Debbie Does You #3 - For Bow

Bow’s fantasy was great because he wants to be done by me in a fantasy that I have thought of before. His email was very clear about what he wanted. My favorite line from it was:
I'm a big sucker for blow jobs (pun intended lol) and detail.
I can quickly change bow to blow.

So now it’s bows turn to hold on and read about his fantasy.

In this economy and with the holidays approaching I had to get a second job to buy what I need for Christmas. I ended up getting a job at one of the best stores for the holidays, Macy’s. Normally I wouldn’t be very interested in retail work, but they offered me work in the men’s department. As you can imagine that is heaven for me. I had been working there for about a week when I had one of the best days of my entire adult working life.

A nice looking man came into the department. He was looking for a new suit. I could see that he was a professional and was immaculate when it came to his clothes. I don’t know what it was, but I was attracted to this well dressed handsome man immediately. The tease in me seemed to automatically come out and I began to flirt with him. I wanted to be sure that I was the associate that helped him. I quickly moved to him and asked him how I could help with my best provocative smile on my face. He knew exactly how to toy with me and it turned me on even more. He returned my answer with,
“I was hoping to get out of this old suit and replace it”.
All I did was smile and lead him to a rack of dark blue suits.
“I’m sure you’ll find something to your liking here”, I said.
“I’m sure I will”, he replied smiling at me.
There was something devious about that smile and I recognized it.

I told him to take his time and when he was ready, I would help him with fitting and find some ties and shirts that were appropriate. I walked away and left him to ponder his options. After about 15 minutes he approached me with a suit he liked. As he laid it out I noticed something that I had somehow missed when he first came in. There was a gold band on the ring finger of his left hand. He was married! I don’t know if he noticed that I looked at his hand paused for only a moment and got back into the groove of the situation.

I told him what a good choice he made. We moved to the table of shirts and picked a couple that looked good with the suit. We then moved to the tie table. Ties are one of my favorite pieces of men’s clothing. We looked over several. He decided on some silk ones that added the perfect touch. He asked to be fitted. I went to the register to get my tape measure and lead him to the dressing area with all the pieces of clothing we had picked out.

When I moved to measure his inseam I noticed something very familiar to me, the beginning of a hard-on. He knew I recognized what was going on. I became hesitant again, thinking to myself ‘this is a married man’. I am normally a strong believer in fidelity, but I knew that this one time dalliance wouldn’t make that much difference. All the morality seemed to disappear as, although unspoken, we both knew what was going on.

He grasped my shoulders and forced me to my knees. I looked up at him as soon as my knees hit the bare wood floor. He was already unzipping his pants. I was about to no longer be in charge of the situation I thought to myself as I looked up at him and a gorgeous hard cock was twitching at me. In what seemed to be a reflex and without any thought at all I unbuttoned my blouse and pulled my tits up and over my lace bra. My nipples were probably as hard his cock.
“Very nice honey”, he said as he squeezed my tits.
“Now measure this”, he said as he grabbed a hold of his cock.
I did exactly that. I measured 7 1/2 inches from the base to his head. Then I measured the circumference, a thick 6 inches.

He grabbed my hair and pulled me to his cock. As I was forced to lean in towards his crotch, he gave me another instruction,” Now show me my new tie”.
I looked up at him knowingly. I pulled the closest silk tie to my hands. Yes I like men’s ties, especially when they’re used as a subtle cock ring and ball teaser. I ran the smooth silk across his balls then tied it snugly at the base of his stiff meat.

I started by licking across his balls, replacing the silk with my wet tongue. They were salty and heavy on my lips. By now he was leaning on the wall. Tilting his hips to move his cock closer to my face. I flattened my tongue and ran it up the underside of his thick hard shaft.
His taste, his smell, the feel of his hardness all turned me on, but one thought added to stimulation, the idea that I may be overheard or caught. Was it possible that people were walking by and hearing our moans? Would I be fired?
I let that thought escape my mind and went to concentrating on the hot hard meat that had just slide between my lips. My tongue swirled around his cock as my lips hugged his shaft. He almost moaned out, but caught himself. As I took more of him into my mouth I held his nuts in the silkiness of his tie.
I could feel him throb and thicken in my mouth. He thrust more deeply and I felt his cockhead hit the back of my throat. I started my sucking like a hungry baby. I wanted that hot milk of his. I cinched up on the tie as I began to bob on his cock and let him fuck my face. Once that happened there was no turning back. I looked up at him again, nodded, and started to hum on his cock. He held my face down on his meat, deep, so his balls were pushed against my chin.
Then I felt that special twitch, any good cocksucker knows what I mean, it feels like a trigger being pulled on a shotgun. A second later I was fed with hot gooey cum. I gobbled up that prize, not missing a drop. I looked up at him as I swallowed him up. He smiled down at me and gently pulled out of my mouth.

He didn’t say a word. He put his hands on my shoulders and we took a few steps to the chair in the corner. He bent me over the chair. I was intrigued so I went along with him. He quickly flipped my skirt up onto my back, pulling down my panties exposing my swollen aching wet pussy.

I felt his tongue run down my wet slit…but that’s another story.
And I didn’t even know his name!


I'll always help a reader (male or female) with their fantasy. Think of it this way: what would you ask a "pro" to do to you, but it's free!
Just click on the picture on the sidebar that looks like this:

Secret Sins: Chapter 9: "Seats of Power"

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Secret Sins: Chapter 7 "The Locker", Part 2

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Secret Sins: Chapter 4 "Snails"

Snails

Sitting in the bar with a man I barely knew who just told me that HE knew I often didn’t wear anything under my clothing when I went out was a bit disconcerting. Having also just been handed a notorious memory of my past on a very icy plate, I do believe that I had broken out in a cold sweat before turning to the guy named Ben. “I had all but forgotten that strange incident”.

“Really? Well Dagger didn’t forget about you. He kept that incident in his mind after hearing all the sordid details from “Doris”, and frankly it solidified his standing with the Popes of Hell to allow him better access to the club’s drug dealing enterprises. In the end, they convicted 9 people in the drug ring for importing over 22 tons of cocaine and the sale of massive quantities of ecstasy and methamphetamine all over the Eastern Seaboard.
You see Stansfield - Dagger that is - was an inside man. He came from working class parents, but his grandfather worked for the government many years in the intelligence field, and with his interesting linage was the perfect choice to infiltrate the Pope’s.
Right under our noses too, there between the Seal base and NAS Oceana. Real clever”.
Reeling, I just had to ask, “So, what became of Doris”?
Ben blushed just a bit before he answered, so I was assured that the whole story not only had gotten to the guys, but all around the 'company' as well. “Uh, yeah. ‘Doris’ was originally born ‘Morris’ and she/he ended up hitting on the wrong guy, who ironically, sliced her throat clean across after first castrating her. You can guess at where the famous member ended up being placed..”
I gulped hard.
Ben glanced down at his shoes momentarily before returning to look me in the eyes. “Yup, that was just one of 3 murder convictions they got on the Pope’s as well. Bad boys those guys, bad boys”.
“And Dagger, er, ‘Paul’?”, I asked.
His gaze bearing down on me, Ben looked at me with steely eyes before continuing. “He’s in a program, so I’m not allowed to tell you any more about him other than his name has changed and he lives in a medium sized town; somewhere that he can blend in”.
Boy, would that be hard I thought.
“He cut all his hair off and had plastic surgery too, seeing as he has a price on his head from just about every hardcore biker gang in America. Actually, it’s the program I’m here to ask you about.”
Still thinking about Dagger/Paul and musing with a sense of sexual delight and revulsion about Doris/Morris, I asked Ben about the anachronism that he had just used.

“Oh, that’s short for (redacted) said Ben.
I wondered at that point if I had seen or met someone in my other sexual exploits that I was now going to pay for, or perhaps, well I just let that thought slip from my mind.
“We want you to work for us, and we’re willing to pay you handsomely for your talent. See, we know from surveillance that you know how to keep your mouth shut, and from your work and school records that you’re the type of person who relishes perfection”. This was true; I guess it was my MidWASP upbringing.
But then there was that word he used again – “surveillance” that annoyed and frightened me.
“So what do I have to do, give some big shot and all his cronies head” I asked smugly, “and WHAT surveillance have you been doing on me?”
“First of all" Ben intoned dryly, "our most famous leader has been deceased for some time and you weren’t his type. Secondly, we know every move and phone call you’ve made for the last year, and every cock you’ve sucked for the last 5 years. You haven’t been out of our electronic sight for one minute” said Ben.
Reeling again, I just had to ask how they accomplished that task since I’m a pretty neat housekeeper and don't 'tell tales out of school'.
“Oh that was easy. Didja ever see the movie called "Enemy of the State” with Gene Hackman and Will Smith?”
I had.
“Remember all the cool tracking and surveillance equipment they showed”?
I did.
“Well, it’s really 10 times cooler than they portrayed. We planted a 44gHz hairline tracker in your day planner that you always keep nearby,”
(My hand involuntarily went to my purse. Yup, I felt the day planner inside), “and then there’s the video camera with a passive series tap in your clock radio coupled to a 22gHz burst bug”,
Huh?
“and of course there was the snuggle bug we had in your car to transmit all of those mobile dalliances you’ve had”.
“Oh Jesus H. Christ” I said low and out loud.
Pardon my taking the Lord’s name in vain Father, but I think that it was relevant and necessary at the time.

Woozy from all the information I had just absorbed, my mind raced back to all the cock I had sucked in my car, along with the ones that had cum in my pussy at home. All recorded for the amusement of the some creepy-ass-company-with-no-name.
Who had I slept with or gone down on that they would be so interested in me that they would track my every movement? Assholes!
“No”, continued Ben, “what we want is for you to do what you do best, but do it for your country. As I said, you would be well compensated”.
“So you want me to become a whore for a company I abhor”?
“Not exactly. Think of yourself as being just another office worker in a nameless grey nondescript building, doing a very specialized job few who keep their mouths shut (funny) do well; a job that happens to be hush hush”.
Pondering it, I admit now that the prospect intrigued and thrilled me.
  Bond. Jane Bond.

  Double oh cocksucker: license to thrill.

Ben continued, “Of course, you’d have to keep your regular office job, and do ours afterwards. Would that be a problem? We also could arrange for a promotion within your company, one that would allow you to travel for meetings and conferences on an ongoing basis if you catch my drift”.

My office job WAS getting a bit boring these days; I mean, I graduated Summa Cum (!) Laude from my college and thought that I would be further along in my career than I was at this point.
“There’s just one catch ‘though” intoned Ben as he lowered his voice. “You’ll have to stop seeing Dawn; she’s a security risk”.
Ooops.
I had forgotten about my coworker and our dalliances, but then the thought of that clock radio by my bed containing the bug within came racing back, hitting me with a second brick to my head in less than an hour.
Damn! I forgot about “snail racing Wednesdays”, my midweek dalliance and break from the confines of work.
Dawn and I worked together in the same office as I mentioned before and was sitting but a few feet away getting plastered with the other ‘droids, keeping her now woozy eyes on me every so often to make sure Ben wasn’t taking advantage of me, or more precisely, horning in on her territory.
Not that I was hers mind you, just that she didn’t subscribe to my thoughts that everyone is bisexual at their core. No, Dawn was a confirmed carpet muncher, or in my case, a snail racer. As I said, I’m fastidious in cleaning, and frankly I love the feel of a smooth clam. Hair doesn’t catch or irritate me when I actually decide to wear my La Perla’s.

Once a week on Wednesday, Dawn and I would get together for a bottle of wine and a DVD movie, and after many months of enjoying the midweek download of current work related dramas, we found ourselves laughing and rolling on the floor as we watched Better Than Chocolate. I don’t know of it was the wine or the sexy comedy she brought over for us to watch as part of her Big Plan, but I found myself brushing across her firm breasts as we sat on the couch laughing.
During a particularly intense moment of video cinematography, Dawn flipped her long brown hair over my face as she turned towards me to give me an air kiss-kiss. I felt a rush of blood to my face when I asked her “Did you ever think about doing it with another woman”?
Brushing her locks away from her eyes, she then turned her fingers towards mine, and running them gently up the side of my head, pulled me closer “All the time, every day that I see you at work”, she whispered before placing a light kiss upon my slightly parted lips.

Not unpleasant I thought, so in turn I reciprocated. And then she to me.
Now more passionately. Now a touch on the shoulder, and me to her thigh. And a caress. A light touch on my breast, then a grasp on Dawn’s taut hard nipples. Our lips colliding like race cars. Stars exploding. Our bodies twitching, limbs akimbo as we tumbled onto the floor. Searching hands, once lightly touching, now urging my jeans from my body.
Dawn’s well-proportioned fingers grasping my P&J's, spines reaching upwards with each caress. Tongues lashed to one another, spinning wildly as our passions build.
Then in a twinkling, digits exploring the outer lips of my vagina in long strokes, nails lightly touching my inner walls. Harder now, Dawn’s fingertip pressing into my swollen rosebud, me crying out in the ecstasy of explosions that only another woman can give to her own kind.
Knowledge of intimate secrets whispered around school locker rooms, delights carnally enjoyed within home bathtubs, the feeling of shag carpet as it is rubbed hard, bellies drug across during early sexual exploration. You girls know what I mean.
More exploration, more touching, more kissing, more tongue. Exploring. Sucking. Anticipating. Caressing.
Suddenly a moan escaped my mouth as Dawn’s lips met mine for the first time, her tiny pointed member exploring my garden. Examining every nuance, every branch and cavity, she continued as I did while sounds of pleasure escaped my mouth in mounting fits and waves, explosions of emotion lifting me to the stars, climaxing in a fireworks display deep inside my head and loins. Unable to contain myself longer and grasping Dawn’s head, I pulled her face in farther and closer than any human before or since had been to the real me, and I came in mounting spasms of joy.


That's how snail racing Wednesday’s came to be.

Secret Sins: Chapter 3 "Meine Ehre heist Treue"

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Secret Sins: Chapter 3, "Meine Ehre heist Treue"

Returning to reality after my all too brief reverie of the past, I shook off thoughts of Joel to see Ben still staring holes deep into my blissful face.
What manner of person was this that would approach me, openly challenging my inner sexual desire with a look that reminded me of a cherished memory while frightening my core with paranoid thoughts? With my mind racing faster as I attempted to grasp just what Ben was asking of me, various words spilled from my mouth in a torrent of petulant rage.
"Who the fuck are you and why do you know so much about me? How in the name of Athena do you know about who or what the fuck I like to do and where in shit to did you find out about what I choose to wear or not wear under my clothes?"

A slight smirk of a smile crossed Ben's face for a millisecond as he starred down towards his shoes, and I could almost see a glimmer of a dimple on his cheek as he began to talk to his feet. "Well, that's kind of a long story, and it is a bit secret, but we think that we can trust you with a bit of information at this point". Shifting his feet from the top of one Thom McAn to another (hey, a girl can tell a lot about a man by what kind of shoes he wears, and these were a strictly Industrial Office type shoes that had been polished a lot) Ben began to vaguely describe a scene from my past, and not necessarily a pretty one that I chose to remember until he brought it back to my memory.
"Do you happen to recall a fellow named Paul Stansfield? Big guy, about 6'6", 230 pounds, long haired fellow?"
Frantically searching my recollections from the hundreds of men that I had met in the past, not all of which I had dalliances with, I just couldn't recall the name in order to associate a face.
"Biker bar called On the Rocks in Virginia Beach ring a bell?
How about the name "Dagger"?
Oh.
My.
God.

Do ya know how some parts of you life stick out like a sore festering thumb while others just get buried farther as time goes on? The mind is like that. It shoves the bad stuff down in to little cracks and crevices and removes all traces of light from incidences that are best not remembered except in a confessional. This was one of them, and it came boiling to the surface as soon as Ben said the words "Virginia Beach". Coupled with the words "biker bar", a sodden beam of wood came careening off my head, forcing me to remember times left forgotten.
The name Dagger then was a brick thrown straight to the center of my forehead, and the whole episode came flooding back.

It was the mid 80's and I was young, and the Spring Break thing was getting into full swing, what with the headiness and pain of the 70's giving way to the exhilarating optimism of the Reagan administration. The greed generation was underway, and Bolivian Marching Powder was everywhere to be found. Knowing this, my freshman college girlfriends and I had saved the dollars we earned at one of the various low-paying slop outlets in the town that employed 17 year old girls, and pooled resources to head to what was then the hot spot of teenage debauchery.



Scoring a room near the beach, we spent our days lounging in the sun or playing bikini beach ball, hoping that our outfits were skimpy enough and our boobs bouncing hard enough to attract some young cock stud out on the make. The beer flowed and the sand flew as we made our choices for the night, a regular meat market affair on a grand and sweaty scale.
The first day in town some of my girlfriends got gluttonous, hankering for the first cock they saw swinging in their face though swim trunks, and began humping like whores in an orgy fuck fest.
That soon gave way to the realization that there were soooo many boys out there that they could actually be choosy. I hope that this doesn't come as a complete shock guys, we girls want to be something more than a cum dump that gets rolled out the door after a few minutes of grunting a groaning.

So I laid back and perused the scene as it flowed by, pulling hard on the joints that occasionally were passed, enjoying the newfound freedom that my pussy was craving in that God-forsaken Midwestern college town. I think it was on the fourth or fifth night that the beer, dope and fucking random boys actually began to get boring (I know! Listen to me!) that I began to crave something different, something more experienced, something a bit more randy with a hint of danger attached.
With this in mind, I began to cruise Virginia Beach's famous Pacific Avenue in search of that something different. What a scene this is with the vendors and bars, but it's more tightly controlled these days with cameras mounted on light poles and policemen quietly sneaking up on you via mountain bikes. In those days, you could just about get away with smoking a joint out in the open as you walked down the street, but I guess thanks to this attitude and Pat Robertson who has his church here, VB has become more "family friendly", and they don't cotton to the open attitude that we so earnestly embraced.
Out here I felt a bit freer, and even though I was surrounded by tons of people I kept my eye out for just that one Big Thing, and there it was. Stopped at the intersection of Pacific Avenue and 22nd street were a group of guys on big Harley Davidson motorcycles, sitting there on chrome beasts vibrating and glistening as the late afternoon sun beat down hard upon them.
Something came over me to this day I don't know why I did it except by virtue of youthful hubris, and I ran over and hopped on the back of the nearest rumbling stallion, grasping the huge guy in front of me around the waist hard as the light turned green and he roared off toward the South side of town.


I thought it strange that he didn't say anything or react in any way to this intrusion of his mechanical solitude, but a mile down the road I heard him grunt "Wot's yer name?" in a rumbling voice that matched his machines motor.
"Uh, Debbie" I said back. "Speak up girl!" the biker shouted again.
"DEBBIE!" I shouted into his ear.
"Name's Paul, but my 'bros call me Dagger"
Dagger.
Dagger danger. Danger dagger. Danger, meet Dagger - Dagger, danger.
It was about then that I realized that he was wearing a vest stitched with patches, the top one with the words "Pope's of Hell" embroidered upon it. I said it before and I'll say it again: Oh. My. God!
As Dagger went zooming hard into a sharp corner, my hands slipped down for a better grip and I quickly understood his nickname.
It was a dagger all right, one I found out later was originally given to the notorious Oskar Dirlewanger by the equally loathsome Heinrich Müller, but then returned to the SS chief to prove that Dirlewanger had indeed been arrested by the French. Dagger was reluctant to say more about his namesake save to say that his grandfather had given it to him before he died.

Finally zooming into the parking lot of what resembled a large, broken down shack with a bent up sign that read "On the Rocks", Dagger put his kickstand down, shut off the engine, and just sat there. One of his fellow bikers sauntered over and addressed Dagger directly. "Hey bro, looks like ya picked up a little baggage in town!" "Yeah," said Dagger, "but I ain't seen her yet. She a dog?"
"Hell no Dag, she's stone cold fox and frum the look of it, she's got a nice rack too!"
"Yeah, I figgered that when I felt 'em press'n into me on the turn back there."
He turned to look at me and said "Well, you gonna get off bitch er wot?"
I'm sure my mouth was hanging open at that point as I climbed off the big Harley's back butt pad, because Dagger's biker brother said to him "Looks like that mouth flapp'n open could suck the exhaust out of my tailpipe any day dude!" Both laughing hard, they each gave the other a High Five and I knew I was in for trouble, how much so I would just have to find out on my own.
"Well," said Dagger, she DID say her name wasss 'Debbie'" and with that, the two men fell all over each other howling and hooting.
My name has given me trouble ever since some boys in 6th grade class snuck into a local porn store.

I had turned around red faced with my back to the bikers and was staring at the empty lot across the street when I felt a hard slap on my ass and a huge, calloused hand grab me by the arm to swing me around. "Lemme look at you girl" said Dagger as I stumbled under his firm grasp.
Looking me up and down, his gaze turned to my bikini-tethered breasts as I felt my nipples stiffen with a combination of excitement and fear.
"Damn! You got some fine tits there little girl, some FINE ass tits!"
A look of fear and trepidation must have crossed my face because as Dagger lead me to the entrance of the bar with his other club members, he stopped for a second, looked me in the eye and asked me how old I was. "How old do you think I am?" I asked. "That's not the point." Dagger hissed at me. "Tell me the truth."
"I'm 18." I said.
I lied, or course.
Perhaps a muscle twitch betrayed me, but cocking one eyebrow in the air, Dagger surveyed me for a moment and with his hand firmly planted on my arm, began to walk me to his hangout. Lowering his voice as we walked he said, "OK, but if you want to leave, you just let me know. You're here with me, and you're safe as long as I'm around, but don't go off anywhere with any of the other bro's or you're on your own." A somewhat sigh of relief crossed my mind, and I lightened up a bit.

It was your usual stereotypical biker bar or at least it was everything I had ever imagined in the Midwest, watching B-movies as I babysat some long asleep youngster.
Loud music blared from a jukebox - I swear to God, it was "Tequila" by The Champs - fairly dark, a long grimy bar with a guy passed out on it, pool tables and pinball machines, and the slightly sickening smell of beer that had been spilled on the floor ages ago. Whether it was out of a glass or out of a stomach was entirely up to interpretation.
Several other women dressed in jeans and leather vests were pawing over some of the bikers we had come in with, and looking to the right, I saw a stage bathed in blue light, bedecked with a large pole going floor to ceiling. Having never seen or been in a strip club before, I deduced from the girls slobbering over the men there, and from descriptions gained reading novellas as a horny teenager that this was indeed, a strip club or sorts, albeit, probably private I thought. After all, who in their right mind would come in here?

"Ya wanna beer?" asked Dagger as he led me over to a side wall booth. Noting the parched feeling in my throat after the bike ride, I nodded my acceptance at the offer. "Doris! Gimmee four Millers, four shots of Jack, and get the lead out bitch!" he screamed at the bartender over the background music.
Turning back to me, he asked me why the fuck I had jumped on the back of his bike back in town, and if I knew how dangerous that kind of stunt was with "his type". More questions came before the beer; where was I from, how many siblings, did I go to school, who was I here with and most importantly, did my friends know what I had done.
Answering quickly and needing that beer desperately, I told him about life in the Midwest, and why I had come to Virginia Beach: cock, beer and drugs.
"Oh yeah, spring break. Lots of pussy, an ocean of beer, and tons of drugs. Ain't America great?"
I had to agree with him that it was.

Next: Secret Sins: Chapter 3 - "Meine Ehre heist Treue", Part 2