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Annie

Wherehouse Prologue 3.

By Pete SymesPublished 2 years ago 3 min read
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Annie
Photo by Tiko Giorgadze on Unsplash

“What was the name of your hometown?” I gasped trying to divert and delay.

Annie was looking at me with her startling blue eyes which peered out from under her ratted blacker than black hair. Cut short with a single curl for a side burn on either side of her rouged cheeks, she seemed to me to be the last of the mods from the U.K. music invasion of the sixties. No doubt, in her day she screamed for John, Paul, George, and Ringo . Now it was the late nineteen seventies and she smiled at me and said what sounded like, "I'm from Kaddiff." in that accent that always made my nineteen year old cock stiffer than it usually was. She was the poshest woman I had ever met. Or at least that is how I felt as she was giving me a hand job in the warehouse office where we both worked. She was one of my many supervisors, so what’s a fella to do. The way her tits with the ski slope swoop from the bra-less seventies came to a point of reserved English ecstasy and bounced as she went about her handy work were a sight to behold. Actions that pulled apart buttons on flimsy fabric giving me a down shirt display. The visual had me smitten and bitten. Her lacy finger-less glove magic was bringing me off fast. Just like this little kitten liked it when working my dick with her mittens. Not to mention, I would last a little longer when she mounted me after business hours. These were the best work breaks ever.

But if Donna, one of the other “women of a certain age” I was intimate with at my warehouse job found out, all hell would break loose. Annie had taken over as shop supervisor from Donna and the hostility and hurt feelings were palpable between them. With that I broke loose and with perfect as ever timing Annie’s mouth covered my cocks top and slurped up every last drop. Only strands of my cum saw the light of day as she threw her head back and swallowed my load with her incredible sense of bravado.

“Well done my boy.” Annie said as she took out her compact to inspect her lipstick and face for any telltale signs of my seed. As I tucked myself in, Annie asked, “So have you asked that Tamara out on a date yet?” I mumbled a negative reply and Annie just shook her head.

I opened the office door and nearly walked right over Tami. Yes, that Tami. Wide eyes looked up at me and our eyes met. I know I blushed. I still had that in me. Her long brown hair which fell past her shoulders in the frizzy perm that nature had given her. It was the seventies and that was high style and worked well with her facial features. Other decades might be more problematic, but for me her hazel eyes, extreme tan, and tiny butt captured what desire was left within me even after Annie's vigorous stroking.

Ever suave, I held the Annie s door open for Tami to enter, giving a chance for Annie to punctuate the proceedings with a Cardiff laced, “Thank you Pete.” and a catty smirk.

When I closed the door behind me I wondered if Tami would get some Cardiff as well, a thought that would never have crossed my mind a few months earlier. I was a fast learner. Annie used her management role as well, if not better than any man did in those days of disco. This was the land before sexual harassment was recognized as a crime. It seemed everyone was fucking like bunnies in the workplace. I recall it as consensual, but what did I know at nineteen. I was learning that the number of things I knew was dwarfed by what I did not. Not being in a role of power I was not a predator and if Annie was a predator, I was willing and eager prey. That woman fucked me blue while I worked there and I am forever grateful.

Now I was off to negotiate a pot deal and perhaps more fucking with Donna, wondering what story I could tell Rene, my long term amour, about why I had to cancel another date with her. She knew of my business dealings with Donna and left that alone, because one thing Rene liked almost as much as me was pot. Maybe more than me. But good dope at a cut rate price was something Rene would accept. Even if I came home smelling of middle aged pussy to get it. Rene was a pragmatist.

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About the Creator

Pete Symes

A scenario manifests. A scenario disassembles. I participate intensively for the duration.

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