Referrals

Author's Note: Like I mentioned in my April plans, the Reader poll for March on what I should write next was a tie. I'm going to try -- if I can -- to do both. This one was the easier story of the two, so I tackled it first. Enjoy! 

---

I got to the property a few minutes early.

I was, admittedly, a little surprised. It looked better than the listing photos had advertised, way better. The lighting had been bad the day those photos had been taken, and the front of the little two-story Craftsman home was picturesque. White picket fence and everything. Great curb appeal. The whole block was adorable, really.

I made a few notes while I kept one eye on the street for cars turning onto the block. I hadn't met my client yet, not in person; we'd only talked briefly on the phone. One of her friends had recommended me.

I smiled with satisfaction at that. Referrals to me from a friend always meant one of two things: an easy commission, or an easy lay.

I'd be fine with either.

I stopped the train of thought and shifted my focus as a luxury SUV pulled around the corner and slowed to a stop in front of the house, parking behind my car.

"Daniel?" A feminine voice, from the driver's side.

"That's me," I said, cheerfully. "You must be Amanda?"

The woman came around to the street side and into view. I gave her a brief -- though thorough -- once-over.

My latest client was a knockout. Among the hottest in my relatively brief career selling houses. She was petite, compact, a fit little body. Long blonde hair, tan skin. Fresh set of nails. It was the middle of the day on a Thursday and she was wearing upscale sneakers, leggings, and a light hoodie.

Everything about Amanda screamed stay-at-home trophy wife...except, I couldn't help but notice, the absence of a giant diamond ring on her finger. The finger was bare, but with a tan line where there ought to be an expensive rock. Telling.

She flashed me a picture-perfect smile; she even had the symmetrical white teeth that are exclusively the result of expensive dental care. "That's right. It's so nice to meet you in person. Thanks for helping me out on such short notice!"

"No problem, Ms. Reynolds." I gave her my polite, professional realtor's grin; I'd found that it tended to be best to play it cool, until I got a better sense of the client.

She laughed. "Oh, it's back to Ms. Williams now, actually. As of last week. But just call me Amanda, please. Having young men like you call me Ms. Anything makes me feel about a thousand years old."

A recent divorcee. Well, she seemed in good spirits -- she must've done well in the split. That was encouraging for my commission...and her good humor was encouraging for my shot at getting laid. This was shaping up to be a very good referral.

"Fair enough, Amanda ." Her looks had me half-tempted to reply with some flirting, but I tamped down that impulse. Too early in the showing, I didn't know enough, didn't need to screw up a potential sale, if that's all this was. "So -- what do you think, at first glance?"

She was looking at the exterior of the house. "It's...cute, I think. But this is my first time shopping for a home, and I don't really know what to look for. What do you think?" She said it hesitantly, biting her lip as she looked up at me in a way that made her look vulnerable, feminine.

I liked the deference, the way that she was letting me take the lead. Another good sign. "Well, let's start with the neighborhood. You know the area well?"

"Kind of? It's supposed to be nice, right? Quiet? We've, um, lived across town for the last ten or fifteen years or so..." She said all of this uncertainly.

I nodded sagely. "Yep, that's right. It is quieter -- a lot of older folks, some families. All that new development is slowly coming this way, it's not here yet, so it still looks a lot like the way it used to fifteen years ago..." I rattled off some details about home prices in the area, the average square footage of houses, how this neighborhood compared to some of the others nearby, that sort of thing.

"Now," I said, finishing up, "A lot of clients like to just take a few minutes with the exterior. Focus on the stuff that's harder and more expensive to replace; you can repaint the house if you don't like the color. But getting rid of the porch is more complicated -- do you like it? What do you think of the fence? Think about those kind of details."

She bobbed her head in agreement, obviously grateful for some direction. I watched as she moved around the front of the house, looking at the porch, the swing-chair. Her leggings and hoodie clung to the rounded curves of a woman who kept herself in great shape.

As I always did, I was thinking about the commission I'd make on this home. She hadn't come through the brokerage -- she'd reached out directly. It meant that the check I'd get if I got her to buy would be significant.

I watched the way her breasts, firm and round, shifted under that hoodie as she leaned over to peer at the corner of the porch, where there was what might've been a little water damage developing.

I moved up next to her. "You know, I'm realizing I never asked: who referred you to me?"

She glanced up at me. "Oh. It was Shelley. Shelley Whittaker. I don't know her that well, but I saw her at a party last weekend. She said you were so patient and helpful, took her to so many houses before she found the right one. I know how picky she can be, so if she was satisfied, I'm sure you'll be able to help me get what I want." She gave me that perfect smile again.

Amanda's face was completely guileless; no flirtatious energy at all.

"Oh, I didn't think Shelley was that hard to please. She just knew what she wanted," I said, jovially.

This was best-case-scenario. Referrals from Shelley always were.

She had been one of my first clients; I'd gotten lucky. She had been in her mid 40s. Mother of three. Happily married, although clearly the spark in the bedroom had waned, considerably. Upper-middle-class, with a wide circle of friends. An ideal early client, really.

Like Amanda said, Shelley had indeed been picky, demanding, a list of specific criteria for what she wanted in a house that just kept getting longer with each home I showed her. We'd been to two dozen houses over the course of the summer before we found her new home and I'd made my commission.

We'd only fucked in, oh...ten of the houses we saw together, I'd say. Maybe fifteen. The logistics of it didn't always work out to make that convenient.

But it had made for a very fun first summer selling houses.

Shelley had found a great home for her and her family. I'd made a fat commission. We'd had some spectacular sex. And at the end of it all, she'd asked me if I was interested in helping some of her friends out, who she thought might have similar needs.

Shelley had been clear about how this would work: discretion and satisfaction was the name of the game. If I breathed a word of it to anybody, or I started pissing off her friends, she'd ruin me, professionally and personally. If I delivered, she'd make sure to send friends my way.

And she'd been as good as her word. She had, quietly and occasionally, every month or two -- referred friends to me who were househunting.

They were all cut from the same cloth: well-to-do wives, most of them stay at home moms. The kind who ran the household while their husbands worked big, important jobs in finance, or health care consulting, corporate sales, that sort of thing.

The kind of women who would look at a bunch of houses on their own, only bringing their husband to their final, top choice.

Many of them also happened to be going through a breakup, or a divorce, or just a rough patch in their relationship. There had even been one woman who was getting married, looking for a home to move into with her soon-to-be husband.

I didn't fuck all of them. But I fucked a lot of them. I was tall, boyishly handsome, I talked a good game, and I was horny as hell. Perhaps most importantly, I didn't have any strings attached and didn't want any. The transient nature of the transaction -- you bought a home every five or ten years, not once a quarter -- meant that I saw these women for a few months apiece and never again.

I liked it that way. So did a lot of them, evidently.

So Amanda was just the latest in a long string of referrals from Shelley. Both my real estate business -- and my sex life -- were built on referrals just like this one, and I was looking forward to closing yet another.

I pulled my attention back to the moment, to Amanda. "You know, I ought to start giving Shelley a referral bonus, the number of her friends she sends my way," I quipped.

Amanda laughed, easily. "She must've been happy with the house she got, huh? Anyway...what do you think of this?" She gestured at the corner, the porch floor with the water damage.

I decided to start testing the waters.

I moved over to inspect it, probing the wood, running my hands along the nearby railing, reaching up to see if the trim had any wood rot. "Definitely some moisture damage," I noted. "And look, see here?" I leaned out over the porch railing to look up at the roof line, indicating for Amanda to join me.

She did, leaning out over the railing as well. It was harder for her, awkward because of how much shorter she was than me, but she leaned out and craned her neck up, looking at the roof line.

I put my hand on the small of her back, as if I was steadying her. "See the gutter, there? It looks like it's not leveled properly. Water's spilling over, splashing up onto the porch...which probably also isn't leveled properly. So the porch is getting wet and staying wet, you know?"

She didn't shy away from my touch. If anything, she leaned into it.

Maybe just for balance. Maybe.

"Huh. Yeah, I see what you mean," Amanda said, peering at it. "A big problem?"

"The gutter isn't, no. A competent handyman could fix that in an hour. Heck, if you buy this house, I'll level your gutters as a housewarming present."

Her waist was small under my hand. She was so compact, it was easy to imagine just how physical I'd be able to get with her. I was starting to look forward to that more than the potential sale, now.

"The porch not being leveled appropriately is more of a problem, a harder fix...but honestly, with the gutter leveled, I wouldn't worry about it too much." I gave her a reassuring smile.

She laughed. "Okay, but if I buy this house and my porch is getting wet, you're the first one I'm calling to complain."

Was there was a hint of flirtiness in her tone, now? Could be. Divorced a week ago, just starting to remind herself that she was still desirable, had a future, a life outside of her marriage...and here I was. Available. Ready and willing.

God, I loved my job.

"Happy to help you with any moisture issues," I said, earnestly.

I paused, and then decided to reset things. The steps of this particular dance, escalating as I showed a home, then backing off a little, only to escalate again, was all-too-familiar to me. "Well, that's the exterior. Let's get inside."

---

"Wow. You know a lot about the area. You grew up here?" Amanda sounded impressed.

We had just finished talking about the location a bit more -- the closest grocery store, the neighborhood restaurants, the nearby community pool, and the like, as we looked over the entryway, the living room and fireplace.

I nodded. "Yeah, lived here my whole life. Went to high school a few miles away, went away to play football at college, got my real estate license, came back to sell houses here." I smiled at her. "Only been doing it a year or two, admittedly. But it keeps me busy. Still trying to get the business established, you know." She seemed like someone who'd like my young-handsome-and-hustling routine; a lot of Shelley's friends had.

It did seem to land; she gave me an admiring glance. "Well, good for you. I didn't realize you were just out of college. You seem so mature for your age, even though you must be about as old as my son. He graduated a few years ago, too. He went to high school just down the road. Masonville High."

I blinked. "Really? That's where I went. What was his name?" She didn't seem old enough to have a son my age, but if she'd had kids young, maybe...

"Craig. Craig Reynolds."

I immediately recognized the name, and the rail-thin, pimply highschooler it had been attached to. I cursed myself for not making the connection already based on her married surname.

Craig had been an oddball, a bit of a goof; a year younger than me. Geeky kid.

Not well-liked; not many friends.

Not popular with the ladies. As awkward socially as he had been physically.

Easy pickings, in other words, for me and some of my football buddies. We hadn't been too mean about it, I thought. He had just been so annoying. Really smart, great grades. We had to made sure he knew that he was at the bottom of the totem pole, knew his place.

"Hmm, it rings a bell, yeah...he was on the debate team, right?" I kept my voice even, neutral.

Amanda nodded. "Yeah. He had a tough time in high school, to be honest; he got bullied a lot."

I gave a sympathetic but noncommittal sound. Aw, poor Craig.

But then she smiled with pride. "He's really found his footing since then, though. He got a full scholarship to MIT. Now he's founded some tech startup; some kind of top-secret security clearance thing, using AI. They've already got a Department of Defense contract, and the Department of State is talking to them too."

I recalled making fun of him when he'd gotten in to MIT. I, on the other hand, had gone to our state school; the football scholarships I'd hoped to get elsewhere just hadn't worked out.

I went from feeling sorry for Craig to being jealous of him in the space of a single heartbeat. But I tried not to show it. "Hey, that's great. Good for him."

Knowing who Amanda was ignited something in me. Now I really wanted to fuck this woman.

Screw the sale. Craig had been an annoying little shit, too smart for his own good. The knowledge that I had a shot at fucking his mom was suddenly the only thing I cared about. It was a matter of pride, now.

I watched as she bent over to inspect the fireplace, looking at the masonry. That little waist I'd had my hand on earlier flared out into a round peach of an ass -- not big, by any means, but pert with shape to it, a little extra cushion.

"Daniel, does this look weird to you?" She said the words uncertainly. She was looking up into the chimney, now.

My eyes were still on her butt. "Everything looks really good from over here, but I should take a closer look," I said. I lowered my voice, but tried to keep it from being too suggestive. I set myself next to her to have a better angle, looking up into the chimney to see what she was looking at.

"See...there -- is it supposed to look like that?" Her face was only a few inches from mine, now. She reached up, pointing, and her hand brushed along my arm.

I felt my cock stir at our closeness. Time to amp things up a little bit. "Oh, yeah. That's just the liner. You need to replace them now and then, but this is in good shape, actually. They did a good job. It's suppose to be a really, really tight fit."

"Oh, great. Glad you think it looks good." She smiled at me, from a few inches away.

I held her gaze, letting the tension build for a moment before pulling away myself, hiding my own smile. "Shall we take a look at the kitchen next?"

I was going to fuck Craig's mom.

I was sure of it.

---

"So, you mentioned your divorce...and Craig's obviously older now, I don't recall him having any siblings...are you only home shopping for yourself, or will anyone else be living with you?"

She nodded, closed the cabinets she'd been looking in. "Yeah, that's right, it'll just be me. Except when Craig comes home to visit, of course. He's so busy, but he makes it back here now and then."

"Busy, of course," I echoed.

He was probably making crazy money.

But I was the one here flirting with his mom. I pictured her, hot little body writhing underneath mine, moaning my name.

Maybe I could fuck her in Craig's future bedroom.

She was inspecting the refrigerator, now. "Hey, this is brand new!"

I pulled myself out of the fantasy I was rapidly constructing, and glanced at the fridge. "Yeah, it looks nice. This whole kitchen is pretty nice, actually; they've really invested in it. Do you like to entertain?" I was happy to go through the motions of showing her the house if that's what she wanted, but I didn't about the sale care anymore.

I could feel the tension building between us.

She turned to me, smiling. "Oh, I used to, all the time. We threw birthday parties for Craig when he was younger. And we'd host Ron's holiday parties in our home, you know, back when his firm was smaller. Before he got consumed by work, you know. But I haven't done anything like that in a while." The smile faded.

"Both father and son are workaholics, huh? The drive must run in the family." I said it evenly -- no teasing in my voice, nothing to suggest I was being critical. No reason to be critical. "It sounds like a new home might be a chance for you to get back to having some fun, the things you enjoy."

"Yeah, exactly," she enthused. "This kitchen is so big..." She walked over to the kitchen island. She stretched an arm up, examining one of the hanging light fixtures. "I thought about getting an apartment, but...well. I've always lived in a house. I worry about being too cramped, you know?"

I watched the lines of her body extend, the clean taper of her shoulders down to her waist, the way she had to stand on her tiptoes to reach the light fixture. It was easy to imagine railing her up against the island.

I rerouted my thoughts. Don't get ahead of yourself, Danny. "So if you don't like this one, we should look at some bigger houses together, huh?"

She nodded, vehemently. "Exactly. I've always imagined having a big yard, a pool...big deck..."

I held up my hands, jokingly, as if I was overwhelmed. "Next you'll be telling me you want your own basketball court."

She giggled, and gave me a flirty little smile. "Well, only if it's got a pool too, Daniel."

I laughed. "Well, this place doesn't have a pool, but let's take a look at the deck, see if it's big enough for your standards..." I put one hand on the small of her back again, gesturing out the kitchen's back door.

It was admittedly now difficult not to get ahead of myself, as I stood behind her, looking down at her ponytail grazing the nape of her neck, her butt in those leggings.

"Big enough for you?" I murmured the words, practically in her ear, but not quite.

"Yeah, it does look nice," she said, shyly. She didn't look at me, was looking out the window at what was -- admittedly -- a pretty nice-looking deck.

I took a half-step closer. I was right behind her, now. "It sounds to me like a fresh start is is going to be really good for you," I murmured.

"It has been stressful, with the divorce and everything," she agreed, softly, still staring out the window. "It's been especially hard on Craig, you know. Since he's not at home anymore. Stuck in Boston running that start-up while his father and I disentangle our lives."

The mention of Craig's success in this moment rankled me, but I tried to stay calm. "It's been hard on you, too, though," I encouraged, gently. "You can't always think of other people. What about what Amanda needs?"

She let out a soft little sigh. "I don't even know what I want anymore..."

"Well, I'll help you figure that out." My mouth was an inch or so from her ear, and as I spoke, I leaned in and kissed her, right on the neck.

She inhaled, sharply. Her body was taut, almost trembling. This was my favorite moment of the whole process, if I was honest. Well, maybe not my favorite, but pretty close.

Most of these women -- whether they were single or married, had kids or not -- didn't think of themselves as the types to fuck their handsome young realtor.

Which made the moment when they gave in to what their body wanted an absolutely incredible ego trip for me.

"Daniel, I-I shouldn't...the divorce was just last week...and you're young enough to be my son..." But there wasn't conviction behind any of the words.

I had known there wouldn't be.

"Call me Danny," I murmured, into her neck. "And if you don't want to, we don't have to...but I bet I could help you relax..."

And then her body tensed. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her brow furrow. "Wait...Danny?"

That was not the usual reaction I got.

"Yeah, it's what my friends call me..."

Too late, I realized my mistake. 

My business cards said Daniel on them, but Danny was what my friends called me, these days.

Back in high school, though, everyone had called me Danny.

"Danny who went to Masonville High?" I could see the realization dawning on her face. "Oh, my god. You were lying earlier. You do know Craig. You don't just know him, you...you fucking tormented him. For years." The friendly, flirtatious rapport we had built dissolved in an instant.

"I mean, I told you, I..." But I trailed off. I hadn't expected this, was utterly unprepared to watch my shot at getting laid today going up in smoke.

Her mouth twisted with disgust. "Gross. I'm getting the fuck out of here." She pushed past me, started walking away.

"You're just embarrassed that you were about to fuck your son's bully." I grunted the words out, annoyed at the lost opportunity.

She whirled around, glaring at me. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." I met her gaze, blandly. Admittedly, while I felt a little off-balance -- I had some shame -- I didn't feel especially intimidated. I had more than a foot of height and a hundred pounds on her.

She paused. "Whatever. You look good, Danny. But you sound like the same self-centered, egotistical prick you probably were in high school when you were picking on my son."

"Oh, I assure you, I've grown since high school." I smiled, looking down at her.

She scoffed. "God, I should've seen this coming. Of course the first guy to take a run at me post-divorce is a piece of shit who never grew up from giving kids wedgies in the locker room." She still sounded furious.

The fact that she was still here was starting to encourage me, though. My smile broadened. "Oh, I'm much more adult than that, now. You can ask Shelley."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure you really rocked Shelley's world. It wouldn't take much; her marriage has been dead for years and everyone knows it."

I folded my arms, confident. "Then ask some of her other friends. I've converted more than a few skeptics. I'm told I've got a lot to give. Very mature for my age."

She shuddered. "Ugh. You would have gotten off on it, wouldn't you? That I'm Craig's mom. You're disgusting."

I didn't bother denying it. 

But, curiously, she didn't move to go. She was sizing me up, more thoughtfully now. "You know, you seem like a really shitty guy, Danny."

I shrugged. "So you keep saying. Are you going? Or do you want me to keep showing you the house? Still want a closer look at the deck?"

She shook her head, slowly.

I raised an eyebrow. I wondered what she was thinking, why she was still here.

Maybe she liked the idea of being dominated by her son's bully.

That thought excited me.

No such luck, though.

"You seem like the kind of guy who deserves to have his career ruined," she said, flatly.

I laughed. "Do I? And that's what you want to do? How?"

She paused, obviously mulling over the possibilities, before landing on one. "How about...a wager?" She sounded determined.

"I'm listening." I didn't know where this was going, but it was a lot better than her walking away.

"You're so confident you'd rock my world..." she hesitated, as if thinking better of it, but then plowed ahead, bullishly. "So let's do it. But if I can get you off before you get me off...then you have to let me call Shelley from your phone. Tell her how terrible you are, how embarrassing your performance was. You've gotta agree with me. You have to ask her directly not to send you any more clients."

Well. That would be embarrassing. Worse than embarrassing, it'd screw up my meal ticket. My arrangement with Shelley hinged on exclusively happy referrals. Shelley knew everybody. Even one person raising a stink would be the end of referrals from her, might make her badmouth me instead. It would indeed, ruin my career; I'd probably need to do real estate somewhere else.

But I barely even considered how bad it would be.

I was quite confident it wouldn't happen, and I already knew what I was going to respond with.

"Okay. But if I win..." I couldn't help the shit-eating grin that was forming on my face. "...then we're calling Craig from your phone. I'm telling him all about how mommy has a new boyfriend named Danny. And you have to tell him how you knew I was his bully back in the day, but that you just couldn't help yourself, you did it anyway..."

I watched the revulsion spread across her face as she thought about that.

If I was honest with myself, I didn't think she'd take the bet.

I didn't care. If she walked out of here now, it would be almost as satisfying as actually fucking her.

It would mean that Craig's mom had wanted to fuck me. And then, once she realized who I was, had wanted to embarrass me. But that she had to back down, because she knew I'd get her off, knew she'd end up having to call her son.

The glee I felt, knowing she was going to walk out of here thinking about--

"Deal. But we're recording this, on my phone, so I've got proof if I win. I don't trust you at all."

I was so taken aback by her agreement that I just stood openmouthed for a moment.

"Aw, is the big guy camera shy?" Her tone was mocking.

"Hardly." I gathered my wits about me. "So...want to do it here? I've been thinking about fucking you on the kitchen island this whole time anyway. It's the perfect height."

She grimaced with distaste, but she looked around the room. "You know what? Sure. The sooner we're done with this, the better." She pulled out her phone and set it up on one of the counters, so it had a view of the room, fiddling with it to get it started recording.

She had us each restate the terms of the bet, and that we agreed to the terms. I was watching her as I said that I agreed to her terms if she won, and that if I won, she was going to call Craig.

I couldn't stop the huge smile on my face when she agreed. God, this was going to be satisfying.

I wondered if I could fuck her well enough that she'd give me the video to keep afterwards.

Maybe. I stopped that train of thought. "Well, how do you want to start, Amanda?"

"I'll go down on you." She looked determined.

I shrugged. "That sounds great."

I'd have preferred to get straight to the fucking, if I was honest. But I wasn't going to turn down Craig's mom going down on me.

She knelt in front of me, working to undo my belt buckle. "You're an egotistical, self-centered asshole. Your shitty attitude is probably overcompensating for...a...small..."

"...A small what?" I was smug. Halfway through her last sentence, she'd trailed off, but my cock had come into view.

Admittedly, I wasn't fully hard yet. I think my body was still catching up from the whiplash of the last few minutes, hadn't yet come to grips with the fact that I was going to get to fuck Amanda after all. But even at half mast, I was a big guy.

Amanda was staring, wide-eyed and silent.

"Bigger than Craig's dad?" I was honestly curious.

"I'm not going to answer that," she said. Her voice was a little vacant and she didn't look up at me, just stared at my thick cock.

"That is kind of an answer though, isn't it?" I noted, an evil grin on my face.

She looked up at me, her expression sour. "It's big, yeah." She reached out, tentatively, and wrapped one petite hand around it. Her fingers could only barely touch. We both stared at that, for a moment.

All this had me getting harder by the second. "It's okay to be thinking about what it's going to feel like inside you," I whispered. Looking down at her, so clearly intimidated by my size, I felt amused, in control, on top of the world.

She scowled, brought another hand to my cock, and started massaging my length -- not so much stroking me, as I wasn't lubricated at all, just running her hands along my thick shaft. One lingered near the base, the other traveled along the shaft.

I let out a grunt of pleasure. Her hands felt good. She looked up at me as I made the sound, and said, venomously, "I cannot wait until you blow your load and your shitty career."

I opened my mouth to respond, just as she lowered her mouth to my cock.

I ended up just letting out a groan instead of words as I felt her lips slide over my bulbous tip.

I was thick enough to be stretching her mouth open. But in spite of my size, she didn't graze me with her teeth, as sometimes happened. While she couldn't get much more than the head in her mouth, she was drooling aggressively, and -- in a few brief seconds -- had lubricated my entire length.

She pulled her mouth off me for a brief moment.

Now her hands were stroking me in earnest, jacking me off. And -- as she began to do that, she started aggressively sucking on the tip with her mouth.

She was very good. Everything was happening in unison: a twisting, pumping motion with both hands, and a swirling, suckling motion with her lips and tongue.

Looking down at her -- Craig's mom, makeup getting mussed, out of breath from sucking on my big dick -- I have to admit, I felt really, really turned on. This was way hotter than the blowjobs I usually got.

I mean, I wasn't going to cum from this. Obviously.

But it was enough to make me feel like she was a little too in control, and I didn't like that much. "Is that really as much of me as you can get in your mouth?" I said it smugly.

She glared up at me, and pulled her mouth off me. "Typical. You're one of those guys who thinks the best blowjobs involve jamming your dick down somebody's throat."

As she pulled her mouth off me, one of her hands shifted up so that it was stroking up and down my head and the sensitive spot where my glans and shaft met, working it quickly.

Instead of responding, to my embarrassment, I writhed. The sensation was completely overwhelming, too much to handle.

"But the truth of the matter is that really good blowjobs have more technique to them than just choking on a cock. Hands and mouth, working together." The hand that had been on my glans traveled down, and started gently but thoroughly massaging my balls, while her other hand steadily pumped my length.

The contrast to the previous sensation was exquisite. "Y-yeah, you really know what you're doing," I said, fighting to regain my composure.

She looked up at me sardonically. "Oh, I know I do. Gotta be honest though, Danny, most guys handle this better than you are. I guess size isn't everything."

Bitch.

I needed to get her hands off my cock so I could think straight.

Fortunately, though, I was a lot bigger than her.

So I leaned forward, wrapped my hands around her waist, and set her on the kitchen island.

Towering in front of her, I said, "It's not everything, but it counts for something."

I took some satisfaction in how intimidated she looked, how small and vulnerable, set there on the kitchen island in front of me, dwarfed by my much larger frame.

And then I unzipped her hoodie, staring at the way the tank top underneath hugged her body. At the way her nipples were poking out through the fabric. I stepped closer, leaned forward. "Did you like sucking on my big dick?"

I didn't bother to let her respond; I was determined to keep the initiative. I looped one arm around her waist and lifted her up, and -- with my other hand -- I stripped her leggings down off her body in one smooth movement, setting her back down, bottomless, on the kitchen island.

She gasped. It was, I hoped, not just a surprised gasp, but an aroused gasp.

I was staring down at her thighs -- smooth, all lean muscle and flawless tan skin, a dusting of blonde stubble where her legs met.

Then I leaned forward again. "It would be really something if you were wet, wouldn't it?" I murmured, right in her ear. "I mean, wet for your son's bully..."

I slipped a hand between her thighs. She moaned at my touch. The woman wasn't just wet, she was soaked.

Was this the most satisfying moment in my life? Yeah, maybe. Fuck you, Craig.

The fantasy soured a moment later, though. "Y-yeah," she managed. "I'm wet thinking about ruining your fucking career."

I didn't believe her, but it was irritating enough that she wasn't lost in arousal the way I had hoped.

"Yeah, well, that's not gonna happen," I mumbled. To be honest, I was only half-listening to her anyway. My cock was so hard, and the contrast -- my big, thick cock jutting out prominently between her thighs, her tight little tan body, naked from the waist down -- was captivating. I adjusted her position, putting her right on the edge of the kitchen island, lining up my cock.

She was watching me do it, an odd look of focus on her face. "I'm pretty tight," she murmured. "Go slow, okay?"

"I'll be gentle," I assured her. I slowly started to push into her.

God, she was tight. I could feel her giving around me, yielding, but the way she was gripping the head of my cock, the first inch or two of my shaft, was intense. I grunted, pausing and taking a moment to adjust to the sensation.

"I said to go slow, not to be gentle." Meeting my gaze evenly, she put her hands on the back of my neck, surprisingly firmly and, using that as leverage, sank herself further onto my cock. "A-aaah--" She let out a little piercing wail as she impaled herself on me.

I was too preoccupied to gloat over the sound. I could not believe how tightly her pussy was gripping my length. "Fuck," I gritted out. Still grappling with the sensation of her little pussy around me, I put my hands on that trim little waist -- my fingers almost touched, encircling her completely.

"Yeah, I thought that was the idea," Amanda taunted. She sounded a little breathless, but her mouth had a wry smile on it. "But you're being so gentle."

Bitch.

I kept one hand on her waist, moved my other hand up to her throat, and started fucking her in earnest, then.

For the next thirty seconds, neither of us said a word. Our eyes were locked on each other as I silently thrust into her. The only sounds were the slap of my hips against her, and the wet, tight squelch as I fucked into her, repeatedly, hard and fast.

The tension between us was palpable. One of us was going to break the silence, and neither of us wanted to be the first one to do it.

She was breathing hard, panting with each thrust. I took some gratification in that. I wasn't out of breath...but I was grappling with something else entirely.

She was just so tight. I couldn't get over it. With each thrust, I could feel her giving my length a smooth, silky, luxurious little clench. I had never felt anything like it. I started anticipating it more than the thrusting itself: the sensation of bottoming out in her, filling her, the way she wrapped tightly around me, the moment when I could feel her squeezing around my thick length. Every thrust became a way to get that sensation, again.

And Amanda's compact little body in my hands was just the icing on the cake. I could feel her taut abs under the thumb of my hand around her waist, the muscle at her collarbone flexing against my fingers with each movement.

I was fucking Craig's fit, tight little mom.

I felt on top of the world for a moment...

...But it was getting me off faster than I wanted, I realized, with a sinking feeling. There was an urgency to my thrusting, now. I could feel the familiar need rising in my balls already.

I slowed down. I'd switch positions, fuck her from behind for a bit.

Well, she broke the silence first, but not the way I had wanted. "About to cum, huh?" She was gasping for air, but sounded amused. "Time to switch positions...maybe think of baseball..."

I paused, my face flushing. "Nah, I just..."

She cut me off. "Of course, if you're switching positions every thirty seconds, it's going to be tough to get me off...I need more than that..." she pouted.

"Shut up, I can keep going," I snarled at her. I thrust back into her, redoubling my efforts.

"We'll see, won't we," she whispered, as I resumed.

I groaned with the pleasure of each thrust. I could hear my own frustration in it. She felt so good around me. I was going to have to stop, soon --

"Oh, fuck," she whispered, studying my face. "This does feel good. If you can keep going, maybe you will make me cum..."

Dimly, in the back of my mind, it registered that she looked a little more in control, a little more detached, than some of Shelley and her friends did, when they said similar things. But I wasn't sure, and the words were familiar enough that I only slowed instead of stopping entirely.

"No, don't slow down Danny, don't you want to make me cum? Keep going."

I kept the slow pace, trying to give her more without cumming myself, without losing the bet.

"Don't stop," she whispered.

She did sound close. And my pride wouldn't let me stop, now. I gave her a few more thrusts, hoping she'd cum.

She didn't. Just stared up at me, mouth open, pleading expression on her face.

I was right on the edge. I gave her another thrust. Still nothing, just that pleading look.

Then another. Nothing.

And I had to stop, then. Each time I thrust all the way into her, there was that little clench around me. I knew even one more would tip me over the edge.

Shit.

I pulled away, out of her. "C'mon, I want to fuck you from behind," I said. Even I could hear that I sounded a little sheepish, embarrassed.

She eyed me. But she turned around obediently enough. And the break was working; with every second that went by I could feel the orgasm receding, felt more in control of myself.

I took a few breaths, looking down at her smooth, round, peach of an ass. She looked back at me and wiggled it a little bit, enticingly.

"C'mon, start again. Breaks this long are gonna make it tough for me to finish." She was amused, and I could see a spark of something in her gaze -- triumph, maybe.

It was infuriating. I spanked her -- not too hard, but enough that I hoped it would sting. She let out a hiss of breath. I lined up to enter her again.

"You know, you asked about Craig's dad, earlier," she whispered. "And it's true, you are bigger than him."

This was more like it. "Yeah? You like it?" I grinned as I put my hands on her ass, spreading it, and entered her.

"Mmm, it's nice," she moaned out, as I slid back inside her. I felt her clench around me again, on the word nice.

"But Ron used to fuck me for a lot longer than you did, just now." I could hear the sly smile in her voice even though she was facing away from me.

"Shut up," I muttered. I started fucking her.

"He'd -- ah -- never stop when I -- ah -- was getting close --" she managed to get out. Every thrust prompted a moan or grunt from her, and a little clench around my thick length.

Well, that me furious, but there was a sense of frustration there, too. Once again, I felt it rapidly speeding me towards an orgasm, and I was starting much closer to one. Staring down at her tanned ass -- which had a little, satisfying bounce with each thrust I gave her -- wasn't helping either. After only a few thrusts, I slowed down again, trying not to send myself over the edge.

Amanda twisted, to look me in the eye. "Craig's dad would just pound my little pussy over and over for as long as it took," she whispered. "He'd only stop after I finished cumming all over his cock. I thought that was what you were going to do, Danny."

I pulled away again. I had to. I couldn't believe this was happening. But being inside her just felt so good. None of the other women I'd fucked had prepared me for this.

"But you can't, can you?" She looked delighted. She turned around and knelt in front of me again. As she reached out for my cock, I backed away. I was still too close.

She laughed. "Mmm, this is going to make for great footage to send to Shelley, isn't it? Should I just chase you around the kitchen island?" Amanda murmured the words out.

That stopped me in my tracks. I glanced over at her phone, still recording, imagining it showing me essentially fleeing from Amanda to keep from cumming.

God, what a bitch.

Face bright red, I turned towards her, reluctantly. I'd let her use her hands for a bit, get my wits back about me.

That plan began to evaporate as soon as her hands touched me. My cock was slick, wet. And she brought both her hands to my shaft, wrapped them around me, and started pumping my length.

"You know, it's not really your fault some guys peak in high school," she murmured. Her hands were moving steadily, smoothly.

"Sh-shut up," I muttered, again. I was trying to ignore the way her fingers felt, the sensation of my orgasm looming closer and closer. "You can do this for a bit, and then let's get back to..." I trailed off into a moan as she sped up.

Her hands were moving rapidly, now, jacking me off in earnest. "Oh, no, I don't think so," she said, innocently. "I want to do this for a little while. I mean, you're not going to cum just from a handjob, would you? That would be something a teenager would do, and you said how much you've grown since high school..."

I groaned. I was doing my best to hold back, but I knew it was only a matter of time. I glanced at her recording phone, worriedly -- I wasn't sure what to do, if I stopped her, it would be obvious I couldn't control myself...

"Maybe I'll let Craig know I ran into you," she murmured. "He probably doesn't really remember you; he's been so busy with work that I imagine high school feels like it was a million years ago, to him. But I can tell him how you haven't changed one bit. Kind of sad, really..."

She glanced up at me, derision in her eyes. It infuriated me. I opened my mouth to reply, but I could feel myself cresting over the edge, the sensation of her fast, tight grip finally overwhelming me, ensuring there wasn't a way to hold back, now.

And she could tell. She gave me a look that was all triumphant, smug, satisfaction. "I'll have to tell him how it seemed like you were really struggling with your real estate business...that apparently the referrals were drying up..."

At her words, the consequences of what was about to happen abruptly came flooding back to me. I struggled a moment longer to hold back, to try to keep it from happening, but it was no use. "Fuck, no -- fuck -- I'm -- fuck --" I muttered the words out, brokenly.

In the last second, before the orgasm overwhelmed me, I heard her snort with amusement. "Let's make sure you don't make a mess all over this nice clean kitchen," she said, with a laugh."

And she angled my cock upwards.

The result was that when I came, I exploded all over myself. The embarrassment I felt at her dominance of me was made ten times worse when, with my cock pointed upward, some of the first spray of cum hit my chin.

"Guess I win, huh?" She let out another peal of laughter.

She had stopped pumping me, and I groaned in frustration at the lack of sensation, the orgasm ruined. But my cock kept going, twitching and throbbing the rest of my load out over the dress shirt I was still wearing.

I wiped my chin and stared down at the mess I'd made of my shirt in disbelief.

And then I heard her say, "Aw, sorry, Danny." She'd picked up her phone, was holding it to pan over me before she stopped the recording.

Jesus.

I absentmindedly watched her legs flex as she pulled on those leggings, the reality of the humiliating situation slowly sinking in.

I was still staring at her like an idiot when she finished dressing.

"I don't think I'll buy the house, Danny. It's big, and the deck's nice...but I don't think it's got the kind of personality I want, you know?"

I had nothing to say. She smiled up at me, brightly, was silent for a beat as well.

"So. We're calling Shelley from your phone, right? Or should I just send her the video? It's pretty self-explanatory, I think."