Brown Paper Fantasies

The Trampy Kind of Temptress Silence In The Cellar-1

The Trampy Kind of Temptress

Silence In The Cellar

He begins with the remembrance of a hot afternoon late in May. In Seattle, the rain had finally stopped and the sun was shining so intently; the natives were all indoors smothering from the heat.

The woman in question was the trampy kind of temptress that looked for sexy ballplayers—or other such nomadic beasts that wouldn’t be in town for long. A few weeks in the spring was all she needed of men to kick-start her s****l juices for the remainder of the year. The rest of the time she could be content with some old beau; but for those initial hours of springtime, she was a slut in heat, on the move, ready to grab the first stray c**k that came her way. She was actually a little choosier than that; but once she got her chosen man to bed, they knocked boots until they were both worn out and too tired to move. It might take two days; it might take two weeks. But usually it was just several long-winded days, languishing about the silken sheets of her 19th century canopy bed. She opened the windows to the rushing spring, and let their voices join the chorus of the carnal—like something newborn answering to the call of a new season.

Paula Darnell had silken hair the color of ripening wheat, eyes so blue and pure Daniel swore she didn’t belong on this planet. There was a natural curl to her wavy locks falling like a cascade of water to her shoulders. And something about her walk was enchanting—a sexy tango, like dance music was playing inside her swaying hips. Her ass was nicely round, fitting well into the tight skirts she wore—little straight skirts to hug that ass, and show a little definition to her behind—she rarely wore panties so you could just barely detect the crack of her ass. Seems she enjoyed posing for men with her chest thrust out smartly and a little sass glimmering from the blue of her eyes. She liked men to take pictures of her in disgraceful poses. Blouses unbuttoned so the black lace encasing her t**s would show. She’d raise the orbs in either hand and pretend to kiss the abundant pink flesh. Sometimes she posed in the nude, lounging on a private beach at water’s edge, the tiny waves from the lake teasing her cunt. Her pale blonde bush of hair would flattening into kinky curls once it was wet, and the lusty Paula would stretch out on the sand, undulating snakelike, grinding her hot cunt to the rough beach underneath her like she was getting off.

Daniel took pictures of her that way—ones so outrageous he had to send away to have them developed by a lab that handled porn. They were beautiful—though Paula was gone from Daniel’s life when he finally got them back and she never had a chance to see them. He supposed it didn’t matter to her if she did. Being photographed was an experiential act and enough in itself. And of course, it didn’t bother Daniel that he got to keep them. Some lonely nights on the road he took them from his suitcase and remembered the days he spent with Paula’s luscious body.

He’d been playing ball in the league just a week when on that hot afternoon in May, he spotted her standing at the gate to the park as though she was waiting for him. Her face was as pretty as a model in a magazine, all perfectly painted in just the right shades for her creamy skin and the wheat/blonde color of her shiny hair. Her eyes sort of smoldered from the beginning, the blue at first a little startling—made him want to keep peering right into their centers. But her lids were lazy and he didn’t always see the clear blue irises. Her lashes batted coyly, though she was hardly a bashful woman. Pushing herself breasts first in his direction, she wiggled her hips to his side and without being invited, put a hand on his hip. His p***s immediately took notice.

“Nice ass,” she remarked. Her whole manner was more than amazing.

Her bright smile warmed him, while he imagined what it would be like to press his mouth against her two lips, cleanly painted with rose-colored lipstick. It was hard to decide what he liked about her most; there was so much of her issuing from the abundant package of sensuous charm.

“Do you always come on this way to strangers?” he asked as if he was disapproving of her style. He wasn’t so sure he did.

“Oh, you’re hardly a stranger to me. I’ve had my eyes on you for days now.”

“Okay.”

They walked together down the street toward his hotel, Miss Paula Darnell talking freely.

“You have great hips, you know?” she remarked.

“No, I didn’t.”

“From a female point of view. But then you don’t see them from afar the way I do.”

“You were at the game?”

“Right behind home plate—and a little to the left.”

He hadn’t seen her.

“I’ll buy you a drink,” she said.

“No. I’ll buy you one,” he decided.

“Perfect.” She smiled again, and took his arm like they’d known each other for years.

The two talked their way through three drinks, until Daniel was feeling a bit woozy, and his date showed signs of being drunk.

“You will walk me home, won’t you?” she asked.

“Sure.”

“And sleep with me?” she wondered.

“Sleep with you?”

“That’s what this is all about. Or did you think I was just being friendly?”

Her hair was casually mussed by now. Miss Darnell seemed to like running her hand through her golden locks—almost as much as she liked bending forward over the table so he could see right down the thin sweater, to her delicious cleavage. She was an ambrosial sort of woman who gave off scents as though she worked at the perfume counter in a department store. The thought of burying his face between her breasts became so appealing he figured that he’d end up doing anything this woman offered.

“Do you always sleep around so easily?” he asked.

That was when she told him about her spring fling with a sexy man, and how the remainder of her year seemed tame in comparison.

“Why just spring?” he asked.

“Well, why not? Doesn’t your blood boil a little faster in spring, your hormones come alive? It’s the season of mating. I think it must be the earth screaming at me sometimes.” Her eyes became livelier still. “I can’t help myself, even though I’m not a tramp the rest of the year. Spring is heaven.”

Ah! She was oozing the season from every voluptuous pore of her body.

“Yeah, I guess it’s that way,” he finally said. “I’ll go to bed with you, as long as you’re planning to do it slowly. I like to take my time, get to know a woman’s body before I get into making love.”

“Ooo, my, that is nice,” her words dripped with desire. She parted her mouth, while gazing into his limpid eyes with hers reeking of carnal schemes. He could see the inner workings of her mind toying with her fantasies. It wouldn’t take long before they were naked; and on a night like this—losing his ballgame in the ninth inning on a two run homer that flew like a bolt of lightning over his head into the center field bleachers—he could use the good graces of a licentious female to take away his despair. “I live just around the corner,” she added.

They walked around the corner, down another two blocks and strolled up the steps of an old apartment house with a big front porch. The aging brick looked sagging, the woodwork well worn, but the light from Paula’s first floor window was a golden yellow through the pulled down shade, offering the promise of a mellow summer evening. The heat outside was beginning to wane. Inside, there were Japanese paper lanterns, windchimes, and oriental carpets hanging on the walls. And in the bedroom where she laughingly dragged her prize by the hand, there was a black lacquered canopy bed with a handmade crocheted bedspread. The dim light form a corner lamp cast moving shadows on the walls as a breeze came through either side of the fluttering window shade. From outside the air was fresh, mixing with the scent of the incense she burned before she left.

She lit two candles and a stick of musk, then began to strip her clothes to the music from a scratchy recording, lapping around an old turntable. Saxophone and a throaty blues singer.

He sat on the bed; there was no chair.

“Do you like to watch?” she asked as she unbuttoned her sweater.

“Do you ever dance?” he replied as the allure of her reminded him of clubs he’d been to on the road, where exotic dancers leaned into his face with breasts he could only enjoy by the sight of them. It was a cruel fate, watching these vixens share the best part of the female anatomy, while he was forced to keep his hands in his lap or around his glass; his c**k springing to life reminding him of what he couldn’t have.

“Dance? You mean to strip?” she asked as she moved lazily toward him, her sweater about to drop from her shoulders. A little shimmy and it was sliding down her back. “A few times.”

She gazed down at her t**s while she stood between his parted thighs. With her breasts at his face, he could see through the lace of her bra the outline of two pinkish aureoles beneath. “Truth is, I didn’t like it much. I’d rather have my hands on a man’s flesh and his on mine than just show it off.”

Another shimmy and Daniel eyes fixed on her jiggling cleavage. Raising one lanky leg, she rested it on his thigh. The hem of her skirt inched up high, exposing black garters attached to her lace-edged stockings. A flick of his fingers and he detached them with a simple snap—the experience like opening a box of scented treasure leading straight to the heart of a woman’s private mysteries. His roving hand found a naked snatch so wet and warm it would be heaven to bathe in all night long. He was certain his c**k would readily agree. Would it be too crass when he finally took off his pants for his erection to be as stiff as the pink dildo lying on her bedside table? All he could imagine was a succulent Paula so pleased, she’d take it between those rosy lips and draw it into the heaven at her mouth before he planted it inside her p***y.

“Shall I leave on the lace or f**k you naked?” she inquired.

“Oh, I want your skin.”

A devious smirk lit her face, and her eyes glowed almost black, having darkened measurably in the darkened room. Falling free, her t**s seemed to grow in size before his eyes. Pressing them to his face, the passion of her passed through him in an hypnotic wave—like being drugged—like being reminded of the best s*x of his life between Bella’s (his regular lover’s) legs. He wanted them both, but would be content with having just this slutty substitute to make him happy. For as long as this sweet-smelling tart was willing to have him lighting up his organ in her brothel bed, he’d cozy up to her luscious embrace, and taste with c**k and mouth the portal between her thighs.

“Why, Daniel,” she finally said, pulling her breasts from his face. “You have me at a disadvantage, seeing my treasure while I haven’t had a glimpse of yours.” She pouted. He had his hands under her skirt, both with a generous portion of her ass squeezed between groping fingers. Each time he massaged her cheeks, he could feel his erection pulse as though the two things were physically connected. He didn’t want to stop, but they could hardly remain like this all night.

“Maybe you want to take care of that,” he whispered, as he pushed her further away. She sunk to her knees between his thighs to undo his belt, and lower the zipper of his jeans. He watched how her eyes opened wide in anticipation, and that uncertain moment of dread passed through him as he wondered if what she exposed would meet her expectations.

“Oh, my, this is quite a c**k you have here,” she seemed to approve of his hungering meat—even the angry purple head that was ready to get on with the main course of the night. He needed her mouth, or her p***y or ass. Something tight and warm to help him shed the dour reflections of his day, a place to lose it all like nothing in the world mattered.