they left the store.

“Where’s the Ladies?  I want to put this one on.”

They followed the signs and she darted inside, 
returning in a couple of minutes with the hot pink 
number on.  It was kinda bright, but with her dark 
complexion she could get away with it.  It would never 
have suited his ex-wife, her colouring was too pale 
and washed out for this kind of thing.  Hurricane 
Julie didn’t have the boobs for it, either.

He held all her purchases and her carry bag as they 
strolled along, her arm in his.  She had a way of 
swinging her hips as she walked, making the pink skirt 
swish and flounce.  He saw how men’s eyes were 
inexorably drawn to her as they approached.  They 
tried to be subtle about it, but they were clearly 
ogling her tits.  

The two of them rode an escalator up to the next 
level.  Halfway up, she bent and adjusted her shoe for 
a few seconds before straightening again.

They walked the length of the next level, but none of 
its shops seemed to have any appeal to her.  So they 
road another escalator to the third level.  Again, she 
bent and fiddled with her shoe.

As they got off, the middle-aged gentleman who’d been 
behind them drew level and gave him a wink.  

“You’re a lucky guy!” he said, then walked off.  

Another gent strolled past them, also grinning.  This 
one had a wife with him, and by way of contrast her 
expression was somewhat arctic.
 
Janelle was straight-faced, but ever so slightly smug.  
A bit like the cat who ate the cream.

“What’s going on?” he enquired.  “What are these guys 
looking so happy about?”

Then it dawned on him.  The short, flouncy skirt.  
Bending over to do something to her shoe.  Guys 
standing behind them on an up-escalator.

He took her arm and pulled her to a stop.

“Tell me, by any chance, how should I say, and not to 
put too fine a point on it, without meaning to pry or 
anything, but … are you wearing any panties?”

“Nope.”

“Fuck, girl!  You’ll get us arrested!”

“Not a chance.  Did you see anyone complaining?”

His mind was still reeling from the shock of her 
announcement, but he was starting to calm down a bit.  

“As it is, your tits are bouncing more than the ball 
at a Lakers game!  You have to show your twat as 
well?”

“The fifty-somethings are my favourite.”

“Why?”

“Look at who they have to sleep with!  Seeing my tush 
is guaranteed to brighten up their day.”

“Okay, they’re a worthy cause, but what do you get out 
of it?”

She stood right in front of him.  Right up against 
him.  Looked up soulfully into his eyes as she took 
his free hand in hers.  

“Feel this!” she murmured.  

She drew his hand into the narrow gap between them, 
under her skirt, and right onto her naked, fuzzy 
mound.  He cupped it and, slipping a finger down along 
her crack, found everything soft, hot and steamy.

He nearly freaked on the spot.  This was so public!  
People were passing-by right and left.  Only the small 
mountain of shopping bags threaded onto his other 
wrist gave any concealment to such private touching.

“Let me tell you what we gonna do.”

He was still frozen, finger poised against the heat of 
her molten sex, and awaiting further instructions.

“We gonna go to that McDonalds over there.  We gonna 
go into the mens’ room and lock ourselves into a 
stall.  And then, I want your face up this skirt.”

“But …”

“No buts.  I wanna be licked good and proper. That’s 
what I keep you for, remember?”

She tugged his hand, and he followed passively.  

It was not a large McDonalds franchise.  The Mens’ 
only had two urinals and a single shithouse.  
Thankfully the place was empty when they entered.     

He shot the bolt home to secure the door, while she 
lowered the seat and lid.  He shoved all her shopping 
onto the floor beside the throne.  She sat back and 
leaned against the white tiled wall, with one leg up 
on the toilet roll holder and the other spread out 
wide.  Her pinkness gaped between the crinkled dark 
ribbons of her inner lips and the fuzzy black foliage 
beyond. The nub of her clitoris peeped from its brown 
hood.

“C’mon slave.  Get lickin’!”

He kneeled between her outspread legs.  Lucky they 
were in a McDonalds – the food might be crap but at 
least they kept their floors clean.

Bending to his task, he began by kissing and nuzzling 
her inner thighs.  He could inhale her aroma, but 
forebore to taste just yet. 

She got off on anticipation, up to a point, but her 
patience was not endless.  He felt his head being 
propelled more to her epicentre, but he glided his 
tongue past and onto her sparse bush.  His lips 
brushed the wispy tufts, and he blew warm air onto her 
clit.  With one hand he reached up and clutched a 
bulging tit through that flimsy dress, fingers hooking 
into its neckline to feel the smooth warm skin 
beneath, palm pressed against the grape of her nipple. 

Her patience snapped.  His head got slam-dunked, and 
his extended tongue caught nuthin’ but net.  Face 
mashed up against her, he plunged his tongue into her 
pinkness and used the tip of his nose to massage her 
clit.  Lovely!  So erotic, the texture of her soft 
pulpy tunnel and the tastes it was giving him.  He 
slurped audibly.

The mens’ room door swung open, and they heard someone 
pee in a urinal.  There was no sound of them going 
back out again, though.  He realised his shoes and 
trouser legs must be easily visible through the gap 
under the door of the cubicle.  

They had an audience.  And he didn’t care.

She crooked a leg across to pin his head even tighter 
against her sex.  He was being smothered, restrained 
by her taut thighs in a scissor grip.  His tongue 
swirled and stabbed, and by raising his head to 
breathe easier he was able to start lashing her most 
tender spot.

Again a door swished open and shut, and there was the 
sound of another bladder being emptied.  Janelle swung 
her leg out wide and it thudded against the cubicle 
wall.  Her breathing was getting ragged.  Noisily 
ragged.

Tongue-fatigue was setting in.  Extending it again, he 
used the flat of it to press right against her clit 
while he wagged his head from side to side.  This 
brought a gasp from her, and some muscular relief to 
him, so he kept it up and increased the tempo.

“Oh!  Oh Goddddddd!” 

She was coming.  You didn’t have to see her to know 
that, though the closed eyes and face screwed up in 
concentration was a dead give-away.

No, you could hear it in her breathing.  Sharp and 
ragged, punctuated by “Oh!  Oh! Fuck!”

Finally she was done.  She pushed him back out of the 
way and sat up.

He stood, and started unzipping in the hope there’d be 
something here for him too.

She raised her wrist in front of him and tapped the 
face of her watch.

Shit!  A quarter to three!  He’d better motorvate.  A 
juicy plum of a pharmaceutical company was ripe for 
the picking.  If only he could get back to his office 
in time!

He unbolted the door and swung it open for her.  She 
marched out looking neither to right nor left, swung 
the mens’ room door open, and was gone.

A man in his forties and a teenage school kid both 
stood there dumbfounded.  They’d been dying to get a 
look at her, and tried to drink in every detail before 
such a vision of loveliness, the source of such 
sounds, such pure animal sex, was gone from their 
lives forever.

He followed in hot pursuit, feeling somewhat sheepish 
as their eyes switched to him, and he had to almost 
push his way past with his armful of shopping bags.

He saw her in the middle distance, swinging her high 
round butt as she walked briskly away down the mall.  
She turned briefly and blew him a kiss.

He didn’t have time to go after her, to find out when 
he’d get to see her next. There was money waiting to 
be made.  He’d better go make it.

Greenbacks.  Blue balls.

The story of his life, really.