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Entrapment and survival are the themes of this series of stories, which describe the life of Lori, a middle-age waitress. I have enjoyed writing the series. I hope that you get pleasure from reading them. As always, I encourage and look forward to your comments and suggestions. Odlum
The rain glistened on the pavement illuminated by the car headlights and the blue-white glow of the streetlight. Slowly the number 11 of the townhouse came into view. It was a corner unit with an iron gate, low fence, and rose garden at the front. I parked by the curb and opened the driver’s door, holding it ajar while I checked my make-up in the rearview mirror. My stomach twinged. A conscious deep breath pressed down my anxiety and I climbed out into the mist.
I pushed through the gate, and then looked back at my car. The pearlescent white paint of the Audi glowed in the misty light highlighting the damaged door moulding. I could clearly see the small spots of rust on the rear quarter panel. I bit my lip and thought that my car was a lot like me; still elegant and classy but showing a little wear and tear around the edges. The townhouse door beckoned. I threw back my shoulders, adjusted the straps of my black cocktail dress, and rearranged my shawl. I put on my best smile and reminded myself that chances like this did not come around often. My knuckles rapped timidly on the door.
The regular boring routine of the coffee shop was broken when he ordered. His brilliant blue eyes and soft voice broke the monotony. Soon he became a regular, always arriving at about the same time. I would arrange to clean the tables just before his arrival and he always sat in the area I was cleaning. We became coffee shop friends. I spoke a lot. An empathetic listener, he spoke little.
The sun shone intensely through the coffee shop windows, but this day it failed to brighten my mood. I was mechanically cleaning tables when Brian entered the coffee shop. After getting his coffee and bagel, he approached the tables by the window. I flashed him the best smile I could.
“Why so sad, Lori?” he asked as he sat down at the table I just finished cleaning. As usual, Brian had seen through my coffee shop smile and been able to see the worry and anxiety beneath the veneer of happiness.
I bit my lip, sighed, and while I slowly began to remove the coffee cups and plates from the table next to him and explained. “The bank has frozen my credit card, I have just been laid off from my other job and…” A plate slipped from my shaking hand and fell with a clatter, shattering on the tile floor. There was a moment of silence as patrons froze mid donut bite. “Ohhh…” I cried out as my eyes caught the glower from my shift boss from behind the counter. Brian saw the fear on my face and my tears. He quickly turned in his seat and proclaimed above the din of the shop.
“It was my fault! I’m sorry. I was just trying to help, but these clumsy old fingers…I will gladly pay for the plate.” The remark obviously took my boss by surprise. He simply waved his hands, and shook his head in a silent and empathic no. I bent down to pick up the pieces of the shattered plate. Brian’s hand touched my shoulder. Its warmth was comforting yet somehow exciting. “What time do you get off?” he whispered.
“My shift finishes at 3, but I’m not usually out of here until after…”
Brian did not let me finish. “That’s great! Meet me at Kelly’s at 3:30. It’s a little restaurant just around the corner”
Bewilderment overcame me. I knew the location. I walked by the menu in its window everyday on my way to work. “Well I don’t know.” I mumbled. “I… I only have my uniform to wear.”
“You will be just fine.” His soft tuzla escort words halted my objection. “You are beautiful just as you are. Besides, I am interested in you, not your uniform. Just be there,” he said emphatically.
Kelly’s was a small upscale restaurant located in the midst of a retail area just a block from the coffee shop. Clouds hid the sun and I hugged my thin nylon jacket against my chest and walked briskly against the cold, fall wind. Soon I stood hesitantly before the restaurant. The wind tugged at the hem of my uniform. I screwed up my courage and pulled against the large, brass door handle. Its cold burned a warning through my hand. This was not a place frequented by patrons dressed in a coffee shop uniform
The broad smile of the hostess did make me feel welcome. “You must be Lori, will you please come this way?” My uniform must have been the clue, however it was somewhat comforting that Brian had prepared the staff for my arrival. I followed the neatly dressed young woman to a table in the back of the restaurant near the kitchen doors. Brian stood. His smile beamed and he guided me to a seat in the booth. “Thanks, Janet.” He directed his words to the young woman. “Would you bring us another glass and a menu, please?”
“Sure, Mr. Crawford, I will be right back,” came the reply from the disappearing form. It was obvious that Brian was a regular patron or perhaps something even more.
Over the next three hours, we shared red wine, o’dourves, and conversations. I felt comfortable in his presence. My life history and problems poured out of me. Brian listened compassionately. He smiled, his head nodded in all the right places, and often he touched my hand or softly rubbed my arm. His touch was gentle and encouraging. He soon learned that I was a product of alcoholic parents, received my extended education on the streets, had a 27 year old son, was a grandmother, was over burdened with financial problem and was about to loose my second job. Suddenly I realized the time. “Oh shit, it’s after six! I have to go. I start work at seven. I know I have just a few days to work left, but I can’t be late. I need the money!”
When I quickly rose to leave, but Brian’s arm blocked my path. “How are you getting home?” he asked.
“Walk! How else?”
“I’ll drive you.” A pile of bills quickly found their way to the table, a short walk to the car park and in minutes I was at my apartment. Since my car was in its usual place, the repair shop, Brian offered to drive me to the bakery where I would spend the next six hours operating the slicing and bagging machines.
My small apartment is neat and tidy, but furnished in early hand-me-downs and budget shop purchases. Brian sat patiently on the living room chesterfield while I rushed from the bathroom to the bedroom and quickly changed. As I stood in my bra and panties, before the open bedroom door, I realized that Brian had a complete view of my semi-naked form. I paused and turned my head. Our eyes met. Brian smiled. I quickly finished pulling on my jeans and T-shirt and then minutes later, Brian had me at the employee’s entrance to the bakery. I leaned over, kissed Brian’s cheek, thanked him for his kindness, and said good-by. I then thought about him throughout my entire shift.
We talked on the phone every evening that week before I had to leave for work at the bakery. Yet, while I found him interesting, kind, and I was comfortable in his presence, there was something missing. I realized he was a friend not a lover, yet he seemed to want more. When my bakery job ended I felt vulnerable and uncomfortable talking to him anywhere but at the coffee shop. Our telephone conversations became less frequent. Nevertheless, tuzla escort bayan later in the month, after much convincing from Brian and the enticement of a special proposal, I agreed to join him for dinner at his home. I decided that Brian’s companionship was better than moping in front of my television set and looking for jobs in the want ads that did not exist. Besides, I did enjoy his company and perhaps he had found me a job opportunity.
The warmth of the hallway and Brian’s friendly smile banished the coolness of the damp evening. He quickly ushered me down the hallway and into the combination kitchen family room. I kept my shawl, it helped hide my uneasiness, and I placed my purse on end of the kitchen counter. I looked around and was impressed. A fire burned brightly in the corner fireplace. The simple, yet elegant furnishings reflected Brian’s tastes. The wall hues of greens, blues, and grays handsomely displayed his collection of southwest panoramas and native scenes. Sitting at the kitchen counter, I sipped my wine, nibbled at the cheese and crackers, and watched Brian finish the preparations for dinner.
The meal was delicious. The lamb literally melted in my mouth. The tastes of the wild rice and the vegetable mixture of roasted squash, onions, and peppers complimented the main course. Dessert was a chocolate mousse. Liberal amounts of wine made the meal even more enjoyable. Yet, while the food and wine were fantastic and the conversation stimulating, it was the centerpiece of the table, which constantly drew my attention. I could not take my eyes off the pink rose secured to a large linen envelope by a delicate pink ribbon. I wanted to shout out, “Is this for me?” but I contained myself. If Brian noticed my preoccupation, he said nothing.
Dinner ended and Brian cleared the dishes. He returned with cups of coffee and glasses of brandy. I was already feeling the effects of the wine and made a faint plea that I did not need any more alcohol. Brian stood behind my chair and laughed. Then I felt his hands brush my neck just below my hairline. His hands moved softly down the nape of my neck and over my shoulders. His fingers curled under the edge of my shawl and began to slip it off my shoulders. Excitement and uncertainty immediately filled me. “I’m a sucker for short haired brunettes,” he softly professed.
Tingles radiated from his touches. I felt my nipples begin to harden, my breathing quicken, and my abdomen tighten. I tried to control my breathing, but my heart stopped when I realized that he could now see the slightly frayed edges of the straps of my cocktail dress. What he would think? However, his thumbs just kept massaging the straps and his hands cupped my shoulders. “You have been looking at that envelope all night,” he softy said. “It is for you. Don’t you want to open it?” I did not answer; instead, I just shyly reached for it.
I nervously smelled the rose and then fumbled with the ribbon. Then the envelope fell open. I gasped. A bundle of crisp hundred dollar bills spilled out. My body tensed. I felt Brian’s breath against my ear.
“There’s six thousand dollars there. From what you have told me that is more than enough to pay off your loans and leave you some left over to bridge the gap between now and when you start a new job.”
“Buut, I cannn’t…” I stammered. The rest of the sentence caught in my throat. Brian’s fingers slipped under the dress straps, his lips brushed against my earlobe, and I felt his kiss on my cheek. I trembled as excitement radiated through my body. My head tilted to return his kiss. The die was cast.
I lay squirming on my back. His fingers rubbed and squeezed my nipples. My hips bucked involuntarily as escort tuzla my thighs squeezed his head. I squirmed against his mouth. Alternately he sucked intensely on my clit and then delicately teased it with his tongue. His actions were driving me wild. I could feel my stomach muscles tightening and the fiery tingle spread upward through my body. Brian squeezed my breasts and continued to kiss and lick my pussy. I shuddered and came.
Moments later, I found myself on top of Brian. He lay back on the bed, his arms over his head, and his eyes shut tight. Soft moans came from his partially open mouth. I looked over at the nightstand. The neat array of condom packages were in stark contrast to the torn foil wrapper and the bottle of lube that now slowly leaked its contents onto the table top. It was obvious that Brian had planned this evening down to the last detail. He had trapped me. Nevertheless, I was in control now as I manipulated my actions to give me the most satisfaction.
I ground down against his pelvis. I could feel his cock in my vagina. I felt my erotic euphoria grow. Yet, in the back of my mind, I could see that Brian had used information from our conversations to ensnare with an offer he knew I could not afford to turn down. Anger, frustration, and arousal boiled up together. I rode Brian harder. This was now not about shared passion, but about me getting my satisfaction and getting even.
I could feel Brian begin to twitch within me. “Not yet, you bastard!” I screamed to myself. Reaching back, I cupped his balls. My firm squeeze squelched his ejaculation. I continued with a gentler massage while I ground away seeking my satisfaction. Eventually my fingertips found his anus. A slight probe brought him to wide-eyed attention. He immediately arched his back. I felt him grow even larger inside me. I ground down with purpose and found my fulfillment.
Brian ushered me to the door dressed in a blue satin robe. As he helped me on with my shawl his finger tips brushed against the hot skin of my back, still clammy from the long, steamy shower we had shared. Brian had been a very willing and helpful shower slave. He expertly lathered and massaged me. Then with the enthusiasm of a true connoisseur, his fingers and tongue brought me to another series of climaxes, which only ceased when I became too sensitive to continue. “My dear, I have really enjoyed this evening,” confided Brian in a husky voice as he handed me my purse with the linen envelope bulging through the open zipper. He cleared his throat and said in a halting voice, “I trust we can continue these visits on a monthly basis, say over the next two years.” The implication and the reality of my situation slapped me. Anger and outrage seethed inside me.
Brian saw the change in my demeanor. He moved closer and reached out with his arms to grab my shoulders. His blue, satin robe parted with his movement. I stepped into his his embrace and my free left hand snaked into the opening of the robe. I firmly gripped his limp dick and purposefully whispered, “Why don’t we make it twice a month visits?” My fingers squeezed for emphasis. His hold on me immediately relaxed. “Do you think you could be up for that?” I challenged sarcastically and slipped out of his grasp. Turning on my heels and I strode through s the door and into the cold, damp night air.
I shuddered as I sat behind the wheel of my car. Tears welled up in my eyes, The bulge in my purse weighed heavily on my soul. I tried to peer through the mist droplets, which had collected on the windshield, seeking the answers to the nagging questions which reverberated through my brain. “What have you done? What have you become?” I resolutely turned the key and started the car. The wipers threw the mist from the windshield. The answer came as I jerked the gear lever, “…a survivor! You have become a survivor!” I took a deep breath and turned the car into the road and headed for home.
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