Elizabeth Finn - Restoring Jordan

Thank you, dearest J, for allowing me to share your humiliation with my readers. What can I say; I needed to humiliate my girl, Adeline, and your humiliation will never be forgotten by those of us who were there. Always remember your slips, ladies, if you intend to tear your skirt off on a stage

Do you want to fuck me?

His words stop me cold in my tracks. Can you just ask someone something like that and expect them to answer? Well I certainly couldnt, but this man Im sure he gets away with it all the time.

I caught sight of him instantly upon entering the bar with my girlfriends. Far too old for meIm guessing mid-to-late thirties at least. But hes gorgeous, dressed like a man with money. And obviously puts the cock in cocky. Hes the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. But while my gaze followed him from the moment I caught sight of him, his gaze did not find me. Of course it didnt; Im me, and he is breathtaking. He was with a group of other men of similar age and, Im guessing, stature. But he takes the cake on looks.

It appears more business meeting than men out on the town, especially given its only three oclock on a Friday afternoon. Just because my closest friends think this is an appropriate time to celebrate my new internship doesnt mean the rest of the world is on our clock. And as we chat, laugh, joke, and behave in ways no respectable women should in the middle of the day, I continue to sneak glimpses. But like I said, he does not appear to even know I exist. For that matter, he doesnt realize our group of young women is even there at all. Hes most enthralled with the conversation of his group, and while the other men at their table have taken turns glancing our way, he glanced at us perhaps once before dismissing us and returning to his group.

When I exit the restroom and come face to face with the man and his oh-so inappropriate question, I freeze. Hes more handsome than I initially thought from forty or so feet away. In fact, hes incredible to look at. Why a man like him would proposition a girl like me is beyond my comprehension. And in my frozen state, I take in his calm and impassive expression. The question deserves an answerhell, it deserves a swift slap across the facebut instead, I just stare. And he stares backwaiting.

As his hand reaches out to my body, I dont stop him. My heart pounds, my brain panics and demands I run, but my body betrays me and flushes and tingles. Its as if his very masculine, long-fingered hand moves in slow motion as it closes the space between our bodies. When his unfamiliar fingers touch my blouse right above the waist of my pants, my stomach muscles instantly clench and quiver, but I still dont move. When he undoes the button of my pants with only the fingers of his one hand, I maintain my position. When he slides the zipper of my pants down, moving far slower than necessary, my breaths come in quick desperate gasps, but I still dont move an inch.

His eyes are smoldering, wide, dark, and intense. I have no good reason to let this complete stranger touch my body, but at the moment, its the only thing my body wants. At any moment, someone could enter the small corridor we are standing in, but he isnt concerned in the least. And as his hand slips past the waist of my underwear, pushing its way to my sex, I stop breathing altogether. His hand is warm and demanding, and I should stop him, I should scream, anything at all to keep this from happening. But he knows I wont; he knows I have no intention of stopping what is to come. I want his fingers on my skin. I have from the moment I caught sight of him upon entering the bar. Wasnt this what I was imagining while sitting with my best gal pals celebrating? Its my celebration after all. Shouldnt I be able to have a little fun? But the truth of the matter is this isnt me! I dont have fun; I dont fuck around with strangers in narrow corridors of swanky downtown bars. This isnt me but still, I wont stop him. I want to be exactly the type of girl who fucks about with a man like him.

When his finger touches the top of my sex, my hips instantly thrust toward him, and a gasp escapes my lips in my want for more. But his finger doesnt linger there for longer than a second before sliding between the lips of my vagina, passing over my clitoris as it makes its way to my entry. This man has no idea just how inept I am, and at the moment, Im far too in heat to stop his touch, slow his movements, or challenge him in any way. Im without doubt the oldest virgin in the near vicinity, and in the cover of anonymity I wont be announcing just how inexperienced I am. He is anything but inexperienced, and with any luck my pathetic navet wont be too obvious.

He smells amazing. Its the smell of expensive cologne, but its light and subtle. It isnt musky, but clean, earthy, and warm. Hes clean-shaven, and his dark hair is tousled but professional. His suit is wool and probably cost more than my rent for the better portion of the year. His teeth are perfectly straight and white. And when I use his arm to steady myself while his fingers explore and invade the most private part of my body, the well-developed muscles of his upper arms ripple and contract at my touch. The quiet, husky moan that emanates from his lips reveals what his impassive and dark eyes dont: he wants this just as much as I do. Thats impossible, and yet its as true as my own desire.

Come home with me. He speaks with a warm, purring voice that has my knees shaking.

Theres nothing purring about my voice as I respond, You could be a serial killer.

And yet oddly enough, Im not The slight smile that crosses his delicious-looking mouth assures me hes not offended by my question but Im not sure I should care. This is reckless. But his fingers still tease and linger between my legs; his palm is snug against my skin, brushing over my most sensitive nub and held tight to my body by the clothing that is still firmly in place. I swear Ill cry if he pulls away from me. But this isnt me. I dont do this. I cant do this. Im responsible, not reckless. Im frigid, not a slut. I care about my career, not sex. But still, this man

His finger plunges into my entry, filling me and releasing a groan so unfamiliar I clasp my hand to my mouth. His eyes watch me. Hes waiting for my response as though my moan werent enough. Didnt I remain chaste for a reason? Wasnt there a purpose to it? But even as the questions enter my mind, so too does his finger enter my tight, virgin sheath once more. And Im reminded Ive thought often and with intense longing of an experience such as this. Remaining a virgin was nothing more than my immersion in my studies, my fear of becoming attached to something other than my goal. My friends have cried; theyve languished away at ended relationships. Ive never had such a problem. Instead, Ive been focused, driven to the point of obsession on my studies. Its how I managed to remain at the top of my class. Its how I managed to land the best internship my grades could buy.

Foster Architectural Designs, to be exact. They award one internship per year for the second half of the spring term, and in two short days Ill be walking through their doors to my new, albeit temporary, place there. Its the final hurdle between me and my diploma. They rate brutally, but if you survive moreover, if you thrive, you will be assured the very best job offers at the very best firms. So, its all a reason to celebrate; there is no doubt about this fact. And so the question remains: why not him?

His mouth moves to my neck, and when his gaze passes beyond my periphery, my body clenches in waiting anticipation. The warmth of his breath is the first I feel of his impending touch, and it sends a searing warmth and wetness flooding to my core. When his lips touch my neck there is little I can do to stop the gasp from my throat and the quiver that runs through my body. When his tongue flicks across my neck, my gasp turns into a cry as the pleasure courses through my veins and straight to the pulsing warmth between my legs. I will absolutely be going home with this man.