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CHAPTER 50 – NGUYET’S CLEVER RUSE
Last Saturday, Nguyet and I had spent two marvelous hours together, during which she had played a single mother who casually worked as a hooker to boost her income. She had called herself ‘Lucky’ and seemed to enjoy her new role, as she kept signing her text messages to me with that name. So, in turn, I would probably keep playing the chemical engineer from the refinery for the following few weeks, as it had been my role last Saturday, while Lucky would think of new scenarios and new personae to play out.
However, even though we had agreed to see each other the following week, she urged me to meet again this week’s Saturday. Perhaps she was just horny, or her parents would be away again for the afternoon. She asked me to come at ‘our’ coffee house, where we often met, but she insisted that I was going pretend not to know her. Apparently, she wasn’t going to be ‘Lucky’ from last Saturday but would assume a completely new role this time.
The café she had picked was the one where out affair had started more than three years earlier. It was large and not particularly pretty, but the distance between the tables and the coffee bar was large enough that we could basically do whatever we wanted. On multiple occasions, she had sat there with no panties under her skirt or dress and lived out her exhibitionism. On Saturday this week, I took my time to get there and deliberately arrived fifteen minutes late. As I was parking my motorcycle, I could already see her, since she was wearing a blazing red tracksuit top.
So I walked past Nguyet without really acknowledging her and picked a table about six yards away. Walking past her, I had only checked her out like I would every attractive woman. I had no clue what exactly she was planning, which was exciting and hot. I was certain, however, it would be titillating. Nguyet was smart and sharp, and to organize a role-play within another certainly tickled her fancy. The only thing I was pretty sure about was that we would end up at her house, which was nearby.
Apropos her house: I didn’t know if her mother would be there, who still wanted to watch Nguyet and me have sex. I wasn’t even sure if her mom hadn’t been there last Saturday, when I had banged Lucky, first in the living room, and then we had finished in the kitchen. The sliding window of the tailor’s workshop seemed to have been moved during the hour I had been at their house, and once a door had closed with a bang. But that could have been the wind. If Nguyet’s mother had actually been at the house during our rumpus, I would be impressed how the two of them had managed to conceal it from me. Had Nguyet told her mother that she was role-playing a hooker again today? Six months ago, her mom would not have allowed her to leave the house the way she was dressed now.
Nguyet, or Lucky, or whoever, was wearing a grey stretch-minidress under her spiffy fire-red sweat suit top. The dress was super tight and brought out her stunning body, which looked like an artist had carved it. I could see her left thigh and marveled at the line between the large muscle on the top and the smaller one at the bottom. My dick already began to pump as I briefly checked out her calves and Achilles heels. Just like last time, Nguyet was wearing high heels and looked sporty, hot, and erotic all at once.
Lucky looked at me once in a while, but there was no sign of what she was up to. She wasn’t flirting but busily texting on her phone. She seemed slightly upset and moved on her chair quite a bit. Now, she turned and let me take a peek of her white panties, maybe for three tenths of a second. As she was writing another message, she half-heartedly pulled her dress down again, perhaps to appear chaste and play coy a little. Did she want me to hit on her? Or would she come over once she was done with her messaging and introduce herself as another trollop?
Well, we still had time, and so I lit a cigarette and decided to just wait how things would develop. I didn’t own a so-called smartphone, and so just watched how the small clouds of smoke that I produced were fading and then disappeared. Nguyet still looked over once in a while, but it was obvious that we didn’t know each other in today’s choreography. And we still weren’t flirting. Perhaps she was texting another man—decked out as she was. But now she let her phone drop onto the notebook on the table and clearly was irritated. She just stared into space and frowned.
She crossed her legs and looked at me again—this time a little longer—and reached up in her hair with the spread fingers of one hand. Her hair seemed styled with hairspray again. She pulled her earlobe and seemed nervous. Or disappointed. I had never known this side of her, but she was an actor manqué. She picked up her phone again and continued texting, writing ferociously now, like she just had an epiphany or had made a fundamental decision. But then she uncrossed her legs and looked down on herself. Carefully, she lifted her dress in the front with two fingers, about an inch canlı bahis or two—and seemed really miffed.
The way I was seated, I couldn’t really see what the problem was. I just watched her how she was rummaging through her backpack—the same she had brought last Saturday—and how she took out a small, white package, which she then opened. Wet napkins? No, a sanitary pad, perhaps. Anyway, she rolled it up and hid it in her hand, before she got up and strode back to where the restrooms were. Her crisp, short and snappy high-heel-gait was stunning. She obviously had just gotten her period—and wanted me to know it. When she came back, she was still in a pissy mood but also looked feisty—and insanely hot. She sat down again, looked at her phone briefly, hammered another quick message in—and then looked at me.
She ‘combed’ her hair again with four fingers and then shook her head, perhaps to make her shock of hair appear fuller. Her face, with her beautiful scintillating eyes, her large earrings and her lipstick-enhanced beguiling mouth looked seductive to the utmost—even though, or maybe because she was still distressed and disillusioned. She sniffled and was now looking for a napkin or a tissue. I got up, as I had seen a napkin holder on another table and gave it to her, as she wanted me to talk to or even hit on her anyway, didn’t she?
“Excuse me, are you alright?” I asked as I extended my hand with the napkin box.
“Yeah, yeah. It’s nothing,” she sniffled a little again.
“Shall we sit together, perhaps?” I suggested. “I mean, we’re both sitting by ourselves …”
“Yeah, sure,” she said eagerly and packed her stuff in her backpack.
As she was getting ready to leave her table, I went back over to where I had been sitting. In the end, she fell in one of the two empty chairs and put her backpack on the third, under the parasol. The table wasn’t between us but more to the side, so that I could get a nice, full view of her. She smoothed her dress down and still seemed a little disturbed but, in a minute, she would sure tell me what had happened. But first, she got a lipstick and a small folding mirror out of her backpack and traced her elegantly-curved lips once more. ‘So!’ she said emphatically when she was done.
“Well, some days are just like that,” I began somewhat inadvertently with an innuendo.
She looked at me a little dumbfounded but didn’t pick on the play on words. Instead, she began to tell me about her streak of bad luck.
“Yeah, everything’s going wrong today,” she sniffled again.
“Everything? You look devastatingly ravishing. Can’t be that bad,” I said to cheer her up.
“You think so? Ok, thanks. At least someone noticed,” she said with a slightly sarcastic tone in her voice.
But there seemed to be a tad of coquettishness as well.
“You tell me when I’m too nosey, but: what exactly has gone wrong already?” I inquired.
“Well, this morning my son screamed, as he didn’t wanna go to kindergarten. And then I had a huge argument with my mother about something trite.”
I lit another cigarette and then kept asking.
“Did you write back and forth with your mother when you were over there, at the other table?”
She scoffed: “Oh, no, that was my ‘lover’,” she replied, putting her words in quotation marks in the air with her fingers. “A guy I know from work,” she added.
“I see. And you dolled for him but he stood you up?”
“Yes. Of course. Do you see him around?!”
Well, now she sounded like she was even miffed at me, for asking a stupid question. It was hot, though. We took a little break in our conversation and ordered a new round of drinks. Then, we continued with some small talk, and her good spirits seemed to be returning slowly. Perhaps her period was painful, but apart from that, nothing serious had happened, I was sure. On the other hand, it had been her idea to meet today. Did she want us to have a threesome with another guy?
“The man you wanted to meet is your boyfriend or even fiancé?” I asked to propel the choreography forward.
She wasn’t wearing a ring but, of course, I had to inquire about her relationship status.
“No, of course not. I’m not wearing a ring, as you can see,” she replied with a slightly exaggerated melancholic tone in her voice, stretching both of her hands towards me.
I picked up the ball gladly und took her hands in mine. I admired and caressed them a little and paid her several compliments:
“You have wonderful hands: graceful, yet strong. I love your slim wrists. They look so elegant …” I smeared a ton of proverbial honey around her mouth.
Nguyet blushed but let my thumbs caress the back of her hands. As subtle and marginal as these moments were, my dick made its presence felt again. I admired the details of her face, as my hands were still caressing hers. She seemed exceedingly happy to finally be receiving tender caresses after her cancelled date with the other dude.
“It feels good to be appreciated,” she admitted and closed her eyes melodramatically bahis siteleri for two seconds.
I watched her gracious nimble body heave as she was breathing, and then my eyes got stuck on her panty line. I also detected a black bra-strap on one of her shoulders but let finally go of her hands. After all, we had just met …
“How big is the chance that your suitor still shows up and surprises us?” I desired to know. “He would probably be angry if he saw me caressing your hands,” I laughed.
She laughed back and shook her head: “We aren’t really a couple. And he’s much smaller than you are. I wouldn’t worry about him if I were you …” Then she added, after a small break: “I’m having my period today, so he doesn’t want to see me anyway.”
To underscore what she had just said, she patted her lap a little with her flat hand.
“Well, now, this is …” I remarked indignantly, being at a loss for words, flabbergasted.
But then I remembered to finally ask for her name.
“Just call me ‘Bijou’,” she replied and put her right foot on the seat, next to her thigh.
As we were seated, it was only a matter of time before I would see her panties again. Right now, however, she was still pushing her dress into her lap with her left wrist.
“Just so I understand correctly: your boyfriend doesn’t want to drink coffee with you because you are menstruating?”
“He isn’t my boyfriend,” she said scornfully. “Especially not after what he just pulled. No, we just have a … a … sexual relationship. To make a long story short: He was supposed to meet me here and then we would have gone to my house to have sex. To fuck,” she added, perhaps to let me know what kinda of woman she was.
As I didn’t reply immediately, she continued: “But when he learned that I had just gotten my period, he only said ‘Ok. I’ll see you next week then’. He added that he didn’t ‘feel like dealing with that mess’,” Bijou summarized, putting the quotation marks in the air with her index fingers again, as it seemed to be her thing.
Fittingly, she let go of her dress in the front, which now stretched straight across her lap. Her muscular thighs looked awesome, as they were squeezed from below by their own weight. Her left hand was resting on her leg, and I saw a ‘corner’ of her panties above her right thigh. I was sure she was aware of that, but she was still looking somewhat dejected. She was nervously moving her fingers across her own skin.
“‘Bijou’ doesn’t sound like the typical Vietnamese name, though,” I followed up on a different plot line of the two or three threads that she had given me.
“Well, that’s not my real name, of course. It means something like ‘piece of jewelry’ in French.”
“A-ha,” I pretended not to know. “Did you pick that name yourself?”
She nodded. “Yes, that’s what I call myself when I’m out and about with men … that’s always like a different world,” she added somewhat cryptically.
She would maybe tell me more about the various men she had a habit of being ‘out and about’ with. Perhaps she wasn’t ready to reveal the complete truth: that she habitually replenished her purse by asking men to have sex with her. Or that she just liked to fuck, casually, without demanding money for it.
“Well, proper sex is always some kind of a mess, I would say,” I picked up the other plot thread again, “but that that guy is deterred by you menstruating is pathetic,” I agreed.
“Isn’t it?” she asked exasperatedly. “I feel like a broken machine that is of no use today,” she added and wiggled around on her chair, so that I could see her panties better.
Well, perhaps she was bemoaning the loss of income but, yes, she had put a sanitary pad in her underwear, it seemed.
“Oh, Bijou, don’t let what that asshole said get to you!” I urged her. “You are stunningly beautiful. And I’m not just saying that to cheer you up. I would love to touch you … period or not,” I added with a dry mouth.
That couldn’t really have been a surprise for her, but she still sat up and pricked her ears. She put one leg over the other and blocked the view of her panties again. For now.
“I’m sorry that I’m telling you all of this, my period and all that other stuff. We barely know each other, and I spread out my biology here in front of you,” she laughed timidly.
I almost quipped that there would be nothing better than spreading herself in front of me, but I resisted the temptation. Instead, I continued by saying:
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m obviously not busy at the moment. I don’t mind at all. And I don’t find menstruation repulsive in any way …”
“Really?” she asked incredulously.
I shook my head and lit another cigarette, for which I had to cover the lighter and bent forward. From the corner of my eye, I observed her taking her leg off the other and arranging herself in a way that allowed me to get another good peek of her white panties. I could, basically, see them in full this time.
“That’s crazy,” she shook her head and grinned: “This bahis şirketleri morning, I was really looking forward to see Tuan. I had that warm and fuzzy feeling that I always have before sex. Do you know that?” she asked rhetorically. “But then my son started bawling and screaming, so that I couldn’t masturbate like I always do before sex. You know, nice and slow, taking my time, at least 30 minutes … Ok, fine, I thought, and dropped him off at the kindergarten. On my way back, I was looking forward to my intimate half-an-hour again, but then my mother kicked up this awful, needless fuzz.”
As she was taking a sip of her coffee, it seemed to be my turn again:
“And because you couldn’t masturbate this morning, meeting … what was his name? Tuan became twice as important, didn’t it?! You are pretty horny, aren’t you? And then your period started … that’s how it all happened?”
She laughed relieved and clapped her hands once: “Exactly. That’s how I feel.”
When she was done laughing, I leaned forward and grabbed her hands again. I pulled her closer, but just before our lips touched, she turned around to double-check if no one was watching. Then we kissed briefly, and I reached between her legs to tickle her sanitary napkin under her dress.
“Not here,” she whispered. “You can’t do that in a café,” she enlightened me.
“Bijou, to be honest, you struck me right when I walked in. And then again, when we were sitting like during the Covis-19 crisis, at different tables. You are incredibly beautiful,” I reiterated. “Are you still horny?”
“Of course,” she nodded vehemently with an impish smile on her face.
“So you would have taken Tuan home?” I kept asking.
“Yeah, my mother is used to that. I sometimes bring men home for occasional sex. Vietnamese women aren’t supposed to do that, but I fought with my mother over it, and now she’s ok with it,” Bijou added with zest. “But, in some ways, Tuan is right: it would be a mess,” she laughed.
“A bloody mess. Literally,” I couldn’t help quipping.
She let that sit and stroked her tummy, like she was hungry or needed to think.
“Are you in pain because of your period?” I wanted to know.
Bijou only grinned mischievously: “Nope.”
“Are you always particularly horny when you have you period?”
“No, not always. I don’t know what it is today.”
Now it was my turn for some mischievousness: “Your pussy must be super moist and slick right now,” I propelled the choreography forward. “I could probably just push my stiff dick inside you, without any foreplay.”
“Well, yours is probably much bigger than Tuan’s but, yeah, you probably could,” she assured me confidently.
„Well, do you wanna try?”
She nodded with big eyes.
“Just to be sure: Would you prefer a tender fuck today or something a little harder?” was my last question for now.
She didn’t answer immediately but then said that we should take it easy:
“No, not hard or fast. We’ll just go upstairs to my room, I lie on my back, and we’ll do what I would have done this morning. No acrobatics or gymnastics. Tuan always wants us to do it in crazy positions: standing up with one leg against the wall or so …”
“Ok. We’ll do it just very conservatively if that’s what you want. Good ol’ missionary … shall we?” I asked, ready to take off.
She smiled gleefully and got up. We paid at the counter on our way out, and Bijou told me that I should just follow her. It wasn’t going to be far.
On the way, I realized that she hadn’t asked me for my name yet. But, technically, it didn’t matter anyway. Today was not about elaborate games or weaving intriguing stories but, apparently, to fuck during her period for once, which we hadn’t done yet. We hadn’t even talked about it. I wasn’t sure why we had never made that a topic; perhaps, Nguyet had been embarrassed to directly ask me to fuck her during those few days every month. But now I knew why we couldn’t have waited till next Saturday.
At her house, the front door was open. We left the motorcycles outside and went in. Nguyet’s mother was sitting in an armchair, reading a magazine. She nodded to greet me but didn’t say anything, as we didn’t know each other, according to today’s role-play. She scrutinized me over her glasses, though. I nodded back but made no effort to introduce myself.
“Mom, we’re going upstairs for a bit,” Bijou told her mother, while she was taking off her red tracksuit top.
I was glad she hadn’t said ‘mommy’. Obviously, her mother was privy as to what was going on and would probably stick to our heels and follow us upstairs. For now, however, she just looked back at her magazine.
On our way towards the back of the house to go upstairs, however, Bijou went into the bathroom and took off her panties. I watched her from the door, at first, and saw how she tossed the kotex, on which was some blood, into the bin, after which she threw her underwear into the washing machine. Overpowered by my horniness, I closed the door and stood behind her. I lifted her dress in the back, admired her little light butt and reached lustfully but tenderly between her moist legs. I ruffled her wet curls in her hairy butt crack and on her perineum a little.
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