convinced. “You know Petie, I’m going to override you. I’m going with Kilian. I have a feeling Ella is a bit sweeter than that.”
I hope to God I’m wrong.
Bring on the leather, whips and chains.
Petie is still hopping from one foot to the other. He hates it when I overrule him. “Jesus, don’t flap at me like this. You’re just biased—we both know the cause of your aversion to rum.”
I spray cologne along the nook of my neck, over my wrists, and around my crotch. It’s essential to prep the area for the obligatory pre-intercourse blow job. Forget flowers and chocolates—one squirt of this baby is a guaranteed one-way ticket into Ella’s panties. I can almost taste the panty candy from here, and let me tell you, it’s goddamn delicious.
And I’m ready.
“How do I look Petie?” I twist from side to side and await his appraisal. He bops his head in approval.
This cock knows style when he sees it.
It’s show time.
Chapter Six
A women’s choice of clothing for a first date carries a complex series of sexual meanings. Let me explain. If Ella Bryant rocks up to our date tonight in a cashmere sweater, she’s playing hard to get. A low-cut top means ‘ let’s skip dessert. ’
I arrive at the restaurant. Can you guess what she is wearing?
I’ll give you a clue; it’s not a turtleneck. She’s dressed to kill. Kill me . Christ, hemlines that short should be made illegal. Her strapless purple skater dress displays those glorious legs like a mannequin in a store window.
And you don't really believe that she ‘forgot' her jacket, do you? Look at the way she's showing off her collarbone. I’ve feasted on enough necks to know that it’s a subtle, age-old way of attracting male attention. Ella Bryant is luring my devious mind toward sex without trying to being too obvious.
Do you remember that scene in Who Framed Roger Rabbit? The one where Eddie meets Jessica Rabbit for the first time? I have that same glazed look in my eyes right now. Ella must really want the scoop on yours truly. She’s exploiting my biggest weakness. There’s not a devil-in-hells chance that I’m going to get through dinner without blowing my load.
I adjust my collar and cross the avenue with the confidence of a lion. I’m the hunter and Ella Bryant is my prey.
“You’re late,” she scolds.
I check my watch. She’s right.
“Two minutes late. That’s positively early for a Manhattanite.” I point to her dress. “And you forgot your turtle neck.”
Her eyes fall to her dress. “Oops, so I did. My bad. Let’s see if we can get through this ordeal without my fist making contact with your face.”
Ella reconfirms our reservation with a waiter. He leads us through the restaurant and I watch those beautiful legs stride back and forth until we reach a dimly-lit patio at the rear. We settle into a booth in the far corner and the waiter hands us menus. We’re already five minutes into our date and she hasn’t thrown a drink over me yet. This is going well, don’t you think?
Just wait for it …
“Nice venue. You have good taste, Miss Bryant.” She isn’t listening. She’s too busy digging around in her bag.
She hands me a black scrap of material. “Here, put this one.” I unfurl the object and stare at it in wonder like a redneck at an opera recital.
She smiles. “Don’t look surprised. It’s easier this way. Besides, I heard that eating while blindfolded heightens the taste sensation.”
Is she for real? If she’s already blindfolding me in the restaurant, just imagine what she’s got planned for later.
Kinky —I like it.
I clear my throat and twist the blindfold through my fingers. “Let me get this straight. You’re dressed for our date in clothes that would give a gay priest wood and you expect me to sit through dinner wearing this?”
She nods.
It’s cruel. It’s like taking Stevie Wonder to a strip club for his birthday and expecting him to foot the bill.
I lean forward and
I hope to God I’m wrong.
Bring on the leather, whips and chains.
Petie is still hopping from one foot to the other. He hates it when I overrule him. “Jesus, don’t flap at me like this. You’re just biased—we both know the cause of your aversion to rum.”
I spray cologne along the nook of my neck, over my wrists, and around my crotch. It’s essential to prep the area for the obligatory pre-intercourse blow job. Forget flowers and chocolates—one squirt of this baby is a guaranteed one-way ticket into Ella’s panties. I can almost taste the panty candy from here, and let me tell you, it’s goddamn delicious.
And I’m ready.
“How do I look Petie?” I twist from side to side and await his appraisal. He bops his head in approval.
This cock knows style when he sees it.
It’s show time.
Chapter Six
A women’s choice of clothing for a first date carries a complex series of sexual meanings. Let me explain. If Ella Bryant rocks up to our date tonight in a cashmere sweater, she’s playing hard to get. A low-cut top means ‘ let’s skip dessert. ’
I arrive at the restaurant. Can you guess what she is wearing?
I’ll give you a clue; it’s not a turtleneck. She’s dressed to kill. Kill me . Christ, hemlines that short should be made illegal. Her strapless purple skater dress displays those glorious legs like a mannequin in a store window.
And you don't really believe that she ‘forgot' her jacket, do you? Look at the way she's showing off her collarbone. I’ve feasted on enough necks to know that it’s a subtle, age-old way of attracting male attention. Ella Bryant is luring my devious mind toward sex without trying to being too obvious.
Do you remember that scene in Who Framed Roger Rabbit? The one where Eddie meets Jessica Rabbit for the first time? I have that same glazed look in my eyes right now. Ella must really want the scoop on yours truly. She’s exploiting my biggest weakness. There’s not a devil-in-hells chance that I’m going to get through dinner without blowing my load.
I adjust my collar and cross the avenue with the confidence of a lion. I’m the hunter and Ella Bryant is my prey.
“You’re late,” she scolds.
I check my watch. She’s right.
“Two minutes late. That’s positively early for a Manhattanite.” I point to her dress. “And you forgot your turtle neck.”
Her eyes fall to her dress. “Oops, so I did. My bad. Let’s see if we can get through this ordeal without my fist making contact with your face.”
Ella reconfirms our reservation with a waiter. He leads us through the restaurant and I watch those beautiful legs stride back and forth until we reach a dimly-lit patio at the rear. We settle into a booth in the far corner and the waiter hands us menus. We’re already five minutes into our date and she hasn’t thrown a drink over me yet. This is going well, don’t you think?
Just wait for it …
“Nice venue. You have good taste, Miss Bryant.” She isn’t listening. She’s too busy digging around in her bag.
She hands me a black scrap of material. “Here, put this one.” I unfurl the object and stare at it in wonder like a redneck at an opera recital.
She smiles. “Don’t look surprised. It’s easier this way. Besides, I heard that eating while blindfolded heightens the taste sensation.”
Is she for real? If she’s already blindfolding me in the restaurant, just imagine what she’s got planned for later.
Kinky —I like it.
I clear my throat and twist the blindfold through my fingers. “Let me get this straight. You’re dressed for our date in clothes that would give a gay priest wood and you expect me to sit through dinner wearing this?”
She nods.
It’s cruel. It’s like taking Stevie Wonder to a strip club for his birthday and expecting him to foot the bill.
I lean forward and
Similar Books
