Melissa Smith-Jones Ch. 04

I have a special gene for shopping. No matter my level of fatigue I can always go clothes shopping and enjoy it. It's like my second stomach for desserts. No matter how stuffed I am by a meal, I always seem to have room for dessert. I think women are like cows: we have two stomachs. In our case it's one for good, healthy food, and the second one is for sinful desserts.

I tried on a dress that hugged my ass and came to a point closer to my crotch than to my knees. The part above the waist showed a serious amount of boob and was equipped with a little built in support for us busty women. It was still obvious I was braless and much less obvious I was without panties, but the bottom line was that I looked as hot as a firecracker in that dress. The color was a soft blue to match my eyes.

The dress also came in a glorious shade of yellow. Wearing the yellow one I assumed I would be visible in the London fog. In the store I could not decide between the blue and yellow versions. They were the same dress, yet the color dyes affected the fabrics slightly. The yellow version was slightly softer to the touch and it clung to my curves a little better. It was also a little bit transparent.

The saleswoman warned me that with the yellow she could see hints of my areolas and my nipples seemed to do a better job of pushing out at the fabric. I myself noticed I could see a shadow of my bush too with the yellow one. I don't shave or anything down there. There's some trimming, but that's it.

I did not mind the shadow. It's good to remind men from time to time that I am a woman with a vagina and pubic hair, you know? I'm not just boobs and a pretty face. Anyway, if I wore panties the shadow of my bush would disappear now, wouldn't it?

I think the saleswoman thought her remarks regarding seeing my areolas would clinch the blue version as my choice, unless I wore a bra with it, which would a shame for a dress like that one. She suggested opaque panties as a way to prevent the suggestive nature of seeing the shadow of my bush through the dress. To the surprise of the saleswoman what she thought were damning properties of the yellow dress in my case turned out to be selling points. She had no idea what an exhibitionist she was dealing with, I guess.

I next went to a sleazy costume jewelry store. I bought rhinestone dangle earrings, rhinestone bangle bracelets, and a rhinestone studded pin on which was written, "Good but not Easy." I also bought a skimpy bikini because Sylvia had told me her apartment complex had a hot tub and sometimes the party adjourned to it for a while.

I had no plans for sex of course since I was committed to Nigel but I had no qualms about massive teasing of the men at the party. Why not? I love doing stuff like that.

My last purchase was a long coat to wear over my yellow dress. Since the dress was rather short and showing off a lot of leg I felt a long coat would increase the drama. When I got there I planned to wait for some men's eyes to be on me. Only then would I remove the coat.

The party was more sedate than a similar one would have been in New York. The men flirted with me using their eyes but not their mouths or their bodies. They all seemed captivated by my yellow dress and its quasi transparent properties vis a vis my boobs and my bush. It was child's play to follow their eyes.

Being constantly leered at is fun, but it does get boring after a while. I decided to invade Sylvia's privacy a bit and to explore her apartment. We had all put our coasts on her bed and I pretended I had left something in my coat pocket as an excuse to enter her bedroom. I saw something there that changed my life.

On Sylvia's bureau was a picture of Geoff and Nigel, with a smiling Sylvia standing in between them with one arm around the shoulders of each brother. Sylvia looked stunning with her blaze of headlights smile. She looked like a siren who could lure strong men to their doom.

I looked more closely and on her nightstand was a picture of Nigel. My Nigel. I found a picture album in her bookcase and I found dozens of pictures of Nigel and Sylvia, some with Sylvia topless on the beaches of the French Riviera.

I felt dizzy, even faint, and I sat down on the bed in a state of shock. Sylvia Wiliams was the same Sylvia that Nigel had called me by mistake while he was fucking me back in New York! I liked the woman. She was a bleeping English version of myself. Nobody could fault Nigel for a lack of consistency!

Just then Roland, a man who had been hitting on me all evening, entered the bedroom while I was sitting on the bed with a blank expression, staring off into space. "Melissa, are you okay?" he asked.

"No," I replied.

"Can I help?" he asked.

I looked at him, trying to get my eyes to focus through my tears. "Yes," I said. "Hold me. I've had a bad shock. I need someone to hold me and you are most definitely someone."

Roland awkwardly held me. I leaned into him, resting my head on his shoulder as I gently whimpered. I felt lost, even abandoned, and it felt good to have a strong man's arms around me, enveloping me, giving me sympathy.

I had a thought: Maybe this picture was from long ago, before I had even met Nigel and fucked him on the beach in the south of France? I rose from the bed, discarding Roland's arms as his hands had moved to my breasts. I held the framed picture close to my eyes and I looked for some sign that would date the picture.

I found the sign I was looking for. I had given Nigel a string bracelet and the bastard was wearing it in the picture. Geoff was wearing an expensive shirt Jane had given him. Jane and I had debated a long time about the shirt when shopping together in SoHo in New York. I knew the shirt well. The picture was recent. There was no question.

Roland came up behind me, putting his arms around my waist, holding me tight and pressing against me. His hands rose to caress my breasts as I felt his cock grow in his pants, pressed against my behind. I was not ready for this! Had I sent him the wrong signal by resting my head on his shoulder? Did that mean submission or something in England?

Sylvia entered the bedroom then. I was saved! She too had been looking for me and since her apartment was small there were not that many places to look. She saw Roland's arms around me and my attempts to get him to stop. Being observant she also saw the tears at the edges of my eyes. She knew I was in distress.

"Will you excuse us please, Roland? I need to speak with Melissa," Sylvia said. Roland whipped me around and gave me a hopelessly sexy kiss and left the room. I had been so surprised I had kissed him back and I felt intense shame.

With Roland gone we were alone. "Speak to me Melissa. Why are you so upset?"

"Your pictures. The one on your bureau of you and two men. Also, the picture of one of those two men on your nightstand," I said.

"What about them?" Sylvia asked.

"They're the Clark brothers. I know them," I said.

"How remarkable!" Sylvia said. "Yes, they've moved to New York. New York though is a big place. What a coincidence you know them too!" Sylvia said and then the proverbial lightbulb went off.

"Which brother is your lover, Melissa?" Sylvia asked.

"Nigel. Which one is yours?" I asked in return.

"Primarily Nigel. Recently though I've been enjoying both of them. Whenever they're in London, that is. Geoff has this amazing..."

"I know," I interrupted.

"We really are a lot alike!" Sylvia said.

"The worst part is that I want to hate you, but I can't. I like you. I think you're a wonderful person," I said. I was crying again.

"Do you do what I do in these circumstances?" Sylvia asked.

"Eat a quart of chocolate chip ice cream? Drink more margaritas than I can handle in a sleazy bar? Have meaningless sex with the first man you can find?" I asked.

"Not exactly, but close. Sex is never meaningless for me," she said.

"Who do you recommend?" I asked.

"Bear in mind I have the same ugly surprise about Nigel that you do! I want Roland," Sylvia said.

"I can't do that, Sylvia. He may be a cheater, but I am not," I said.

Sylvia stayed silent. I was exhausted and sat back down on Sylvia's bed.

Sylvia sat on the bed next to me and put her arm around me and said sweet comforting words. I kind of melted into her body. She began to kiss my hair. My head was on her shoulder and I began to kiss her neck. A nicely manicured feminine hand reached inside my dress and began to caress my left boob. Sylvia knew exactly how to tweak a girl's nipple in a hopelessly seductive manner.

Ten minutes later the bottom of my dress was bunched up and Sylvia's head was between my thighs. Her mouth was lapping at the precise spot my body's center of Eros wanted her to lap. A little later two of those nicely manicured fingers with their bright red nail polish were inside me doing the magic only a woman knows how to do. My breathing was becoming erratic and my moans were giving away that I was mercifully heading towards a climax.

I was not thinking. If I had been thinking at all I was no doubt reflecting on my little lesbian fling with Christina the summer before college, long ago. I knew I was not a lesbian, but maybe it was possible I was bi? I loved what Sylvia was doing to me just then. It was just what I needed. There was something about Sylvia. She was a woman who could not be resisted.

Sylvia paused the magic she was giving to my body in order to undress me completely. I kissed her neck as she removed my clothes. She resumed making love to me as I groaned out my appreciation.

I was seriously gone, completely lost to Sylvia's fingers and tongue when Roland and Stuart entered the room. They saw my exposed boobs, my naked thighs flanking Sylvia's head, my sexually flushed skin, and my eyes glazed with the pleasure of lust. I barely managed to smile at the two men through my tears. My tears were of betrayal combined with lust.

Having the two men watching tipped me over and I dramatically climaxed.

Sylvia pulled her head away leaving my sopping, engorged and wet pussy wide open for the men's viewing. I just sat there, my legs splayed, my most intimate parts exposed to the two men and of course to Sylvia. I blushed furiously. Sylvia handed me a large man's T shirt and I quickly put it on, regaining the modesty I had so thoroughly just lost. I had climaxed with a woman in front of two men I barely knew, flashing them my entire nude body in a state of total sexual arousal. I should have been mortified. I was not.

Sylvia's face was covered with my sexual fluids. She went to grab a Kleenex to wipe off my juices but Roland grabbed her hand.

"You look good like that," Roland said to Sylvia.

Sylvia smiled, said nothing, but abandoned the idea of cleaning up her wet face. Roland instead lewdly licked my juices from Sylvia's cheeks. After he 'cleaned' her right cheek she presented to him her left cheek. He 'cleaned' it up, too. She gave new meaning to 'turning the other cheek.'

Roland looked at me, smacking his lips. "You taste wonderful my sweet," he said. I blushed a red that was redder than Chanel Rouge Lipstick. I said nothing and looked at my feet.

Roland looked at me sitting there with my downcast eyes, looking demure, vulnerable, and probably submissive. He approached me, pulled me to my feet and in the same sweeping gesture locked his arms around my face. As his lips approached mine I said almost in a whisper, "No, Roland. Please don't."

Sylvia said, "The woman said no, Roland," and thank goodness Roland backed off. I knew myself. I was in such a state that had he kissed me I would not have been able to say no and I would have given myself to him and been emotionally destroyed. I was a mess of emotions just then and at my most vulnerable. I had not felt so vulnerable since that fateful summer when I inadvertently exposed myself to the entire summer camp.

Sensing how vulnerable I was, I excused myself and left for the hotel. Sylvia looked at me sadly. She understood and she seemed equally upset. I had the impression that she would have loved also to have left the party and sought some solitude, but the party was at her home so of course she could not. She was doubtless calling on her formidable reserves of inner strength to smile and carry on. I felt a little guilty abandoning her, but not too much.

III. Melissa has a London stalker!

I should have taken a taxi to the hotel, but not thinking I took the tube back to my hotel. I was wearing of course my hyper sexy yellow dress. It was hot in the tube so I was carrying my coat. Plenty of men on the tube stared at me. Much of my boobs and my legs were on display and if they looked carefully they could see the prominent shadow of my pussy. I was still aroused from Sylvia's love making earlier. Luckily for me the men were all well behaved except for the constant staring.

It was a seven-minute walk from the tube stop to my hotel. I had a stalker again. Using my Chanel compact trick I confirmed it was Chris H.M.T. Evans again. I turned around and walked right at him. Reaching him I said, "What do you want from me, Chris?"

"Call me Mark," he said. "It's my middle name."

"What are the H and T for?" I asked.

"Horace and Tipton. Tipton is my mother's family name. Don't ask about Horace," he said.

"Okay, I won't. Now, why are you stalking me?" I asked.

"I want to have sex with you, whether you want to or not," he said, with definite menace in his voice.

"I only have sex with men I want to have sex with," I said.

"I'll make you want it, then," he said.

"Good luck," I said as sarcastically as I could muster. We had some negotiations. He agreed to leave me alone if I would have a drink with him. He took me to the hotel bar.

"I love your dress. Just sitting with you makes me the envy of every man in the bar," Mark said to me once we were seated.

"You like that?" I asked.

"Yes," he said.

"What did you do to Sylvia? She doesn't think much of you," I said.

"She thinks I raped her," Mark said.

"What do you think?" I asked. "Before you answer, if a woman thinks a man raped her, then he raped her."

Mark just smiled. His smile creeped me out. I was out foxed. Mark had a gun. We went to my room. He told me to get naked. He pointed his gun at me so of course I complied. I was shaking with fear. Once I was naked Mark approached me with his gun. "Suck it," he said.

Depressed and beaten I undid his pants and took out his cock. "Not me, Melissa. Suck the gun."

"You want me to put the gun in my mouth??" I asked. Suddenly I had to pee. I was much too scared.

"Just for a minute. Then you can suck my cock," he said. "I want a picture of you naked and sucking my gun."

"Oh," I said. This man was seriously messed up. "I'll do it as long as your fingers are nowhere near the trigger."

"I have a gun on you. You're naked. And you're bargaining with me? Seriously?" Mark was a bit incredulous.

"Yes," I said. "Those are my terms. It's no fun fucking a woman whose head has been blown to bits, you know."

"Not a fan of necrology?" Mark said. The man was seriously scaring me!

"It's an American thing, I guess. We do not enjoy fucking the dead," I said.

"What about the soon-to-be dead?" he asked, keeping his finger on the trigger. That scared me and put real fear in my bones. I sucked his fucking gun while he took his damn pictures. Then he put the gun in my pussy and took more pictures. I felt nauseated.

Finally, he was done and I was a wreck. I asked permission to pee and he came with me and watched. At first, I could not get a stream going with him right there, his face almost in my pussy as I sat on the toilet trying to relax enough to let the urine escape. When the urine stream finally began it came out with a vengeance to Mark's childlike whoops of joy. I felt ashamed, debased, and that a childish sadist had a gun on me.

Now out of the bathroom I said to Mark, "Let's not play games, okay? You want sex and I really need to have a nice, hard cock inside me. How about you put the gun away and just fuck me any way you want to? Rough fucking is okay. The gun has to go. What do you say?"

Mark smiled. He hit me across the face with the butt of his gun. I was knocked unconscious and fell backwards onto the bed. I don't know, but probably my legs conveniently splayed as I fell. When I came to I was in the process of being brutally fucked. My head hurt something awful but my pussy was getting a real treat. I was already close. I wondered if I could have climaxed already while unconscious? Is that even possible?

Whether or not I had already climaxed while out cold, I climaxed nicely now that I was back in reality. It was obvious to Mark I was climaxing because, as sometimes happens, my body quivered and shook. Mark was sweating and grunting as he fucked me and I was hoping he did not have a heart attack or something while we fucked. On the other hand, a heart attack could not occur to a more deserving person I thought at the time. So heart attack or not, it was a win-win.

I actually enjoyed feeling that asshole ejaculate deep inside me. I just love that feeling. I fell asleep or back unconscious and when I woke it was morning and Chris H.M.T. Evans the rapist was gone. He had sent me the two pictures: one of me stark naked sucking his gun barrel, and another of his gun deep inside my pussy. Great. What am I supposed to do with those pictures? Post them on my Facebook page?

I ordered breakfast from room service, took a quick and very hot bath to wash off all traces of CHMT Evans, quickly got dressed and hurried off to Bigsby, Ltd. Sylvia gave me lots of sympathy over my rape the night before. We tried to work but we knew we had to discuss what to do about Nigel. I kept breaking down into crying fits since I was in extended recovery mode from the rape.

"We have four options. You get him, I get him, we share him, or we both dump the cheating bastard scumbag," I said.

"There's a fifth option. I take Geoff and you take Nigel, and we trade for an occasional evening from time to time," Sylvia said.

"My best friend Jane is in love with Geoff and thinks he is in love with her," I said.

"Maybe there's a third brother?" Sylvia said and she giggled.

"For you, for me, or for Jane?" I asked. Sylvia raised a single eyebrow. "For Jane, of course," she said. We both broke down in bitter laughter.

"You know, Melissa, I knew Nigel had a woman in America. I thought it was a passing fancy and since he cannot resist me for some reason I figured I could just wait it out. Now that I've met you and come to know you, however, I know my waiting for him to come back to me and be exclusively mine is just an illusion. I think we both lose in this equation. Frankly, I don't know what to do," Sylvia said.

"Well, I return to New York in two days. Nigel and I are living together, so I guess I have around 48 hours until I get home to work this through," I said.

We were both lost in thought. I was the one who broke the silence.

"Here's an idea. Can you take a little time off and come to New York? I could show you our operations in New York and you could stay with Nigel and me. That'd be interesting, don't you think?" I said.

"Melissa, you are the first woman I've ever met with a mind as wicked as my own," Sylvia said. "You travel business class or economy?"

"Economy."

"Good. We can sit together then. Don't wear panties," Sylvia said. I giggled.

I had never had a girlfriend quite like Sylvia. We were always on the same wavelength. We knew what each other was thinking, usually because we were thinking it as well. We had exactly the same taste in men. We had even both been raped by the same London creep. We had one fatal flaw however. We both loved the same man. We both wanted exclusive rights to the same man. And the man was a cheater. He cheated on me with Sylvia and he cheated on Sylvia with me. Once a cheater, always a cheater. God, I hate platitudes.