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From: "Erin Halfelven" <erotonomicon@hotmail.com>
Subject: "Ginger-with-a-D" {Erin Halfelven} <*> [MF rom]
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If you are to young to read this in your jurisdiction or under eighteen 
then go away. If you are offended by graphic sex, what are you doing 
here anyway.  Copyright 1998 by Erin Halfelven. All rights reserved. 
Permission is granted for non-commercial use of this text on the 
Internet/Usenet as long as no laws are being violated.

Send comments to: erotonomicon@hotmail.com.
===============================================================

Ginger-with-a-D and the Hunk-and-a-Half

by Erin Halfelven


I'm a big girl and I like big men. Okay, so I'm spoiled that way. But at 
five-ten, I need a big guy to feel like a girl is supposed to feel, I 
guess. Y'know, all cute and protected and.... Well, it's a //crock//, of 
course, but that's what all the television and movies and books all 
//tell// you. So, I can't really get, well interested in a guy unless 
he's taller than me when I'm wearing heels.

And I do like to wear heels. I stand out in a crowd anyway, at my height 
and with //red// hair! but add four inches and //no one// misses seeing 
me. I work in an office, filing and data entry and //boring// stuff, but 
I like to dress nice. It's hard to find a dress with a long enough skirt 
to cover my knees so mostly, I don't and just wear them at whatever 
length they come to. The office manager says that the dress code for 
women allows pants but I started as a temp and always wore dresses and 
everyone who wore pants a lot is long gone. Sometimes, I wear pants on 
Friday but always really //tight// ones.

Obviously, the boss likes women to //look// like women. Waddayagonnado, 
right? I got full-time now with health insurance and vacation and all I 
had to do was show a little leg. I see these cases about sexual 
harassment in the paper all the time but nobody has touched me or even 
made sexist jokes around me. Well, we tell sexist jokes when we go to 
lunch, the girls and me. About men, of course.

Like: How many men does it take to screw in a light bulb? One, that's 
what men are //for//. I made that one up myself because I'm always being 
asked to change light bulbs by other women and, really, I don't like it. 
I don't ask them to get stuff off low shelves for //me//.

So. I'm at work, it's a bank national headquarters, so we don't get a 
lot of walk-in traffic but one day this guy came in. He was tall, really 
tall, like //six-eight// at least. Standing in the clerical/data entry 
pool area, he looks like he's expecting something. I've never seen him 
before and it's not my job but I went over to see what he wanted. Well, 
I was //curious//. He had wavy black hair and a sort of Mediterranean 
nose and I thought maybe he was from, where is it? They're having a 
//war// there in Europe and everyone is real tall.

"I'm Phil Upton," he said, holding out a large hand. No rings on either 
hand, I noticed. We shook hands, his grip firm but respecting that I was 
a woman so no power games.

"I'm Ginger Rodgers. With a d," I said. "No relation." He smelled good 
and his clothing had a nice way of hanging on him.

He laughed. "Right. Ginger-with-a-d." He grinned. "Are you the office 
manager?"

"Uh, no. It's //Rodgers//-with-a-d." I said, realizing as I did that I 
had been had. I blushed and he grinned. Well, I pointed out the office 
manager and he went over to sell her whatever it was he was selling or 
whatever he was doing on our floor. I felt a little idiotic for falling 
for his little game but he sure had a cute set of //buns//.

I went back to work but when he finished with the office manager he came 
over to my desk. "Hi there, Ginger-with-a-d," he said.

I said something original, like, "oh, you," or "hmmph!" He grinned and 
sort of rested one of his high-pocket buns on the edge of my desk. 
"Lunch?" he asked.

Well, he's //direct//, I thought. I considered. Being tall, I carry 
weight well but I had put on a few pounds over the holidays and had 
intended to skip lunch or just eat cottage cheese from the machine. You 
don't get many chances with a hunk-and-a-half like this one, Gin, I told 
myself. "Sure!" I answered. I glanced at the clock, 11:30. "Now?"

"Suits me," he said. And pretty soon we were swinging down the street to 
the little restaurant row at the center of the big office buildings. 
"Work here long?" he asked.

"Just two years, this May," I said. I didn't have to pull my stride to 
let him keep up, he even threatened to pull ahead.

"Oh, sorry," he said. "I'm going too fast for you?"

"Not at all," I said. "Here's Don Francisco's, you wanted Mexican?" He 
held the door for me. Since we were early we got a booth quick. I slid 
in and he sat beside me on the same side. It's a good thing Don F has 
big booths.

He ordered for both of us but offered me a veto I didn't use. Enchiladas 
suizas with rice and salad. A strawberry daiquiri. I'd never been with a 
man who just ordered for me without asking permission before. I had to 
uncross my arms and ankles, I don't know why I did that.

Maybe he thought I had crossed my arms to better display my breasts. 
Well, I was proud enough of them but now he gave them more than a once 
over. From his height, sitting down he was even more taller than me than 
when we were standing up, he could probably see right down to the little 
blue lace underwire I was wearing.

I let him look, feeling a bit, um, well, //naughty// sounds so 
seventh-graderish. Anyway, I let him look. When next I looked at //him// 
he met my eyes. His a deep brown like old leather, mine, well, green I 
like to say but they're really a sort of gray-mud color. We both smiled 
and right then I knew I was going to bed with him that night. Barring 
car accidents or earthquakes or alien invasion, I would spread my legs 
on his bed that very evening and he would fuck me until I cried out.

I told you I was //spoiled// but I don't know a single woman who can't 
get just about any man she really wants. Cause they, bless their pointy 
little pricks, always want us more than we want them. Or so we let them 
believe, and most of them do.

I couldn't just out and out tell him that I had decided to fuck him that 
night. It isn't done that way, usually. Well, sometimes, but that is 
another story. So I asked him if he lived here or was just in town on 
business. He said he had an apartment in Westwood and I said near the 
college and he said well, yeah. I went to UCLA, I told him, no degree, 
just for a year.

He said why no degree, and I just shrugged. No point in telling him 
about Harry and getting pregnant and dropping out and marriage and 
divorce and all //that// stupid stuff. "I just meant I know the area. So 
where's your apartment?" He told me and I said, "Mmm. Selling toner is 
good to //you//. That's a nice complex, a big pool and nice apts." I 
dropped a hand, like into my lap, only, accidentally it landed on his 
thigh and I, like gave it one //stroke//, before putting it where it 
belonged.

He said he didn't exactly sell //toner//, he was a personnel consultant. 
Then he dropped his hand onto my thigh and I let it lay there without 
brushing it off. I just looked at him and widened my eyes a little and 
let my mouth open just enough that he could see the tip of my tongue 
between my teeth. So, of  course, he invited me to his apartment that 
evening.

Well, we had dinner in Marina del Rey after work and a drive down by the 
water then back to his apartment. My little rent-control place in Santa 
Monica would all fit into his living room. And I wouldn't ever fit back 
into those tight pants if I kept eating like //that//. And //he// wanted 
to go to the Cheesecake Factory, but I did veto that. "If I ate anymore 
I'd just have to go right to sleep," I said with a sad smile.

So there we were, in Cristobal Court. Yuppie-pups laired all around us, 
their daddies and mommies paying for the //good// life while Buffy and 
Trevor earned a ticket to the Republican Party Convention. Heavy oak 
furniture, big screen tv, //killer// sound system, designer kitchen. 
Deja vu, for me since I dated a techno-wizard who lived here when I was 
a blushing co-ed. The Co-ed Motel, old Roger used to call his place to 
his gay roommate, who told me during one of his "oh, girlfriend" 
confidante phases.

Phil apologized for the condition of the place, it had probably been 
half a week since the cleaning lady had been by. Looked //fine// to me. 
He made me a drink I didn't //touch// and we sat on the couch, 
exploring. We used our hands, our lips and our tongues. 

I liked kissing him, he knew how. Mouth //damp// but not sloppy, lips 
firm against mine, our tongues danced a little tango while his right 
hand tangled in my hair and his left played with my buttons. I put my 
hands on either side of his face, a little sandpapery at something after 
nine p.m. I smelt the //man//, and sucked in air around his kisses to 
keep my mouth dry enough inside and because I needed the //oxygen//.

We dispensed with shoes and coats and shirts and //ties// and my blue 
dress there on the couch. He held my ass in one of his big hands and 
sort of half-carried me into the bedroom. I slipped off my bra and hose 
and panties and lay across his big old bed. King-size. I watched as he 
stripped off  the pants and underwear, I didn't feel disappointed, he 
was built to //scale// at least. And his dick was already hard.

I wanted it //then//. 

I wanted it like I wanted a //pony// when I was ten. I wanted to 
whimper. I spread my legs and beckoned him and we didn't waste //any// 
time in doing the deed the first time. I was wet, he was hard; embrace 
with hands and knees, press together as he guided himself into me. Then 
pump and pump, I arched my back to help him and thrust to meet his 
thrusts and he //spurted// in less than a dozen or so strokes. I didn't 
let go but held him as he softened and pulled out and the sticky cum ran 
onto my thigh and into that place between your ass and your pussy, 
whatever that's //called//.

I let him go and he stood on all fours over me, big and, well, big is 
//enough//. "Eat me," I whispered. A gentleman never refuses a lady's 
invitation to dinner and he obliged by going down on me right then with 
whistle stops at my nipples and my navel. I love for a man to eat me 
just after he's filled me with his cum, I'll happily swallow when I give 
him a blowjob later if he eats me when I'm juicy.

God, he had a big //tongue//. He used it like a flexible dick, and a 
finger and a //vibrator//. I had a trumpet player once who could tongue 
me so fast I pissed in the bed by accident; Phil must have been a 
goddamn //trombonist//. He pinned me with his arms, my thighs against my 
sides, my knees against my ribcage. I couldn't get away from his, well, 
his maddening //snake// of a tongue. I loved it, I couldn't breathe deep 
in that position or I would have let out a moan that might have got his 
//lease// revoked. I must have came six or seven times before we both 
needed air.

"Jeez, Phil," I said. "//Jeez//!" 

He smiled lazily. He motioned. His dick was hard again. I love a guy who 
gets hard from eating me. Well, we danced horizontal polka, only this 
time I sat astride him and controlled the rhythm.  I crouched over a bit 
where he could reach my tits with his hands. He coached me, "Ginger, 
take it easy, now. Slow, you don't want this to be over too so-oo-on, 
//soon//." He tweaked my nipples when he wanted it faster.

The choreography worked, we finished in practically a dead heat, my 
gasping moan and his cry of "Gin!" came simultaneously. I let him 
//rest//, while I fingered myself to another couple of climaxes. He 
seemed to get off on watching me diddle myself this way. Then we kissed 
and cuddled for awhile and I leaked cum and pussy juice on to the bed. 
We should have put down towels but bachelors never put forethought 
before foreplay, when they remember the foreplay. Like I'd //needed// 
much that night.

It was time for the blowjob.

"How do you want this?" I asked. "Am I going to prime the pump or is 
this just desserts?" Did he want me to get him ready for another round 
of penetration or was I going to have to swallow it. Fine with me either 
way, since if he did want penetration, likely he'd want to do my ass and 
a girl ought to save something for the second date.

"I want you tied up for this," he said.

"What?" I thought I was hearing things. "Tied up? I've never done 
//that//." A lie but it had not been a good experience and I had no wish 
to repeat it.

"Look, the idea of a girl, tied up and giving me a blowjob is, well, I 
practically get off just thinking about it." We lay there a while just 
thinking about it. I didn't see him having //anything// that looked like 
an orgasm.

I sighed. It came down to, did I trust him. We'd been fucking like crazy 
but honestly, I'd only known the guy for a few //hours//. I'm going to 
let him tie me up and //then// what does he do. "Phil," I said, "how 
about you let //me// tie //you// up?"

"Uhhh!?"

"Sauce for the goose, Phil." I said. "Just think, helpless guy getting 
his cock sucked and he can't do a //god//damn thing about it." You want 
a guy to think something is sexy, cuss a little. They don't hear women 
cuss very often and you'd be surprised how many of them have a button on 
that particular subject. "You let me tie you up," I promised, "I'll let 
you tie me up." I didn't think he would.

He had the silk scarves, //big// surprise. He directed me in how to do 
this. I'd wondered about the big old-fashioned iron headboard on the 
king-size bed. I hadn't noticed the iron //loops// welded to the side of 
the //fucking// frame, so to speak. I decided that he had made this 
bargain before.

Pretty soon I had him trussed up, hands above his head to the headboard, 
legs spread wide and his ankles tied to those iron loops. I straightened 
up from tying the last knot. He looked at me, as near as neutral an 
expression I have ever seen from a man involved in a passionate 
enterprise. He wanted to give nothing away.

I strode out of the room.

"Gin," he said quietly.

"Be right back," I said.

When I came back, I had his shirt and tie. I smiled as I put them on. 
"What the fuck are you doing?" he asked; calmly, I must admit.

"You'll see," I promised. I picked up his underpants and stepped into 
them. I giggled. Big girls sound silly when they giggle but the idea I 
had //demanded// giggling. I glanced at my captive. His prick had 
already started to rise.

I went to the mirror and used an eyebrow pencil to draw a mustache on 
myself. When he saw what I had done, he grinned, nervously. I strode, 
swaggered, really, back over to the bed. I wished I had a fedora and a 
stogie. "Why look hyah," I said in my best Deliverance-baritone. 
"Somebody has done tied up this hyah quee-ah-boy for owah sexual 
pleasure."

He didn't know whether to laugh or flinch when I walked up on the bed. I 
towered over him. "Ho, ho. We are goin' to have ourselves a //fine// 
time, afore we let //this// little chicken go," I said. I flicked his 
thigh with a toe, trying to grin evilly and not bust a gut. Kneeling on 
the bed, I grabbed the pillow not behind his head and shoved it up under 
his butt. His little asshole winked at me. "Why, this boy is a gah-dam 
vuh-gin,'' I brayed.

"Gin!" he said, a note of panic or at least fright coloring my name.

I bent down on the bed and ran the callused edge of my papercut-scarred 
thumb along the underside of his helpless prick. It goddamn //quivered// 
and I almost lost it //right// there in an explosion of mirth that would 
have surely ruined the scene. I let myself slide half off the bed in 
order to get my face down nearer his dick.

"Dayem," I said. I put a knuckle against his asshole and pressed, 
gently. His cock //wanted// to stand up and he moaned a little. I wet my 
lips and took the head of his dick into my mouth while I caressed his 
asshole with that knuckle, and teased his balls with a finger. I used my 
tongue on the tender spot just behind and under the tip. He moaned.

I pulled back and looked at his cock then at his face. He had a 
//hopeful// look. I don't know if he had much jism left, I've never been 
sure of just how much of the stuff a guy holds, but he had a pearly 
//drop// glistening in the little navel-like opening in the end of his 
dick. I licked it off and he moaned again.

I left his asshole alone while I fitted my mouth down over his cock. I 
adjusted my position to get the right head-bobbing angle and then I did 
my best cocksucking routine. Up and down and a little //suction// and 
don't forget the tongue. 

He moaned several times and struggled against the restraints and just 
before he came I pushed that knuckle up against his asshole again like I 
wanted to cram the whole fist up inside him. I thought the damn cum was 
going to come out my //nose//, I swallowed all I could but who would 
have thought he had that much left in him.

I left him lying there awhile, gasping, while I wiped my mouth on his 
forty dollar shirt. His dick looked as limp as cooked spaghetti but 
still leaked a little semen on to the sheets. It's hard to think of 
something to say when you're tasting a big old mouthful of salty //cum// 
but I managed. "These modern quee-ah boys," I shook my head, "just ain't 
got no stayin' power," I said sadly.

He laughed.

I did let him tie me up //later//. He played with my tits and finger 
fucked me silly then we lay and cuddled while I was still tied up. I 
felt //helpless//, but safe.

Two months ago I moved in, we bought several new silk //scarves// and 
some black rubber //dildos// in various sizes for the housewarming.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++
Copyright 1998 by Erin Halfelven. All rights reserved. Permission is 
granted for non-commercial use of this text on the Internet/Usenet as 
long as no laws are being violated.

Send comments to: erotonomicon@hotmail.com.


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