("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2009. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- Imagine My Surprise by Morgan Preece (zanna@whoever.com) *** Imagine my surprise when I realized I had acquired a teen-age mistress. (M/F-teen, rom) *** Nona and I first met just before Christmas, just after her eighteenth birthday. Her long-legged exuberance, her blonde enjoyment of life, her green-eyed challenge to the world had attracted me to her from the start. We met at an office Christmas party, the company cafeteria given over to tables of turkey, ham, dressing, cakes, breads, pies and all manner of excellent things to eat. My waistline in danger, I looked everywhere but at the food. With the double-nickel birthday only months behind me, the last thing I needed was a half-dozen extra holiday pounds to lug around while waiting for a coronary. I looked straight into the green-eyes of the long- legged blonde already mentioned, Nona Glass. Nona was no great beauty, a little on the scrawny side, nearly flat-chested and with a slightly asymmetric face that gave her a perpetually off-center look. But she had big eyes the color of wet jade, long, wavy hair that seemed every shade of gold and platinum at once and tanned, healthy skin that needed little artifice to bring out its natural, lovely, heat. She stood, hip-shot, head tilted, looking back at me, her gaze nearly level with mine. She wore three-inch party pumps at the ends of those tawny, muscular legs below a straight yellow dress that ended mid-thigh. I can still see every detail, like the refrain from a Paul Simon lyric. She wore three earrings in each ear lobe, one a simple stud, one a large golden hoop, the other some kind of dangling charm. Two more simple loops adorned the top of her left ear. A necklace of tiny green-gold beads separating creamy faux pearls hung nearly to her waist. "How ya doin', prez," she said irreverently, with the hint of an aren't-I-naughty, little-girl grin. A bit of whipped cream clung to the incredibly, fine hairs around her nearly lopsided, almost over-large mouth. She held a plate with part of a slice of pumpkin pie in one hand and a sticky fork in the other. Everyone else had just started on their turkey or ham but I would come to know that Nona always had dessert first. She waved the fork vaguely at the room, "Nice spread." The fingers on that hand had long peach colored nails, on the other hand, her right, her nails were teal. I did not know who she might be and my confusion probably showed. With over four hundred employees in six offices, I could no longer know personally everyone who worked for me. But I knew I wanted to get to know this particular employee better and soon. My heart quickened, my perception narrowed to her presence alone and I felt a stirring I had not felt since I first met my second wife almost thirteen years before. I found myself mentally undressing her. The dress came off easily, she wore no underwear or hosiery. My mind's eye pictured her, virginal little cupcake tits, bikini- shaved twat, bush a little darker than the hair on her head, tan lines blurred from nude sunbathing on some screened deck near the beach. The mental image made my back teeth ache and my prick stir in my trousers. I felt the need of an opening line but she read my mind or my expression and laughed, supplying one. "Hey!" she observed, pointing with the fork at the watch on my right wrist, "We're both lefties." I smiled, trying to look friendly without being grandfatherly. "Yes, we are! How about that? And I've set up a special table, just for us lefties. Y'know, so we don't clash elbows with all the northpaws." I pointed out the table in the corner, reserved for me and whomever I chose. Usually at these company doings, I would be eating with department heads but not this time. I resolved to sup with someone more conducive to digestion rather than listen to another argument about warehousing versus just-in-time supply. Nona's slow smile rewarded the quivering adolescent inside me with the hope that she understood my offer in all its contexts. I don't remember what we ate but I found out her name, her age, the department she worked in and her telephone number. I also found myself answering more questions than I asked. No one joined us at the table. No one even tried. I think I may have been glaring at anyone who got close. Nona wanted to know everything. The names of my wife and ex-wife, my kids and grandkids. Her directness astonished me, "So what does Brenda do?" she would ask of my ex. "I mean, has she got a life since the kids left?" "Charity work mostly, I guess." I didn't really know. "Babysitting the grandkids." Or, "Who's your favorite grandkid? Gregg? Huh! I'd've thought it'd be one of the girls." Then her slow smile would turn curiosity into invitation. "So what'd Cynthia do to piss you off at her?" And her grin turned irreverence into challenge. "Told me to quit calling her Cindy," I admitted ruefully. Somehow I felt a great ease with her, combined with a sexual tension thicker than holiday dressing. The lump in my pants grew noticeably moments after we sat down when she touched my knee with her bare one. Her perfume smelt of flowers that grow best in humid jungles. Her skin glistened with reflections of the twinkling holiday lights. She had only a temporary job with the company, a fill- in receptionist for the flu season. I found myself offering her a permanent position at headquarters. That made her laugh, a sniggling chortle of teenage, wiseass amusement at the fogginess of my approach. "You don't want me -- working under you," she said. I tried to match her bluntness, "Do you prefer to just lie there?" There I knew I had crossed a line, sexual harassment at the very least but a stiff dick has no conscience as my father used to say. Her grin widened. "Oh, no, I move around a lot but I wouldn't call that work." I wanted her more than a kid wants Christmas. Lust, pure as greed, simple as ignorance, sent anticipatory shudders through me. I had recently been offered $30 million for my little empire and consideration of that sum had not made me sweat like thinking about what I would like to do with Nona. I wanted to take her there, on the cafeteria table, in front of all my employees. I wanted to find out for sure if she wore any panties under that yellow dress. She sure as hell wasn't wearing a bra for I could see the reverse indentation of her nipples against the fabric of her yellow dress. I wanted to know what her lips tasted like, and her pussy. I wanted to eat her for Christmas dinner, Nona and all the trimmings, and fuck her for dessert. She watched me, smiling like a mind reader. "You work too hard," she said mildly. Then, "What's your wife going to say?" "Who? About what?" I asked stupidly. I think I still had her spread-eagled between the coleslaw and yams in my mind. It took me a moment to locate the references. "Candace. Your wife," she explained, patiently. "About me." "Hell. I don't know." But I did, or thought I did. "She'd better not find out." Still smiling, Nona gestured at the room, nearly two hundred people, half of them trying not to watch us. "Oh, hell." I glared at the room. Eyes glanced off my unhappy gaze like Spanish rapiers turned aside by Zorro's steel. "I'd better go." She stood. Always decisive, she strode out of the room before I could move to stop her, before I could even think about whether I should. Pausing at the door, she looked back and winked at me with the one jade eye no one else could see. Then she was gone before I could wave, nod, or wink back. *** I called her that evening. First, I called Candace and told her that I would be working late. I worked late more often than not, so it meant little to her. "I think I've got the flu, Frank," she sniffled. "Try not to wake me when you come in." Good old Candace, I thought, hanging up. Then I sat for awhile, thinking. Brenda, my first wife was my age, 55, we had graduated high school together. Candace would be 39 in February. Nona turned 18 less than two months ago. I had grand kids who might have gone to high school with her. What kind of fool did I intend to make of myself? I examined myself for signs of guilt. Candace had no kick coming, she and I had pulled similar stunts when I was still married to Brenda. We had no kids, Candace hadn't wanted any and that had suited me, Brenda's three were enough. Did I still love Candace? Yes, but Tina Turner had the answer to that one. Hell, I still loved and cared about Brenda. I had to, she was still spending my money. I went to the executive restroom to wash my face. I examined myself in the mirror. Balding, overweight, over fifty, what could she possibly see in me? Money, of course. I nodded to my reflection. There's no fool like an old fool. She answered on the third ring. "Hiya." "Nona?" I had prepared something to say but it washed- away in a flood of middle-age testosterone. "Hiya, prez. Thought you'd never call." Before I could say anything, she added, "I'm naked. I'm waiting." She told me where and hung up. I didn't remember driving over. When she answered the door she wore a green, calf-length t-shirt dress. "You said you were naked," I tried not to make it sound like a complaint. She laughed. "I lied. Did you think about me being naked all the way over here?" she teased. I couldn't answer the question. I hadn't really expected her to answer the door nude in the middle of an apartment complex. Then again, she was the sort of person who might do anything. I just stepped in, Nona stepped back and I closed the door. The room looked like four or five college kids, men probably, lived here. I wondered if I were going to encounter any boyfriends. I tried peering toward what might be a kitchen but I saw and heard no one. Suddenly, she turned and ran from me, laughing and squealing like a kid. I stood there, too astonished to move as she disappeared up a set of iron-railed stairs, across a balcony overhanging the cathedral ceiling of the living room and through a door which slammed behind her. My dick almost dragged me up the stairs after her but now I really began wondering if someone else might be in the apartment, some sort of variation on the badger game. That thought softened things up a bit, enough that I could look around the downstairs carefully. Describing the place as a mess struck me as understatement. Pizza boxes and beer cans littered every horizontal surface with an occasional chicken bucket or wine bottle as decorating accents. Pieces of clothing of every kind, newspapers, magazines, sheets of computer printout, the detritus of college bachelor life. No one lurked in the kitchen, unless you counted cockroaches. Likewise, the downstairs bathroom, the laundry room and the closet under the stairs. I locked the front door, using the deadbolt and locked the sliding glass door from the kitchen to the half- subterranean patio using the burglar-bar. I made sure all the windows were latched and went upstairs finally. I felt secure enough that my hard-on returned, climbing as I climbed. I didn't think about what I might find, I felt it like jungle heat in a hooch outside Da Nang. I didn't try to guess what might happen, I knew like you knew Charlie was out there. Danger -- real or imagined -- spices sex like nothing else. I sweated climbing the stairs, a funky, lusty sweat like a boy's first trip to a whorehouse. When I opened the door of the bedroom, she lay casually naked across a king-size bed, her head propped in the teal-tipped hand. I never saw the room at all until later. Her champagne-and-apricots hair lay spread around her shoulders, some of it draping across the swelling of her breasts. The nipple of one showed prominently through the mane, a virginal berry, browner than I would have expected, crinkled like a raisin. Her curly-haired pubes winked at me as she unconsciously moved one satiny thigh over the other. she looked better than I had imagined her back in the cafeteria, her legs longer and more perfect, her bush darker and more luxuriant, her expression more eager. "What the hell took you so long?" she asked, not belligerently, just curious. Her casual profanity when we were alone often shocked, always titillated. Remembering my misgivings, I hesitated, there were two other doors upstairs, one probably a bath the other probably a master bedroom. I hadn't checked either of them for ambushers. Then again, she lay before me now, her peach-blossom nakedness wantonly spread across the chocolate comforter like an improbable truffle. "I told you I was naked," she teased, smiling. "No one else is home, they all went back to Kansas or Fresno or some fucking place. For Christmas. Y'know, Christmas vacation. From college." She paused, frowning. "Are you all right? Your color is shitty." "I'm fine," I managed to say. I stepped into the room, closing the door behind me. I began to unbutton my shirt. Truthfully, I found it hard to breathe normally. "You aren't going to fuckin' stroke out on me or anything? That would be such a bummer." I suspected her of tailoring her slang to what she thought of as "my" generation but she had me pegged as a hippie era alumnus. My Vietnam experience had been in the fifties, I had a wife and two kids before I ever heard of acid as something you might deliberately swallow. She came off the bed, suddenly, lithely and began to help me undress, laughing. Her fingers on my belt, so near my yearning cock, her closeness with the smells of jungle musk and flowers made me fumble with the buttons of my cuffs. "What's your hurry, prez? We got all night, don't we? Wha'd Candace say?" That almost threw me. "Candace?" I managed. "Your wife? You remember her, bosomy blonde with the New York accent, likes to eat chocolate in bed? Wha'd she say?" "Huh?" How much had I told this kook about my wife? "She's got the flu or something." A dark thought occurred to me, another kind of ambush. "Do you know my wife? Candace?" "Nah. I'm just curious." With another of her sudden movements, she stripped my pants down around my ankles then pulled my boxers down also. My cock stood out from my body, rigid with desire, reaching for her teasing presence. "Ooh. How -- presidential!" she giggled. "Let me get my shoes off! First!" I protested but she sank to her knees while I fumbled with my shirt. Taking my dick in one soft hand she rubbed the tip of it against her other palm. Then she licked the drop of fluid off her hand while looking up at me, big green- gray eyes smiling mischief. I weaved back and forth dangerously, like a eucalyptus tree in a Santa Ana wind. Her mouth closed over the head of my dick. What am I doing here? I thought. What does she want? What can I afford to give her? END Inquiries and comments are welcome, fanmail is the only feedback a newsgroup author gets. Email may be addressed to the author at ZANNA@WHOEVER.COM. Enjoy. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world contract HIV every year. You only have one body per lifetime, so take good care of it! * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Kristen's collection - Directory 65