plaything (2 page)

I placed the
phone back on the corner of the bathroom sink and picked up my wine glass.

Sitting on
the edge of the tub, I held a small hand mirror between my legs to inspect the
plump outer lips of my freshly shaved girl parts. I couldn't remember what I
hadn't liked about seeing them this way just six or seven years earlier.
Perhaps it had just been too soon. Too new. Like a runway fashion that had
yet to find life on the streets. Regardless, something beautifully pink and
new reflected up at me now. Something extra naked.

I reached
down and coaxed the hood of my clitoris back to reveal the sensitive cargo
beneath. There was certainly no excuse for a man--any man--not finding it now
that the surrounding jungle had been cleared.

I felt like
a shiny new sports car right off the factory line, ready to be opened up on a
twisting, turning road. If only he would text. Just a few simple words.
Anything to confirm that what had happened this afternoon had, well…
happened.

I stepped
out of the tub and began drying my legs when suddenly the phone vibrated
sideways into the empty sink basin. I snatch it out and read the caller I.D.
It was a competing realtor, most likely with a counter-offer on a three-bed,
two-bath lake property upstate. He was not the man I was hoping for, but at
that sparkling moment of newfound nakedness he was, in fact, a man. I answered
without hesitation.

"This
is Lauren."

"Lauren,
Norm Larson," he revealed in a perfectly dry business voice. "I've
received that offer from the couple down in Blaine and was wondering if you'd
have a moment to go over it."

I rubbed the
towel over my damp hair.

"Yes,
that sounds exciting, Norm," I said, "I'm afraid you've caught me
fresh out of the bathtub, but if you'll give me just a second to dry
off..."

He
hesitated, then rebounded with, "My apologies, perhaps you'd like to call
back at your convenience."

"No,
it's fine," I assured him, "It's not like you can
see
me naked or anything. Just a second."

I wrapped
the towel around my hair and grabbed what was left of the wine. Strolling out
to the living room, I sat on a large ottoman. Its leather felt cool and
reassuring under my smooth, soft bottom.

"Okay,
Norm," I said, "Where are we at?"

He started
with the usual crap about hoping my client and I would keep an open mind, and
then proceeded to undercut the asking price by nearly twenty percent. I sighed
and he backpedaled, suggesting that perhaps his clients could come up a few
thousand if we rolled the antique dining room table and four-post bed into the
deal.

As he
blathered on about mortgage rates and letters of credit, I stared at a small
marble statue of a porpoise sitting on the coffee table, just within reach. It
had been a gift from my Aunt Susanne upon returning from one of her yearly
trips to Cancun. It was a cheap trinket that couldn't have cost more than $20,
but at the moment I found it more beautiful than I had previously thought
possible.

Still
listening to Norm's line of unbelievable bullshit, I plucked the porpoise from
the table and brought its smooth, bottle-shaped nose to my mouth. I made a
point of saying "Mm, hm," to Norm as I began giving Flipper a
full-body blowjob.

"Do you
think you're client would settle for three twenty-five?" he asked.

"Mmmm,"
I answered.

"What
about three twenty-eight? Now that's almost within fifteen percent of
asking," he pointed out.

"Mmm-mm,"
I replied

"Look,
Lauren, you're going to have to help me out here. We both stand to lose this
sale unless we can meet somewhere in the middle," he begged.

I removed
the dolphin from my mouth, ran it's wet nose around an unsuspecting nipple,
then introduced it to my sweet, pink pussyhole. Just the nose at first, then
the sleek, slippery body.

"Oh, my
God," I let myself say aloud.

"Now
don't get all indignant," Norm cautioned, "Let's leave the emotion to
the clients, we're paid to run the numbers."

"Jesus,
Norm," I moaned, "Where are you right now?"

The
porpoise frolicked inside me, rolling and tossing against the moist walls of
its makeshift undersea world.

"I'm at
three hundred and twenty-eight thousand, like I just said," he was
becoming frustrated, "Are you even paying attention?"

"No,"
I said, "I mean where are you physically."

He paused.

"Oh,"
he said, "I'm at home, where else?"

"Where
at home?" I asked, plunging the porpoise in right up it's dorsal fin.

"In
bed," he admitted.

I turned the
statue upside down so that it could nibble at my g-spot, arching my back to
help it along.

"And
where is your wife?" I asked with freshly gasped breath.

"She's
laying next to me asleep," he replied with a hint of curiosity,
"Why?"

I grasped
the tail of the porpoise and push down and away to give it the best possible
angle at my long lost treasure.

"Oh,
fuck," I moaned, "how does she sleep through all your bullshit?"

"She
wears earplugs," he said "But this isn't bullshit. It's a buyer's
market out there."         

The porpoise
nuzzled an open chest of priceless gold doubloons, stirring them back and forth
in the deep, warm current.

"Norm,"
I moaned, "Is your hand on your cock right now?"

"Jesus,
what is your problem?"

"Well,
since you asked, I have a porpoise sculpture in my tight, pink cunt," I
revealed without an ounce of embarrassment, "And I'd really appreciate it
if you would reciprocate by at least wrapping your hand around your own
fucktool."

He said
nothing. In fact, he actually seemed to stop breathing.

"Are
you hearing me?" I asked between gasps.

"Yes,"
he confirmed.

"Are
you stroking your cock?"

Hesitation,
then, "Yes."

"Oh
fuck!" I exclaimed in full voice, "Now this is what I call meeting in
the middle!"

The porpoise
dug deeper into the treasure chest, plucking the best coins from the pile,
one-by-one.

"How
hard is your cock?" I asked.

"Hard,"
he said.

"How
hard?" I gasped.

"Hard.
It's very hard," he explained.

"Goddammit
Norman, how hard is your fucking cock right now?!" I demanded.

"Hard
enough to fuck you with," he whispered.

"Then
fuck me, Norman, show me what a dirty girl I am," I begged, "Are you
fucking me, Norman?"

"Yes,
I'm fucking your vagina," he quietly informed me, "I mean your tight,
wet…pussy."

His
breathing intensified and I could hear the faint squeak of his bed. The
dolphin buried its head deep in the treasure chest, flipping it over on its
side and sending the coins spraying across the ocean floor.

"I'm
coming Norman," I screamed through gritted teeth, "Your making my
pussy cum with that big, fat cock of yours."

I leaned
back and pulled my legs up as waves of fresh ocean spray landed on the glass
coffee table.

"I
think I'm about to shoot it, Lauren," he whispered, "Yes, I'm going
to shoot my penis in you now."

"Your
cock," Norm, "Your fuckstick."

"I'm
going to shoot my cock in you," he said.

"Aim
for that counter-offer," I ordered.

"What?"
he said, gasping for air.

"Just
do it. I know you have it right in front of you. Plaster that pathetic offer
with your white, hot come."

"Okay,"
he said.

His
convulsions were painfully intense, yet barely audible. I imagined his
beat-red face as he quietly hummed in ecstasy even as he destroyed his own
contract. I waited for the humming to die down, becoming a single exhale.

"Feel
better, Norman?" I asked, carefully removing the porpoise from its pink
playground.

"Yes,"
he answered, sounding half asleep already.

"Good,"
I said, "Now get me a new offer by tomorrow. And do better."

"Okay,"
he whispered before the phone went dead.

When my
alarm sounded at 6 a.m. the following morning, I scrambled for the snooze
button, rolled over, and cringed. That really happened yesterday. All of
that! Had I lost my fucking mind? I was raised Catholic for Christ's sake.

As I dressed
for work, I told myself that this--whatever this was--must end today. I was
clearly in over my head. Even my sluttiest girlfriends back in college didn’t
talk about entertaining mystery men with panty fetishes or phone-fucking
married real estate agents.

There would
be no afternoon coffee break today. That much was sure.

I even
considered calling my lake property client with Norm Larson's counter-offer.
After all he was right, it
was
a buyer's
market out there. Of course that would most likely require a follow-up call to
Norm, himself, which I didn’t even want to think about.

To hell with
it, I would focus on the Robertson open house I had scheduled for three
o'clock. Just turn off my fucking mind and go buy some damn balloons. Maybe
the rest would just all go away.

As I watched
Jenny from the balloon shop fill three fat mylars, my phone rang. I fished the
still-stupid ringtone from my purse and answered it without even looking.

Shit! It
was Norm.

"Lauren
I've managed to rework that counter offer we spoke about last night," he
said, sounding all business.

I
appreciated his tone, but my mind was still on fire.

"Oh,"
I said, "Really? I mean…that's great, right? Well, I assume that's
great, I haven't heard it yet, but I really appreciate…you know what, I'll shut
up now."

He paused,
waiting for me to regain my composure.

Then he said
it, "We're offering full asking price, Lauren."

I reached
for the counter to steady myself.

"Are
you there?" he asked.

Jenny smiled
over at me to signal that she had tied off the last balloon.

"Um,
yes, I'm here," I managed, "Well that is certainly exciting
news."

"I
thought you'd like that," he said, "It seemed like a win-win, all
things considered."

I didn't
even want to think about the "things" he was considering, but the
fact is this would mean an $18,000 commission in my back pocket. Nearly double
my largest to date.

"Why?"
I started, "I mean, do you mind if I ask how they arrived at that
number?"

He chuckled,
"Well, let's just say they may have been under the impression that a big
investment banker was considering buying the place for a hunting cabin."

Jenny took
my credit card and rang me up.

"Norm,
you know you're legally bound to represent your client's best interests in all
matters pertaining to…"

"What,
you're
going to preach ethics now?" he interrupted.

It was a
good point.

"No, I
suppose not," I said.

And with
that he hung up.

Thanking
Jenny, I gathered my balloons and made for the exit.

I wasn't
sure of Norm's intentions, but I did know this: I was going to that coffee shop
at precisely 1:30, as ordered. I guess I felt like I had earned a little fun
after landing my record-breaking sale. And for some reason having a terribly
beautiful stranger use me for his personal entertainment seemed like just the
thing.

I raced over
to the Rasmussen house to do some pre-staging before that afternoon's open
house. Placing three signs, each with a balloon, on nearby cross-streets.
Setting out cookies and punch. Making sure there were plenty of flyers
strategically placed around the property. Running a rag over countertops and
light fixtures. I completed it all in record time.

Now the only
thing left was to practice.

I walked
into the master bedroom, removed my panties, and sat on the corner of the bed
facing a large wall mirror. Aiming my knees directly at the mirror, I slowly
parted my legs and watched as my pinkness first came into view, then actually
managed to part itself just enough to show off its glistening inner lips.

I tried
again, even slower this time, imagining its effect on my daring admirer. Would
he prefer the slow reveal, or the quick, playful glimpse? Should I pretend to
be reading something? Drinking my frothy cappuccino? Or--assuming I was
capable--staring into the depths of those two bottomless green pools where his
eyes belonged?

I reached
down with a middle finger and lightly stroked the outer lips, watching as moist
droplets came to the surface then slowly descended along the seam of my cunt.
My pink, perfect cunt. Why was I suddenly using
that
word? Women--particularly professional women--were
supposed to
hate
that word. But
for some reason "pussy" just didn't seem to fit anymore. Pussies had
hair. Pussies wore panties and didn't take orders from naughty strangers. No,
I was definitely looking at a warm, wet cunt. The same one he'd be looking at
in just…holy shit...fifteen minutes!

I jumped up,
straightened out my skirt, locked the front door and raced for the car.

Traffic was
backed up on I-405 but I still managed to arrive with three minutes to spare.
I used the time to freshen up my face in the rearview mirror, then waited an
extra two minutes which was as "fashionably late" as I could stand to
be.

As I
approached the coffeehouse entrance, I felt like I was leaving a dotted trial
of girl juice on the hot sidewalk behind me. I paused for a moment, preparing
myself for his soul-stealing gaze, then reached out and twisted the knob. My
eyes eagerly launched themselves across the room to the table where he'd been
seated just twenty-four hours earlier. And there to my complete amazement
sat…Randy from Sunset RV Sales.