Rendezvous With a Stranger by Lizbeth Dusseau Read Free Book Online Page B

before, we have to move fast to get out of the rain that starts just as we exit to the street.   While we hurry, he takes my arm and I’m led up a side street to the old haufbrau.   At least I’ll be able to breathe in this familiar tavern.  
           He orders for me and I sip the beer that lands beside my hands. I’d be drinking wine if it were my choice, but it’s not.
           “How many times did you get off last night?” he asks once the waitress leaves.  
           “Twice.”
           “That’s all?”
           “I fell asleep during the third and I almost came again in the middle of the night, but I was exhausted.”
           He accepts my statements matter-of-factly and moves on.
           “I’ll have to bind you soon,” he says.   “It appears your desire for that exceeds all others.”
           I’m shocked.   “How would you know that?” I ask.
           “Does it matter?”
           “Maybe?”
           “Doesn’t being bound arouse you, or have I been misinformed?” He sounds as if he has spies infiltrating my life.   Regardless of the source of his information, he burrows inside me, raising that storehouse of sexual need he plundered the day before.   I see no end to his discoveries of my precious secrets.  
           “I have no clue what I need,” I answer honestly.   “You’ve already done things to me that I never believed I’d submit to.”
           “The pleasure doesn’t suit you?” he asks.
           “I haven’t said I wasn’t pleasured,” I reply.
           “Then, I’ll do my best to shock you,” he says.
           “Is that all you are?” I ask.   “A lot of dangerous games?”
           “If you didn’t want that, Ellen Laurey, I wouldn’t pay any attention to you.”
           “And why do you call me Ellen Laurey?” I probe directly, adding vehemence to my inquiry.
           “Because it is your name, is it not?”
           He knows I lied about myself, but right now, I can’t tell the truth.
           “So, what would shock me this instant?” I ask.   Like a coy flirt, the challenge shoots from my mouth without my taking time to think of its repercussions.
           He maintains a confounding expression I cannot read.   “Go down on my cock—under the table,” he says.
           I laugh.   “You can’t be serious.”
           “Do it now, or you won’t see me again.”
           “You are serious.”
           He doesn’t reply. The lack of words seems all that’s necessary to communicate his message and I look about the restaurant actually considering his demand.  
           The time of day means the tavern’s almost vacant, and where we sit there’s no one nearby.   I recall when we entered, how he engineered this table, slipping the hostess a twenty to give us the privacy he wants.   All pre-planned, how can I fail him and not fail myself?  
           There’s just the minimum tablecloth to shield me from an outside view, but that’s hardly enough if someone catches the movement of my feet and legs underneath.  
           I go quickly to my knees and bring myself to his crotch.   One hand slips along his thigh, the other goes for his zipper.   Drawing it down slowly, I note he wears no underwear and the smell of him greets my nostrils with the sweet and pungent odor of sex.   His erection is half risen, bobbing at my lips.   Taking him in my mouth, I move as briskly as the small space will allow, letting my jaws tighten around the thickness.   I draw him deep into me.   If he were free to move I sense he’d jam it down my throat, but even he has to make accommodations to have his pleasure here.   The further I draw his erection inside my mouth, the more I sense the urgency building in his loins.   There’s just a tiny groan to accompany the blowjob and then his hand at my head