The Making of a Gigolo (13) - Misty Compton

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12

Chapter Nine

The concert Saturday night went as well, if not better than the one the previous night. Misty saw a lot of faces in the crowd that she had seen the night before, waving photographs at her and seeking autographs. The fact that they were hearing some of the same music didn't seem to bother them.

After a set of five uninterrupted songs, Misty announced that they were going to play a home-grown song and introduced Jasper. She went through the rest of the band, too, something she had forgotten to do the night before. The audience loved it, and they clapped and shouted just as hard for Jasper's song as they had for her own compositions. That didn't bother her at all. She just turned around and grinned at the blushing bass player and had him take a bow.

Autographs after the concert were more organized. Amanda had seen what happened the previous night, and had people on hand to handle the crowd of admirers. Still, there were hundreds of pictures to sign, and it took over an hour before the line dwindled. Amanda asked Misty if she wanted to go out for a late bite and, feeling better tonight, she agreed. That turned into something a bit comical, as all the people who Amanda had hired decided they were invited too and followed. Initially, the manager of the restaurant threw up his hands when twenty people walked in the door and asked to be seated together. Money went from Amanda's hand to his, though, and they were given a private room. Employees scurried around getting the tables set while people relaxed into seats and were introduced to the star.

Misty noticed that Bobby sat at the other end of the room, and then wondered why she'd noticed that. He was chatting with the people near him, who seemed to know him. They turned out to be employees of the radio station Amanda ran, when it got to their introductions.

"This has been fabulously successful," Amanda said after she finished the introductions. "I couldn't be happier at having you here. This will be a festival a lot of people will remember."

It took a while for the unexpected large group to place their orders and, by the time they left, it was very late. Bobby was still talking to people when Misty sidled up beside him and stuck her arm through his.

"We need to go," she said softly.

"Okay," he said simply, bending his arm so she could hold on. He seemed to take in stride, the fact that she had her arm in his. She had ridden to the restaurant with Amanda, and let him lead her to the truck. He put her in her side and then went around. Once they were going she spoke.

"You know, I saw your car at the farm. But every time you take me anywhere, you still use this old truck."

She saw him grin in the passing light of a street lamp.

"At first I did it just to needle you," he admitted. "Now it just seems like the kind of vehicle people would expect you to be in. You know ... country songs and pickups?"

"You're the last person I would have thought would stereotype me," she said, but there wasn't any discontent in her voice.

"Contrary to popular opinion, I'm not perfect," he quipped.

"So ... are you going to give me another massage tonight?" Her voice was lower than it had been.

"Do you need one?"

"Probably," she hedged. In truth, she felt much better. She still remembered the feel of his hands on her, though, and that was a pleasant memory, all things considered.

"We'll see," he said.

She didn't know what that meant until they got back to the farm. It wasn't dark this night. Mirriam and the twins were still up, though little Theodore was already in bed. Mirriam seemed nervous, somehow, and the twins seemed excited for some reason that had nothing to do with Misty.

It was almost as if they had been waiting for them to get there. Suddenly everyone announced it was bedtime, and Misty got the impression that, if she'd have said she wanted to stay up, she would have been told to go to bed anyway. She didn't want to stay up, though, and when Mirriam said "Bobby, I need a word with you please," she went on to her room. It looked like there would be no massage that night.

She wondered why that seemed like such a loss, all of a sudden.

"What's up, Mamma?" asked Bobby as Mirriam waited until everyone was gone.

"I need you tonight," was all she said. Then she turned and walked toward her bedroom, as if she just expected him to follow her.

He did.

Bobby was surprised that she'd want him, with a stranger in the house. She still didn't know that the twins had seen him making love to her. The twins didn't let on that they knew Bobby occasionally stayed a long time in their mother's bedroom. But he knew she was still rather circumspect about having him spend too much time in there.

On this night, though, she was intent on keeping Bobby out of what she thought of as "trouble". Misty was a beautiful woman, and she'd displayed the same kind of interest in Bobby that too many other women had displayed in the past. Mirriam had no trouble building up desire to spend time with Bobby in bed. She was used to her desires now. She just helped them along a bit so that he wouldn't be tempted to do whatever it was he did to women ... at least not insofar as doing it to their guest.

An hour later Mirriam lay weak from a succession of orgasms as Bobby stood up and put his clothes back on. His copious spend was dripping from her pussy, and she closed it off with two fingers, not wanting to get up, but also not wanting a wet spot in the bed.

"Good night Darling," she sighed.

"Night," he said, leaning over to kiss her one more time. "I love you, and I love doing this with you."

"I know," she sighed. "I love it too. I'll make you a special breakfast in the morning."


Then he was gone, quietly leaving. She was almost asleep by the time the door clicked shut.

If there hadn't been light coming from under the door to Misty's room, Mirriam's plan to protect her guest might have worked. But after getting ready for bed, Misty realized she wasn't as tired, this night, as she had been the night before, and a book on the night stand had caught her attention. It wasn't the kind of thing she usually read. It was by an author she'd never heard of before, a man named Isaac Asimov, and it had the strange title of "I Robot". It turned out to be a series of short stories, and she had read the first one just out of curiosity. She was on the fifth, completely enthralled by the exploits of Powell and Donovan and with the way Susan Calvin thought about things, when there was a tap on her door.


The door opened, and Bobby stuck his head in.

"You still need that massage?"

"I'm in my nightgown," she said needlessly. She was lying on top of the covers.

"I see that."

Misty closed the book. She had been reading a story called "Liar" and wished Herbie, the mind-reading robot in the story, was there so it could tell her what Bobby was thinking.

"Why do you want to give me a massage?" she asked.

"I don't want to give you a massage, necessarily," he said. "But if you need one, I'd be happy to do it."

Something ... perhaps the woman in her ... was a little disgruntled by his casual attitude. Like most women, she wanted men to be intoxicated with her ... on her terms anyway. Bobby's take-it-or-leave-it attitude miffed her a little. The fact that he'd seen her naked last night and had not molested her miffed her a little for much the same reason, though she didn't consciously think about it that way. He was so attentive to other women. Their attitudes toward him made it obvious that he had the capability to make a woman happy. His mother had even said he "had a way" with women. Now, though she didn't think about it on a conscious level, the stories she had just read about what made robots tick made her curious about what made Bobby tick.

"Will you behave yourself?" she asked, thinking about the first law of robotics: A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.

"Of course," said the man who wasn't a robot.

"Will you do what I tell you to?" she asked, thinking about the second law of robotics: A robot must obey orders given to it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.

"Within reason," said the man with a real brain, instead of a positronic one.

"I won't take off my nightgown," she said.

"Your call," he responded.

"Okay, then," she said, somehow feeling as if things had been decided, and she was perfectly safe and in control.

She flipped over onto her stomach, and lay her head on her arms, getting into a comfortable position. She felt the bed move as he sat beside her, and it tilted toward him a little, making her list slightly to one side. His hands came down on her back first and she was almost surprised to feel herself pressed down into the bed as his hands slid across her shoulder blades and up to the skin between her shoulders and neck. He squeezed and she groaned as she felt the sweet pain of his fingers kneading her muscles.

In fact, the casual voyeur would have heard what sounded like a torture session going on, if Misty's groans and moans had been the primary input to the voyeur's senses. Bobby pulled and pushed and moved her joints around as she got more and more relaxed. He moved down her body, like he had the night before and, like had happened the night before, when he got to her buttocks, and began mauling them, she was so relaxed that she didn't say a word.

Her nightgown only went to her knees and, when his hands slipped off that onto her legs, she was astounded by how different his hands felt on her bare skin. She felt the warmth first, and then the roughness of his hands, which somehow scraped her skin in a way that felt delicious. When he'd done her feet, and was working his way back up, his hands slid under her nightgown to the back of her thighs.

"You're being naughty," she murmured.

"No I'm not," he said softly. "I'm giving you a massage."

She tensed a little when his hands slid up to her bare butt cheeks.

"Now you're being naughty," she rasped.

"Not at all," he argued.

She couldn't believe how good his hands felt on her butt, moving the skin around and squeezing her. By and large, people touch and scratch themselves on most parts of their bodies ... except the buttocks. We sit on them, but we don't touch them much. Misty found out just how good it can feel for that area of the body to be touched.

His hands got to the small of her back before the nightgown got so tight on his wrists that he could go no farther. Her butt felt so warm and alive that she didn't realize it was exposed to his gaze.

"You have a cute butt," he said casually.

"You're not supposed to be looking at my butt," she muttered.

"Why not?"

"Cause it's my butt!"

"Which is precisely why I'm interested in looking at it," he countered. "There are thousands of men right here in central Kansas who wish they could be looking at what I'm looking at right now."

"Now you're definitely being naughty!" she groaned, as he pressed hard and his rough hands scraped down to her waist.

"Yeah, I guess so," he sighed.

He pulled his hands out from inside her nightgown and started working her back again. The feel was completely different. It felt good, but with cloth between his hands and her skin, it was a totally different sensation.

"If I took my nightgown off, would you behave?" she asked.

"I'd try really hard."

"You have to promise to behave," she groaned as he pressed hard with the flat of his hands, pushing her into the bed and making it hard for her to draw a breath.

"Okay, I'll behave. I promise."

The pressure vanished and she looked back over her shoulder.

"Did you promise that just so you can see me naked again?"

"I promised because you asked me to."

Somehow, that was enough. She reached down and tried to pull her nightgown up, without getting up off the bed. She struggled with it until he said: "Here, let me help."

She did a half pushup, to lift her chest off the bed, and felt his fingers pushing the cloth of the nightgown up. His fingers were positioned on her sides, and she jerked slightly as the pressure slid up her sides and tickled her. His fingertips brushed the sides of her breasts and she plopped back down. She raised her head and arms to let him slide the cloth off her body. She suddenly felt very vulnerable. At least last night she had been wearing panties.

"Remember, you promisssuuuuuhhhhhhhhh." Her warning turned into a groan of satisfaction as his warm hands pressed her into the bed again and moved from the middle of her back to the sides. Again, she couldn't breathe for a few seconds.

His hands seemed to be able to cover every inch of her back, somehow, and his strong fingers dug into the muscles of her shoulders and neck.

Within five minutes she was as limp as a wet noodle.

He went down her body again, and then back up. He didn't seem to be in a hurry, and she loved how he was making her feel so much that she didn't want him to stop. When he finally got to the back of her head, and started massaging her scalp, her neck muscles didn't fight him as he rolled her head from side to side.

"You want me to do the front?" he asked. His mouth was so close to her ear that she felt his breath on her skin.

"Of course not," she sighed.


The magic hands disappeared, leaving her feeling alone and naked. That wasn't so odd, really. She was, for all intents and purposes ... alone and naked.

"Do you have to stop?" she complained.

"I've done your back three times," he said, mirth in his voice.

"You just want to see my boobs."

"They're good looking boobs," he said amiably.

Again, she looked over her shoulder at him. He was just sitting there, like a robot, waiting to do her bidding. His fingers hadn't strayed to areas that she would have objected to. He hadn't done anything but make her feel wonderful.

"I'm not a slut," she said. She felt stupid as soon as it was out of her mouth, and she was almost shocked to see something flicker across his face that looked almost like disgust.

"Of course you're not," he said softly. "If I've said anything to make you think that's my impression of you, I'm very sorry."

He stood up suddenly and as his weight left the bed she rocked back to her left a little. She didn't want him to leave. She didn't understand why she didn't want him to leave, but it was there, in the front of her mind.

"Don't leave!" she said suddenly, rolling slightly to take her weight on her left elbow. Her right breast was suddenly off the bed, though her right arm prevented him from seeing it.

He stared down at her.

"What do you want?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I don't know," she answered truthfully. At that moment, she had no idea what she wanted from this man. She wasn't sure she wanted anything, except for him to stay.

"You probably need to figure that out," he said, smiling.

The tension suddenly evaporated. He wasn't trying to get her to do anything, really. Her mind grappled with that. The men she was familiar with were always trying to get her to do something. They wanted her to sing this way, or move that way. They wanted her to wear this, or make the music sound like that. They told her how to do her hair, and how to close her eyes at this or that part of a song, to make it look like she was full of emotion. Her mind flickered back to the story she'd read about Robbie the robot, who only wanted to do for young Gloria what she needed him to do to make her life better. Bobby was standing there, waiting for her to tell him what to do, instead of trying to get her to do something for him.

"I've never done this before," she said, rolling to land, tensely on her back. Her hands automatically went to cover her breasts.

His eyes stayed on her face, and she felt the conflicting mixture of both relief that he wasn't ogling her body and impatience with him for not recognizing her feminine attributes.

"I'm honored," he said simply.

He sat down on the edge of the bed again and she flinched a little. He didn't make her move her hands. Instead, he reached for her face. He used his thumbs to move the skin around on her cheeks and forehead and his other fingers to pull at her jaw. She realized her teeth were clamped together, and relaxed her facial muscles.

He suddenly leaned over and kissed her forehead, like she was a little girl or something. His chin scraped her nose and she felt the whiskers that had grown there since he shaved that morning. He sat back up and his hands flowed down the sides of her face to her neck and then to the muscles between her neck and shoulders, to grip there and knead. He took her right arm and laid it across his lap, working it from the shoulder to the fingers. She watched his eyes as he worked on her arm, but all they did was look at whatever area he was working on. He left her arm draped across his lap and twisted to reach the other one.

Now her breasts were exposed. What she noticed, though, was that he couldn't get to her left arm as well as he had the one that was on the same side of her body as he was. It still felt good, but it was just awkward somehow. Again, his eyes went to his hands, even though her breasts were exposed.

He dropped the arm and his hands covered her breasts so suddenly that she gasped. He pressed, rather than fondled, and moved her breast flesh all over her chest in big circles, stretching the underlying tissues in a way that was anything but sexual.

"Relax," he chided. "I'm not going to molest you."

"I know," she whispered.

Somehow - she couldn't have explained it - she knew that he wasn't going to molest her. She was letting a man be more intimate with her than almost any other man had ever been, but it was a different kind of intimacy. No man had, in fact, ever touched her breasts this much, for this long. Oddly, while she felt a tingle in her belly, and while her nipples woke up and looked around, figuratively speaking, she didn't feel like what was happening was sexual at all.

That changed when his hands left her breasts to explore her ribs. It didn't tickle. His touch was too firm for that. His fingers on her rib cage made her wish she could take a breath that would separate her ribs by inches, so that his fingers could surround each one and stroke it. When his hands moved to her belly, she felt an explosion of heat inside and was suddenly as horny as she'd ever been in her life. His fingertips, moving over her abdomen, just grazing the top of her pubic hair, made her feel like spreading her legs.

Alarm bells rang in her brain and she clamped her legs closed instead.

She expected his fingers to move between her legs. She was forming the word "Stop!" in her throat when he twisted so that his back was to her face and his hands slid down to her hips. His left hand crossed over her pubic mound so quickly, to join his right on her right hip that it was over before she could open her mouth. His fingers dug into the flesh of her hip and his right hand pulled at her knee to make it cross over her body.

All she could think of was that, instead of trying to get to her most secret place, he had covered it up with her thigh.

He worked the hip joint until she relaxed, stroking and digging into her thigh muscles and then moved to the knee to gently maneuver it. He pulled her lower leg onto his lap, like he had her arm. It stretched her hip muscles deliciously and she loved the pressure of his fingers on her calf muscles. He'd already done her foot, while she was lying on her stomach, but he did it again, pulling each toe and rubbing between them until she moaned with delight.

This time it was the leg nearest him that was awkward to reach, and he stood up to work on it. When he put her right leg back, it landed in such a way that her feet were a foot apart. His face was right over the juncture of her legs, and she knew her sex was exposed, but if felt like it would take entirely too much energy to move her leg.

He picked up her left leg anyway, which exposed her even more, until he pushed it across her body, and covered her up like he had before. This time he went around the bed and worked on that leg like he had the other, stretching her hip muscles with delicious pain while he worked on her thigh, calf and foot.

When he was done he let that leg flop back onto the bed. Now she was lying with her hands at her sides, her legs slightly spread, completely open to his gaze. He stood at the foot of the bed, looking up her body. Her eyes watched as his took in every inch of her. His eyes seemed to glitter as they slowly made their way up her body. She felt the sudden thrill of knowing that now ... right now ... he was a man. The robot was gone. This was a man looking at a woman now, and she saw the appreciation in his eyes. The heat in her belly expanded and with something like horror she realized she was getting wet. Now it wasn't a matter of not wanting to move. Right now she was powerless to move, caught in his gaze like a bird caught by the sinuous movements of the snake's head before it strikes.

"You're really beautiful," he said softly, his voice confirming what she had seen so clearly in his eyes.

She couldn't speak either. She realized, quite suddenly that she had made a terrible mistake. This man could do anything he wanted with her right now, and she would be powerless to resist. Her body had erupted into a state she was familiar with. In the past, when she felt like this, she used her fingers between her legs to get the relief her body demanded. Her mind went back to the picture of him standing in that window, naked, half hard, a man looking for a woman to mate with.

With feelings she couldn't understand, or even argue with, she knew she was that woman.

He moved from the foot of the bed to her side. Her eyes went to the front of his jeans, which were pushed out in a way that made it completely clear he was erect inside those jeans.

He leaned over, his head directly above hers. She was gazing into eyes so startlingly blue that she couldn't believe she hadn't noticed that before. She took a breath to plead for mercy and, without warning, his lips descended on hers.

He didn't touch her with anything other than his lips. His hands came down on the bed beside her head, and she felt her head dip because of his weight, but he didn't grab her or maul her. He simply kissed her. His lips were soft, and moved on hers. He wasn't driving her into the bed. In truth, she could probably have turned her head to escape those lips.

She didn't, though. As his fingers had brought her pleasure moving her skin and muscles around, his lips brought her pleasure moving hers around. She felt the tip of his tongue flick out to lick her upper lip, inside, and then retreat into his mouth.

As suddenly as he had kissed her, it was over, and he was standing beside the bed again.

"Good night," he said softly.

He turned and the door was clicking shut before she could make her voice work.

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