The Making of a Gigolo (13) - Misty Compton
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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
"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
"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
"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.
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
"Within reason," said the man with a real brain, instead of a
"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
"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
"You have a cute butt," he said casually.
"You're not supposed to be looking at my butt," she muttered.
"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
"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
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
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