Blane's Hydraulic Inevitable

"A custom in my country."

He did have the faintest of accents.

"Are you from Ecuador, too?"

He laughed, "No. I am Swiss; halfway up a different mountain."

He dropped my hand and put his own on my right knee. He said nothing but the director in my head shouted 'action!'

Sometimes inaction is what's called for however. I bent my left knee and let my arms hang quietly by my side while staring through the plate glass wall with a blank expression on my face. Mr. Plumrose's hand stopped stroking when he reached the back of my knee, then he stood up and let his fingers graze my thigh as he rose. He stood behind me, very close.

I checked our reflection in the enormous, window. He wasn't a bad looking man, certainly not handsome, but clean and well groomed, a bit paunchy perhaps, and I stood at least an inch above him in the tarty pumps. He was dressed with flair in a white dress shirt with rolled sleeves, open at the neck and tucked into dark, soft-looking wool slacks that were doing nothing to hold down the boner that was trying to lift my right butt cheek.

"The view is remarkable isn't it?"

It was. The nighttime tapestry of the San Fernando Valley's electric grid spreading to the San Gabriels was a cliche redeemed by seeing it from this very private perspective.

"Yes," I replied, "do you ever get tired off it?"

As I spoke I turned to face him. I could feel my lips verging on a smirk, I controlled that and let my eyes blaze instead. Freed, his cock was able to rise to its fully erect posture and seemed to be resting on the arch of my garter belt. His fingers were on my thighs, under the garter straps.

"I never, never do," he said, and he kissed me very sweetly.

It was the first time I had been kissed on the mouth by a man, at least by a man who was dressed as a man and I found the experience indistinguishable from those other times. It was also pleasurable. I opened my lips a little and kissed back.

We should have been bumping our members, but my tuck had my own cock bent double and I was unable to achieve full erection. Sensing this, Plumrose reached between us to shake it loose, I lifted a thigh to help. That done, I did my own delving and unzipped the gentleman's slacks and withdrew his berk from what felt like a pair of boxers. I leant back and put my two arms about his neck and now as we continued to kiss our cocks were free to nuzzle against each other too. I lost myself in the swoon of it all; my eyes were closed but I could see us clearly in my mind's eye, our posture both languid and fully primed. Plumrose's fat hardon explored my groin through my panties, sometimes thrusting its head between elastic closures so that I could feel the heat of it on my bare flesh. I shimmied and squirmed and helped him as best I could, gasping and moaning all the while. It had been some time since I'd felt any chill in the room.

"Come here."

His heavy breathing matched my own as he tugged me by the wrist down into the pit where we flopped onto the wide leather couch. I twisted myself so I faced backwards and dropped my face to his groin and took him into my mouth without much ado. His forearm was between my knees as I knelt on the couch and he raised it to bring his hand into play where the generous gusset of my babydoll panties held my crotch behind a delicate chiffon scrim. I continued to suck as Mr. Plumrose ran his fingers back and forth across the whole area between my scrotum and my anus. I moaned into his cock in ecstasy, uttering affirmative mm-hmms and little sobs whenever a pre-orgasmic spasm took me.

Plumrose ceased his strumming in order to pull my head from his lap and reclined my form along the couch.

"Just lay back," he said, and took up a position crouching on the carpet as he leant over me pinning me down with his right side on my stomach and holding my erect cock in his right hand while his left caressed my balls, which by now were tender with their load of unspent cum.

"As pretty as these panties are, we must now remove them," he said, and slid them down to my feet where he left them just below my ankle bones, not attempting to work them over the spike heels of my pumps.

"You have a beautiful clitty!" he declared, and stooped to kiss it.

Plumrose did lots of things to me down there; he held my shaft at its base until the head swelled up and then bullied the magenta bloom with his lips and tongue, he stroked me with feathery fingertips with one hand while the other traced the engorged root of my member from the scrotum to where it disappeared next to my anus.

"My God, How hard you are!"

I couldn't see over his broad back. My groin demanded all his attention and he poured over it almost jealously. My head lolled back and forth, my hands fluttered without object, helplessly fussing with his back or with my own frothy bodice. And I was moaning all the time now. We both knew it wouldn't be long.

"Mr. Plumrose!" I cried, "I...I...you..."

I sat up part way, my hand on his back. I could just see my white toe-caps at the end of the couch in the dim room.

"Shh," he said.

He cupped my balls in his warm left hand and initiated a light, quick, loping stroke with his right and I fell back on the couch and watched the ceiling through the veil of my heavily mascaraed eyelashes. Lying there, an image came into my mind of the room where I had changed clothes and the long closet full of clothes, on hangers, neatly layered in drawers, the shoes in and out of boxes-and suddenly I reached it - the hydraulic inevitable-and I only had time to utter a sincere, helpless, 'oh' before I was gasping and shooting out all the semen I'd stored for the last 60 hours of excitation and preparation. I pumped my hips again and again, hard, all over Plumrose, whose fist continued to milk me relentlessly, and all that jism, homogenized, supercharged by Guaifenesen, jetted about our lovenest, speckling him, my legs and thighs and the couch with the hyped serum.

I continued to buck automatically for almost a half a minute, the spasms gradually weakening - Plumrose assiduously coaxing it all out of me, bending to suck my shaft clean, the most attentive of lovers.

Finally he turned, his chest and shoulders shiny with me, and said, "Don't move, I'll be right back."

I lie there an empty sack, limp and flaccid except for my penis which remained alert (a pleasant quirk of my reproductive system, even after an orgasm such as the one that just overtaken me.)

I heard the sound of a tap in a nearby bathroom and soon Plumrose was back with a warm, wet washcloth and a towel. He wiped me down and dried me - my cock, still heavy but resting now atop my right thigh. I lay motionless. He spoke my name and I fluttered my eyelids and murmured, 'huh?'

I remember he covered me with a blanket. I awoke some time later in the cold, dim room. I felt suddenly energized. The purge had done me good. I kicked off my heels and hitched up my panties and went to the end of the room and found the bathroom where I sat down to pee then stepped into the shower stall where I was careful to keep my wig clear of the stream. It felt wonderful.

As I was toweling there was a knock and Plumrose stepped into the room and confronted my nakedness. I stared back at him in the same serene pose I had assumed while standing next to his desk. Our eyes locked for a moment then he hung my garment bag on the door.

"I'll talk to you before you leave," he said.

After the door clicked behind him I quickly turned to the mirror. My, lipstick was completely gone but my waterproof mascara had survived and my foundation was even passable. I checked my wig and the tousled hair looked sexy.

I stripped off the nightie and hose and got back into my arrival clothes. I fished my lipstick out of the garment bag and reapplied it, dabbed my face from my Cover Girl compact and wished I'd had some more Chanel. I smoothed my little "tennis skirt" with my palms and grabbed the garment bag with its load of sex smudged sleepwear and left the bathroom.

Plumrose was back at the desk in a dressing gown and the room lights were up to a brighter level. I walked over to take my leave.

"Mr. Plumrose," I said, "I had a wonderful time. Honestly."

Plumrose beamed up at me and swivelled his chair to the side. He pulled my wrist to position me in front of him.

"Thank you, my dear, but you must call me Harold, after all you have just christened me."

It would be cute, I thought, to show chagrin. So I did.

"I...I'm sorry...Harold, I couldn't help myself."

"Don't be. It's a charming quality you have. Now, what is this pretty outfit you are wearing? Is this what you arrived in?"

I nodded.

"It is very attractive. Will you turn around please?"

I did so.

"Yes, I especially like this little miniskirt you have on. Let's lift it up at the back, shall we?"

He did so.

"Betty. I do like what you're wearing."

I think I mentioned how the Olga Secret Hug panties I had on featured a vertical seam that neatly divided the buttocks. And size 6 in this brand was a snug fit.

"They are just everyday panties. They aren't meant to be showey. Or pretty," I said coolly.

The hint of haughtiness motivated him. He placed his hand against my bottom.

"Perhaps you make everything look pretty."

I didn't reply, but my heart beat more quickly as he insinuated his fingers between my upper thighs. He seemed to be nudging them apart with the thumb and pinky of his right hand.

"Will you...?"

He was breathing heavily, too. I helped him out by lifting my right foot up. I swallowed and the lump in my throat going down sounded thunderous. The shift allowed him to cradle my genitals in his warm hand - and they started to swell again in their silky wrap and when Plumrose - but I guess I should call him Harold now - started to manipulate them gently like a couple of Benwa balls - the swelling increased. I started to shudder with pleasure again and had to put my foot back on the floor and lean forward against the only support I could find, the massive room length window beside the desk. With the room lights on I couldn't see outside, just our reflection, although anyone outside, say Lourdes, or some other factotum, could see the entire diorama in complete anonymity.

"Turn and face me, Betty."

Harold positioned my hips before his face and sat there massaging the panty bulge I presented, in an up and down orbital motion. Absurdly, it made me think of the motion you are told to make below the steamer for frothing a perfect cappuccino. We both seemed to be in a trance, Harold came out of it and asked me to hold my skirt up. I held it above my waist with the thumb and forefinger of each hand.

"Look how beautiful you are, my Panty Princess," he murmured, and I couldn't suppress a deep groan as a tectonic premonition shook me to my core.

My hips were performing an involuntary hula to the rhythm of Harold's caresses, increasing in tempo and I said, "Harold, darling, oh, I'm gonna cum soon...my panties..."

"That's Okay, sweetheart, let it come. Show me what you got."

I couldn't believe this ruthless, careening hand job he was giving me. He wanted me to soak my panties for him, a few inches from his face. I felt used but it also felt incredibly appropriate somehow and I went into wild, pre-ejaculatory hip thrust.

"That's my girl," he whispered, "that's my girl."

And I came, harder than I could have imagined after my initial emptying at Harold Plumrose's hands. We both watched stain spread on the front of my 0lga's. He kept working it until he was sure he had all of it then be peeled down my panties so they reversed themselves, hanging upside down from my thighs and revealing the churned, slick, translucent offering on the taut nylon.

Harold admired this for just a moment and then he led me by the elbow, my 'clitty' still wobbling before me, to the bathroom.

Using a warm, wet cloth Harold cleansed me, soothed my poor abused organ into grateful detumescence.

Back in the big, quiet room be asked me to fetch the garment bag. I took the well worn but dry Nancy King briefs out again and donned them while Harold furled the soiled panties into a roll and dropped them into the bag. The laden garment slid right to the bottom. He handed over the garment bag.

"I'm going to go now," I said, simply.

"Okay, Betty," he said, "I'm away on business for awhile. Out of the country, but I'd like to see you over the Easter weekend. I'd like to take you to Palm Springs. Can you do that?"

"Yes, Harold, sure," I replied wearily. "Keep in touch."

"I will, Betty. Be well."

Lourdes met me in the corridor and graciously led me back to the street door. Outside it was even colder than before. I cranked the Ghia. Nothing. I didn't waste battery power with repeated attempts to start it but twisted around to find my spray can of 'fast start' in the tiny backseat area and stepped back into the frigid night and raised the rear deck lid to give the air cleaner intake a good spritz. This time the engine barked into life immediately. The sudden roar was less intrusive than the raw smell of ether in the rarified air of that neighborhood.

Heading back down the hill I was feeling knackered. When we reached the bottom the car would be warm and fully alive but I doubted that I would. My sense of repletion had quickly become mere emptiness and thoughts of renunciation and reform presented themselves to my imagination like undertakers after a death. To add a sordid touch to the evening's denouement and making my return seem like a retreat, the unmistakable smell of semen-soaked nylon permeated the tiny cabin. On the passenger seat beside me I that the saw the garment bag was partially unzipped, so I closed it up properly.

Emerging from the hillside I turned right onto Sunset and found the evening was full of living beings, un-emptied and raucous, traffic moved purposely in both directions and it was noticeably warmer. I joined them, another corpuscle in the westward flowing artery.