Jon sat on the park bench, lost in a world that included only the limits of his peripheral vision. His thoughts centred on nothing, just enjoyment of the warm summer sun that beat down to gently brown off the grass in Hyde Park.
His bottle of mineral water became tepid, giving off a vapour, filling the plastic container so that it bulged slightly. Egg mayonnaise sandwiches fried in their wrapper destined not to be eaten, at least, not by Jon; perhaps an enterprising crow or homeless person might liberate them from the trashcan sometime later.
He looked up, casually observing the other frequenters enjoying the Mediterranean like warmth that had enveloped London recently. Mostly, the grass was taken up with office workers either eating or too lethargic to waste the energy it required, opting to just lay out and top up their tans.
The rustle of lightweight fabric swishing and creasing as the bottom inside sat a foot or so from him, sharing the bench, disturbed his isolated contemplation. Jon glanced askance to see what the Barbie doll type platinum blonde looked like; pretty good he thought, especially as his askance gaze travelled from her head to a pair of what looked like enhanced breasts pushing the tee shirt she wore beyond what could be described as reasonable.
She turned and dazzled him with a smile that showed two even lines of perfect white teeth.
“Hi.” She said in a sqeaky voice that could have belonged to Tammy Wynette. If she had said her name was Tammy or Barbie he would have had no trouble believing it, but other than hi, she said nothing else, just steadily returned his gaze.
“Um, yeah hi.” As an entrée, it was weak and he knew it. Slightly embarrassed at the directness of her stare, he looked away to concentrate on his brown deck shoes as if the polish were a living thing.
“That dammed dog. Look at him.” Jon wasn’t at all sure she was talking to him, but dutifully looked up. Several dogs were running around, looking like demented, brainless things, a bundle of multi-coloured fur with far too many legs and heads.
“Which one is yours?” He asked.
“The scruffy one.” They all looked scruffy to Jon, not being a dog person.
“The brindle Heinz fifty seven thingy.” She pointed, which was a complete waste because at least four dogs were in a group. Then Jon remembered that brindle described a multitude of colours, like a tortoiseshell cat’s coat. It helped him locate what was probably the ugliest dog he had ever seen apart from a pug.
“What is it?” He asked, fearing the answer.
“The guy who sold him to me said he was a cross. Looked like a dog to me, but never mind.” Jon tried to see if she was making a joke, decided that it was, so politely laughed.
“I’d better call him back before he makes a nuisance of himself.” She squeaked with a laugh in her voice.
She stuck two fingers in her mouth over her folded tongue. Jon waited for the piercing shrillness of her whistle, but it didn’t come. She failed entirely to blow.
“Damned dog never comes when I call him.” She commented.
Jon was trying desperately not to laugh now.
“What was that supposed to be?” He asked.
“A silent whistle. The guy I bought him from said he responds to a silent whistle, one beyond the hearing range of humans.” There was a certain kind of innocence about her answer that nearly creased Jon.
“Seems it’s beyond the hearing of your dog too.” He couldn’t help it any longer, he laughed out loud.
“You really are blonde aren’t you?” He managed between fits of giggles.
She pouted her lips and looked as if she might sulk.
“I’m sorry.” He apologised. “I couldn’t resist it.” Jon stuck his own fingers in his mouth and blew a loud whistle. Four doggy heads turned in his direction.
“How do you do that?” She asked as her knees were getting patted in a come hither gesture to the dog.
“Just stick them in your mouth and blow. I’ll teach you sometime.”
“Where have I heard that before? Line from a movie wasn’t it?” Her eyes betrayed nothing, showing only an innocence that the words belied.
There was an obvious double entendre there, but Jon ignored it
He watched the dog leave its new friends to come trotting to the bench they shared, it’s tail wagging in pleasure sending it in a wobbling motion from the force of the appendage. The nearer the dog got, the more it became apparent that this animal was really not something you might call pretty. The pronounced wrinkles that created a forehead moved up and down in time with its movement. Some of its fur stuck out at strange angles and was much longer than the majority of the rest of its pelt. Two tendrils of saliva drooped on either side of its mouth, looking as if it had swallowed a tennis shoe and the laces were yet to follow the rest down its throat. Its chest bumped against her knees as if using her as a buffer, his chin dropped into her lap, covering her skirt with slime.
“Um, nice dog.” She looked at him sideways to see if he was still taking the piss.
“No really, I mean it, nice dog. A bit scruffy I’ll grant you, but all in all, a nicely behaved dog.” He felt a sort of embarrassment creep up his cheeks. This conversation was going down hill fast.
“Ah he’s okay. Bit of a scatter brain, but we love each other.” She scratched his head, which made the wrinkles move around, and looked quite comical.
Jon realised that the mutt was quite a bit, bigger than he had realised when it had been playing with the other dogs just a few minutes ago. It’s paws looked to be too big for the animal, out of proportion even for his size. Even more out of proportion was its mouth and snout. The dog didn’t have the classical long face, but looked rather like it might have run into a brick wall too fast one day and shortened the whole thing somewhat. The wrinkles gave it a permanent frown adding to the first impression that it might be in a bad mood. Tentatively, Jon stuck out his hand to stroke the dog’s shoulders. The mal-tempered looking face turned to watch the hand, looking as if it really wanted to separate it at the wrist. Jon hesitated until Barbie, for that is what he thought her name might be, convinced him it was okay, he wouldn’t bite. He stroked the animal, amazed at the softness of its fur and the warmth that the dog radiated. A look of sheer bliss came into its eyes when Jon scratched it between his ears. He concentrated so much on the giving of pleasure to the dog and liked the feeling of calm that he received in return, that he failed to notice the appraising stare he was receiving from his bench companion.
“What’s you name?” She asked after a few minutes.
“Eh? Oh! Jon. Sorry I got carried away stroking Buster here.” He stopped the stroking and returned her gaze.
“His name’s Brute; I thought it apt; my name’s Cindy.”
Jon almost, but not quite, commented on the aptness of her name, remembering the dolls his sister used to have. He managed to stifle the words before they left his tongue.
“Fancy a coffee Jon?” She asked; her head tilted to one side as if she were waiting for sand to fall out of her ear.
Jon couldn’t be sure, but thought that more than coffee was on offer, it was the twinkle in her eye that had him almost convinced, it could have been his imagination too or wishful thinking. He prided himself on being able to hold eye contact and not drop his gaze to the beautiful tits that pointed at him like a dead heat in a zeppelin race. Getting between them was becoming something of a quest for him.
“Um, yeah; sure; why not?” The decision took less than a nanosecond.
Cindy rose from the bench; her skirt rustled in a silky way that hinted at a lining or petticoat. No one wears petticoats anymore, so it was reasonable to assume the skirt was lined. Jon stood too and then realised how tall she was, probably two or three inches over him and she had flat shoes on. Oh my gawd, he thought to himself, a six foot Amazonian Barbie doll. His fantasies rolled before his eyes in less time than it takes to blink. He must have blinked or shown somehow, what was crossing his mind because she grabbed his hand and uttered the words of his dreams… “I’m horny, let’s get out of here.” Briefly, Jon wondered if he had died and gone to hedonistic heaven.
In something of a daze, he allowed her to drag him and the dog across the scorched grass towards Park Lane and her car, one of those enormous four-wheel driven Mitsubishi’s whose name completely escaped him, but had the collective name of Chelsea tractors.
She lived on the first floor of a Georgian house that had been converted to apartments in Loundes Square just behind Harvey Nicholls. Ordinarily, Jon would have taken in the surroundings, even offered a phew of admiration for the gilt scroll work of the newel posts on the stair, the obvious wealth and taste of money in the décor or the depth of pile to the carpet that stretched from wall to wall. Ordinarily he would have, but he only had eyes for her ass it sashayed from side to side in her tight skirt as she climbed the stairs in front of him. It had him in some kind of thrall, mesmerizing him into an automaton with no more self will than a ball of string.
She stopped and unlocked an ornate door on the first floor landing; it swung open to reveal her apartment, no less opulent than the common parts of the staircase. Even the down lighter wall sconces spoke of wealth in their uniqueness and overly stated singularity. This girl had money, more than Jon could comprehend if the apartment was anything to go by.
She showed him into the conservatory at the back, passing through a kitchen that looked un-used, passed a stainless steel refrigerator that was bigger than his wardrobe and into a rattan cane, winged chair with the immortally famous words, “make yourself at home while I slip into something more comfortable”.
At thirty, Jon had had some very good Christmas’s, some really wonderful birthdays, but they had all come together in this very moment he thought.
Brute came over, checked him out and then left him to find his sleeping basket, the size of a small dingy, he curled and soon was oblivious to the world.
“Would you like a drink Jon?” Cindy’s voice wafted around the door pillar.
“Yeah sure.” He shouted back to the disembodied voice.
“Help yourself; Ice is in the fridge.”
“Want one?” He got up to find the drinks, but was at a loss to where they might be.
“Yeah, whatever you’re having will be fine.”
“Um, where are the drinks?” He shouted back.
“Oh sorry, just push the mirror.” Her voice, muffled somewhat, informed him.
He pushed at the mirror gently it had a touch latch holding it in place which released and allowed the mirror to swing open. The wall cupboard behind was well stocked with liquors of many kinds. Jon spotted a Johnnie Walker green label; took two glasses and poured a generous helping into each. The fridge was indeed bigger than his wardrobe, with an icemaker prominent at the left front. He sat back in the rattan chair to wait for her while the scotch cooled in the glasses on a low table in front of him.
Cindy swished into the conservatory wearing a blood red silk kimono with a Chinese stylised dragon embroidered on the back. It was short, even on the average person, it would have been short, but on Cindy, it only came to mid-hip level; also, it was open at the front, resting, parted on her breasts that still looked like a dead heat in a Zeppelin race only more so, now that the confines of a bra had been removed. To say they were gravity defying would have been an understatement. The parted silk showed her pubic area, covered with a lacy thong. Jon’s eyes nearly fell out of his head and if his jaw had dropped much lower, he would have been able to push it back with his feet.
“You like?” She twirled in front of him, alternatively giving him a sight of her scantily clad front and then a glimpse of her sweet ass with the thong disappearing between smooth white cheeks. She had taken a shower while Jon had poured the drinks so, as she twirled, he got sprayed with fine droplets of water as it flicked off of her hair.
He realised he hadn’t answered, but was only able to nod his appreciation.
She stopped twirling and sank into the chair opposite him, tucking her long tanned legs under her. The robe remained open, just covering her aureoles in a tantalising show of they’re here, but just beyond your reach and either side of a cleavage where it might be possible to white water raft.
In an effort to stop staring at her, he reached for his glass then raised it in salute. Gratefully, he sipped the cold liquid, feeling it alternatively cool and warm him as the alcohol slipped down his throat. Cindy returned the salute with one of her own. She drained the glass in one, tipping her head back, flexing her impossibly long neck. He watched fascinated as she swallowed, her throat working up and down in the process. He thought it was the most erotic thing he had ever seen.
Another soon replaced that eroticism as she knelt on the floor in front of his chair. Her body was semi-hidden by the kimono, but showing enough to not hide anything from his imagination. His zipper was drawn down and before he had time to breath or think, she had got his cock out and down her throat as if exposure to air might be harmful to the skin of his delicate tool.
Jon might not be the biggest in the country, but he wasn’t the smallest either and could boast a healthy seven incher when the time was right. This was one of those times. Incredibly, her nose was pressing on his abdomen, she had taken his whole length without so much as a single gag. She adjusted her knees and sat a little lower which allowed him an uninterrupted view of what she was doing. Slowly, her head lifted until only the bell end of his knob was between her lips then, in a reversal of perambulation, she slowly took him back into her mouth until the root of his dick was pushing at her lips.
Now, he had a new record of the most erotic thing he had ever seen. He thought that what had been a seven incher, might now have become a nine incher it was so hard and suffused.
Cindy kept the slow pace of blowing him off. Slowly out until only the end was in her mouth, then equally as slowly in, until her nose was lost in his pubic hair, squashed against his stomach.
At this rate, he thought, I might last for all of three minutes. Reluctantly, he took her face in his hands and lifted her off from her mission. He kissed her lips, bending his back in an uncomfortable arc to do so.
Cindy, unperturbed, undid the buttons on his shirt, pulled the tails from this trouser waistband and up over his head. Her fingernails raked his hairy chest, deliciously plucking at his nipples as the wicked looking talons scrapped passed on a journey towards the button of his trousers.
In short order, she had him naked, still sitting, or rather lounging in the rattan chair; shoes socks pants and trousers were all thrown unceremoniously in a heap away to his right.
She got up to stand in front of him. A small shake of her shoulders had the kimono off and falling to the floor around her ankles. Jon was afforded the first real look at her tits. His imagination had not done them justice. These were perfectly conical, slightly upturned with dark aureoles surrounding nipples about half an inch long in their erectness. He tried desperately to hold eye contact, but failed miserably when she shimmied her hips and hooked a thumb in the narrow elasticated band of her thong. The shimmy produced a tremble in her solid breasts, similar to a ripple effect; Jon’s eyes were straining to escape the confines of their orbital sockets.
Slowly, her thumbs snagged under the elastic and began the tug it over her hips. Gradually, her shaven snatch came into view; the small fold where her clit was hidden was shaped like a hair clip and perfectly bald. Cindy started to bend at the hip, keeping her arms straight as she pulled the flimsy panties down over her knees and then stepped out of them.
She stood up again then parted her legs to step either side of his knees. Cindy bent slowly, ever bringing him towards her waiting honey pot. Gradually the distance between their fuck organs decreased, it was like watching two lovers get nearer in the old fashioned films, the moment prolonged until it becomes almost implausible.
Two inches of distance; one-inch; half an inch, her heat radiating; quarter of an inch, he could feel her wetness, then, first touch as lips met throbbing cock head. She rocked her hips so that his knob rubbed her from clit to cunt in a delicious agony of suspense.
Then a quarter of an inch parted her lips, she was red hot. A half an inch disappeared; an inch inside her, the waiting and wanting building to a crescendo of desire, he thought his dick was trying to grow some more. Then two inches followed the rest of him as she impaled herself on him and began to rock her hips, rubbing her hot clit against his coarse hair. It seemed like only a few seconds before her head was thrown back as she howled her first climax. Her pace picked up; soon she was furiously fucking him, grinding her self against his pubis, driving him deeper into her body.
Jon grasped those wonderful tits, rubbing her hard nipples under the pads of his thumbs. The fact that they were augmented didn’t bother him in the slightest. They melded into a palm shape, fitting perfectly. Again, Cindy screamed her second climax, throwing her head back, droplets of water from her long blonde hair splashed against his thighs.
“Take me on the floor you animal.” She breathed into his ear. “Fuck me into the ground.” Cindy stood to get off of him, then, crumpled, prone in front of him, her legs spread wide, waiting for him to join her.
Jon slipped from the chair, between her parted knees, he knelt and positioned his cock at her entrance then, forced himself into her feeling her juices lubricate his passage. His knees straightened, as he lay buried inside her to begin a staccato of pumping his cock into her willing and wanton cunt. Her knees drew up, allowing him to plunge into her depths, her feet locked together behind him, pulling his ass into her in a frenzy of fuck lust that couldn’t be sustained for too long before one or both of them came.
Ten minutes stretched into hours it seemed; the moment elongated until; Jon reached his vinegar strokes, he was on the point of exploding into her. Her nails had dug into his back in a desperate attempt to bring him to orgasm inside her, he didn’t feel the sharp talons spear his flesh, but what he did feel, rather suddenly, was something very cold and very wet poke at his anus, it could only have been the nose of Brute, the forgotten dog.
Shocked, Jon shot forward, bending his dick at an angle while still inside Cindy, that it wasn’t supposed to go in; it left the haven of her cunt with a pop. He passed over her chest in a headlong momentum his flapping dick slapped her under the chin as his progression continued. His head met forcibly, with the leg of the coffee table, which was surprisingly solid for something made out of overgrown raffia…
The ball, which had hit him, bounced once or twice on the grass and was collected by a giggling little girl who mumbled an apology. The sun had hardly moved, the grass was the same brown and his lunch had now been completely microwaved into a mass that hadn’t been appealing in the first place.
“Bollocks.” Jon said to himself, only slightly less vehemently than if he had stood on the bench and screamed it at the top of his voice.
He went back to the confines of his office to complete a miserable day.
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with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.