Temmuz 12, 2024

Coffee Table for Melissa

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Non Nude

Heroin girl needed a coffee table, badly.

I was doing it for the cats. She was going out of town and her regular cat sitter fell through. The grouchy cat wasn’t having any of me trying to feed it, and the friendly one looked like it was losing a lot of weight so I got worried. They were supposed to be from the same litter. I mentally noted to let her know when she got back.

No, basically, I was doing it for her tits. Because, Jesus, she had some amazing tits. She was a ditz I met in our neighborhood bar, and I swear to god, they had that perfect tubby yet firm quality that made your cock jump at every jiggle. And Jesus Christ, did they jiggle.

Took me two days to clean her apartment until I could even see that she was missing a coffee table. She had a couch, a TV, and used a milk crate as a makeshift table for her ashtray and assorted crap. Turns out she was a hoarder, and I didn’t know what I was getting into when I agreed to watch her cats.

After the initial shock of seeing the inside of her apartment wore off, I figured I should walk to the store and get a bunch of gloves and trash bags, so I did, and then I dug in. After a few hours of cleaning, I burned my hands on her electric stove. Apparently, she left a few burners on in the low setting months back and didn’t realize it, burying it in garbage. Jesus.

There were fast food containers and bags everywhere – on the floorboard, in the couch cushions. She had at least 30 pairs of shoes but no two were alike near each other until you spent some hours sorting. I knew that for a fact. This was a disaster zone and I was taking a clinical approach to it out of sincere pity. Pervert me would’ve been trying to sniff her panties. Real me was picking up unsavory glass vials off the floor very carefully and making sure her cats had room to walk in.

She knew she was hot shit and she acted like it, currying favors with a smile. All the same, she was genuinely nice. I knew she was an addict of some kind – meth maybe. She admitted to selling her excess Adderall and naive me didn’t even know people snorted it prior to meeting her. But the glass vials in Baltimore meant heroin. At least she was only snorting it, because I didn’t find any needles.

After the second day, the apartment was decently clean. Couple of hanging organizers ensured all her shoes were pairs after all. Most of them were worn to the nubs, but still sexy. Fifteen full contractor-size garbage bags waited for pickup outside. Her clothes were washed, unmolested, and I had a crisis of conscience.

Yes, I did it because I thought she was hot. I mean, Jesus, her tits. The friendly blonde bimbo with those knockers could manipulate anyone into anything. But she had real problems, inner demons. One night last month we hung out and she had crossed over into inappropriate land, which I enjoyed very much, all three seconds and two handfuls of.

Then she got distracted and wanted to watch cartoons. The girl had real problems and I didn’t want to take advantage.

The cats now had some room to walk through and it occurred to me that she could really use an actual coffee table. The milk crate landed in the recycling pile on the curbside, few doors down so she didn’t get fined for waste misuse. Petting the skinny good cat, I pulled up my phone and opened craigslist.

Ten miles away, near Towson, there was a nice wooden coffee table with decorative carvings and shit. I didn’t have a sense of taste, but I figured she’d appreciate something nice like this. I wrote to the seller and offered $40 cash, undercutting the price by a little. She responded favorably and I told her I’d like to pick it up tomorrow around 4 PM. She was OK with that.

The next day, I snuck out of work early and drove to the listed address. Well, I like to overprepare so I showed up 20 minutes too early and parked curbside. This was an economically mixed neighborhood, working class and the poor, and I started getting stares quickly. Within ten minutes an old black lady came out and interrogated me for being there. I explained I was waiting for a sale, and she just wouldn’t drop it. She kept asking me all these questions.

Then, to my complete surprise, turns out she didn’t live there. She was visiting her sister. What the fuck, lady?

Clock rolled over to 4 and I got out and walked to the door. Even though I was parked there for a while, bahis firmaları I got confused as to where her place was. At 4:05 I rang her doorbell and waited.

No one responded.

Few minutes later, I tried again. And waited some more. Trying the doorbell yet again, I started getting tired of standing. Just then I heard a voice behind me.

“Who you lookin’ for?”

It was the old black lady from earlier. I explained to her I was buying a table. She nodded but stared at me in disbelief, so I asked her if she knew the woman who lived at the house.

“No, who she?”

Jesus fucking christ. Not only did she not live here, she didn’t know anyone. And now she was butting into things she couldn’t possibly help with.

“She’s probably just late, I’ll give her a call. Thanks!” I said, and walked back to my car.

Once I sat in the driver’s seat, I called the phone number listed in the ad and waited. The old black woman walked back to her sister’s house, I believe, and just stared at me as if I was a burglar before finally walking inside.

“Hello?” I heard over the phone.

“Oh, hi, I’m calling about the coffee table you’re selling,” I replied.

“Right, so there are some scratches,” she responded.

At that point I was confused. We already went over that yesterday.

“Uh, right, you told me,” I explained and added, “I’m at your place but no one is answering the doorbell.”

“You’re at my place?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah. I mean I thought we agreed to 4 o’clock. Do you need to reschedule? Are you still interested in selling the table?”

She was silent for a few moments.

“No, no, it’s fine, I’m just on my way home. Be there shortly.”

She hung up and that was it. I paced in front of her house for the next 15 minutes and no one showed up. The old black lady came out of her sister’s house and gawked at my direction again, so I pretended to be on a phone call until she looked away.

This was ridiculous. It was almost 4:45 and no one was here. I was getting my leg pulled. Realizing my failure, I started walking toward my car to leave when I saw a SUV pull up near the seller’s driveway. She spent minutes parallel parking it and then got out.

“Hi, are you selling the coffee table?” I asked her.

She looked startled and replied. “Uh, yeah.”

“Sorry, thought we set an appointment for 4,” I explained.

She just stared at me for a second, with a confounded look on her face. She was kind of unremarkable looking. Mid 30s, pear shaped body, middle length hair, obviously, a transplanted redneck from somewhere.

“Yeah, uh, so most people just kind of flake out and don’t show,” she explained.

I nodded and accepted her excuse. “Oh. Sorry, I wasn’t aware people are like that.” When she said nothing, I continued, “Sorry if there was any confusion, I was serious about the table.”

She looked at me again, confounded, and then gestured toward her front door.

We both walked into her living room and stood there awkwardly. I waited politely until she pointed at the coffee table and said, “So yeah let me show you the damage.”

I didn’t see any damage. There might’ve been a few marks on the table, but it looked distressed by design and it’s not something I would have minded. I mean, Jesus, replacing a milk crate it was a Faberge egg by comparison. And it was only $40.

Open-mouthed, she pulled out three different polishes and explained how she took care of the table and how sorry she was for the damage. It looked like I caught her off guard or something. I didn’t understand it. The last polish bottle was a scratch remover and she kept explaining how often she used it, even demonstrating with a kitchen rag.

This was a shitty $40 coffee table meant for a heroin addict. I couldn’t care less, and I was starting to get annoyed with this exchange. I pulled out my wallet and counted off two bills and handed it to her. “Forty, right?”

She looked at me again and took the bills.

“So how do we do this?” she asked.

“Pardon?”

I didn’t understand. I just gave her $40. That was the price she wanted, that was the coffee table – I was just going to pick it up and walk out of her house with it and hope it fit in my trunk. If it didn’t, shit, I’d have to improvise. I guess she could just hold the door open for me?

She leaned into me and kaçak iddaa put her hands around my neck and ground her crotch into mine, her mouth and eyes still looking as bewildered as from the moment I met her.

What the fuck was going on?

“So like, do you take the lead?” she asked.

Her facial expression indicated confusion mirroring my own. Her crotch was pressing against mine. I immediately thought of the old black lady outside. We now had something in common: we were both confused as to why I was there.

Nothing says fondle me like a woman in your arms, so I obeyed. I felt her curves, I wondered if she could feel me getting an erection, and I wondered if she knew who I was. For crying out loud, I was just buying her coffee table, and just minutes ago, I was sure that she had forgotten all about yesterday’s deal and blew me off. She was just so homely and had gotten off work and I wasn’t expecting any of this.

She sat down on the coffee table and unzipped me. Within seconds, she was blowing me. I was so confused. Who the fuck was she and why was she doing this? Did she get me mistaken for someone else? I was now hard and didn’t care.

She kept blowing me nice and slow. Fuck, it felt so surprisingly good. It was so nasty and unexpected and I looked over and saw pictures of her whole family on a wall. Her balding husband and her two dorky kids around her in that fake picture hug. And my cock was in her mouth and she was fucking her own mouth with it. Jesus Christ, what the fuck was going on? She stopped and looked at me.

“You can do anything you want.”

Fuck. She wasn’t a woman I’d try hounding in a bar. She was simple-looking, pretty, but not wildly attractive. Her body was pear shaped and though not overweight, neglected. But my cock was warm from her mouth and it was cooling off and she was there, an enigma to my reality. One of those freaky things you couldn’t understand, but it was just there.

So, there was only one thing I could do. I grabbed a handful of her hair and started fucking her mouth, but gently, because I was a nice guy.

Oh, my god, did her mouth feel good. It was so warm and not too wet. And she was sort of humming as I slipped in and out. I looked over at the wall and saw some more pictures of her family, their pets and relatives. I looked down and my cock was sliding right between her lips. What the fuck was her deal?

I didn’t care. Moments later, I reached down and slipped a hand through her shirt and tried to play with her titties. She was just flat and flabby there, so it didn’t do anything for me, so I kept fucking her mouth nice and slow while holding her hair. This was so incredibly exciting, I couldn’t explain it to anyone. A freaky bizarre spontaneous thing. I didn’t want to forget it.

I fished my phone out of my pocket and unlocked it one-handed to take a photo. Because why the fuck not? Clumsily, it took me three tries for the unlock combination, and just as I managed to do it, it fell out of my hand onto the floor.

She stopped sucking me. Fuck. I shouldn’t have pushed my boundaries. It was still so unreal, and fuck, guess it was over. What was I thinking?

She leaned down and picked up my phone and handed it to me, then started sucking my cock again.

Holy fuck. That got me so hard, I had to just stare at her face while she did it, open-mouthed. Was she good at sucking cock? I couldn’t tell, it had been awhile, and this was so weird I couldn’t compare it to anything normal. Few blurry photos later, I decided to turn it into a video and let her relax while I took over fucking her mouth.

Her chest gave me nothing to work with, so I put my phone down and reached down to fondle her crotch through her pants. You could tell she was wearing coarse cotton panties and that she was really wet. Without me asking for it or gesturing, she unbuttoned her pants and unzipped herself.

Fuck.

Somehow both of my hands reached down and slipped in the side of her pants and pulled them down off her, with her cooperation. The panties came with them and got twisted around her ankles. I wondered what she did for a living. A nurse maybe? Vet tech?

There was no reason in my head, all I had was a savage horniness. I pushed her back against the coffee table and she spread out over it. Lifting her legs up toward my chest, I positioned myself in front of her kaçak bahis pussy and looked at it. It was hairy and wet and Jesus fucking Christ, this was a housewife pussy.

Her facial expression was one of bewilderment the entire time, and being in this position was no different for her. Her bunched up pants kept her from spreading her legs wide, and my cock lined up along her slit. She took both of my hands and guided them to her neck, and motioned for me to squeeze.

What the fuck.

My cock slipped into her pussy. The first moment felt like a weird stab, like as if I cut across a stray hair or something. But now I was balls deep in her pussy and my hands were around her neck. She gasped and arched into it, fucking herself.

What could I do? I squeezed, and I fucked her hard. And she gave me the most magnificent look of hatred I could ever hope for. And she wanted it.

“Mngngnghgh,” she voiced.

By now I was a dozen strokes in and felt her raw wet pussy warm my balls up. My cock got harder and I was so close to blowing my load. Her hands made it around my torso and were scratching me up something fierce. Her eyes were locked with mine and I squeezed her neck harder, fucking her faster and faster. I looked down and wanted to see her tits, but she was so flat and there was nothing to see under her shirt. Fuck.

Her hands started fighting me. Fuck, I got carried away. What in god’s name was I doing here and what was I doing to this poor woman? Was I insane?

To my surprise, her hands were just undoing my belt and pulling it off. Guess I didn’t fuck up? I didn’t know, I was so disoriented and this was so unreal. I kept fucking her hairy pussy.

Jesus fucking Christ. She pulled my belt off and looped it around her neck, then handed me the rein. My boner was so confused. But I pulled, and I fucked, and she moaned more…

“Mghghghhhff!”

At this point I was so hard. She was so nasty, and this was so unexpected, and her hairy pussy was so wet, and her balding husband photos looked like they were leering at me the entire time, and I forgot why I was here. If my dick wasn’t this hard, I was sure she was ugly. But it was hard and stuck in her pussy, and I didn’t care. I wanted to break it off inside her. I couldn’t wait any longer.

I yanked her neck with my belt and exploded hard inside her pussy, screaming the entire time. She squealed and her face was red and one of her hands was touching my side and the other had apparently snuck under her and was fingering her own ass.

Ten seconds later I came to. I was still inside her, becoming limp. She was spread over the coffee table I came to buy and was breathing hard. She relaxed the loop around her neck and my belt got loose.

My dick was inside a strange woman’s pussy.

Fuck me. What in god’s name was I thinking? I panicked and got up, zipping up. While I did that, she slowly rose up and looked at me. My heart was beating so fast and north became south and reality didn’t like what had happened.

“Need help taking the table to your car?” she asked.

Jesus Fucking Christ. That’s why I was there.

“Uh, no, I got it.’

After pulling her pants up, she held the door open for me while I carried it out and my knees were so wobbly. This was the most disorienting experience of my life. Opening my trunk, I tried loading the table but it didn’t fit. I turned it around and tried from another angle and still nothing. Shit.

The old black woman came out of her sister’s house and started gawking at me again. The table was nice, but it couldn’t fit in my car. I was so tired of being stared at, I wanted to just leave it on the side of the road and go home.

Just then, frugal me came to my sense — some of them anyway — and walked to the seller’s house. Once the door opened, I asked if I could leave the table here because it wouldn’t fit.

“Nonsense, let’s take a look,” she said.

This hour was the most awkward of my life, so I really didn’t want to, but she didn’t take no for an answer. I wondered if my cum was running down into her panties and pants. Not sure why. Just because that’s what normally happened, I guess.

“Let’s try collapsing the rear seats,” she said.

Of course, Jesus, fuck, I didn’t think to do that when I tried fitting the table in the trunk. My brain wasn’t working right. Two yanks of the cord later, and the table fit.

“Alright, well enjoy the table,” she said, and walked back to her house.

My dick pulsed uncontrollably as she walked away. The old black woman stared, and for once, I didn’t care.

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