39 - He Knows His Place, Part Eight
MFM / Hotwife / Dom/sub
Late! Jon was late for work. In all his time working, Jon had never been late; not by a minute. Barely even by a second. Yet, here he was; an hour late and dressed sloppily. He looked like he had literally just rolled out of bed and gone to work. Which in essence, he had.
Jon didn’t know how he let this happen. How had Mia allowed for this to happen?
Usually, if she sensed that he was going to run even remotely late, she would rush him out the door with a chaste forehead kiss and a container with his lunch packed for him.
However, this morning he had only felt a loving kiss to his sleep-ridden face, followed by the sound of the front door shutting and the revving of a car engine.
Perhaps. he had looked like he needed the sleep. Maybe Mia did not have it in her to wake him from his slumber. Either way, he was late.
“Jonathan, late…well those are just two words I would never place in such close vicinity to one another.” Jonathan looked up at the spot the voice was inhabiting. Ron stood at his office door with a suggestive smirk on his face.
“I overslept,” Jon moaned, typing ferociously on his computer.
“And yet, another concept I never would have pegged as a hobby of yours.” Ron seemed to be in an annoyingly cheerful mood. Jonathan could not figure out why, but he wouldn’t ask either.
Ron invited himself into the small room, shutting the transparent door behind him. He took the seat across from Jon, the hardwood desk acting as a separation between the two of them.
“Our girls are planning something,” Ron mused after a comfortable silence had ensued between the two of them.
This made Jonathan stop typing and finally grace his friend with a glance.
“What do you mean?” Jon sighed, leaning back in his chair. He couldn’t stop from lacing his fingers together and squeezing his hands tightly; a nervous habit.
“I don’t know what it is.” Ron paused, popping the bubble he had blown from the piece of gum in his mouth, “But I’ve heard their hushed giggles and conversations for the past few days now.
And Lillian has barely touched me…” Ron trailed off, playing with a paper weight distractedly.
“She just keeps teasing me, getting me going and then stopping and telling me that good things come to those who wait.”
Now it was Ron’s turn to sigh and lean back into his chair, lying half-supine. Another gentle silence fell over the two best friends. Years of friendship had granted them that sort of comfort. Ron thought back to the first time he had met Lillian.
They had both been in their early twenties, just starting out in adulthood.
Neither had their parents watching their every move.
Ron and Jonathan had decided that college and lectures had taken enough out of them for the week.
On a Friday night, there was no better thing to do than go to a club and get so drunk that they moved in the opposite direction to the Earth’s orbit.
They had arrived at the club, taken eight shots of vodka each—liquid courage—and then they made their way onto the dance floor with beers in hand.
It had not been hard to spot that the two young men had been on the prowl, looking for something pretty to sling over their shoulder.
Neither of the two were unattractive by any standards and had their own respective amounts of charm.
Jonathan had always been the more confident of the two friends.
He always led the way and Ron would follow the path he had cleared.
That night, however, would prove different.
Jonathan would spend a good part of his young adult years wishing that he had been Ron, at least with whom he’d shared a bed.
The women that had been walking on and off the dance floor were all pretty, all decently attractive.
Ron’s gut had been telling him to wait, telling him that the best things came to those who wait.
Ron had wanted to pounce on the next pretty gazelle that brought herself to the drinking hole, but something had told him there would be someone far more worth eating if he would just practice a little patience.
Jonathan had no such feeling. He had seen a pair of long, tan legs strut themselves onto the crowded dance floor.
His gaze had followed the rainbow until it had ended up at the pot of gold; her breasts.
She had to be at least a D-cup. They almost looked unnatural on her petite frame, but boobs were boobs.
Jonathan had been having vivid dreams about motor boating the absolute fuck out of them.
He had pulled on his confidence and, with a swagger that would make most cringe, he strutted over to the pretty blonde bombshell.
As he got closer, he began to realize that she was quite a bit taller than him.
He hadn’t been able to decide if he found that emasculating or not, but he had never been one to give up once he started a pursuit.
“The name is Jonathan.” He held out his hand to the lady, who looked down at it as though she had seen dish rags with more charisma.
“Julia.” The name slipped through gritted teeth, as she continued to look over Jonathan’s head while swaying her hips to the music.
From his position on the other end of the dance floor, Ron just laughed.
His friend was always like this, always so ready to take on the one who did not want to be taken on.
Ron was different in that regard. If somebody did not show some sort of definite interest in him, he would abandon the mission immediately and begin to plan his great escape to Peru where he would outlive his embarrassment.
As Ron had continued to smirk over his friend’s failures, while slowly swaying to the beat of some popular pop song, his eyes had caught an outstanding vision from the opposite end of the club. His irises dilated and zoned in on a beauty screaming for attention.
There; walking through the entrance of the packed club with another, less extravagant girl on her arm, was Lillian.
Of course, at the time, Ron had not know what her name was, although he could barely find it in him to care.
His rapt stare had started at her feet. Ron had never been a foot guy, but he would have gladly ravished each of these feet with his mouth.
She had small, tanned feet with each toenail painted the color of milk; a striking difference against her skin.
Ron had wanted to taste that difference.
She’d had a tattoo that seemed to only peek onto the front of her right foot.
It looked like the detailed tail of a dragon.
Later, Ron would discover that an entire dragon resided on her calf and along her ankle.
Her feet were adorned by a pair of black strappy heels and, as weird as it seemed, Ron had wished he had been those straps.
His eyes had moved further up her exposed legs.
Her short dress stopped just above the mid-area of her thigh.
Her legs were tanned and muscular but still deliciously feminine.
They told stories of mornings spent in the gym.
Ron had known her thighs would fit so snugly around his face.
His face had been made just to find itself between those thick thighs at some point.
Following her hourglass figure with his eyes, Ron could not decide if he wanted to see her in the skintight dress more or in just her skin.
The way it hugged her body managed to leave nothing and yet everything to the imagination.
It was as though Ron could picture exactly what she looked like, yet he knew his mind could never conjure up a masterpiece quite so exquisite.
Then his sparkling blue eyes had met her ample breasts, and he could literally feel his eye sockets adjusting to their growth.
Her boobs had sat so perfectly in that dress, like they had made a home out of it.
Ron had told himself, if he was to ever marry this girl—rather when he was to marry her—that her wedding dress would hug her beautiful breasts in exactly the same way.
He had caught wafts of her silk-textured, auburn hair, as he had dragged his gaze up her figure.
Her hair seemed to just tickle the section where her back and butt met, a piece of skin that Ron would love to drag his mouth across.
When his eyes finally met her face, Ron was convinced that the impossible was, in fact, possible; he had found her complete package even more desirable than when he had reached the gentle curve of her hip.
He had not been able to imagine how somebody could be so generously crafted, how the great creator could have given so much to one person.
Other people’s looks began to make sense to him; he could understand why everybody else had at least one flaw—because all the perfection had already been put to use on the heavenly being that Ron had the honor of laying his eyes on.
This woman—no, she was a goddess—had pouty, pink lips. Their hue was natural. One look around had told him that other girls spent too much time and money trying to mimic that color. Her nose was slim and button-like; shaped in just the right places to give her the look of a Disney princess.
But it had been her eyes that floored him.
Her eyes had locked Ron into a lifetime of repaying the universe for allowing him to dwell within the same oxygen as her.
Her eyes were honey-colored, but honey-colored like when the sun hits the honey at the exact moment that someone starts pouring it from a height—her eyes looked like molten gold.
They were the shape on a cat’s eye, giving her a fierce feline energy.
Ron had wanted nothing more than to have her rip into his flesh.
“She is fucking hot,” Jonathan had said from his side.