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From: "james coyne" <the_panda@hotmail.com>
Subject: Helen & I, Chapters 6-8
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Here is the second of several parts.  I can be reached at:
<the_panda@hotmail.com>

This is a work of fiction, meant only for adults. If you are not 
considered an adult in your state, (21 years of age in most) or if you 
are offended by stories with sexual content, read something else. 
Copyright (C) 1997 by The Panda. All rights reserved. Permission is 
hereby granted for non-commercial use of this complete and unaltered 
text.  
Any other use of this text is a violation of copyright. No permission is 
given hereby for any sort of distribution to minors or other persons to 
whom such distribution would be illegal in the jurisdiction of 
distributor, recipient or intermediary. No hard copies may be made 
without written permission from the author.  

If you want to comment on the story I can be reached at: 
the_panda@hotmail.com 



HELEN AND I

By the panda 

CHAPTER 6.

A fresh spring rain had moved through the area only a half-hour earlier; 
making the woods fragrant and washing the city clean in the dusk.  I 
inhaled deeply of the damp evening smells as I climbed out of the Jeep 
Wagoneer and strode towards Helen's apartment.  Plum trees shaded the 
front of the light gray building from the rays of the setting sun.  

The trees still had a few of their white blossoms scattered among their 
new green leaves, and they reminded me of other springs when Maggie and 
I stood beneath a similar canopy of creamy flowers while having our 
picture taken.  But that was then - this is now, I thought, as I began 
striding towards Helen's lobby. 

The needs of business had placed me 2000 miles away for almost three 
weeks. It had been three very long weeks. Minutes later I would discover 
that gap had seemed an eternity to Helen as well.  

Helen was waiting in the courtyard on the southside of her building.  
She was standing barefooted on a wet rock walk where she had been 
watering flowers, her baggy gardening dress hanging almost to her tanned 
ankles.  Her smile as beautiful now as it was the first time it flashed 
at me.  It was an easy smile, the sort of smile that made strangers 
instantly at ease with her, a disarming smile that told me she was not a 
complicated woman, a misconception I would soon learn to revise.  

I took a deep breath of the heavy air, and enjoyed the familiar earthy 
odors of damp plants and stones.  We kissed.  Softly.  I could smell the 
faint fragrance of a familiar, yet unrecognizable perfume.  I made a 
mental note to learn the name for future gift purposes. (Of course I 
would eventually buy the wrong perfume, that's what guys do, right?) 

Helen bent down and took the hem of her dress and dried her hands.  Then 
she looked me in the eye and said:   "Hello stranger."   A sparkle of 
amusement began to pluck at her emerald eyes, "I shouldn't tell you 
this, but I've missed you terribly.  I've managed to entertain myself in 
your absence though.  I got so horny thinking about you and Bubba while 
you were gone . . . I went shopping and shopping . . . well, . . ..  I 
can't wait to show you my new toy collection."  She shook her head at 
this, seemingly delighted at the expression I now had on my face.  "Ah, 
I see you're curious.  Good.  Let's go up now." 

There was a long, sensuous kiss in the empty elevator.  We held each 
other close and it felt good.  It felt right.  The elevator door opened 
and we entered Helen's apartment.  The late afternoon light throwing a 
long, brassy streak across the dark terracotta tile at the entrance of 
the living room.  I made myself comfortable, dropping down into a 
tapestry covered armchair.  

"First off, let me get you a drink," she said, as she kicked her shoes 
off, and picked them up with one hand as she loosened her belt with the 
other.  She walked through the dining room unbuttoning her dress, then 
back out to the stairway where she started up to her bedroom. My eyes 
devoured her body as she climbed the stairs.  

What had she said?  Something about a drink?   I came to the conclusion 
I was to make myself comfortable and that included making my own drink.  
Helen meanwhile, took the opportunity to bathe and wash her hair.  She 
put on only a thin cotton sundress with yellow, red and blue tropical 
flowers swirling and blending into each other.  She had combed out her 
rust colored hair, but left it wet and came down to the kitchen and 
poured a strong scotch and water before rejoining me in the living room.  
I knew she was naked under the dress from the jouncing of her breasts 
and way it clung to her thighs.

Sitting down on the couch, she propped her feet up on a coffee table, 
and hiked her dress above her knees. (Unladylike you say, well . . . 
maybe . . ..  But, I say it was by design and sexy as all get out.)  
Mind you, Bubba had almost wormed his way out of his zippered 
confinement. I could feel his one eye bulging obscenely as it thrust 
against the material of my slacks.

Helen took a long drink of her scotch, and noting the uprising I was 
trying to suppress from her, smiled lewdly.  I looked away and down at 
my drink.  The tall, sweaty glass was standing in a puddle of its own 
condensation, the ice having melted, leaving behind an unappealing, 
warm, off-color liquid.  

Helen broke the silence, "I've really, really missed you. Let me show 
you some thing's I bought.  Things to help me get by in your absence."  

With that she led me over to a toy chest.  Looking in, I saw it was 
filled with sex toys of various types.  Several items I recognized - 
dildos and the like, but, others I had no idea about.  I got my first 
lesson as she led me to the bed.  It was new.  "It's our special bed," 
she whispered into my ear.  I noted the elegant black wrought iron 
garden gate styling for both the headboard and footboard.  The cotton 
sheets were striped with a fine herringbone accented in gold and black.  
The comforter featured a center of gold and black paisley print, with a 
checkered border.  In this setting, the sun's last rays poured into the 
room like a staged spotlight, focusing upon Helen and her long auburn 
hair - now a glistening copper fire, as it draped down across her 
shoulders.  Helen was a vision of unsurpassed beauty.  (That's really 
why I recall the details about the bed.  Of course I stood in front of 
it taking notes before I attempted to write this.  I just didn't want 
you three women reading this to think I'm a fairy interior designer.)  

And so, as I stood transfixed in her radiance, she undressed me; coaxed 
me into laying down on my back; and began tying my wrists to the 
headboard.  "Jim," she said serenely, "don't worry."  (What me worry?  
Hey, I was numb, chum.)  With that said, she tied my feet to the 
footboard. I could move, and I thought if I struggled I could free 
myself so what the heck, let the games begin.

She reached in her toy box and withdrew a small bag.  Out came a string 
of 5 colored beads.  Helen asked if I'd done the beads before.  I said 
no. She placed a pillow under my hips.  Helen picked up a tube from the 
dresser, and I jumped when she applied a lubricant to my ass.  Then she 
straddled me, inserting Bubba easily into her very warm pussy, and as we 
started to screw, she reached back and stuck a finger up my rectum.  
Moments later, Helen began working a bead in there.  It hurt, but then 
the bead popped in.  What a sensation!  She distracted me by increasing 
her pace and shoved a second bead in.  Now I'm going crazy.  I started 
to moan, (I'm a natural crybaby, ask anyone who's shoved beads up my 
ass) but in a moment or so, the moans went from painful to pleasureful, 
I found it was extremely pleasant.)  

Helen's kissing me, her tongue snaking into and around my mouth as the 
third bead goes in.  I'm soaked with sweat and have goosebumps all over 
me.  It's intensely erotic! 
The 4th and 5th beads follow.  I can't describe the feeling, except to 
say it's wonderful.  We're screwing frantically now; Helen anticipates 
my coming ejaculation and begins to pull the beads out.  One-by-one.  
I'm tossing wildly, out of control, screaming bloody murder, and I erupt 
in the best orgasm of my life.  "That fuck's for you James," I hear 
Helen murmur softly, just before I fall asleep, warm and satisfied.  

Helen woke me with a kiss about 9:00 PM.  "Well," she asked, as a wry 
grin eased onto her face, "how did you like the beads?" She was wearing 
a translucent white teddy, with frilly stuff, (lace?) running along the 
edges.   I tried to stifle a yawn, and asked where she'd gotten the idea 
for the beads and other paraphernalia that I'd yet to take a close look 
at.  "The Internet," was all she offered in reply.  With a mischievous 
smile she rose up from the bed and crossed the room to her PC.  Moments 
later I was reading a story written by a clever woman named Sande called 
Hot Tub Musings.  It more then adequately described the events that took 
place earlier that evening.  We sent Sande an E-mail thanking her for 
writing the story and telling her that we were going to try it, as well 
as several other things.  We were too cowardly to admit the truth, about 
the beads, but were convinced we'd make good on our other promises to 
Sande shortly.  


CHAPTER 7.

Forty-five minutes later we entered Fuzzie's, a downtown restaurant with 
a good lounge.  Helen's wearing a deep green sarong and the top of a 
black bikini.  She is definitely a knockout. There's a lot of cleavage.  
She's not wearing any underwear.  I can tell I'm the envy of every guy 
in the place, since every male and several female heads seem to have 
directed their attention to Helen. (Am I a male chauvinist, or what?)  
I'm watching, somewhat amused and very proud, as several wives or 
girlfriends start jabbing elbows into their men to recapture their 
attention.  Mentally, I speak to all these women, telling them to remind 
their guys about how good Helen looked after they've gone to bed.  They 
may revive some dormant dicks.  

Oh, yes, I was enjoying myself.

We sat at the bar and ordered a Dewars scotch and water for Helen and an 
Absolute martini on-the-rocks with a twist of lemon for myself.  

Twenty minutes later we moved to a booth in the darker recesses of the 
restaurant where we chose to sit side by side. Helen ordered mackerel in 
a marinara sauce, with zucchini and squash.  When it arrived, it made 
for a very colorful plate.  I went for a major league sized shrimp 
cocktail, followed by a light salad.  And, of course, a second round of 
drinks.  Our waitress was a really cute blonde.  I said as much to 
Helen.  She looked at me over the rim of her glass and raised her 
eyebrows as if to say "Oh?"  Stung, and surprised by the gesture, I 
attempted to justify myself. "Really, I like her, what about you?"  
"Let's wait and see," she responded mysteriously, and took a lusty bite 
of her mackerel, pausing between chews to erotically lick some marinara 
sauce from her lips.  Where was this leading, I wondered.

The sarong had fallen open; exposing her long tanned inner thigh.  She 
didn't bother to fix the sarong.  She appeared to be weighing my comment 
about the waitress.

"Would you like to have us both in bed," she asked finally, looking 
directly into my eyes, "I wouldn't mind if you did."  

I reached for my martini, racing to formulate the right response to her 
question.  Was this a test?  Was Helen sincere? Was I in hump heaven?  
Quickly, I reached a decision.  If I guessed wrong about this, I 
consoled myself, I could grovel appropriately to regain her good graces.

I swallowed some Absolute, which now seemed more water than vodka and 
said: "She's awfully attractive," keeping my expression sober, "I think 
the two of you would complement each other in many ways, that is, if she 
has half the sex drive you do."  "Oh, cut the crap," Helen began, "You 
love the idea, and I feel like experimenting.  Let's start foolin' 
around right here and I'll be able to figure out how hot that makes her.  
If we do it right we can have her in our bed tomorrow night . . .. Not 
tonight.  Tonight belongs to me alone."  There was nothing to say but 
"Let's go for it."  

CHAPTER 8.

Helen observed the waitress had begun her approach back to our table to 
check on our drinks, and in sotto voice, that I kiss her.  As I reached 
for her, Helen pulled herself up in the booth and let the sarong fall 
away from her leg completely now, exposing it nearly to the hip.   The 
very edge of the dark triangle between her legs was visible above the 
sloping curve of her naked thigh. The gesture seemed to be deliberate in 
that it was impossible for the waitress to miss.  We kissed, open 
mouthed, our tongues trying desperately to switch mouths, while the 
waitress stood mesmerized in place.  As the kiss continued, I had an 
inspiration, and languidly reached out and began to caress the 
waitress's calf.  She trembled, but did not move, nor did she say 
anything.  As we broke off our kiss, I moved my hand higher to her lower 
thigh, and spoke to her.  "Ah, good timing. Another round please," I 
said as I removed my hand.  "Yeesss sir, I'll be right back." she 
stammered, stumbling as she started to leave, but managing to catch 
herself in time. 

"Jim," Helen said, "that was great!  I'm sure she's hot now.  When she 
brings back the drinks do it, or something like it again."  I turned 
away from Helen to follow the 
Waitress's firm ass as she wove her way to the bar. Without turning my 
head back toward Helen I asked, "and what will you be doing when she 
returns?"  "This," she replied, reaching down; opening my fly; and 
withdrawing my cock.  Two strokes and a good squeeze and I was fully 
erect. 

"Okay?" she said coolly, and she touched her tongue into her scotch, 
never taking her eyes off me.  "Actually," she continued. "This won't be 
my first sexual encounter with another woman."  She tossed her head, and 
her auburn hair jumped up only to settle quickly back in place. "When I 
was in college my roommate and I got back late one night after a party.  
I went to sleep immediately, only to wake up and realize she was in bed 
with me.  She was naked and was touching my breasts.  She started to 
take my panties off.  I let her.  I was completely passive at first, 
letting her do the work.  Then after a while, I began touching her too, 
gently, every small movement an incredible experience, that I found 
astonishingly pleasurable. It was bizarre, like touching myself.  I 
remember two special things: the weight of her breasts . . . the subtle 
change in texture that became the nipple, and the little hollow place 
inside her thigh, near her vulva.  I knew how I liked that touch, so I 
knew what I was doing to her and how she must have felt.  I have not 
done it since.  It's time to enjoy a woman again, but this time I want 
you to share the intimacy with me."  

Still slowly stoking my cock, she looked down at her glass and poked at 
her ice a moment, shoving it around in a swirl.  I caught a movement off 
to the side. "Here she comes," I said, wondering how long this idea had 
been fermenting in that active mind of hers.

The waitress was dressed casually, white tailored shorts and a white 
safari shirt.  She served our drinks in a somewhat subdued manner.  I 
replaced my hand on her thigh as Helen began talking to her.  She 
fidgeted in her cute cuffed shorts, like a reprimanded schoolgirl, but 
did not turn to leave.  Her youthful breasts required no help to create 
a seductive cleavage. Had she undone a button or two before returning?  
Her permed ginger hair was full and bouncy around her face, which even 
when expressing confusion as it was now, was a seductive attraction to 
either sex.  She kept glancing furtively from Helen's face; to Helen's 
hand, which was slowly milking my cock and then to Helen's now almost 
unobstructed view of her cunt.  

I lost track of Helen's conversation with her, simply because there was 
no objection as my hand rose closer to the V between her thighs.  My 
fingers were now under her shorts.  They were tight shorts and my 
operating room was limited, but I felt the dampness within non-the-less.  
She sighed, a sure indication of compliance, as I slowly withdrew to a 
lower level, but maintained contact with her thigh at all times.

Her name is Anne.  I got that much from the conversation. Helen said 
something else to her that I didn't catch, and closing her sarong, 
leaned forward, exposing her breasts almost to the nipples as she rose 
up from the booth.  They headed for the ladies room together as though 
they were old friends.  Alone, I replaced Bubba, and checked my watch, 
suddenly concerned about getting up for work in the morning, then 
working out a fabricated story to explain my absence in the event . . ..  

They are gone about 25 minutes and Helen has this self-assured look when 
they return.  Anne places herself in a position where I can easily 
return to caressing her thigh.  As I do so, Anne smiles down at me, 
while running a hand though her hair, "I'd love to join you guys after 
work, but I'm meeting someone tonight.  I'm off tomorrow though." 

Helen jumps in saying: "That's great.  Tomorrow at 8.  We'll pick you up 
here at Fuzzie's Okay?"  Anne agrees.  "Tomorrow at 8 it is."  Wistfully 
I remove my hand from its illicit travels and place it in Helen's lap, 
working my way under her sarong.  She's soaking wet.
Anne following my hand with her eyes grins again and says goodnight.  I 
leave a preposterous tip and we leave for Helen's.

Back at Helen's, she asks if I want a nightcap.  I decline, "I think 
I'll pass. I'm going to need everything I can muster up for tomorrow's 
meeting.  Helen laughed and squeezed my privates. "You'll be fine.  I 
have plenty of toys to keep all of us going for as long as we need to 
go."  That did it, self-imposed curfew be damned, I was ready to go 
again, but she ushered me to the door and kissed me goodnight.
I got home around two, wondering if Anne was already filling in for me.

To be continued . . ..





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