Trust Fall: Book One of The Trust Trilogy *Warning-explicit content*

Please note: This is an autobiography for adults. The people in it are adults who do adult things in an adult manner and enjoy them in an adult way. Please read accordingly. Age 18 and up, please.

I didn’t know what I needed. Then he gave it to me.

I was doing okay, not great, but okay. I was a single mom with a five year old son. I had a successful, professional career that allowed me to provide a good home for both of us. My son’s father, my man-child ex-husband Josh, had come back into our lives.

Ben Sheppard was only in town for a month. Handsome, confident and perceptive, he saw the woman I didn’t know I was. He saw what I needed and wanted.

Then he gave it to me.

I thank him every day for that.

This is my story, my autobiography. I tell it honest as I can. I’ve changed the names to protect myself and my family. Otherwise, the story is written as I lived it.


10. Chapter Ten

I’ve been thinking about Ben Sheppard since I sealed my panties in that envelope.

I thought of him as I met with Jack the appraiser at the bank. I held my legs close together even under the desk and crossed them carefully. Jack was flirty. He didn’t do or say anything inappropriate. He’s a sweet guy. It was all very innocent and low key. But I still felt a touch slutty sitting across from him without panties. He is cute. I flirted back, but after he left I thought of Ben Sheppard’s hands on me. Holding me. Holding me down.

I was still thinking of Ben Sheppard during my quarterly review. I nodded at all the right places and used my furrowed brow to feign interest in what my director was telling me. I gave some rehearsed, canned feedback and verbalized an ‘action plan’ to improve on my numbers. What I really wanted to do was grab her and say, “I don’t care. I’m thinking about Ben Sheppard.”

I’ve not stopped thinking about him.

I think about those patches of silver hair on his temples. I think about his forearms. I think about his handwriting in that fine point blue ink. I think about his truck even. I think about his mouth on me, on my lips, on my neck, on my breasts and on my pussy.

I think about him inside me.

I think about his hand on my throat. I think about his palm coming down hard on my ass. I think of him holding me down and taking me.

I’ve been thinking about him since I sealed my panties in that envelope.

I am thinking of him when he doesn’t ring my doorbell but knocks hard on my front door.

I try not to run to the door. I pace myself. It’s not that I don’t want to look eager. It’s that I want to look calm and seductive. What I want is for me to open the door and him to step in and take me right there on the foyer tile. I want to feel his body hard against me. I want him to do something new. Something exciting. Like he did with his hand on my throat or with the toy.

I open the door. He smiles. His right hand is rubbing the stubble on his chin. The setting sun shimmers off the short, silver hairs. I sneak a peek past him at his truck.

“It’s nice to see you again after a long week,” Ben Sheppard says.

“Yes, it is.” I lean in for a kiss and he does too. It’s one of his brief, butterfly kisses that I can barely feel. I still sense the warmth of his lips. I feel the heat of his lips in my body.

I stand there looking up into his eyes and he looks down into mine. The moment is in danger of becoming awkward.

“Come in,” I tell him.

As he walks into the living room I ask if he’d like some wine.

“Yes. What do you have?

I walk to my dust covered wine rack and pull out a bottle and turn to him.

“You know. I have no idea. I don’t drink wine too often and I’ve gotten most of these as gifts.”

“Mind if I take a look then?”

“Not at all.”

I don’t step away from the wine rack as he comes near. We’re close. He’s wearing dark jeans, a blue button down Oxford and a dark sport coat. The blue of his shirt is reflected in the silver at his temples. I put my hand lightly on his back. He pulls out several bottles.

“I made reservations for a sushi place. Is that all right by you?”

“Yes. I’ve never had it, but I’m willing to try.”

“Then lets go with this Washington State Gewürztraminer. They’re usually crisp and light. It’ll be good to eat before sushi.”

I nod. I don’t hear anything he says about the wine, but I like the way he’s holding the bottle. I snap out of it.

“I have a corkscrew in the kitchen, I think.”

“No need.” He pulls out a Swiss army knife, flips open a cork screw and twists it into the cork. He pulls the cork out. For whatever reason, I awkwardly touch his forearm. He looks at my hand then into my eyes. He smiles.

“I also got us tickets to a play. It’s an outdoor theatre. Playhouse in the Park?

“That sounds nice,” I say.

“It’s a revival of Streetcar Named Desire. You seen it before?

“No. It sounds familiar.”

“You’ve not seen it?”

“No,” I confess.

I feel as if I should have seen it before.

“How’s Danny doing in California?”

“He’s good,” I say. “He calls just about every day. It’s hard with the time difference. He’s missed a couple of days because he fell asleep but either Josh or his grandmother calls.”

“That’s nice—an adventure for him with his father.”

“Absolutely,” I say.

I like thinking about Danny, but my mind—or is it my body?—keeps bringing me back to this man in my living room.

“Your kids?”

“Mine are too busy to check in too often with the old man. We talk about once a week but lately with me out of town and them working so much it’s been hard.”


“Nothing to be sorry about. I like them out there living their lives and embracing the world.”

“How was your week at the bank?”

“Unexciting as usual. Except for your overnight letter.”

“Thanks. That helped me get some things done.”

He pulls my panties out of the inside breast pocket of his coat with those long fingers of his and he hands them to me as if he’s giving me another glass of wine. I take them from him and notice a slight emerald glint to his hazel eyes. I put the panties on the bureau absentmindedly.

“You told me you had a review. That go okay?” he asks.

I take a sip and nod yes. I don’t want to chit-chat. I’m dying to say, “Will you please fuck me, Ben Sheppard? Fuck me anyway you want. I trust you to do it right.” Instead we sit on the couch and I say, “Yes, there’s some areas for improvement, she says, but overall I’m near the top for my department.”

“Congratulations,” and he puts out his wine glass and we toast my ‘exceeds expectations’ quarterly performance review.

I’m lost in the stubble on his chin. Each silver hair seems to be standing at attention and reflecting back whatever color in my living room it catches. I’m not helping the conversation. After another silence, he says, “My week wasn’t so great. I had to recommend to the company that they let a guy go. They did. He just wasn’t going to learn my machine.”

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“Yeah. Makes you feel like crap but better that he learns his limitations now instead of after he screws up something expensive.”

I put my hand high on his leg. It’s a condolence but also an invitation.

He tells me we’d best be getting to our dinner.

I get up and he rises. We both finish the last of our wine. I go to the closet by the door and grab a silk wrap to put around my bare shoulders. He takes it from me.

“Let me,” he says.

“Thank you.”

I lift up my hair for him to put it on and as I do I’m hard against my front door. Ben Sheppard is pressing his body against mine. I feel his size and strength and know he could crush me if he wanted.

“The back of your neck looks delicious,” he says in that low throaty growl of his. I feel the words across the back of my neck and my body is covered in gooseflesh. “So delicious,” he says again and follows it with a series of light kisses from my hairline to my shoulders. I feel his cock hard in my lower back.

“Take me, Ben.”


“No. Now. Please.”


“I need you inside me.”


I feel him pull back and I’m no longer pushed against the door. I’m flushed and needing. He straightens the silk wrap over my shoulder and I look back into his eyes.

“Later,” he repeats.

I’m annoyed as he opens his truck door for me. I step up and into the cab and he closes the door, but my anger goes away as he lifts himself up. He did say, ‘Later’, after all. I scoot over to the middle of the bench seat and curl my legs up. I’m leaning against him when he starts the engine.

“Seat belt,” he says.

“I’ll be all right.”

“Seat belt. Danny needs you around.”

I roll my eyes and straighten myself up. I can still sit beside him. I fumble with the center seat belt. I can’t seem to match it with the clasp.

“Let me,” he says.

He takes the shoulder belt out of my hands and finds the clicker. He fastens it and adjusts it to take up the slack. He adjusts too tight. The belt has me strapped almost motionless to the seat. I’m about to tell him it’s too tight when I look into his eyes. They’ve turned that brilliant emerald.

“Too tight?” he asks.

I nod yes. He smiles and loosens the belt. He starts the truck and it gives that familiar rumble that I feel in my bottom. I lean onto his shoulder as best I can.


Teak Restaurant is on Mount Adams. Mount Adams is a large hill on the eastern side of Cincinnati’s downtown. It has the art museum, a large park, a few thousand residents and an active bar and restaurant scene. It was originally populated in the mid-1800s and its streets are narrow—built more for pedestrians and single-horse carts than today’s broad-shouldered pickup trucks.

Ben Sheppard is driving slowly and carefully through the narrow labyrinth. His big truck seems about to hit every car, street light and curb we pass, but he misses each of them. With each close call, I nuzzle in closer to him until the seat belt won’t let me nuzzle any closer. His body stays loose and relaxed.

The navigator tells us we’ve arrived at Teak. There’s no parking so he drives past and makes a right turn. The truck vibrates and Ben Sheppard gives it some gas and it powers up a hill. I feel a silly grin on my face as the vibration tickles me nicely. At the end of the street, a man in a safety vest is selling parking spaces in the lot of an unused church lot. Ben rolls down his window, gives the man five dollars and we park.

As my toes touch the pavement, Ben Sheppard offers me his arm. I take it and we begin to walk the four blocks to Teak. I fit nicely next to him and despite our height differences, our strides match. The neighborhood has an old-world feel and Ben has a old-world demeanor. He’s strong and protective. He’s a man in the best sense of manhood.

A tall Thai man greets us.

 “Two?” Ben answers yes. “Patio?” Ben again answers yes.

The man walks us through the empty restaurant and we exit the back door to a crowded deck area sheltered by tall bamboo and lit with tiki torches. The host seats us and hands us our menus. He walks away without saying anything more. I look around. It’s mostly other couples. There are a few groups of fours—friends out for the night—laughing and talking. Watching them makes me happy.

I glance at my menu.

“I’m not sure what to order,” I say.

“Then order a bunch of things.”

That’s right, I think.

“Will you do it?”

“Of course.”

A beautiful middle-aged Thai woman with impossibly high cheekbones comes to our table. Her order pad is out. She’s not ready for Ben Sheppard.

“Hello,” he says to her. “A bottle of your Covey Run Gewürztraminer, two glasses of water, your caterpillar roll, your honey bee roll, a California roll, a Tanzana roll, Futomaki roll and—just to see if Tess here will try it—an eel roll.”

“There more of you coming?” the waitress asks. Ben Sheppard smiles slightly and shakes his head no. She smiles back at him and leaves to place our order. I hear her mumble something in Thai as she walks away. I see another waitress stifle a laugh.

I enjoy the outdoor air on Mount Adams, but I don’t really want to be there. I want to be under Ben Sheppard.

“You okay?” he asks. “You seem distracted tonight. Not yourself.”

“Not myself?”

“You don’t seem sure of yourself.”

I feel like a teenage girl, but I blurt it out, “I can’t stop thinking about you? How you make me feel.”

He doesn’t seem to judge me.

“There is a chemistry between us. Isn't there?”

“Like I’ve never felt before.”


He says it in a surprised way, like he’s felt this level of chemistry often. It makes me feel a little jealous and a little less special. He takes my hand and I feel better.

“You said you never used that toy in your dresser drawer. Was that true?”

I nod yes and look around at the other tables.

Anyone listening?

“No one’s listening,” he says.

He tells me no one is listening and I trust him.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “It’s so garish. So unromantic. Maybe I’m too much the good girl. And it’s so big.”

“You took it easily though.”

“No, you gave it to me easily.”

“No other man has found it in your drawer?”

“There hasn’t been another man since before I got that.”

“Over a year ago?”

“Over a year.”

And then some, I think.

“You need to learn about yourself. That’s one way of doing it.”

“I know. I guess I’ve never really been in touch with myself that way.”

“How about we skip the play?”

“Okay. Why?”

“It was a bad idea. I’d rather spend time talking to you tonight instead of sitting in a theatre watching other people speak lines Arthur Miller wrote sixty years ago. I want to get to know you better and I want you to get to know yourself better.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I’m more than sure.”

Our high-cheekboned waitress brings us our order. Ben Sheppard shows me how to use chopsticks. I learn the trick is to not try to move both of them but to hold one still and only move the other. I love watching his fingers work them. By halfway through the meal, I think I have the hang of it, but my hands hurt from exercising little used muscles.

The check comes and we leave a pile of sushi on the table because again, Ben Sheppard has ordered half the menu. He pays the check and we walk out.

“About that learning about yourself. I think the time is now.”

My stomach flips with excitement.

“What do you have in mind?”

His only response is a smile. I don’t ask again but my heart quickens.

We walk back to his truck and Ben Sheppard threads it through the narrow streets and finally to something wider and toward downtown Cincinnati. He is driving west on 6th then turns right on to Vine. He spots a parking space and parallels his truck into it between a broken down car and a BMW.

“Where are we going?”

“Around the corner.”

“What’s around the corner?”

“A sex shop.”

He sees me tense up and says, “Trust me.”

I think of my bank two blocks away. It is Saturday, yes, but people I may know might be down here—out to dinner or out with friends...or in the sex shop. But Ben Sheppard said “trust me” and I trust him.

“Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to buy you a few different vibrators and dildos. If you see anything you like, let me know. I like the idea that when I’m back in Milwaukee, you’ll be enjoying yourself with them.”

It is the longest half block walk of my life. The butterflies are batting around in my stomach. I hold Ben Sheppard’s arm and hold myself close to him. I am depending on him to guide me because my eyes aren’t watching where I’m walking. I’m looking up and down Seventh Street for a face I might know.

We round the corner and Ben opens the door and—like that—I’m in a sex shop. I’m surprised.

“Hello again,” a female clerk says to my Ben. I shoot him a glance.

“I was here earlier to make sure it was a place you’d be comfortable in. Hello again,” he shoots back to the clerk.

She is a pretty girl, but her beauty is hidden by piercings and tattoos. She is dressed in black jeans and a black t-shirt with the store’s logo across the front. She has nice breasts and curves. She walks with an attitude that’s confident and sexy. The phrase ‘sexy little minx’ pops into my head. Another clerk walks by dressed the same. The butterflies in my stomach are still fluttering.

The store is merchandised like a soap or a candle store. It is well-lighted, open with no dark, hidden corners. In the front are various sexy outfits, underwear and lingerie. Around those are sprinkled innocent enough novelty items. Ben walks me to the rear of the store where things became more explicit. First, along the left wall hang various whips, riding crops and belts. I prefer Ben’s hand, I think. I like skin on skin. But I see a cat-o-nine tails and feel a stirring chase those butterflies away. There is something about the black leather that makes me stand a little taller.

I hadn’t notice, but Ben is letting me browse and I am relaxing into it. Past the things for spankings are various restraints—ropes, cuffs and straps. I turn down an aisle. It is full of strange shaped dildos. I look closer. Butt plugs, a small sign says. Why would you need so many types, I wonder. There is an aisle of lubes in colors and flavors and phosphorous. Glow in the dark? I like it dark, thank you. I walk to Ben who is standing in front of several rows of dildos.

“You look comfortable here,” I say to him.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

I whisper, “because it’s a sex shop.”

“Our entire culture is awash in sex. My mother would have thought some of today’s daytime TV commercials were pornography. Sex is a good thing. I like you and I’d like you to enjoy sex as much as possible.”

He gives me a light kiss on the forehead and ushers me into the dildo section.

There are vibrating dildos and non-vibrating dildos. Pink dildos, red dildos, black dildos, white dildos, wood dildos, glass dildos and plastic dildos. There are tiny dildos, ordinary guy-sized dildos and monstrous dildos that must be novelty items. There are dildos shaped like strange space ships and dildos shaped like large bullets and dildos shaped like regular men complete with faux testicles attached. There are straight dildos and curved dildos, flared dildos and narrowed dildos There are dildos that allowed spaces for you to grip and dildos that didn’t. There are dildos with suction cups on the base.

“Suction cups?”

“You can stick it on the floor or against the wall. It frees your hands up.”



“I’m overwhelmed.”

He smiles an assuring smile.

“Want me to choose.”

“Yes, please.”

He strolls through the aisle, making a complete pass then turns and walks the aisle again. I look around the store. The clerks are going about their business restocking shelves, re-folding shirts, and cashing out customers. I catch the eye of another woman there with her man. She is about forty-five. She’s pretty—sexy, even. She looks to be a mom. She looks like the kids are grown. She looks like she is learning to have fun again. She smiles at me. I smile back.

Should I smile at a woman in a sex shop? What does that say about me?

Ben comes up to me.

“I got you three.”


“You never know what you like until you try a few different things. They’re all different. There is nothing...novel. All about regular size, a traditional vibrator, one with the suction cup. This one is glass.”


“Pyrex. Don’t worry. It won’t break.”

“Why glass?”

“It will retain heat. Or cold. Warm it with hot water. Put it in the fridge. Whatever you like. Learning what you like is the point.”

I feel myself blush. I picture myself in the near future. Ben Sheppard has flown back to Milwaukee. I’m pleasuring myself using this beautiful glass rod. I’m not uncomfortable with the thought. I find myself getting turned on by it. I blush more.

Ben smiles at me as he puts the toys on the counter. Like regular stores, there’s impulse items by the cash register. Ben grabs some batteries and a bottle of cleaner. The sexy little minx clerk surprises me by opening up my vibrator. My vibrator? It’s not paid for and I’m already possessive of it. I don’t want her touching it. Ben Sheppard is buying that for me. You don’t touch. She opens the bottom of it and puts in the batteries. She twists the base and there’s a low humming.

“It works,” says the little minx to herself. She takes Ben’s card and he signs for the purchase.

“Let’s put these in my truck and go have some drinks.”



He takes me to the Netherland Plaza on Fifth Street. We walk into its bar. It’s a grand, ornate room with a forty-foot ceiling painted with over-the-top pastoral murals. There’s plenty of dark wood and gold leaf and well-dressed staff. I’ve been here plenty of times during the day for business meetings. It looks gaudy when I’m talking credit scores and balance sheets and income statements. Tonight, sitting with Ben Sheppard with the hotel rooms above us, it feels sexy.

Ben and I share a banquette. It’s leather and feels nice and smooth on my skin. I lean in close to him and he holds my hand under the table. We people-watch and talk.

There’s a cocktail menu on each table. A tall woman approaches us. She’s dressed in black pants and a black cotton shirt that looks tailored to her with a pair of black shoes. Her dark hair is pulled straight back and put into a bun. She’s a waitress and she looks elegant as hell.

Ben Sheppard orders five cocktails for us to sample. When he does this, she doesn’t bat an eye.

There seems to be three large parties spread throughout the bar. One looks to be a large family at the bar for a fiftieth wedding anniversary. Another seems to be refugees from a twenty-five year high school reunion being held in one of the banquet rooms. The final group is there for a wedding. The different groups seem to stick to their parts of the bar, but there is some overlap and as Ben and I sit and watch, there’s even some fraternization going on between the groups. Interspersed among them is the occasional, solitary drinker. There are also couples that the bar’s atmosphere is having varying degrees of success putting into the right mood. Some couples are sitting close like Ben and me. Some couples seem to be past the point where any place, no matter how romantic, will bring them together. Maybe this is their last opportunity for that.

The waitress brings our drinks and Ben and I share several sips. He is drawn to the darker ones with bourbon or rum while I go to the lighter ones with gin and vodka. The waitress checks on us and Ben orders the bottom half of the cocktail menu.

We sample those and the mood of the bar seems to shift. A rowdy group comes in. At first I think it’s a bachelor party, but it’s not. It’s just a boys-night-out of sorts. The eight men are loud and red-faced. They order beers and shots. They swear loudly. There’s one sober-looking, apologetic woman corralling them as best her one hundred and ten pounds can.

I want Ben to take me upstairs. I want Ben to take me to one of the hotel’s rooms. I want Ben to take me.

Instead, Ben Sheppard turns to me.

“I have a confession to make,” he says.

“A confession? I’m curious.”

“I’m a little drunk.”

“Sampled too much?”

“Yes. Would you mind if we went for a walk? It’s getting loud in here anyway.”

A walk? I’d like to go upstairs.

“No problem,” I say.

Ben Sheppard stands. I take the hand he offers me and try to stand. My head starts to spin. I sit back down quickly.

“You might be a little drunk, but I’m a lot drunk,” I say.

He smiles and I take his arm and I manage to walk out of the bar with a little class.

The fresh air outside helps. It’s a warm night, but there’s a breeze blowing that I make sure doesn’t lift up my dress. The air feels good as it moves across my skin. Ben Sheppard lets me lean against him as we walk.

We pass a line of limousines with their engines running. I assume they’re waiting for their clients at various hotels, restaurants and bars around town. Their running lights and the gathering of dark-suited chauffeurs talking and smoking together give the cars a sophisticated quality.

“I’ve only been in a limo once,” I say for no apparent reason except there are seven limos lined up on this block of Walnut Street.

“When was that?”

“Senior prom.”

“That must have been nice.”

“You’d think.”

“Not nice?”

“My date told me he was picking me up in it. He also said he’d gotten a hotel room for afterward. I’d planned on losing my virginity that night.”

“Things didn’t go as planned?”

“No. Instead of him and me riding hand in hand in a sophisticated car to a formal evening it turned into ten kids piled on top of each other squeezed into a lime green limo. He sneaked in some booze and by eleven he was falling down drunk. My innocence was safe for another year.”

“And you’ve not been in a limo since?”

“Nope. A few town cars when traveling on business. How about you?”

“Oh, on my wedding day and a few times since then. I’ve hired them to impress clients.”

Ben Sheppard pulls his arm away from me.

“Stay here,” he says.

He walks back to the gaggle of chauffeurs and speaks to them. One, a short, bald man, gives a vigorous nod and the two of them separate from the group. The short, bald man walks up the street and gets into his car and Ben comes back to me.

“You’ll now get your second limo ride.”

I laugh an obnoxious, drunk laugh and take Ben Sheppard’s arm. The short, bald man is out of the limo and holding the door open for us. Ben lets me climb in but doesn’t follow me. He and the short, bald man are talking. Ben pulls out his wallet and hands the man what looks to be a few hundred dollar bills. The man has a middle-eastern accent of some kind. He says, “Thank you. But don’t make mess back there. I stay downtown. My fare call me, I put you out. Okay?”

Ben says, “Okay” and climbs in.

The short, bald man shuts the door and it’s quiet. The city noise is shut out. It’s as if we’re entombed. I see that whoever the limo is chauffeuring around left some coats and a couple bags on the reverse-facing seats. I move them aside making sure I won’t sit on them. The car simply starts to glide. I know we’re moving, but I don’t feel the road.

Ben smiles at me.

“Maybe this will make up for prom night?”

I don’t answer him but nod my head and give him a kiss.

I snuggle up close to him again as we look at the city from behind darkened windows.

“He said we’ll have about a half-hour.”

“Thank you.”

My head's still spinning and I think back to every limo ride I’ve ever seen in the movies.



“Would you mind if I did something silly?”

“What kind of silly?”

“Open up the sun roof and stick my head out of it.”

Ben laughs and says no, he doesn’t mind. He then finds the button and opens it. The fresh air and noise drift in and I manage to stumble to my feet. Once my head is out, everything is noisy. A group of men ‘whoop’ at me right away and I smile at them. I’m having fun, but in the back of my head, I want Ben Sheppard to take me back to the hotel and get us a room.

The car turns on to Sycamore and I’m unprepared and almost fall down. Ben, still sitting in the car, grabs my hips to steady me. I look down at him and say thank you. I turn forward, brace myself by leaning my ribs against the limo roof and throw my arms up in Titanic “King of the World” fashion. I feel wonderful.

I’m still enjoying the night air when I feel Ben’s hands leave my hips. I’m thinking he’s coming up to join me. He doesn’t. I feel his hands inside my dress, running up my legs. Caressing them.

It’s nice. I’m already goose fleshed by the cool summer breeze, but he adds to it. Gooseflesh on gooseflesh. I shiver. He lifts up my skirt. He is kissing my behind. I feel his breath through my panties. It’s warm and alluring. I put my hands down and hold on to the limo’s roof. I feel myself tighten inside. I marvel that just these soft kisses are making me wet. His thumbs hook over the waistband of my panties. He slowly takes them down and follows with those soft kisses directly on my skin. Once down, I lift each foot slowly and my panties are off. I start to come down from the sunroof. I want Ben Sheppard inside me. Now. But he doesn’t let me. He grabs each of my ass cheeks firmly and holds me up. He kisses me some more. We turn right on to Plum and Ben holds me up and once we’re around the corner he turns me around. I look down at him. He smiles at me as puts his mouth on my pussy. I throw my arms out to support myself. Between the cocktails and his mouth, my legs feel like they are made of jelly. He’s only kissing me. His lips on me—that’s all it is—and I’m turned to this bundle of sexual energy. Without thought I part my legs and his kisses are allowed deeper. I’m opening up to him and I feel his pursed lips touch my folds. The city is slipping by me unnoticed.

I try to come down into the limo again, but Ben holds me up, gripping my lower back and part of my ass. His tongue is out now. It’s exploring me and moving my folds and I feel myself wet and wanting.

Forget the hotel room. Fuck me here, Ben. Please. Now.

We turn on to Second Street and Ben holds me as my body wants to lean over with the turn. I come out of the sexual trance. I look down at his head and all I see is his hair. He appears lost in pleasuring me—as much as I was lost in being pleasured. We’re at a stoplight and I glance around. No one is on the street in this part of town at this time of night. I lean my head back and look at the stars almost blotted out by the city’s lights. As I do Ben’s tongue finds my clit. It’s hard and firm on me and I think I’m about to come. Oh, god, let me come back into the car, Ben. I can’t come out here like this. I try to lower myself, but he resists me again. He is so damned strong. He takes his left hand away from my bottom and I feel his thumb slowly running the length of the cleft of my ass. Ben’s exploring me. I tense. I’ve never done anything like that. I’ve never wanted it. But I remember. I trust him. I trust Ben Sheppard. I’ve tensed. I force myself to relax. And it feels nice.

Ben Sheppard’s tongue and lips are still on my pussy and behind me his thick thumb sits ready to enter me. He’s pressed firm against it and I brace myself curious and fearful, but he’s doesn’t enter. No, he doesn’t enter me like that. He does something else. He adds just a touch more pressure to that virgin part of me and I come. It’s a cascading orgasm. I look down to make sure I’m not exploding all over Ben Sheppard and the limo. I stifle my voice. I only half-heartedly look around the streets. I see no one. Yes, there’s someone. A person is in the distance. Too far to really see me. I want to yell, but I don’t.

Ben’s mouth is off of me. His thumb is away from my ass. I look down and he’s awkwardly lifting himself up. He undoes his belt. He unbuttons his pants. He unzips them. He pulls them down. He puts his hands on my waist. He turns me around roughly. He pulls me down back into the limo. He lowers me to sit on his lap and onto his cock. Slowly. I feel his breath on the back of my neck. I seem to weigh nothing in his hands. He reaches around in front of me and parts my pussy lips with two of his fingers. I feel him inside, opening me wider. He lowers me all the way down on to him.

His hands are off my waist now and I am beyond thinking. His right hand is on my face. He turns it to him and we kiss. I taste myself on his lips and kiss him deeper. I turn and lean back more. Our mouths are on each others and his hands are back at my hips again. He’s raising and lowering me as he wants. His large fingers nearly touch tips at my belly button. I feel his thumbs digging into my lower back.

He’s pulling me hard on to him. He’s barely lifting me. He just wants to be deeper and deeper.

I come again. It’s sudden and short. I yelp when it hits. After it passes, I notice the sound of our bodies meeting—a wet, slapping sound. I notice his breath matches my breath. His breath is deep but quick. Mine is ragged.

He stops pulling me on to him. He’s holding me firm. I feel his cock swell inside me. I turn and look into his eyes just as I feel him explode. His eyes are that emerald green. My looking into them doesn’t make him look away. It seems to spur him on. He pulls my body down tighter on to his cock, lifts then pulls me down again.

I let his spent cock grow flaccid inside me. I want him inside me as long as possible. Finally, I lift myself up and sit next to him. He’s slouched down into the seat. I curl up and put my head on his chest. His pants are still around his ankles on the floor board. He’s recovering his breath still. I kiss him.

“Thank you,” I say.

He only smiles.

We make another few turns then the short, bald man knocks on the partition.

“Must be time to go,” Ben says and he pulls up his pants.

I feel the car pull over and the short, bald man opens the door.

Ben and I get out. We’re the picture of a sophisticated couple enjoying a night on the town. Ben thanks the short bald man who nods at him a little too knowingly for my comfort.

We’re about seven strides away when I hear the short, bald man say in his accented-English, “Hey, lady, ma’am. Hey, lady, ma’am.”

I look back. He’s pointing into the limo.

“I think these yours,” he says.

It takes me a moment to figure out what he’s talking about. I blush. I run to the limo, snatch my panties off the floor board, wad them up in my fist and run back to Ben Sheppard.

I’m pulling him along.

“Sorry, I forgot those,” he says.

“Shhhhh, let’s just go.”

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