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From: "Frances LaGatta" <lori111c@worldnet.att.net>
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Subject: {ASSM} Between Apples and Oranges(Frances LaGatta) MF/oral/fruit
Date: Sun, 8 Dec 2002 16:10:04 -0500
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{ASSM} Between Apples & Oranges (Frances LaGatta) MF/oral/fruit
Between Apples and Oranges
Act I
by Frances LaGatta
Could he ever upstage his wife? Was it possible to one up her,
ever top the crazy sexual shockers she sprang on him from time to
time? Briefcase in hand, still wearing his pilot duds, lusty
plans of a counter attack danced in Gabe's head. He felt like a
man on a mission as he crossed the dark parking lot, making his
way towards the lighted mall marquee that named his wife's place
of business. Roberta's Coiffures' closed at 9:00, and knowing
Bobbi was working alone tonight, probably finishing up with her
last customer, he wanted to surprise her before she locked-up.
She didn't know he was in town. . . yet. Through the long
storefront window, he was glad the row of gray, chrome trimmed
chairs were empty.
Gabe's shoes sank into plush black carpeting and he quickly
silenced the tinkling bells on the heavily panned door. A blow
dryer hummed dully and muffled female chatter punctuated by
laughter traveled through a stringed curtain of crystalline,
black beads. Unable see into the practical area where Bobbi
pumped up her hydraulic chair, along with egos, working magic on
heads with a sentry of combs, brushes, scissors or clippers, a
toxic mix of lingering potions wafted through the beads and hit
him head on. Hairsprays and nail polish, bleach and peroxide and
something reminiscent of rotten eggs had him crinkling up his
nose. But his distaste was short-lived as he conjured up the
scent of her, an intoxicating blend of Fendi perfume, clean,
musky shampoo emanating from her long, dark chocolate main of
wild spiral curls, and pure working woman. . . he could almost
taste the breath mint on her tongue.
Posters of male and female models sporting trendy haircuts
smiled down from the reception room walls and illuminated glass
shelves held an arsenal of hair products. And other than a
funhouse maze that he could'nt find his way out of as a kid, Gabe
knew had never seen so many mirrors in one place before. He
could'nt get away from his reflection if he tried. Bobbi said he
had the craggy look of an unfinished sculpture. Nordic, he was
tall, blue-eyed and blonde, with a year-long tan, even on his
ass; compliments of Roberta, and her tanning beds.
Sinking into a cushy white loveseat before a chrome and glass
coffee table piled high with magazines, Gabe idly picked one up,
and his eyes widened. This was no Ladies Home Journal, 101
Hairstyles, not even Cosmo's, GQ, or a recipe from Good House
Keeping. The cover was emblazoned with a glossy photo of an
erotically entwined couple. Adam and Eve were missing their fig
leafs in a jungle paradise, complete with a forked-tongued python
curling down from a tree. And Adam. . . he was taking a bite out
of Eve's tempting apple, and holding. . . oddly enough. . . an
orange directly above her smiling head.
Well, the only women without a past was Eve, and the twisted
biblical depiction would've been humorous to him. . . if not
for the sudden mental memory of his wife phoning him at work,
telling him in a seductive voice that they were to meet for 'the
best sex he would ever have.' In short--and according to the
booklets instructions on page nine--Bobbi had named an exact time
and place and she fully expected him to be there and on time .
In bed. Ready, willing, and stark naked. BEFORE she arrived.
And the second he heard that motel door open, he was to spread
his legs wide. Well, THAT could only mean one thing. Gabe found
he had been aroused all day with thoughts of receiving what every
red blooded male adored.
When Bobbi finally open the door that night, she was balancing
a silver serving tray bearing a solitary orange and she wore a
sexy little maid's uniform that left her coca brown nipples
jutting and her shapely bottom bare above the apron's black bow.
He was not only rock hard and raring to go at the mere site, but
he wondered how he could restrain himself, keep from cuming too
soon. That is until she thrust her pretty face, inches away from
his from his own, her dark eyes smoldering with a flame that
startled him. She then plucked up a long knife from the tray,
and without warning, it swooped down, the sharp blade edge placed
dangerously against his manhood. Was she possessed by Elaina
Bobbit! His nearly went into cardiac arrest, and he scrambled
back against the headboard, shielding his rapidly shriveling cock
and family jewels.
Roberta shook her long, dark main and gave a him a sexy growl,
reminding him of a dominatrix, which she wasn't. Ignoring his
reaction, she perched on the edge of the bed, and wielding that
wicked- looking knife, he watched in silent fascination as she
made a slow, deliberate show of coring the orange like an apple.
He could'nt believe the things that were coming out of his
normally shy and demure wife's mouth while she licked the juice
from her dripping fingers. "Are you going to be a good boy while
I suck your cock dry?" she purred,
Not about to argue with her, she climbed up between his legs,
tantalizing tits dangling while she pushed a pillow under his
butt and forced his thighs wide. Before he could blink, his
traitorous cock rose again like sword of Damocles. When she fit
the cored Sunkist over the head of his cock, his jewels turned
blue with need. And then she began a tortuously slow ride
with that tight, succulent fruit, up and then down, all the while
licking the oozing fruit drink from her clenched hand, and where
it coolly trickled down his overheated shaft, leisurely laving
his drenched balls in a burst of jolting sensatons. It did get
any better that this, he thought. . . until she burrowed lower
and her delectable tongue darted at his puckering anal bud like a
live wire down and dancing dirty on a rain slick road. The shock
nearly sent him careening over the cliff. Sensing he was about
to lose control, she quickly gripped the base of his stick and
back-shifted, squeezing it tight, sending him to a screeching
halt. Nearly insane with frustration, he actually moaned, begging
her not to stop before demanding acceleration and release.
Pistoning the now mushy pulp, gripping the hard rind tighter, she
increased the rhythm of her hand, faster and faster, greedily
lapping and laving while she milked him. When she maneuvered
her yawning, warm mouth over him, her generous lips shielding her
tiny, keyboard teeth, suckling the now purple crown of his cock,
and the entire act felt. . . incredibly. . . as if two women
were working him over, simultaneous felletto AND fucking. His
lower back arched off the pillow, his straining thighs and butt
muscles flexed, his body a tightly stung bow, he hurtled into
oblivion, fell back onto the pillow, exploding jet after
exquisite jet, and like a cat, Bobbi swallowed every bit of his
cream mingled with tangy citrus and pulp in the most intense
orgasm he had ever experienced.
Christ. The mere remembrance tented his trousers. But that was
then, and this was now, and it was her turn to be surprised. He
snapped open his briefcase and scrutinized the contents. Among
other things, an orange would fit nicely in her mouth when he. .
.
To be continued.
can he top her?
Between Apples and Oranges 12/02 copyright Frances LaGatta
<lori111c@worldnet.att.net >
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