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“Any chance you can back out of this, maybe call in sick?” asked Tom worriedly, lying fully clothed on his back on Angelina’s heart-shaped bed.
“We’ve been over this a million times,” replied his lover patiently, from behind the accordion-like 6’0″ tall wooden changing area a few feet away. “I’ve been committed to being a participant in the school’s bachelorette charity auction for months now. I can’t just back out at the last minute. Riverdale is counting on me, to help raise money.”
“I know, but I just don’t like the whole idea.”
“I’m sorry, darling. The timing stinks, but how was I supposed to know when I agreed to do this that I’d have a serious boyfriend at the time of the show? Really, don’t worry about it. I’ll take a short catwalk and maybe two or three nerdy gentlemen in the audience will shout out their modest bids. After a couple minutes of back and forth, one will win. Then, in a week or so I’ll go on one benign dinner date with him. A few hours later, he’ll take me home. He’ll ask to come in for a nightcap. I’ll politely decline his offer. Thank him for a lovely evening, then shake his hand, or at best give him a little hug, and that’ll be it. The end. I’ll retire from these yearly auctions and be all yours. Now, how do I look?”
Emerging from behind the divider, Angelina gave Tom his first glimpse at the outfit she intended to wear to that night’s auction. The sight left her lover temporarily speechless.
“Well, don’t keep me in suspense, darling,” asked Angelina, hands on her curvy hips, looking down at her 22-year-old lover. What do you think?”
“I…I…I think every man in that audience tonight will drain their bank accounts just to have a shot at winning a date with you. You’re enticing. But what happened to that evening gown you were going to wear?”
“I just think this is a little more provocative,” said the femme fatale, turning around to check out her perfectly sculpted 5’4″ 115lb. frame in the full-length mirror across from her bed. “I picked it up for $500 at Oscar de la Renta in New York yesterday.”
Never one to pass a mirror without stopping to admire the reflection, Angelina closely drank in her hourglass figure, then turned to examine the side angle. Her butt was perfect. Rounded, but firm and of modest size. Indeed, it was more toned than any 51-year old woman’s had a right to be.
But there was more to admire. Quite a bit more. A light brown corset wrapped perfectly to her shapely figure. Over that, she wore a loose-fitting, dark brown, with gold-sequined, long-sleeve number that extended to her hips and cut-out in a diamond shape over her chest, revealing breasts that were barely contained in the corset. From the waist on down, matching-colored spandex pants that left little to the imagination ended just below the knees, apparently, where an exquisite pair of maroonish-colored, high-heeled leather boots took over. Dangling from the corner of her mouth was a 10-inch black cigarette holder, with a long, unlit, slender white cigarette fitted neatly into its end. There was nothing at all subtle about her look, or the message she was sending with it. Angelina was all sex, which is maybe why Tom – who would have otherwise become default aroused at the sight of his lover in this outfit, felt only depressed. Probably because he knew very well that this outfit wasn’t intended for his pleasure, but for the sexual pleasure of other men. Strange men, who would be drooling over his girlfriend, one of whom would be lucky enough to win a date with her.
After a few minutes she turned away from the mirror to face Tom, now too preoccupied with dread and worry to even notice anymore how Angelina was dressed.
“What’s the matter, now?” asked Angelina, after taking the cigarette holder out of her mouth.
Tom didn’t look up, as Angelina sauntered over to the bed and sat next to him.
“Hey, I think I know what would make you feel better.”
Placing the long holder back in her mouth, Angelina slowly undid the zipper on her lover’s jeans, then fished between the opening and gently extracted his limp penis. Tom, naturally, put up no resistance. Angelina had only given Tom one blowjob since their sexual relationship began about a week ago, but the memory of it was enough to bring a contented smile to the young man’s face. Until then, the only oral sex he’d had were a few brief and rather unpleasant experiences in college, delivered by inexperienced coeds. Yet, even though the setting – his car, in a crowded Giants Stadium parking lot – for his first blowjob courtesy of Angelina, wasn’t necessarily ideal, and she was intoxicated enough to pass out before he ejaculated, that one less-than-perfect episode was still easily the best oral sex the young man had ever experienced. Judging by the nimble way she fondled his love muscle, and how comfortably her mouth worked over it, it was easy for Tom to believe Angelina’s and her brother-in-law Rocco’s claims that the amorous librarian had had many, MANY, – perhaps in the neighborhood rus escort of a couple hundred – sexual partners over her romantic lifetime.
Sliding open the top drawer of her nightstand, Angelina, removed a jar of Vaseline, popped its lid and scooped out a generous portion of ointment with the closed index and middle fingers of her right hand. Turning back to Tom, Angelina slowly applied the Vaseline to his growing penis.
“Oh…Ohhh…” moaned Tom in ecstasy, as his lover proceeded to sensitively coat his shaft in ointment.
A minute later, Angelina changed up the friction a bit, alternating light, gentle pulls on his dick with her long, graceful fingers, the nails painted cherry red. The switch had its intended consequence. In no time, Tom was rock hard. Settling back down on the bed, Tom shut his eyes, as Angelina took the unlit cigarette holder out of her mouth and held it between the index and middle fingers of her left hand. Down on all fours now on the bed, she replaced the phallic symbol for the real thing, wrapping her moist, lipstick covered lips around Tom’s erection. The sensation was warm and wet – not terribly different, Tom thought, to Angelina’s pussy, and it left him feeling at once aroused yet relaxed and at peace.
Any worries about his girlfriend’s participation in that night’s charity bachelorette auction now seemed silly. He was in heaven. Angelina was doing all the work. All he had to do was lay back and enjoy himself, while she enthusiastically performed oral sex on him.
Pausing to adjust the angle of Tom’s penis in her mouth with the hand that was still in possession of her cigarette holder, Angelina proceeded to rhythmically – using her tongue and full lips – move up and down his penis, masterfully simulating the thrusting motion Tom used to make love to her. The sensation kicked her lover’s arousal level up another gear.
If Angelina had a gag reflex, even Tom’s humongous penis couldn’t trigger it. Repeatedly, the erotic librarian inhaled his cock deep into her throat, releasing it back out… ever… so …slowly to where she would end by kissing his tip, before drawing it in again.
After about 15 minutes, impressed by her sexual partner’s stamina and staying power, but her mouth muscles growing weary, she re-positioned herself to the side of the bed, took another finger full of Vaseline and switched over to giving Tom a hand-job. The extra lubrication – combined with a little elbow grease – did the trick.
“Ahhh…ahhh…” exclaimed Tom, his back rising off the bed as if to crunch a sit-up.
The sloshing sound of hand cupping heavily lubricated penis, grew louder the more vigorously Angelina worked Tom’s penis and passion into a frenzy. Finally unable to withstand the pleasure any more, he shot wad after wad of cum on a rainbow arc, the semen coming to rest in the form of gelatinous puddles on Angelina’s sheets.
Perhaps not realizing her lover was finished, Angelina kept at her task for another half a minute, as if to work out every last drop of cum from Tom’s dick.
“You…you can stop now… I’m done,” panted Tom, falling back onto the bed, gulping air. “That was…that was absolutely awesome.”
Angelina rested her unlit cigarette holder in the clean ashtray on her nightstand and wiped her hand-job hand on a bath towel that lay at her feet.
“Glad you liked it,” she said, in an almost professional tone of voice. “I used to do the same thing for Harry; like you, he’d get so nervous on bachelorette auction day. He absolutely HATED watching them; knowing, because of our affair, that all he could do was sit by helplessly while other men bid on dates for me. A good blowjob a couple hours before the event would help take the edge off a bit.”
“It sure helped me,” Tom said, slowly regaining his breath. “You really cleaned my pipes.”
“Darling, please don’t describe the artistic manner in which I pleasured you in such gauche terms. I prefer ‘fellatio.’ It sounds so much more sophisticated, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Uhhh…sure. By the way, Angelina, please don’t lump me in with Mr. Seymour, okay? I find it creepy enough to know that that I’ve been where my old ex-principal has been, if you know what I mean.”
“I’m sorry, darling. But, like it or not, you and he have a lot in common. Namely, that you two stand out as the absolute best lovers I’ve ever had. No one else has even come close to satisfying me like you and Harry. You’re…say…what time is it?”
“5:00,” replied Tom, after looking at his wristwatch.
“Oh, no. The auction starts at 7:00 and I have to be at the school at 6:00 to start coordinating everything,” answered Angelina in a near panic. “But I have to be ready beforehand. I still have to do my hair and makeup here.
“I’ll be happy when this night is over. I always take too much on in these shows. The older I get, the harder it is to be both the director and one of the bachelorettes. Plus, I’ve practically been starving sıhhiye escort myself the past week so I can fit into this outfit. And, this corset really makes it hard to breathe.”
“Tell you what,” said Tom, now standing next to the bed and zipping up his jeans. “After the auction I’ll take you out for a big dinner to celebrate your retirement as a bachelorette – at least from bachelorette auctions. Then we can come back here and I’ll return the oral sex favor. Okay?”
“Oh, that sounds wonderful, darling. I’ll probably be too exhausted to properly make love to you anyway. It’d be the perfect sleeping potion. I’d like nothing more than for you to pleasure me into unconsciousness for the night. But now you’ve got to go, so I can finish getting ready.”
“Okay, I’ll see you backstage after the auction.”
“You’ll be in the audience for it, though, right?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t miss seeing my girlfriend put on a show for about 100 horny, strange men. It’s a real turn-on for me.”
“Stop. Now give me a kiss for good luck.”
Tom and Angelina came together for a kiss on the mouth. As always, Angelina tasted delicious to him. And as always, Tom couldn’t stop with just one kiss. He moved his right hand down to Angelina’s camel toe and gave it a light squeeze.”
“What are you doing?” asked Angelina, her lips still pressed to Tom’s and talking from the side of her mouth.
“I think you know,” answered her young lover mischievously.
“Well, while that’d be great, that’s not helpful at the moment. If you keep this up I’ll never make the auction.”
“That’s the whole idea.”
“Cut it out. You’re incorrigible. Now, go. Get out, before I give in to my physical attraction for you.”
Tom smiled and turned to exit the bedroom. Pausing in the door jam, he turned to face Angelina.
“Can I hope no one bids for you?”
“GO!” exclaimed Angelina in mock seriousness, reaching for the nearest thing to her, the unlit cigarette holder and raising it in her right hand as if to throw it at her sarcastic lover.
Shortly before 7:00, Tom arrived at the Riverdale Middle School and took a seat in the crowded auditorium.
Man, there’s a lot more people than I thought there’d be, he said to himself nervously. I think I need another blowjob to get me through this night.
Opening the auction’s program, Tom scanned the order that the bachelorettes would appear on stage. To his great chagrin, he found Angelina’s name on the bottom.
Great, she’s closing the show. I’ll have to sit through the bidding of nine other women before they get to her. I was hoping to get this over with quickly. Oh, well.
Tom slumped back in his seat and let out a deep exhale. For the next 90-plus minutes he watched as – one by one – a parade of bachelorette teachers from his old middle school took the stage to allow themselves to be bid on. Finally, with his anxiety peaking to the point where he could hardly stand it any more, it was Angelina’s turn to prowl the catwalk.
“Last but not least on our schedule tonight,” began Mrs. Allan, Riverdale’s assistant librarian and the auction’s master of ceremonies, from the wooden podium by the side of the stage, “is a bachelorette who – without her magnificent contributions as the event’s director, our yearly auctions wouldn’t be half the successes they are. Please welcome the lovely and most alluring school librarian you’ll ever see: Ang-il-eeena!!”
The auditorium suddenly went black. A moment later, a spotlight shown on a silhouette of a woman behind the curtain – her hand steadying the long cigarette holder protruding from her mouth. The breathtaking scene left the room in silence. Then, slowly, the curtain separated, uncovering the sexy woman behind it. Even though Tom had a preview of his girlfriend’s outfit earlier that day, it in no way prepared him for what he saw now from his third-row seat. Sparkling diamond earrings hung from her delicate lobes, smoke rose from the lit end of her cigarette holder and her breasts and tight ass made sexy bookends to her small waist. Her high-heeled, knee-high boots tucked into her spandex pants formed perfectly over her sinewy leg muscles. Tom’s penis snapped to attention, like one of those plastic thermometers in a fully-cooked turkey. He figured he wasn’t the only heterosexual male in the audience who had that reaction.
Angelina pivoted on the heel of her right boot, and as she began to take long, pronounced strides toward the front of the stage – one booted leg crossing the other, as if she were walking a tightrope – her theme music floated from the auditorium’s mounted loud speakers.
“When she’s not curled up with a good book, this hotter than hot librarian loves to stay in shape by Somba dancing,” said Mrs. Allan, over Nancy Sinatra’s These Boots are Made for Walkin. “Angelina is a romantic at heart, who enjoys cocktails by the fireplace. Let’s start the bidding at $100.”
“$100” shot back a middle-aged man one sincan escort aisle in front of Tom.
“How about $200?” asked Mrs. Allan.
“$200,” answered a male voice from somewhere in the darkened aisle to the right of Tom’s.
Angelina was now at the front of the runway. Stopping at the edge, she raised her cigarette holder to her lips, inhaled then blew out a long cone of smoke into the air. Whereas most of the bachelorettes who preceded her on stage appeared tentative and shy, Angelina looked like she owned the runway. Too short (at 5’4″), old (even though she could easily pass for a woman 20 years her junior) and not quite attractive enough (but what she lacked in natural beauty, was more than made up for in sex appeal) to be a professional model, Angelina still appeared in her element, affecting the classic supermodel, diva air about her. She stalked the stage like a predator. With every pull she took on her cigarette holder and every flirty, come hither, “I-mean-business” look Angelina shot to the men in the audience, Tom’s jealousy grew.
“$300!” he suddenly found himself yelling.
“I like the initiative, sir,” said Mrs. Allan, “We have $300. Do I hear $400?”
“$400,” responded a gravelly-voiced man from a few aisles behind Tom.
“$500?” asked Mrs. Allan.
“$500!” said Tom.
“Do I hear $600?,” begged Mrs. Allan.
“$600”, answered the bidder Tom was now going 1:1 against.
“$700!” exclaimed Tom, sweat now forming on his brow. He didn’t currently even have $700 in his bank account, but that was just a formality to him at the moment. He’d deal with that minor detail later. Right now, he had to save his girlfriend from having a date with a man who, he theorized – because he was willing to spend so much money for he – obviously expected something sexual in return.
The auditorium was now abuzz with excitement, most of the attention now drawn to these two fierce competitors – and, believe it or not, away from the sexy object of their competition – now going almost completely unnoticed as she continued to smoke and strut around the stage.
$800,” said the man, a trace of irritation now in his voice.
“$900,” reflexively answered Tom, a trace of desperation now in his voice.
For the first time in the last three bids, the gravelly-voiced man did not immediately reply. Only the instrumental from These Boots Are Made for Walkin, could now be heard in the auditorium.
“$2,000!” boomed the man’s voice finally, clearly wanting to put an end once and for all to the little cat-and-mouse game he was playing with Tom.
A collective gasp went up from the auditorium.
“Wow, $2,000!” cried Mrs. Allan. “Do I hear $2,100?”
Tom tried to respond, but still in shock over his rival’s over-100% bid increase, all he could muster was a barely audible whisper.
“No?” asked Mrs. Allan. “Going once, going twice, SOLD, so to speak, to the dapper gentleman in the charcoal suit!”
Tom lowered his head in defeat as the spotlight switched to the winning bidder.
“Oh, my, Angelina’s fainted!” said a concerned-sounding Mrs. Allan.
All eyes now moved from the man, back to Angelina, lying on her back on the stage. As Tom jumped from his seat to attend to this fallen girlfriend, Mr. Delrupo, the Riverdale shop teacher, scooped up the unconscious Angelina in his arms and rushed her off stage.
Angelina’s busy week finally caught up with her, Tom said to himself, as he quickly weaved his way through the befuddled crowd on his way backstage. She shouldn’t have starved herself to the point of fainting.
Arriving about a minute later, he found the still passed-out Angelina lying on her back on a couch in the bachelorette’s dressing room.
“Someone get the first-aid kit from the nurse’s office,” yelled out Mrs. Allan, who was one of a handful of people huddled around her boss. “I’ll bet that’s got some smelling salts in it.”
Squeezing his way through the huddle, Tom took a knee and began clapping Angelina’s hand that wasn’t clutching her cigarette holder, in a vain attempt to snap her out of unconsciousness. Seeing her up close in this outfit – hard-nippled breasts rising with each breath, camel toe showing through her spandex, heavenly leather, high-heeled boots pointing to the sky, beautifully-made-up face, including the light touch of shadow over her closed eyes – it was all he could do to keep from popping a woody.
“Who are you?” asked Mr. Delrupo.
“I’m her boyfriend,” answered Tom.
“Boyfriend?!” said Mrs. Allan. “Angelina doesn’t have a boyfriend.”
“We’ve only been dating about a week,” answered the young man.
“What was Ms. Lione doing in the bachelorette auction if she has a boyfriend?” asked a confused Mr. Delrupo.
“It’s complicated,” replied Tom.
“I found the smelling salts,” came the voice of an unknown woman outside the huddle, shoving the bottle into Tom’s hand.
Tom opened the bottle and began waving the powerful reviver under his lover’s nose. Seconds later, her eyes fluttered open.
“Where am I?” asked Angelina. “What happened?”
“It’s okay, Angelina. You just fainted at the auction.”
“Harry?” muttered the semi-conscious Angelina, as she slowly came out of her faint fog.
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