Another New York Story: Michael Pt. 02

Carol was never without her jewelry, a funny quirk she had. Even to bed, she would invariably wear some combination of bracelets, anklets, and/or necklaces, so that whenever Michael heard the rattle of metal on metal the image of her plump, womanly body rocking to the motion of his thrusting hips would flash in his mind. A middle aged divorcée, Carol had won her penthouse apartment in the Upper East Side as a part of the settlement, along with a hefty monthly allowance. When Michael moved in with her, all she asked was that he make her breakfast each morning--that is, excluding his nightly duties, which (though physically draining) were not what Michael would consider "work." He was happy to pleasure Carol whenever she wished, and was genuinely disappointed with how things ended between them.

They met one day by chance on the corner of 72nd and Madison, outside the restaurant where Michael was working at the time. He was on a smoke-break, taking a drag from his cigarette when he noticed a woman standing across the street from him. Thick in a curvy way, she practically spilled out of the red dress she was wearing. She clearly had work done, but it was tasteful enough. Her breasts were certainly fake, and she had those puffy lips so many women went for these days, and she probably couldn't raise her eyebrows if she tried--but, also, she had a certain natural beauty that, Michael thought, seemed to shine through anyway. Maybe it had something to do with her healthy, smooth-looking skin, or her silky blonde hair.

Beside her was a young lady, practically a carbon copy of the woman, only skinnier, wearing a white dress, high heels, and with small breasts and no signs of any plastic surgery. Must be the woman's daughter, Michael thought.

Just then, he realized the woman was looking at him. His face flushing, Michael turned away as casually as he could, trying to make it seem like he'd been looking around, not staring. Usually Michael had on a pair of sunglasses when he was out and about, and would forget when he wasn't wearing them that everyone could see where he was looking. At that moment, Michael thought he'd been caught gawking and that would be the end of it--a bit embarrassing but nothing serious, before he heard the sound of footsteps approaching him from behind. He turned and was immediately face to face with the woman, noticing for the first time the two necklaces she wore, her bracelets, rings, and the anklet on her right leg--all gold. She looked up at him, smiling. The young lady remained on the other side of the street, watching with a strange look on her face.

"Hello," Michael said, instinctually.

"Were you staring at me?" said the woman in a tone Michael couldn't quite make out. Was she upset with him? He'd never been called out like this before. It wasn't uncommon in the city to catch someone's eye on the train, in a bus, or on the street, but confronting them about it? That was unheard of to Michael. Was this what people were like in the city? It had been six months since he moved, and he wouldn't be surprised if he'd broken some unwritten rule he didn't know about.

"Um, um, um." Was all he could say before the woman pulled out a scrap of paper and a pen from her bag and wrote down her number, handing the paper to Michael.

"Thanks," he said, a bit surprised.

"Call me. Come over and I'll let you stare all you want, okay?" the woman said with a smile.

"Okay. Yea. Sounds good. Thanks." Michael watched her walk away, her ass jiggling with each step, back to where her daughter waited with a frown. They turned the corner and were gone.

The very next night, Michael found himself standing outside of the woman's apartment in his nicest shirt (a black button down he would wear to work) and black dress pants, patting down an errant curl that refused to conform. He had texted her that same evening, and she had told him to come over the next night for dinner at her place. It worked out perfectly, since Michael's living situation was quickly deteriorating, jumping at any excuse to leave the apartment. His roommate, an elderly woman who owned the apartment he was living in, was having some sort of psychotic break, and was really starting to freak Michael out. He knew he'd have to find a new place to stay quickly or else who knows what that old lady would do? Michael wasn't interested in becoming a statistic. Might as well see this thing through with the woman in the red dress.

Carol. Carol. Carol. Michael repeated her name over and over in his head to make sure he remembered it. He was so bad with names, they usually flew in one ear and out the next. This time, however, he needed to be on his A-game. If he was reading the situation right, there was serious sugar-momma potential, and he meant to capitalize. Michael was not about to let the opportunity slip through his fingers.

Michael knocked on the door, gripping lightly in his off-hand the cheap bottle of wine he had bought for the occasion. Again, he wasn't taking any chances. Carol opened the door.

Apparently he had read the situation right. In front of him, Carol stood wearing a sheer, white silk camisole with lace around the fringe, her figure clearly visible through the transparent material, as were her breasts, large but tight, as if they hung on a shelf. He could see where the surgical scar was just visible beneath one of them. Her nipples were round and hard, big enough to suckle on and pinch between his teeth--the nipples of a mother. Her body was squarish, but tight, with deep tan lines from laying out somewhere tropical like Turks and Caicos, or some other island these rich New Yorkers flew to whenever they had the itch.

"Come in," she said, not waiting for a response before turning down the short hallway and disappearing around the corner. Michael breathed out, and stepped in.

The door shut behind him with a click. Silence. Michael could hear none of the usual sounds of the city: not the chatter of pedestrians, the wail of ambulances, nor even the rattle of the trains as they passed underfoot. Nothing. It felt... strange. Michael held his breath, not wanting to disturb the perfect quiet.

Following Carol's path, Michael rounded the corner into a large open living area with a couch and coffee table on a raised platform in the far corner, an entrance to the kitchen on his right, and some stairs leading to a second floor on his left. Carol was just returning from the kitchen by then, a bottle opener and two glasses in hand. She took the bottle from Michael without a word and opened it, pouring them each a glass.

"Cheers," she said, and they clinked glasses. The reddish liquid was bitter, but made Michael feel all warm inside. "I'll give you the tour," she said, once again turning without a second glance, making a beeline to the stairs.

They walked along a narrow hallway, passing by an indoor gym, an empty guest bedroom, and her daughter Grace's bedroom--the young lady she'd been with the night before--who had left that morning to go back to college in Connecticut. Carol stopped in Grace's room for a moment, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, allowing Michael to get a good look around. He was surprised by the posters of punk bands plastered to the wall, and the satanic and anarchic symbols that looked to be hand painted on the dresser. It did not seem like the personality of the practically pink young lady he thought he'd seen.

Moving on, they reached the end of the hall where the master bedroom was. It was huge, with an en-suite, a walk-in closet, a king sized bed, a television, and floor-to-ceiling windows leading to a balcony overlooking Central Park.

Angling herself toward the balcony, Carol stepped out into the cool evening. Michael hesitated for a moment. There were apartment buildings on either side that were equally as high, and though it was nighttime the city was never all that dark, lit up constantly by the glow of a thousand windows and innumerable streetlights, and Carol was almost totally exposed in her sheer outfit.

"Are you coming?" She said, leaning back onto the railing. Michael, determined, followed her.

Leaning over the edge, Michael looked down at the cars and people passing by below, feeling the warmth of Carol's body next to him, and her eyes burning a hole in his face. It was like she was drinking him in and sizing him up all at once. Out of his peripheral vision he saw her shift position to stand behind him. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she let her hands come together where his dick was, sending a shock of sensation into his belly. Michael felt himself getting hard. Although he knew this was going to happen, he was still surprised. She was acting so non-chalant, like nothing strange was happening. She unzipped his pants, pulling out his half-hard cock through the zipper.

"Is this alright?" she asked.

"Yes, of course," Michael said, trying to relax. He felt so exposed, like the whole city was watching her take him into her hand, stroking it lightly as he looked out at the dark horizon.

"Someone's a little excited," Carol said, laughing. She looked so much younger when she laughed. More like her daughter. She turned him around, bending down to a knee as she did. The wetness of her mouth coming in contact with the tip of his penis made Michael exhale involuntarily. He looked down at her, nibbling the end, flicking her tongue across it, before she plunged it deep into her throat until her lips smacked up against his pelvis, surprising him. He groaned loudly. He hadn't expected that at all. She was basically choking herself with it, moving her head back and forth in tiny bursts before she would pull back, gasping for air.

Already her mascara was running a bit, and Michael could see tears in the corner of her eyes. She went back in for more. Michael doubled over in pleasure, cupping her face with both his hands, feeling her golden hair, applying pressure to the back of her head, slowly, feeling as her head began to shake from lack of air, seeing as it turned red, before he would let go.

Standing back up, Carol let her silk chemise fall to the floor, her naked body plainly visible. Walking to the railing, she bent over and wagged her butt, her bare pussy clearly visible from behind, practically begging to be fucked, and yet still acting so coy, like nothing was going on. She just stared out, waiting patiently. Michael took the hint, and let his hand fall to his side, where Carol was, tracing with his finger the crack of her ass down to where he felt the soft lips of her vagina. He flicked them lightly with his index and middle finger, teasing the outside. He felt Carol shudder.

Kneeling down behind her, Michael stuck his mouth on her pussy, eating her from behind, hearing as she moaned, feeling how wet she would get with every lick.

Standing, he inserted himself into her wet, warm pussy, already practically gushing. She took him in with a soft sigh, and began thrusting back onto him softly at first, but building in pace, before soon Michael was applying pressure back, thrusting his hips into her thrusting so that pretty soon she was taking the full length of his cock hard and fast. Michael had never been with an older woman before, all the pussies he'd entered had been tight and difficult to navigate at times. Carol's however, was like a vast cavern, something Michael felt he could lose himself inside of if he was not careful. He'd never been able to fuck anyone so deeply, his cock was considered above average, nothing crazy, just about eight-inches or so at full length, but still too long for most girls to take. Not Carol, however. Michael heard for the first time the jingling of her jewelry, like some strange and frenetically paced music.

More cushion for the pushin'. That ridiculous phrase crossed Michael's mind, and he realized it was not without merit. Carol was the curviest girl he'd ever been with, and he couldn't recall a time when sex had felt better. Even when he would pull himself completely out of her, Carol's fat ass still cupped his dick, so that it was like he was never truly free from her grip. The sensation was growing quickly in his stomach, and Carol gave no signs of slowing down.

Kicking a leg onto the railing, Carol let out a yelp as Michael angled himself to go even deeper into the woman. She looked back at him, pleading him to fuck her. Her mascara was running, and her hair was plastered to her face. To Michael, it almost felt like the world around them fell away. He knew they were in plain view of whomever wanted to look out their window just then, but he simply didn't care.

Eventually, she reached back with a hand to press her palm against Michael's stomach, stopping him, but not removing him from inside her. She was shaking from pleasure, breathing in short gasps. Taking it slow, he started thrusting again, stopping and starting, never fully pulling out but never going very fast or deep--just pausing at the entrance of her soaking pussy, dipping in and out in short sharp bursts. Carol's legs wrap around one another in ecstasy.

Michael closed his eyes, concentrating on the strange rhythm he'd found. He was suddenly aware of the sounds all around them: the wails of sirens, the shouts of pedestrians, the squeal of tires--it was all hitting him all at once, shifting back into focus like a camera lens. He looked down at the woman giggling in girlish glee, blowing the strands of hair off her face, looking back at him with those mischievous blue eyes that seemed to betray nothing. Michael suddenly felt like he was being swallowed whole by her.

"I'm gonna cum soon." Michael all but grunted. The sensation was building, reaching an apex.

"When?"

"Right now," he couldn't stop himself, he pulled out as great globs of cum shot out of him. Reacting quickly, Carol turned and knelt down in one smooth motion, taking him into her mouth, staring up at him as his dick pumped his hot load into her mouth. She swallowed it all with a smile, showing the last bit of him on the tip of her tongue before it too was gone.

The way she looked up at him, Michael thought she looked so innocent and youthful. He could clearly see what a beauty she must have been at one point. In that moment she became very precious to him, and he kissed her on the cheek, blushing at how intimate the moment felt, a little embarrassed by it even though he just got done fucking her brains out not a moment before. He hadn't meant to do that, it just felt right. Actually, he had the urge to kiss her more, just kiss, nothing else, just to enjoy the taste of her lips, and maybe see her smile again.

"You're gonna have to last longer than that," she said, in her all-too-casual tone, "If you want to stay here."

"We can work on it. Together."

Carol seemed satisfied with his response. Standing up, she cupped her breasts with both hands, marching herself back through the open door into the master bedroom, looking back only momentarily to say:

"Are you coming?"