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.