erotica

Part 1

Steve walked into the office feeling like a train wreck. Once again, he drank a bit too much the night before and he was paying the price. His eyes felt like there was sand in them and every sound set his nerves on edge. Lea, the administrative assistant, handed him a stack of folders as he passed her desk. She was on the phone and smiled as he passed. He felt his face move; how, he wasn't sure. He drew a cup of coffee and meandered off to his cube. Steve was a claims adjuster for Van Wick Ltd., a small midwestern insurance company. He had been there for about 8 years and found the job fairly mundane and boring, yet he stayed do to bonuses and a very good profit sharing and investment plan. The other reason is that he just had no idea of what else he would do. After getting through half a cup of coffee, he was starting to feel somewhat normal and decided to attack the pile before him. Most of what he was dealing with was auto accidents, and most of them fairly straightforward. One that had caught his eye was a claim for a 1945 M.G. T.C.. Being an aficionado of older sports cars, he was understandably curious. He decided in the process of making out his itinerary for the day, that he would make this his last stop. The name on the file was rather interesting: Rachel McDermott. Since he was a Mulrooney, he was familiar with many Irish sir names and this one was rather rare. The address was in the old money neighborhood of Willow Crest. Most of the houses would be considered estates with usually not less than 10 acres of land. This should be interesting, he thought to himself.
The day went as planned and he finished his other appointments early. This allowed him to take a leisurely drive out to Willow Crest. The streets are laid out in a rather convoluted fashion, and it was easy to get lost. Coming around a wide turn, he saw the estate. The house was huge! It was an English Tutor replete with ivy-covered walls. The driveway was about 300 yards long, making a slight curve to the right were it split into a 'Y'. One section led to a turnabout in the front of the house and the other led to a very large garage. The grounds were surround by a stonewall, broken only by the gate in the driveway. Steve pulled onto the apron in front of the gate and pressed the button on the speak box set on a pole. "Yaa?" a heavy Germanic voice responded after a moment. "My name is Steve Mulrooney, Van Wick insurance; I have an appointment with Miss McDermott." Steve responded to the box, feeling awkward and clumsy. A second later, the large wrought iron gates swung inward and he proceeded forward slowly. The grounds inside were beautiful! The lawn was lush and green, very well cared for. Very old oaks lined the east lawn. A rose garden set in a brick planter bordered the turnaround. The roses were in full bloom and radiated color. In the center of the turnaround was a large brick fountain with statues of cherub children playing. He pulled around to the front door and parked. Grabbing his briefcase, he put on his sport coat, tried to dust of the crap that somehow affixed to the material. The front door was oak, about 8' tall, arched top and complete with wrought iron strapping. It looked like it belong on a castle. He saw a camera out of the corner of his left eye. It was small and tucked up into the corner of the porch. As he was think about why there was a camera in that particular position, the door swung open. Standing in the doorway, almost filling it was one very large man. He wore a light gray double-breasted suit. He was blond, and fair skinned. His jacket size must have been at least a 54 XT! His upper torso tapered to a 38" waist and his biceps were about the size of Steve's thighs. For a moment that lasted for an eternity, Marcus just gazed down at Steve without tilting his head. "Hi, Steve Mulrooney!" Steve greeted extending his hand. "Ya, Mistress Rachel is expecting you." He replied stoically, ignoring the extended hand. His accent was very thick and very German, southern Germany, Bavarian perhaps. He sounded somewhat like Arnold Schwarzenegger. "My name is Marcus. Come mitt me." He pronounced Marcus without and 'r' and it sounded like 'Maacus'. Not having much choice, Steve followed the mountainoid German into the entryway. "Christ, this guy could be a poster boy for Hitler Youth!" Steve thought to himself. The entryway was about the size of his living room in his apartment. "Wait here bitte." Marcus said as he walked down one of the large hardwood floored hallways. In front of Steve was the living room, or whatever they called it in a place this size. On the far end were floor to ceiling leaded glass windows, arched at the top. On one wall hung a medieval tapestry and he wondered if it was real. The room itself was rather sparsely furnished. The ceiling was open with rough-hewn beams visible. He wondered if had time warped into a Shakespearian play. There was a painting on the wall in the entryway illuminated with it's own lamp. He stepped closer to inspect it and realized it was one of Bosch's works. He was an art minor in college and remembered spending a couple weeks on Bosch in one of his courses. It was creepy, but then again, most of his stuff is. Something about his work always seemed to touch into a very dark place in his psyche that made him feel very uncomfortable.

His musing were interrupted by the sound of heels on hardwood. A woman appeared before him. She was about 6'2", but she was wearing at 4" heels. She was wearing a green satin dress with long, puff sleeves with a simple scoop neck. The material had paisley reliefs woven in. Her nails were long and fire engine red. Finally connecting with her gaze, Steve could not help but to notice the beauty. Her eyes were green, set off by the color of her dress. Her makeup was elegant and taste full. Her strawberry blonde hair hung loosely to the middle of her back. What mesmerized him was her eyes. There was something very regal or confident in her gaze, but in with that, something hidden and unknown. "Thank you for coming out today, Mr. Mulrooney." She said, surprising him. "Oh, my pleasure Miss McDermott. I hope to get your problem solved as quickly as possible." He replied in a very mechanical manner. "Oh, please call me Steve." He extended." "This way, please." She turned and proceeded down one of the hallways. He followed her and couldn't help but notice the seams in her off-black stockings. His eyes followed them down to her shoes, which were plain black D'Orsay's. The seams terminated into a rectangular piece of reinforcement which told him that the stockings must have Cuban style feet. Watching her walk, looking at her legs and shoes started the stirrings of an erection. They entered one of the garages and sitting before him was a beautiful M.G. T.C. in immaculate condition, save the slightly crushed front left fender. It was painted in traditional British racing green, had the ox blood leather upholstery and the original rosewood dash. A real beauty! Walking over to the damaged fender, he crouched down and pulled a clipboard out of his briefcase. "What happened?" Miss McDermott walked over to the front of the car. "I had parked at a café in town. When I returned, this had happened." She was standing over him, close enough to make him uncomfortable, and he sensed she knew it. Everything about this woman was intense! Steve almost felt as if he was being probed on a psychic level; she was trying to gather information. He kept attempting to focus on his notes, but found himself looking at her gorgeous legs. Finally, he wrote down all that he needed. He felt wrung out, as if he and Miss McDermott had been in a long, intense conversation, but only a couple minutes had passed. "This is an episode for the Twilight Zone." Steve thought to himself.
They proceeded back into the house. Marcus had somehow disappeared. "This way Mr. Mulrooney. We can finish our business in the study." She said as she started down the hall. The décor of the study matched the rest of the house. In a corner by the window was an antique oak roll top desk. The wall were lined with bookshelves and filled with mostly leather bound books. Off to one side was a fieldstone fireplace with 2 overstuffed wingback chairs set in front. The room was warm and cozy on one hand, but strange on the other. Actually, there was something about the house that he couldn't quite put his finger on. "Please sit and make yourself comfortable." She said, gesturing toward the chairs. "Would you care for a drink?" she asked in the quite voice of hers. "Please, single malt Scotch if you have it. Neat." Steve replied, wondering if it was such a good idea after all. He pulled the appropriate forms from the brief case and filled them out in short order. Miss McDermott brought the drinks over and set them on the coffee table. She sat down in a most elegant manor, crossing those gorgeous legs of hers. He quickly went through all the legal babble of the forms and showed her where to sign. He picked up his Scotch and took a sip of the marvelous liquid. This was an excellent Scotch, at least 15years old! As he swallowed, he felt the warmth rise to his head; the way that only a good Scotch can. The fire crackled as they both just listened to the silence. Miss Rachel leaned over and withdrew a cigarette from the humidor on the coffee table. She picked up the table lighter and sat, staring at the fire for the briefest moment. As she sat, she held the long, white cigarette in her erect fingers. Her nails were fashionably long and polished in cherry red gloss. Steve could feel the stirrings of an erection in his loins. Women smoking, for as long as he could remember had aroused Steve. This was one of those little fetishes he would never talk about. For some reason, he was always ashamed of it. In fact, shame seemed to be a key word with everything to do with sex. As if on cue, Miss Rachel brought the cigarette to her mouth, and touched the tip of it with the flame. The cigarette never left her fingers, which was very important to the whole process for Steve. There were some very key factors for smoking to really step into the 'major turn on' category. The first was the lighting. The cigarette had to remain in the fingers. Too many women would shake a cigarette out of the pack, hang it their lips and light it, then leave it there as they put away the pack and lighter. That didn't work! Next there was the draw. The cigarette had to be held in the tips of the fingers, with the fingers erect, then brought to the lips in a slow graceful manor. The filter was then placed between the lips in an almost erotic manor; like a kiss. The draw it self had to be delicate, without hollowing the cheeks. Then the withdraw and inhale. The withdraw had to be reverse of the draw, with the slight pause. The exhale was one of the more important steps. A thin, steady stream blown from pursed lips was the most desirable. As he sat and mused over all of this, it seemed that Miss Rachel was reading his mind! She was one of the most sexy smokers he had ever seen! All of her movements through the process of enjoying her cigarette were elegant and erotic. The stirrings in his crotch had segued into a full blown hard-on! Some how he sensed that Miss Rachel knew this and was going out of her way to torment him.
"I saw you looking at the Bosch painting in the hallway, what do you think of it Steven?" Her question shook him from his musings. "I found it rather disturbing, then again, Bosch has always affected me that way." He replied. The way the chairs were sitting, facing each other but skewed at a slight angle, Steve knew that his crotch was visible and tried to adjust his position in order to hide his erection. "Yes, I agree. I think that's why I enjoy his work so much!" she responded coyly. She continued to smoke in that graceful, elegant manor of hers. There was something going on a subliminal level, but he couldn't quantify it. He knew that she knew how this was affecting him, but wasn't giving any indication. He was getting dizzy and wasn't sure if it was Miss Rachel, the Scotch or both! Why the hell was she talking about sex with basically a total stranger? Why was she making it so uncomfortable? His thoughts were reeling!
"Watching women smoke excites you, does it not Steven?" she said as one long, red nailed finger gently tapped the ash off her cigarette. Steve froze and knew he was turning beet red! I didn't have a clue as how to respond. Was it that obvious, or is she some kind of witch? "I am sorry Steven, I did not mean to embarrass you." That was a lie, she knew, somehow what it would do to him. He was starting to feel like the mouse the cat was playing with right before it became lunch! "Ah..yeah..I guess.." was about the best he could mumble out. "It is quite alright you know. I find women smoking very exciting also." Oh Great! Now they were going to discuss fetishes! "Most people have numerous behaviors that they find arousing. This society of ours has some how deemed them taboo. Women are driven to dress in a provocative manor, but males are supposed to look beyond it and see the 'inner woman' and ignore the sexuality behind it. It is a game. Everyone knows it's a game, but pretend it isn't. Much of this is based in very primal behaviors: the strongest and most persistent gets to reproduce. Simple laws of nature." She smiled a very understanding smile, which allowed him to relax a bit. From out of no where, Marcus appeared. He wondered how he moved so quietly for a guy his size. "Would you care for another drink Steven?" He shook his head up and down rapidly, oh yeah, another drink...maybe a bottle! This was getting way out in left field! Marcus again appeared by his side and replaced his glass. They talked for about 20 minutes, just mindless chitchat. Looking at his watch, he excused himself and said he had to be going. In actuality, he wanted to run for the hills! They did the parting pleasantries and he drove off.

The drive home, Steve pondered the appointment. He was really trying to figure out why he was feeling so strange. The journey back to his side of town was uneventful. He stopped at a fast food joint for something to eat, and then to a liquor store for a 12 pack of beer. Arriving home, he changed into sweats and plopped onto the couch. He chose not to turn on the TV, and instead just drifted into thought. The clock radio in his room was still playing and the station was a 'classic' one that played all the stuff from the early '80's. A tune came on that made him think of college, specifically his sophomore year. That was the year he and Frank, a buddy from one of his Psyc classes, decided to move off campus. They searched around and eventually found an old 3 story that had been remodeled into a number of apartments. It was close to the campus and in the range of their meager income. Steve really liked Frank. He had a boyish face, for someone who was 20, an infectious sense of humor and a quick wit. Steve had always figured that Frank would make a great professor with his unruly shock of light brown hair and his penchant for wearing tweed jackets with patches on the sleeves. After about 3 months of being roommates, they had settled into a regular routine. They had both set-up study areas individually, and also studied together in the main room, often inviting fellow students from their mutual classes and formed study groups. The weekends were usually spent studying, but Friday night was designated 'disconnect night'. They would usually get a pizza, a case of beer and rent a ton of movies. Neither one of them were much on the bar scene. The clubs locally were overpriced and usually ended up with the local police showing up. The other choice was to drive up to Chicago, which was a 3-hour haul.

One Friday night in late spring, a very unusual incident happened. It was about 10 in the evening and they had made it through a couple pizzas and half the case of beer they had bought. One of the movies they had rented had a number of rather 'uninhibited' sex scenes. They had always sat side by side on the old beat-up couch the bought a garage sale. One of the scenes included an orgy situation with 2 guys and 2 girls. It was pretty obvious that the sexual alignment of all the individuals was rather indistinct: everyone was doing everyone else. Steve had slowly built a good-sized hard-on, and it seemed, Frank did also. Frank had gotten up to get a couple of beers and when he came back, he sat down much closer to Steve. Frank had slowly inched his hand over to Steve's thigh and started caressing the inner part by his knee. Thoughts reeled through Steve's head like a computer trying to deal with a number of data inputs that had nothing to do with each other and struggling to come up with the correct output. "Oh my god, a man is touching me; it feels good; it can't feel good, that makes me a fag; what if I am a fag; but I like girls; but this is my best friend and it turns me on; I want to touch him; I can't touch him, he's a guy, I wonder what it's like to have sex with a man; what do I do?" Steve's mind reeled through the effects of the beer. Emotion overwhelmed all thought and he reached down and moved Frank's hand up his thigh. Frank's hand progress up to Steve's groin, where he gently cupped his scrotum underneath his shorts. Steve felt himself going limp. With one index finger, Frank tenderly stroked the hard shaft of Steve's cock. For some reason, still unknown to him, Steve rolled to one side and kissed Frank. Months of passion had been released as their tongues met and probed. One thing led to another and Steve was on his back with Frank inside him on the floor. He had never had anal sex before, but found himself gyrating his hips, pulling his legs back and trying to take as much of Frank inside him as he could. Frank was pumping hard and Steve had his arms around him in a bear hug, holding on as tight as he could. Steve's conscious mind had check out. He was running on pure emotion. He had never felt this way before and was certain he didn't want it to stop. Frank was an animal! He had hooked Steve's legs around his arms and Steve was rolled back on his shoulders. Only vowel sounds and whimpers came from Steve's mouth. Frank was building up to climax, and Steve could feel it. Not physically, but emotionally. As Steve watched Franks face, he could see the combination of agony and ecstasy. His body suddenly went ridged and he pulled out of Steve. The load of cum that he had built up for the last 20 minutes let loose in a stream over Steve's body. A large portion landed on Steve's face. It was warm and slightly salty tasting. The strangest part was yet to come. After their tryst, they both got cleaned up and Frank got a couple beers. They sat down on the couch again and put in another movie. They both acted as if nothing happened: no discussion, comments, etc. Steve had always wondered about that.

Their liaisons continued through the semester. Steve realized how much he really enjoyed it, but the 'no talk' aspect really bugged him. After summer break, everything stopped. They had maintained their friendship, but it was different somehow. Their junior year, Frank's financing had fallen through so he had to leave for a semester to work, and save some money. Steve saw Frank on campus, but they just never connected again in any fashion. Steve had always been sad about that, Frank had been a good friend and they had a lot of fun together. After graduation, Steve had moved back toward home in Ohio. He had taken a couple of jobs in the area of his degree, psychology, but quickly found that what he could get with a bachelors wasn't appealing. To do anything worthwhile, he would have to go back for graduate school, and that wasn't in his plans. Working for a chemical company as personnel manager, he had met Cindy. Cindy was about his age and attractive. They had a whirlwind romance and married about a year after. Cindy was nice, they got along very well; Steve couldn't remember a time they had fought, but it was boring. Cindy was very vanilla in bed. Steve wanted something, what he didn't know, but the missionary position wasn't it. One thing Cindy did have going for her is that she was a very sexy smoker! She smoked Marlboro Light 100's. It was nothing she was conscious of, but she was very hot to watch. After Cindy, he had a few other relationships, all that just faded. He just found them boring. Not the women, the whole 'relationship thing'. It had been 2 years since a fling with Julia. In some was, he had just settled into a banal, mediocre existence. He notice the clock was showing 11 and he decided to go to bed. He and his friends were going to play some racquetball tomorrow afternoon.
Waking at about 9 the next morning, the first thing Steve had noticed was how good he felt. This was do to not getting drunk the night before. Getting drunk seemed to be happening more and more these days and it bothered him. He showered, got a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table to read the newspaper. The phone rang. "Hello?" "Good morning Steven, Rachel McDermott here." "Ahh...good morning, what can I do for you Miss McDermott?" "A bit of trouble Steven. I was looking at the car again and had noticed something else that needed repair. Can you come out and take a look? I am not sure how this would affect the insurance claim." "Ok, I can be out Monday morning." "No Steven, I want you to come out today." "Miss McDermott, it is Saturday and I am sur..." "Excellent Steven, I knew I could count on you, I will see you at 1." The line went dead. "What the hell was that all about?" he said under his breath. She had no problem getting what she wanted. Oh what the hell, I'll stop by Carson's for their brunch and head over. It won't be that long?..