The Cock Tease Part 1, a short story by CaseySmith. Date added: 2012-08-03. Times viewed: 4618.
- Please SEND FEEDBACK - Writers love hearing from you. You can view the Authors profile here
- Intro: She's demure but sexy, gorgeous but dangerous, innocent but a total tease; she's the Cock Tease! And here are some of her adventures.
Before I was introduced as The Cock Tease on Melbourne night-time radio, I was simply Anna. I had discarded my surname the night I was introduced to the escorting business. It hadn't been intentional; I was thirty, tired of playing it safe as an accountant working on peoples tax returns, and ready to unfold my wings to the winds of adventure. Many people go through something like this at least once in life. You wake up one day and suddenly realise you have an imagination, and it was meant to be used.
I won't go into details because you don't want to hear them. Suffice to say, it all began at a dinner one night in a classy venue full of bankers and wankers. I was there alone because my friend, the male colleague who had invited me, could only get there later. He'd insisted I enjoy dinner at his expense and meet him later in the lounge, where networking opportunities would present themselves to us.
I found myself sitting at a large, round table, flanked on one side by a middle-aged, stout man with glasses and some trim stubble that gave him a more youthful appearance ("Rob. Nice to meet you."), and on the other by a tall, muscular, cold-looking fish with longish ice-blonde hair who completely ignored me other than to cast a quick sideways look my way as I sat down. I didn't care. The dinner was delicious and after the rich chocolate pudding dessert and a couple of glasses of excellent wine I was thoroughly relaxed and in a cheery mood.
I'm not sure what gave Rob, to my left, the impression that I was up for anything naughty. I certainly didn't flirt or openly entice him in any way. I must assume it was my appearance, as it always was with men. Thick, blonde hair (thank you Russian genes), slightly tanned skin, tiny waist supporting full, round breasts which this night I had spilling forward through a lovely, silvery cocktail dress. My ex-boyfriend had been crazy about my butt. Even on the day we parted he had yelled, "Hot ass motherfucking bitch" as with one final insult he had let himself out of my flat for the last time. Yes, I was a catch. Average height, but every inch of it obviously made with man in mind.
So there I was, sipping my third glass of wine and smiling at Rob as he droned on about his boring job and suddenly, I felt a wild flutter of excitement in my gut as I saw a wicked twinkle in his eye. He seemed to be using it to demonstrate a point about his enthusiasm for his work... but I sensed more. And I realised he had something I desired desperately in a man and had unfortunately never found. Perfect fucking breath.
This was what brought on the tingling, the sudden rush. I decided I had nothing to lose by allowing his charm to wash over me. Here is where the misunderstanding begins. I was merely opening myself to the possibility of something eventually developing. I was not wearing a sign saying 'Whore'. Or was I? I was just really comfortable and relaxed, feeling good and wanting this man to like me. But he misinterpreted my signs. Maybe all my exes had done the same. Maybe all men do. Whatever the case, I was taking a moment to check out another part of the room when suddenly, I felt what was unmistakeably Rob's thick, fat, swarthy hand laying itself upon my exposed knee. I froze. I wanted to tell him to take it off but felt too embarrassed, not wanting to draw attention to myself at a table full of execs and their wives. I thought about trying to catch his eye and signalling a no, but the prick had the back of his head to me; he was actually looking away from me while touching me without so much as a hello! Then it was like something went off in my stomach. My insides twisted. His hand just lay there, like a quiet pet waiting for instruction, for encouragement, for affection. I felt blood coursing into my buttocks and up my neck to my flushing face. I looked down at the table, determined not to do anything, say anything, just sit and let this bastard take control of a situation that to me was mind-bogglingly insane. I mean, if it weren't for the long tablecloth draped over our laps, people around us could see what he was up to.
I sat and waited, trying to slow my breathing and act the lady. Then, with a gentle movement, Rob's hand slowly began creeping up my leg. Just a tiny bit at first. Pausing. Resting again. Then more. Sliding almost imperceptibly up my thigh, dragging my skirt with it. I stayed perfectly still, sipping my wine and smiling at the elegant lady across the table from me.
"Did you enjoy the dinner dear?"
"Yes thank you. Very much."
"I'm so glad. They always do a memorable spread here."
Rob's hand was now softly caressing my leg halfway up my thigh. As if to say, that's the way. You're doing this right. With another firecracker explosion of excitement in my stomach, I now decided to throw caution to the wind. I gently moved my left thigh slightly to the left, opening my legs ever so imperceptibly, but giving him just enough of a signal to know he could continue what he was doing. I sipped more wine. Suddenly, I nearly choked. The blonde man on my right had placed his hand on my right leg!
I looked over at him quickly, thinking he'd caught my game with Rob and was wanting to play. But no, he hadn't seen. He too, was looking away, speaking quietly with another guest. Fuck! I didn't even know his name. His hand was strong, cool. And a lot more vigorous than Rob's. It grasped my flesh decidedly, not aggressively, just confidently, letting me know its owner was used to letting others know just what he wanted. My blush had returned, but with it now was a rising anxiety in my chest. What was this situation I had suddenly found myself in and how would it all end?
Rob's hand had restarted its meandering journey up my thigh. Encouraged, his fingers curled around my inner thigh, searching for the softest, silkiest flesh, his thumb on the outer leg, forming a large, cupped hand that was hungrily enjoying a secret feast underneath my skirt. Suddenly, Ice Man's hand, in like manner, began to drift upward as well. I held my breath. In order to avoid a clashing of strange men's hands, I moved my legs apart under the table, trying to get each man's hand as far away from the other as possible. This just made their hands creep even quicker upward. I gasped quietly as I felt masculine fingers transgressing into the area of inner and upper thigh that was only exposed in the deepest heat of summertime, in the skimpiest shorts. Any second now...
"Oh!" I silently gasped. Rob's hand had found its mark. Still looking away from me, he plunged his fist against my underwear, his fingers digging and grazing my labia, rubbing the skimpy, lacy material around on my mound. My face was now burning scarlet. I wanted to stand and run, get away before I was publicly humiliated by being forced into a state I never showed to anyone but my lovers in private. I managed to jerk my left leg a little to try and communicate this, and thankfully, Rob stopped his massaging and just let his hand lay cupped over my pubic spot, lightly but firmly enough to let me know it wasn't going anywhere. Oh no. Ice Man's hand was now approaching the same place, decisively. I cleared my throat and decided the evil would be on their own heads. I was not responsible for what they were doing. This was fun. I was merely going to sit back, sip my wine and enjoy the lovely atmosphere. And let whatever happened happen.
It was over almost too quickly. One minute Rob's hand was clamped over my underwear, the heat from his palm radiating into my clitoris and labia, the next, he had jerked it violently away as Ice Man's hand suddenly came into contact with his own. I forced myself to look ahead but out of the corners of my eyes I saw both men glare at each other for a moment, stunned, then at me, bewildered, before they both turned away leaving me to my exhilarated and maddened thoughts.
That was how it started. I should say here and now that that was not the last I saw of Ice Man and Grasping Rob. More was to follow. But we'll leave that for the next instalment.
End of Part 1
Send feedback
- Use for below to send feedback to author - View the Authors profile here
- The following form will send feedback to the author about this short story, please enter your e-mail if you wish a reply (which is obviously at the authors own discretion)