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LAURIE sucked her nipple tasted her


The attached work of fiction is intended to be entertainment for adults in
locations in which it is legal. If it is illegal in your location, DO NOT
read. This is a copyrighted work. Reposting or any other use strictly
prohibited without the express, written permission of the copyright holder,
except may be posted as part of a review or posted to free-access,
noncommercial archive sights.

Copyright 1999 by E. Z. Riter.

Please! Give me your comments.

E-mail address:

Dear Reader: This is a very significant rewrite of a story posted in
April 1998 entitled Sugar Daddy and I consider this to be a new story. The
old one was attributed to an unknown author and apparently buried in the
sands of time. Bitbard (then Sandman), reviewed Sugar Daddy for Celestial
Reviews and rated it 10,9,9. I've learned a lot in the past eighteen
months. I like this one better. I hope you do, too. It's a male female
inter generational romance, soft and sweet. E.Z.


I hadn't seen Laurie since her wedding two years ago. I sorely missed
her at first. Now I suffered a dull ache only a few times a week when her
memory floated like a ghost from the closets in my mind.

Laurie was my daughter's best friend. I watched her grow up. Over the
years, we developed a very close relationship which seemed to be more than
father daughter, more than teacher student. We weren't lovers, but our
relationship was more meaningful than a one night stand or short affair.
It was precious to me and, I hoped, to her.

She was engaged at the time my marriage fell apart. It was then we
drifted apart, each caught in our own worlds. I missed her more than she
knew, more than I knew before I saw her today.

I hadn't been to the mall in six months. Why I was drawn there that
Saturday, I don't know. Whatever the reason, I was wandering toward the
bookstore. I saw her and my heart skipped a beat.

She was more beautiful than ever as she slowly pushed the stroller past
dresses on sale in the windows. Her hair was its natural color again, a
light brown, not the brassy blonde she wore in high school. It went well
with her coloring and her big brown eyes. Her figure was delightful, lush
yet tight, with a narrow waist.

I hurried to catch up with her. When I touched her arm, she spun to see
who was there. She looked shocked, then flushed as she grinned at me.

"Jack! Oh, Jack, I'm so happy to see you!"

We hugged, holding on for dear life. I'd be happy if we never stopped.
When I held her hand as we separated, she squeezed mine in obvious

"It's wonderful to see you again. I've missed you so much," I said.

She gave a half-smile, but there was sadness in her eyes.

"Your daughter's beautiful. What's her name?"

"Jennifer. I call her Jenny."

"I know you and Bob must be proud."

A tear came to her eye. Her face fell as she looked away.

"Something wrong?"

"Bob and I are divorced, Jack. It was final last month."

"I'd heard there were problems. I'm so sorry. What happened?"

Her eyes locked onto me, questioning, searching, wondering.

"It's a long story," she warned.

"I've got all the time in the world. Let me buy you lunch."

"I'd like that."

We went to a quiet restaurant in the mall where I asked for a private
table. Laurie held Jenny closely as she fished in the big tote bag for a

"I've been nursing, but in public . . . "

"Nursing's great."

Her head jerked toward me. She gave me the first real smile I'd seen
today. She has a warm and innocent, but very sexy, smile. She needed to
do it more frequently.

"Okay, what are you thinking?" Laurie said, eyeing me suspiciously.

I grinned.

"Tell me."

"Just an old joke. Nursing reminded me of it."

"I need a good laugh. Good lord, Jack, we know each other well enough
to tell dirty jokes."

I told her the old one about why mother's milk is better to take on
picnics. Stays fresh. Better for you. Comes in such a cute container.
She laughed politely. It wasn't a good joke, but it broke the tension.
Jenny took her bottle as we ordered lunch. Her little eyes were closed,
her fists clenched in tiny balls. She sucked hungrily on the cold rubber
substitute for her mother's own warm nipple.

"Okay, tell me your story," I said.

There was a long pause as she stared at me.

"It's very important to be totally honest with you. I'm not sure why I
feel that way."

"I know why."


"Because you know how important you are to me, how much I care for you.
And you know you can trust me."

She smiled wanly as her hand touched mine. She looked away. When she
looked at me again, her eyes were full of tears.

"Jack . . . Jack, I committed adultery."

Tears began to fall. She struggled to hold Jenny and the bottle in one
hand as she searched for a tissue. I gave her my handkerchief. She dabbed
quickly reddening eyes with the soft tip of the cloth.

"Laurie, you don't have to tell me."

"I want to tell you. I want you to know everything. He . . . he asked
me to do it. I thought I was making him happy."

The story flowed from her in a torrent of words punctuated by sobs. It
was a story like many others: a woman trying to please her man by giving
him control of her sexuality; her man not knowing what he wanted of her or
himself; his intoxication with the power her love gave him; setting limits
beyond what was desired; limits tested and surpassed; knowledge gained of
what actually was wanted, but that knowledge coming too late. The events
which shatter the trust . . . the foundation . . . of a marriage had
already occurred.

Yes, she volunteered, they both enjoyed the sexual part. She liked the
attention of different men. He liked the variety of multiple women. But
he wondered if she was enjoying others without his knowledge and
permission. Broken trust.

"I didn't do it, Jack. You must believe me. You must! I never had
another man without him telling me to do it."

She was honest with me, terribly honest. Her eyes begged me to forgive
her, to forgive and make the pain go away. There was nothing to forgive.
When I told her that, she sagged and tears began anew. Different tears
this time. Tears of relief washing away guilt.

The waitress gave me a nasty look as she asked Laurie if she needed

"Should I call security, ma'am?" she asked.

Laurie shook her head no as she blotted tears. She continued her story around bites of salad. We ate the meal without tasting it, having it as a
reason to sit and talk to each other. I reassured and comforted her. My
caring was self-evident, if evidence was needed after the years of our

"What are you going to do now?" I asked.

Her eyes burned into me: searching, probing, questioning eyes. There
was a message in them, a message she was afraid to say. When her eyes
finally dropped from mine, we sat in awkward silence. There was much I
wanted to say, too, but I wrestled my own fears, fighting for the sheer
guts to say what I desperately wished to say.

"I don't know. I'm living with my parents, but . . . "

"You need a sugar daddy," blurted out of me.

My mind was racing and I felt like an idiot. Why did I say that? Why
couldn't I just say what was in my heart?

"Oh?" Her eyebrows arched quizzically, her lips twitched in a restrained

"Yes. You need a considerate older man who'd treat a wonderful young woman with all the kindness she deserves. He's in love . . . "

My heart pounded. I turned bright red. I'd no intention of saying
that. It just popped out.

"Laurie, I . . . "

She started laughing. It was a hearty laugh with her eyes watering.
Others in the restaurant turned and stared at her. She fought to restrain
herself, gasping for air between giggles. Our waitress returned, eyeing me
suspiciously. Laurie assured her everything was okay and she left us alone

"Where would I find such a loving older man?" Laurie asked, still
restraining her laughter.

"Laurie, I didn't mean to come on to you."

"That's too bad. I'd have liked it if you had."

Aren't we humans an amazing complex of emotions juxtapositioned to
stifle what should be easy communication? I held tightly to one level of
our relationship because I feared her rejection if I revealed my own deep
desires. Yet my desire was so great the words had leapt from my

She put her hand over mine, squeezing gently. Her eyes twinkled as she
handed me her pocket appointment calendar.

"The divorce was final on the twenty-fourth. Look on that date."

She watched me, her eyes bright and alive, as I looked. The notation
said: "Divorce final. Quit putting it off. He's the one. Call him!" Him
was underlined three times.

Puzzled, I returned the calendar to her, but she pushed it back toward

"Keep looking back."

Each day had a notation, "call him," and it was sometimes emphasized
with underlines or smiley faces. Back and back through the days, I went.
Finally, I reached the page she wanted me to see.

"Call Jack."


"I'm crazy about you, Jack. I thought about you many times when I was
married to Bob. He suffered in the comparison. After we separated, I
realized you returned over and over to my thoughts. Those thoughts were
good thoughts, Jack, loving thoughts, caring thoughts. I decided to wait
until the divorce was final to call you. I've picked up the phone
countless times. I didn't know how to begin."

"Laurie, you're very special to me."

"You're very special to me, too, Jack."

We held hands across the table, lost in each other, relishing the
silence and touch. As lovers have done since men and women were created,
we were seeing each other in new ways, creating fantasies, one for the
other, building on our own desires for the future. Jenny's cry broke our

"You haven't seen the changes I made to the house. Why don't you come
over tonight? We could have dinner."

I got that fabulous smile of hers again: that sexy, warm, innocent,

"Just dinner?"

"I have some etchings to show you."

Her eyes danced, alive with love and a gentle playfulness.

"Etchings? How wonderful! I love etchings. I've wanted to see your
etchings for a long time, Jack."

I held Jennifer as Laurie repacked the stroller. I was at that awkward
age: still wanting children; too young for grandchildren; my own already
grown. Laurie watched me from the corner of her eye.

"I want more children. One or two, anyway."

She said it so softly I could have ignored it. Instead, I looked at her
and smiled. We held hands as we walked to her car. Silence enveloped us
as we searched each other's faces. We kissed, a long, loving, kiss. She
flashed that smile at me as she sat down.

"See you at seven, sugar daddy," she teased.

When I opened the door that night, Laurie was wearing a white blouse
with long, puffed sleeves. It had five buttons with the top two
unfastened. A gold chain with a small diamond hung around her neck. She
wore a tight, mid-thigh, black skirt, nude stockings and black pumps. Her
makeup was discreet and lightly applied. Her hair was soft on her
shoulders. There was a hint of perfume.

Even after forty years spent living with women, I'm amazed how a woman
can combine clothes, accessories and attitude to create a specific message.
The message I received was: I'm a beautiful and sexual woman off limits to
all men, but one.

She took my breath away and I rudely stared at her. She gave me a
wicked smile and slowly turned.

"Do I look good enough to be invited in?"

"Always," I answered as I pulled her into the house and kissed her.

We visited, sipping a light drink, spending precious time being together
again. She changed directions when she gave me a wanton smile and took my
hand in hers. She kissed my palm, nibbling at the base of my hand, as her
eyes held mine.

"I've never had a sugar daddy before. What's a girl suppose to do?"

"The girl's doing great," I replied as I leaned forward to kiss her

In that instant before our lips met, as she was moving towards me, a
picture flashed from my subconscious. Our relationship had been
non-sexual, if that means we didn't pursue the desire in both of us. One
day that had changed, adding the sexual realm to a special friendship.

It was four years ago. We'd been sitting close together on the couch as
we talked. Without warning, she leapt against me. Her arms were around my
neck, her body pressed hard against mine. Her tongue was hot, her kiss
passionate. I reciprocated zestfully. When reality kicked in and I
stopped, my hand was on her breast.

"Don't stop, Jack. I want you," she had murmured. I didn't listen to
her, but to my conscience.

"I can't, Laurie. This isn't right. If I were your husband, would you
want me playing around?" I asked. She came to her senses.

The incident made us both acutely aware of the change in our
relationship. We worked to keep it platonic, but conversations became more
intimate, looks more passionate, gazes more needy. There were little
touches and awkward moments. In spite of the sexual tension, or maybe
because of it, our non-sexual relationship ripened and grew, but nothing
overtly sexual transpired.

Until now. Now she was against me again. This time she was twenty-two
and we were both single. Leaning back, she turned a light red.

"What are you thinking?" I asked.

"Remember when I assaulted you on the couch. I wanted you so much,
Jack. I can't believe I'm here in your arms."

"I'm glad we waited, Laurie."

"Your not making love to me then increased my respect for you . . . and
my desire."

"Mine, too."

"I don't have to wait any longer."

"Well, maybe a little longer," I replied.

Her eyes flared with lust as she pushed her body against me, forcing her
skirt up around her waist, revealing bright pink panties.

"Going to make me wait? I've waited a long time for you, Jack. You
don't realize you were the center of attention in a young woman's wild
fantasies, but you were. You still are."

She kissed me lustily, driving me back onto the couch as she squirmed on

"Going to make me beg for it?" she gasped between kisses.

She rubbed her pantied pussy against my too bound cock as she hastily
unbuttoned my shirt.

"Tell me what you're going to do to me, Jack. Going to hold me down?"

She ripped my shirt out of my pants, groaning as she fell to suck my
nipple. Up again, she yanked at my belt, ripping it open. She growled as
she yanked my trousers off me, shoes and socks flying with them.

"What are you going to do to me, Jack? Are you going to make me suck
your cock!"

She yanked my boxers down. Greedily, she fell on my cock, taking it
into her mouth. I wrapped my hand in her hair and pulled until she
released him and lunged on me. I rolled her over, trapping her hands under
her. She was surprised, her mouth forming a little O, her eyes wide.

"What are you going to do to me, Jack?" she whispered lustily.

"All of those things and more," I said, kissing her as I began to
unbutton her blouse.

I freed gorgeous breasts. When I sucked her nipple, I tasted her milk.
I kneaded her breast, forcing the milk into my mouth.

"Jack, please, I need you in me," she moaned, trying to get her arms
from under her, trying to hurry me.

I kept her pinned, taking my time as I suckled her breast, kissed her
mouth and neck, played with her body. Heat radiated from her as I
leisurely stroked her through her panties. When my finger curled under the
panties' edge and slipped into her, I felt her orgasm approach. Her hips
tightened as she thrust up against my hand.

"Jack, oh, Jesus, Jack, I. I... ohhhhh . . . "

She gasped loudly, her mouth wide, eyes unfocused and dilated. I felt
her relax.

"Wow," she murmured. "That's never happened before."

"We sugar daddies know what we're doing." I said in a pompous, mocking

"Show me more," she replied.

I carried her to my bed. Her eyes were hot and needy, her expression
passionate as I pulled the panties down her legs. I hesitated a moment to
take in the sheer beauty of her lying naked on my bed.

"Come on, daddy," she pleaded. "Give me that big lump of sugar."

She was wild, dynamic, sweating and moaning under me. Later, in the
quiet of my bedroom, she lay against me as we cooled, sweat covered and
sticky. She transcended my fertile imagination. I wanted to do this with
her every day of my life.

She cuddled against me, her leg over mine, her breast crushed against my

"I love you," she whispered. "I couldn't say it then, back when I first
knew it. I can say it now. I love you."

"I love you, too. I have for years."

She braced herself on her elbow as she peered into my face. Her smile
lit the room.

"So? Am I your mistress now? Or your girlfriend? What do you call the
woman of a sugar daddy?"

We kissed again. My cock twitched. Wickedly she stroked it.

"Do you want me to move in? That way you can come home to a hot, loving
woman every night. What's wrong? Did I say something wrong?"

"No. You've said nothing wrong. You've done everything right. Laurie,
let's talk about the future."

"All right."

I rolled her over, crushing her into the bed.

"I want to make a few things clear."

"What?" she gasped apprehensively.

"You'll never have another man. I'll never ask you to do that . . .
and you'll never volunteer."

"Yes, sir. I'd never think of doing it."

"We'll have two more children."

Tears came to her eyes and her lower lip quivered.

"Yes, sir. Anything else?" she said as she lovingly stroked my face.

"Just one question. Will you marry me?"

"Yes. Oh, God, yes, yes, yes."

The End

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