The Making of a Gigolo (9) - Amanda Griggs

by Lubrican

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

Chapter Seven

Amanda woke, aware that she had fallen asleep on his chest. She heard and felt his slow, steady breathing in her ear, and realized he was asleep too. She felt the sweat between them, and thought about now nice it would be to have a warm shower nearby. Her mind reviewed what had happened, and she felt warmth of a different kind, inside her. Another part of her mind reminded her that she was supposed to be running a radio station and she rose, in one fluid motion that astonished her. She picked up the blanket, that had fallen off her, and covered him with it, before turning to look at the clock on the wall in the sound booth. It was a little past two in the morning. That was all! She heard the comforting sounds coming from the box, and relaxed. Then she heard the rhythmic tic tic tic of a phonograph needle, at the end of a record. Without thinking, she walked, naked, to the sound booth and picked up the needle off the record. She was reaching to turn the turntable off, when she paused. Feeling something dripping down her inner thigh, she flipped the record over, and started the other side.

As the music started again, she went back to her office. She pulled a tissue from the box on her desk, and bent over to deal with the thick white stream of semen that was running down her thigh. She had to use two tissues to sop it up. Her pussy lips were flushed and thick, but not red and raw. Touching them with the tissue sent little pinpricks of sensation to her loins.

She stood up and saw that he was awake, just staring at her.

"You ready for round two?" he asked.

"Don't joke about something like that," she said softly.

He pulled the blanket off of him and her eyes widened, as she saw his penis, still looking shiny, standing up tall, leaning drunkenly toward his head.

"Ohhhh no," she moaned.

"We can just cuddle," he offered, patting the sheet beside him."

Feeling the flutter in her belly that the tissue had started, she sank down beside him, telling herself this was a mistake, but doing it anyway.

She was pleasantly surprised when he talked, instead of doing anything other than drawing her up against him. He ignored his penis. Could men do that? Her pussy kept sending her tiny signals that said "I can go again. What's wrong with you?" They were hard to ignore, but she tried.

He started asking her about her youth, and growing up. She seemed to do all the talking, and he seemed to just lie there and soak it all in, his blue eyes drinking her in too.

"You're not anything like I expected either," she found herself saying. She'd been talking about the radio station not being what she'd expected, as a girl, right out of High School.

He smiled. "What did you expect?"

"I don't know," she said, at a loss for words. How did you explain to a man that he had just altered your whole world forever, and that it was scary, but was also impossibly thrilling, at the same time? How did you tell him that he had just raped you ... except that you wanted him to do everything that he did, after it was done? How did you tell a man who was almost a complete stranger, that you loved him ... that you'd always love him, because he was your first real man? She took the easy way out.

"I didn't really know what to expect."

"I hope I didn't disappoint you," he said, tracing a finger along her jawline.

She barked a laugh that was on the edge of insanity, and, on impulse, leaned over to kiss him, letting her lips, and the emotion behind them tell him she wasn't disappointed, instead of trying to use mere words. She rolled back, to look at him.

"Felicity's baby ... you're the father ... aren't you?" she asked.

"I don't talk about other women," he said. "Just like I won't talk about you."

"I understand why she's so happy now," said Amanda, ignoring him, but feeling relief that he hadn't said anything.

It occurred to her, in that instant, that she wasn't on birth control. She had, in her mind, rehearsed demanding that he use a rubber, when ... if ... it ever got as far as that. She had been completely unprepared for what had just happened. He'd been so measured, the night before ... had taken things so slowly. When he'd speeded up, she was caught up in the whirlwind, and carried along.

"Do you ever use a rubber?" she asked, suddenly.

"No," he said softly, but firmly.

"Not even if I asked you to?"

"No," he said, just as firmly.

"Why not?" she asked, mildly horrified.

"Because what we shared is something that rises above everything else. It's why we were created. Some of the women take the pill. That's fine. It's their decision. But mine is to be natural."

The way he said it sounded so logical ... so ... natural.

"What if I said we couldn't do it again, unless you used a rubber?" she asked.

"Then we wouldn't do it again."

It wasn't a threat, but something like fear shot through her. To be denied that ... it was unthinkable.

"We can wait, if you want," he said, tracing his finger along her jawbone again, "until you can get on the pill, and it's protecting you."

The dim memory of someone explaining how the pill worked to her ... and that one needed to be on it a month, before it provided the maximum protection, trickled into her mind. A month. Thirty days. More, if you considered having to make an appointment, and then go to the pharmacy. She thought about that. Could she wait more than a month to feel that again? Not in a million years. Her body was urging her to pull him on top of her again already.

"Could you wait that long?" she asked, trying to draw strength from his answer.

"I could," he said, giving her hope, "but I wouldn't like it." Her hope dashed as she felt the urge to mate grow even stronger. He wanted her. He wanted her naturally. He wanted his sperm to do what it was created to do ... inside her! She was his chosen woman. It didn't matter that there were others ... he had chosen her too!

Her logical mind told her it was ridiculous. She wasn't going to marry him. She wasn't going to marry anybody. The last thing she needed now was to be pregnant. She needed to spend her energy on the station, not some man's baby.

But deeper inside, a primal part of her demanded to be allowed its chance ... to be allowed to step to the front and help her fulfill her destiny. It might not get its way ... she might not conceive ... probably would not conceive, it told her. After all, this was only supposed to happen once. A quick fix. A way to blow off steam. The thought that it was over made her stomach feel ill. She couldn't stop with just once. And he'd already shown he was ready to go again ... to mate with her again. That other part ... the logical part ... had had her, heart and soul, for years. Had it made her happy? No! Now, she had let something primal happen. Had that made her happy?

Desperately happy, she admitted.

"I don't want to talk any more," she said.

Her hand went to his prick, and she felt a surge of elation when she found it was still hard ... still erect for her.

"You be on top," he said.

"I don't know how," she replied.

"I'll teach you," he said, pulling her up and over him.

He taught her how to sit on him, straight up, with her abdominal muscles doing the work of moving her hips, which moved him inside her, which massaged her, the way she loved so much. He taught her how to lean forward, and let her thighs do the work, moving her clit back and forth against the base of his penis, and how to move ... just so ... to stay on the knife edge of an orgasm for as much as ten minutes, if she was careful. It was like having an ice cream cone, that you could taste only with the tip of your tongue, until you put the flat of your tongue against it ... licked hard ... and took a bite off the tip. That explosion of cold sweet taste was her orgasm, when she reached for it. She found she could do it on command, and even modify the intensity ... the size of the bite, as it were.

She'd never had this much fun doing anything she could remember doing.

Through it all, he lay there, looking up at her, telling her she was beautiful, and sexy, rubbing her breasts, and pulling at her nipples, when that was the perfect thing to do.

The only reason she stopped was because it was four-fifty on the clock in the sound booth, and she had to go put a new tape in slot number one and reload the rest of the bays.

When she padded back to her office, and he was lying there, his hands behind his head on a pillow, still stiff, she stopped.

"I want you on top now," she said.

"I'll cum in you again, if I get on top," he said.

She got down on her hands and knees and examined the thing that had just brought her an hour and a half of pure pleasure. It no longer looked scary or huge. It just looked good. She stared at his balls, full and round, with hairs growing out of them. Those balls were full of nature's finest ... the sperm that had made Felicity Chumley glow with happiness, as her fingers traced idly on her swollen belly. If he got on top, when he was done, would those balls be flat and empty? She remembered having to use two tissues to clean him up, from between her thighs, and that was after sleeping on him for an hour.

Something in her brain said, "You can go on the pill tomorrow. Call the doctor and get the prescription tomorrow. But give us our chance now!"

She found the oil, and squirted some in her palm. Touching a penis for the first time in her life, she spread the oil on it, moving her hand up and down. The loose skin at the tip tightened, thinned and moved down, to reveal an irregularly shaped knob. She was fascinated. A drop of pearly liquid bubbled out of the tip.

She flopped down on her back, anxious now. "I want you on top," she moaned.

He was on her much more quickly than she expected, and she gave little jerking yips as he mauled her breasts with his lips and entered her immediately. She flung her legs wide, feeling the heat of the oil instantly.

"Hold my hands again!" she demanded, putting them by her head.

His hands came down on hers, pushing cruelly. He started jackhammering her, not building up to anything, just thrusting and pulling back as fast as he could. She saw her breasts jiggling like Jell-O, and her clit started to squeal. Suddenly he went in deep and pushed hard, moving in circles again. She was sure he was finishing, and it was too soon! But he didn't squirt. He just stayed there until she had an orgasm, and then started pounding her again.

She only got two, this time, before he groaned and went in deep one last time. He didn't rub in circles this time. He just pushed hard, then gave little jerks that moved her along the mattress as she felt the pulse and jerk of his penis as it spurted her full of the seed that had swollen his balls.

She lay there, helpless to fight him, her wrists captive. He had taken her. She was his, and he was seeding her womb. She was his slave, and, if fate so decreed, she would bear him a son. Her pussy muscles flexed and clenched, squeezing every drop out of his prick, as it continued to pulse and squirt in her.

Then it was over, and they traded panting kisses again.

"I can't ..." she panted, "go ... without that ... for a month."

"Good," he panted back.

She felt his penis give one last jerk. She didn't feel anything, but her pussy clenched one last time too, just to make sure there was nothing left for him to give her.

Her consience started screaming at her ... calling her a fool.

She kissed her lover, and told her conscience to shut the fuck up.

They finally got up at ten 'til five, because she told him the morning crew was sometimes early. He disassembled the bed, rolled everything up, and took it back out to his car, while she pulled panties on to cover a leaking pussy. She finished dressing while he did that. The other things, some of which he hadn't even used, went back in his knapsack, while she made coffee.

He came back in, looking around to see if anything had been forgotten. He left the front door open to air out the station. They couldn't smell anything, but then they'd been submerged in it for hours. He knew there were residual sexual odors in the air, so he aired the place out.

He put on Luthor Ingram, playing the track: "If Loving You Is Wrong, I Don't Want To Be Right", and she laughed. She liked the smooth voice on the record.

"This is what your competition is playing," he said. "Now you understand why your competition is doing so well."

"I just thought it was all more of the same old stuff they had in the sixties," she said, defending herself.

"That may be what some of your listeners are saying about your play list," he said.

"I don't like you any more," she said, only half kidding. "Besides, Daddy would have another stroke if I changed things."

"Let's ask him," suggested Bobby. "We can play him a few cuts, and see what he thinks."

"Yeah," she said. "Right. Like he can tell us anything."

"Invite me over," he said. "Introduce me to him. I'll have him communicating in ten minutes. I guarantee it."

If this had been Saturday afternoon, the day before, she would have scoffed and told him not to waste her time. Now, though, after going through a life-changing night with him, she believed he could do anything ... at least anything he thought he could do.

"We'll see," she said. If they don't get the big player fixed today, I'll have to stay tonight too."

"Oooo," he said. "I'll get to use the rest of my creams and oils."

She couldn't imagine what the other things would do. That heat stuff had been impressive enough.

A man came in the front door. He waved at Amanda, and then stopped, staring at Bobby.

"That's Rodney, my program manager," she said, her voice low.

Rodney came to the sound booth.

"You're not playing that on the air, are you?" he said, his face a mixture of emotions.

Amanda picked up the needle, and the speakers in the building went silent. A Stan Kenton tune came weakly out of the box, until she turned it up a little.

"Bobby was just letting me hear some of the music he likes," she said.

"You the one who fixed the four tier player?" asked Rodney, somewhat gruffly.

Bobby just nodded. He turned to Amanda.

"If you don't need me for anything else, I'll take off now."

"I'll call you if I need you for anything else," she said, automatically. She knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she'd be needing him.

The door hadn't gotten completely closed, when Rodney was all over her, asking who this man was, and why she had let him touch the equipment. He wanted to know if he'd stayed all night too.

Amanda felt her temper flare.

"He's here because I hired him to be here," she snapped. "And you're not my father. It doesn't matter whether he was here all night or not. He's helping me figure out what to do with this station," she lied. She had to lie. Why else could she hire a man? She couldn't tell Rodney the real reason she'd hired him.

"Are you finally thinking about a format change?" Rodney's eyes shone with something like hope. It couldn't be denied. He looked so hopeful, in fact, that something in Amanda just couldn't crush that hope.

"Maybe," she said. "But just maybe!" she almost yelled, as he gave a whoop of glee. He calmed back down immediately, and re-assumed his normal dour look. He tried to act like he hadn't jumped for joy.

"I'm glad you're thinking about that," he said. It was, in the face of his prior jubilation, ridiculous, but she didn't laugh, or make fun of him. He'd stuck with her father for twenty years.

"I'm glad that you're glad," she said. "Maybe later, you could fill me in on what you'd do ... if ... we change the format a little."

"I'll think about that," he said.

She knew he'd already been thinking about it ... for years.

Bobby went home and slept. Amanda did too. Her father was up, and the caregiver was fixing him his oatmeal for breakfast. She kissed him on top of the head, and went to her bedroom. She had no trouble getting to sleep. It wasn't until noon, when she woke up, that she remembered she should have taken a shower when she got home.

She was getting out of the shower stall, drying herself off, when she saw her father's wheel chair, in the open doorway of the bathroom. He was staring at her.

"Ooo!" she yipped, pulling the towel to cover her nakedness. "I'm sorry," she said. "I guess I forgot to close the door." Her father grunted and waved his good arm ... the one that still moved, albeit erratically. He was obviously trying to say something.

That reminded her of Bobby, and his pledge that he could help her father communicate. She had no idea how he'd do that.

"Daddy?" she said. She felt silly. He couldn't answer her. "Remember that man I told you I met? He says he can help you communicate."

Her father burst into grunts, groans and moans, his hand waving in the air frantically.

"Should I invite him over?" she asked. In her curiosity at watching him move, she lowered the towel, uncovering her breasts, and didn't notice it. He seemed to get even more agitated, and she took that as a "yes".

"If they get the tape machine fixed today, I'll ask him to come over here tonight," she said.

He calmed. In fact, he quit moving altogether, and his spastic arm went to lie in his lap. Then, it moved to grip the wheel of his chair, and he pushed with the one leg that worked, backing himself up. With great effort, he shoved, grunted and pushed, moving himself bit by bit, down the hallway.

When she came out of her room, the radio was playing. It wasn't on KDEF. She assumed the caregiver had changed the station, and went to move it back. She found her father sitting by the radio, and that only heightened her anxiety that he was upset about the radio station. It was starting a new song, one she'd never heard, by a man with a deep almost hypnotic voice. She couldn't help but listen to the words.

I'm, I'm so in love with you
Whatever you want to do
Is alright with me
'Cause you make me feel, so brand new
And I want to spend my life with you

Her father made a noise and his hand flailed. She broke out of her trance, and her hand darted for the dial. Her father got more agitated as she turned it, and his hand flailed, hitting her arm.

"What do you want?!" she yelled in frustration. "I'm trying to change it back!"

She reached for the dial again, and, once more, his hand flailed, blocking her. She stood up, impatient, suddenly.

"All right!" she barked. "If you don't want me to touch it, I won't touch it!"

She turned and stormed into the kitchen. The caregiver was gone. She only stayed long enough to get him up, get his hygiene taken care of, get him dressed, and get him fed. She returned between eleven and one, to take care of lunch, but, apparently, she'd already been there. There were dirty dishes in the sink ... two meals worth, for her father.

She fussed with getting herself something. She was bending over to look in the refrigerator, when she heard the static on the radio change. The same voice she had heard before wound the song to an end, as she stopped, frozen.

Let's, let's stay together
Loving you whether, whether

Her father had tuned the radio! Not only that, he had tuned it back to the original station it had been on! She rushed to find his hand, held on the table by sheer will, one finger a hair's breadth away from the tuning dial. As she watched in disbelief, she saw him flick his finger against the knob. The last bit of electronic mal-adjustment disappeared as the announcer's voice boomed into the room: "That was Al Greene, with Let's Stay Together, slipping on the charts to number ten this week after spending a healthy sixteen weeks at number one on the R and B charts. This is Rick Valley, WRMZ, one-oh-nine-point-nine on your radio dial, moving on with the countdown, after a word from our sponsor."

Amanda reached out and turned the volume down.

"You changed the radio, Daddy?" she whined.

He went crazy with grunts, moans and his flailing arm, and she hugged him.

"It's okay, Daddy. I didn't understand. I'll leave it there, okay? I'm so proud of you!"

His arm went around her waist, and she felt it tug ... the only kind of hug he could give any more. She almost cried, and then kissed his cheeks, patting his hair into place, where her chin had mussed it.

"I'm going to call him, Daddy. I promise. If he can do anything, we'll get it done. Oh, I'm so proud of you!" She stood up. "Did you turn it up too? Can you do it again?"

She watched as his arm flailed, finally landing on the table in front of the radio. He inched his finger closer to the volume knob. His shoulder tensed, and she could sense how difficult this was for him. Slowly his finger approached the knob. It wiggled, and he jerked his arm, until the finger hit the volume knob. The sound increased dramatically. He grunted, and tried again, bumping the knob with is finger until it went back down a little.

She did cry, then, and had to straighten his hair again after her long passionate hug.

Rodney called around three, and gave her the good news that the machine they used for night broadcasts was fixed. She would not need to come in that night.

"That's great!" she sighed.

"Is it?" asked Rodney.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Well, what with that guy spending the night there ... I thought ..."

"Don't think, Rodney," she said, her voice terse. "And if you do, just think about what you're going to recommend if ... and I repeat if ... we talk about changing formats."

"Yes Ma'am!" he said. He sounded entirely too cheerful for Amanda's taste.

She hung up and then immediately called Bobby. He said he'd be there around five. He was sweet enough to ask if he should bring anything, but she said she'd take care of everything.

What she meant by that was that she planned on cooking dinner. She was a pretty good cook, but hadn't used her skills much in the last few years. Now that her father could only handle soft foods, lest he choke, she cooked even less. So this was an opportunity to do something she loved doing, and do something nice for Bobby as well.

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