Breakfast Club - Part 1
Dropping into a lounge, She unconsciously adjusted her bra as her eyes scanned the early lunch crowd. The heat of the morning was still sending rivelets of sweat down her ample cleavage and her crotch was positively soggy making her knickers a pheromone sponge. All morning strategic planning meetings after her breakfast club activities had left her in an interesting state and her scan of the crowd indicated that others had noticed.
She longed to be out of her clothes and feel his touch again - this morning had been particularly good. His smooth and muscled body had felt so wonderful with his weight on her back. He had massaged her back with his well oiled pectorals while sliding his package up between her legs - all in time to the music as she lay blind folded on the leather bed. His hands smoothly glided over the sides of her breasts settled on her nipples to massage them as they hardened. As night follows day, She could feel her vagina relax and her juices flow as his erection pressed against her vertical smile. Sadly, it was still in his bikini bottoms. And it would stay there as She had yet to decide to pay for privelege of a expert stuffing. But, there was no rule you couldn't bring yourself off and that is exactly what her left hand began to do for the third time in the last 15 minutes.
Feeling the significant pressure of his sizable erection against her crotch brought her off smartly - and using Her left hand always made it feel like someone else was playing with her bits. As she finished twitching and moaning Her way to a very satisfying conclusion, she could feel his body lift and hear him leave the room.
And that is how the meetings at the breakfast club (BC) always ended. Someday she wanted to meet that guy (guys??) But that was not part of the deal. So, with a quick shower, she got dressed, grabbed a latte and hit the office by 7:35.
She had been introduced to the BC by her former boss - also single, attractive, very busy, and incredibly horny it turned out. It had all come out one girls night after just way too many martinis (aside: Martinis that are wet, not dry, and stirred, not shaken - firstly because She was no Fucking James Bond and "wet & stirred" always reminded of how she liked to treat her love glove). Her ex-boss had been going on about how every successful woman needed a cleaner, a gardener, a mechanic, an exotic lover etc. But getting a husband to do this was way too hard - they are precious and their fragile male egos take way too much maintainence. And you could get it from a series of well laid boyfriends but that led to aspirations of becoming a husband. Simply put, she was time poor, cashed up and sick of Putting-up with Male Shit (...another version of PMS but very very treatable)...
And then she said that she had found a solution, winked in a very suggestive manner, patted her crotch, finished her drink and made ready to leave. As she got up she handed me a plain business card that said 'The Breakfast Club' with a number underneath; and wobbled out to a cab.
I watched her head out, with a card in my hand an an intriguing mystery waiting to be uncovered.
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