CAW 12: Mr Phillips and Miss Jasmine

“The heat waves shimmered in the distance, inexorably rising off the sand in an unmerciful display of Mother Nature’s authority. My Indian Princess Jasmine was nowhere to be found. Off to the left, the horns could be heard, the horns signaling the start of another battle.”

It was the summer of 1869. It was the summer of my life ending in India…

Oh how I shall miss my beloved Princess Jasmine, the silky smooth texture of her fair skin, and the lips that pulsate with fiery bliss whenever they so, so gently press against my cheek. Oh how I can still feel the heat of her breath upon my skin, the gentle breeze coming from the smiling lips and her nose…

Then in an instant to the here and now I suddenly returned, calling out orders to the handful of my men who stood at the ready behind the walls battlements; each one held the look of a man who knows that before the day is done, they will stand in judgment before He who watches over all of us on earth.

As the enemy troops closed, a sea of humanity, shouting and crying for our deaths, many bearing siege ladders to scale the walls, others carrying muskets or repeating rifles, even a few bearing swords or long knives. In an instant I shouted for my men to get ready and to fire at will after the call is given…

Then we waited until the tide swept into range…

“Fire, fire, fire, for your very lives and for God and King FIRE FOR EFFECT this day,” I shouted to them.

One, two, ten and then a cacophony of noise and smoke as steel shot flowed out tearing asunder our enemies, with each one who fell replaced by ten more ever closing the distance. Soon the dunes of sand, shimmering in the sun, sparkled with deep rich red from the shattered humanity before us; and soon our own would be mixed in as well.

“Fight well my boys,” the old Colonel, Handel, stubborn, dower, gruff and as sociable as a old rhinoceros, shouted to us over the roar of shot and shell of cannon and mortar coming into the city. “Fight well my boys, and sell yourselves as dearly as you can…”

Those were the last words he ever uttered as he stood there, before the huge, wooden, city gates as an explosive laden cannon ball slammed into them; torn asunder from their respective walls, they hung in the air for what seemed a eternity of time, before gravity sent them crashing down upon the dear old Colonel.

“Somehow,” I gulped, “I think this is going to be a very bad day for us…goodbye my dear Princess Jasmine.”

“Oh brother,” I just declared with an exasperated sigh, my eyes rolling to the heavens at the sheer number of errors in the “factual bases romance” I was reading. Supposedly the author wrote of a romance between a British Captain of the 25th Regiment of Foot, the esteemed “King’s Own Borderers,” and his lady love, a true princess from India, simply known as Jasmine.

I closed the book with a flashy snap of my hand, debating for a short time of consigning it to either the trash can or saving it for kindling at the next cookout I have…which is about the only thing it’s fit for.

There is one thing I have to say about owning and running your own shop, in this case I rent clothing, tuxedos, gowns and all the stuff that goes along with them. This is in addition to being a small consignment store with a range of articles from the regular, mundane and everyday; to the downright exotic…I still shake my head each time I gaze upon the suit of Roman armor on the mannequin, wondering if it ever will sell.

My very own little portion of the world, the fantastic, and hopefully, to be famous one of these days, “Phillip’s Fabulous Fashions,” run by, of course, Phillip (me). It’s a nice, little, rundown and beaten up structure, with a neon sign outside that works most of the time; though I have to admit, that little cell tower on the roof is a bit of an annoyance, as every week or two, when a storm comes in, it gets hit by a bolt or ten of lightning, and it causes me no end of problems with the electrical wiring and the lights.

I can all too easily tell the scene you are envisioning, a lone man, boring and average in his own right, dealing with a boring store, and boring customers, whose routine is the same day in and day out. A very simple, steady, and routine job and life, in which there is only one common denominator the proprietor has to deal with:

MIND CRUSHING BOREDOM!

All too true for the most part, yet once in a great while, as with last night, something comes along and turns my little boring world on its head, and life is then never the same…as last night I met my own “Princess Jasmine” from far off India…

Tell you what, let me just begin from the beginning, and save boring you to death…

======
I was reading my latest language book to trying to learn Hindi; both feet propped up on the desk, leaning too far back in the chair and completely oblivious to what was going on in the store. It took some time for my brain to register the fact that, after several hours of inactivity, a customer has come into the shop; clearly indicated by the soft, distinct ding-ding-ding of the alarm on the door.

The clear, distinct and consistent clip-clip-clip-clip from a set of high heels, did not fully register as they closed on my location. The soft, curved and quite attentive shadow of my customer, blocking part of the overhead lighting, still had not penetrated the depths of my stone dense cerebral matter.

“Excuse me sir, but I wish to try this one on,” a soft, cultured, and musical voice stated.

Looking over the edge of my book I was greeted by a sight that took my breath away!

She could have been a living goddess who deigned to descend unto the earth and walk among mortals. Oh for some reasons the heavens have become most king to me this evening; or the doors to the depths of Hades have opened, and my eternal doom and damnation is fully at hand. Only a being from another world or reality could compare to this expression of living beauty, a true avatar on earth, which deems me worthy for a bare moment of her attention…

Just about five and a half feet in height, lithe and curved in all the right places, she stood with one hand on her hip, the other holding a hanger on which hung one of the gowns for rental. The sheer beauty of her blue eyes, coppery skin and pearly teeth was accentuated by the fine, soft, silken black hair that seemed to dance with life of its own.

She was clad in a simple, cream colored, spaghetti strap dress, the gentle trim of floral patterns in deep blues and vibrant reds; the hem coming down halfway between her hips and knees. It clung to her body like a second layer of skin, showing off each sensuous contour of her flowing feminine form, the nipples of her breasts were visible through the material, which caused me to fixate upon them a bit too long…

“Excuse me sir, but, may I try this gown on…” she bent down a bit as the gown shifted on the hanger, allowing me to get a descent view of her partially revealed breasts…my eyes, then head, and the rest of my body moved to keep that view in sight, following along like one hooked upon a line by the bait of choice, knowing your own doom is at hand…

It was a moment in eternity, leaning slowly across space and time…

…until I finally tipped too far in the chair, crashing to the floor when my date with gravity committed me to a meeting with the hard concrete floor; so swiftly did this happen that the lady before me only had a moment to register the fact, a soft, musical gasp passing her lips as her free hand shot up to cover it, eyes wide in shock and surprise.

“Sorry about that,” I said from the floor, reaching my hands up to grasp the desk’s edge. So far I am not making much of a first impression with the young lady; and now I need to get back to a proper state of mind and business…unfortunately, instead of pulling myself up, my grip on the desk only brought a pile of stacked books by the edge crashing down with full, brief, and brutal sounding impact upon my concrete dense head.

“Ow!” my protest of pain merged with the clattering of the crashing books.

Finally standing up, I gazed upon that brilliant smile, now grinning wide and partially hidden behind her one hand, and felt my heart charging into overdrive and my blood building up in temperature while my throat went drier than the Sahara Desert.

“Ah yes…the dress…let me see the gown for a moment…”

She handed it to me so I could check the tag number on it; mind you, I never check the numbers on the gowns, as each one is unique; it’s just that, with her, I wanted to have any excuse to be just a bit closer to her presence.

As for the gown she has selected?

It is a wonderful, strapless and shoulderless gown of shimmering emerald green mixed with sapphire blues, with thread of golden flowers, white birds and silver clouds woven into the fabric. I could just imagine what it would look like on her, and wound up gulping for a second so I could breathe once again.

Right now, I imagine the world record for ‘clueless idiot’ has just been broken.

“Let me get the key for the changing room…” I said, my voice cracked like a bullfrog singing.

All I could think of at this moment is how much of an embarrassment I must be to the world; here she is, a rare gem of the world in my shop, and I keep acting like a disgrace who should be dragged off to a corner of a yard by her bodyguards, then tied to a tree or post as one stands off to the side declaring for his companions to get their guns ready…

Then with a savage gleam in his expression, eyes glowing from behind darkened sunglasses, he declares to them in turn, “Aim low gentlemen, his manhood first and work your way up…Ready, aim….FIRE!”

I shuddered at that thought as I reached the rack of keys, searching for the one to the changing room. My ears kept track of all sounds, while my mind generated all manner of ghostly commandos entering, hopping like silent death around the racks and stands of garments toward me with swift death in their hands, their mission to rescue the lady from the ‘dangerous shop owner who dared to look on her eternal beauty…”

Key in hand, I stepped forward and slammed hard into the desk with such irreverent force that I went head over heals, rolling across its surface, and landing on the other side upon my feet. Her soft gasp and laughter dancing in those eyes continued when I gave a slight, clumsy and completely inept bow with a expression of “I meant to do just that” on my face.

One thing I can say about myself is that when I make a complete fool of self in any situation, I do it in dramatic style and flash. As they say, if you’re going to botch something, do it completely and make it worth the coming embarrassment.

“Here is your key Miss…ah, oh dear; my brain seems to be malfunctioning…it seems I have forgotten your name…” I said.

“Jasmine,” she said.

“If I may show you where the changing rooms are located?”

Trying to maintain a professional and dignified composure I set out for the corner of the store, a sheer long walk of about forty or so feet. After unlocking the door and opening it for her, I told her that if she needed anything to just call as I will be working nearby.

Jasmine kept smiling as she passed me, her arm and hip brushing against my side, close enough to let me smell the sweet perfume she wears; something akin to cinnamon and honey mixed with rose petals. I followed her movement into the changing room, especially noticing the gentle swaying of her hips and the bounce of her bottom…until she turned to close the door and gave me a coy smile with a wink.

Reaching out to steady myself on a cloths rack, stunned by this bit of flirtation on her part, I missed and once again got introduced to the fine concept of gravity and the impact upon the floor. Amazingly I was unhurt by this particular fall; however, the impact did bounce the cloths rack just enough to cause it to fall over upon me, and the one just across the aisle from it, and the stack of books upon each one as well…

It’s turning out to be one of those times for me. How much more will go wrong in the day? Or I should say how many more times will my idiocy be proven around her?

Thankfully being of distinctly male heritage, I have inherited the traditional, hard boned, concrete dense head most of my ancestors possessed. So it comes in quite handy, such as the crashing of cloths racks and books onto said head, in preventing my premature extinction from this lifetime.

As I pulled myself out from the carnage of clothing and books I heard the soft chuckle of Miss Jasmine, who looked out from the changing room; a smile of amusement and mischief on her face, eyes dancing with loving and tender laughter – not of scorn but genuine amusement – one arm crossed over her breasts, the gown she has on holding to her waist by the barest of static.

Just looking upon those hidden riches beneath her arm, the movement of each breath she took causing them to slowly, effortlessly rise and fall like a graceful dancer practicing a well known routine for warm up, made my brain flash into instant steam and mush.

I shifted back to picking up the clothing and books. Right now, this was the only way I could keep my mind off of her; and the bulging response my amorous desires have caused, threatening to tear my britches asunder in the front…

One by one I straightened the shelves of shoes, clothing on the racks and totally ignored the movement of Jasmine in the changing room…

Right, who in the world am I fooling? I wanted to get a peak of her, and if at all possible her bared body. I mean, what do you expect, I’m a guy, and a nerdish geek as well…

As I passed the changing room, the door was partially opened, and revealed a sight that would have turned any man into instant ashes as the flames of lust consumed him utterly in a heartbeat…

She had one foot raised onto the sitting chair each changing room has, pulling up a stocking that is made of a sheer white lace; decorated in the patterns of flowers, ivy vines and singing birds in flight. It accentuated the coppery tone of her skin, hugging the curves of her honed muscles, sloping like a glove over her foot and toes.
Inch by inch she moved it steadily up her golden legs, causing me to hold in position from the wonderment of her every motion, beauty and perfection combining feminine grace and hidden strength deep underneath if one bothered to look past the surface.

Oh how fortunate I have been this day to see such a wonder; a nerds dream come true is here before me and I just stand there like a complete idiot. I never got around to installing those video security cameras in the changing rooms as I had planned for many a moon…

Oh well.

I’ll just have to do that for next time.

======
Her movement with the stocking continued upward, as she seems totally unaware of my observing her. I tried to keep moving, but my brain refused to let my feet go forward, backward, or any which way; same for my head and eyes, the gray material between my ears kept screaming “MOVEMENT ALERT! EMERGENCY OVERRIDE ORDERED! KEEP FEMALE IN SIGHT! AT ALL COSTS KEEP FEMALE IN SIGHT”

Now while this was going on, the more socially oriented, etiquette correct portion of my mind kept up a long, whining, whimpering and pleading tirade; over and over again, it kept emphasizing the wrongness of what the rest of my brain was driving me to do.

As it turned out, Miss Jasmine was fully aware of my presence; a lot more than I had assumed just a moment before. Sometimes a man can have his world turned on its head and not give a care at all; and for me, this was one of those moments.

The stocking had just passed the bend of her knee, and she turned towards me, showing off the illuminating smile of her enlightening smile. She gave her head a slight shake, one mixing mirth and hidden meaning as her hair danced around her cheeks and chin, then flowed like fine silk that caressed the golden texture of her skin as I suddenly longed to do.

She moved slightly to one side, stretching upward as the stocking continued on its glamorously graceful guided journey up the rest of her leg. Miss Jasmine stopped her guiding hands a few times, playfully smiling and using her fingertips to swirl sensual patterns upon the stockings material, images of hearts and entwined beings, the symbols of old for erotica and love expressed in the silent language of tease and seduction.

But those eyes, when they swept up to meet mine, the depths of them glimmered as twin universes unfolding to limitless depths; dimensions of sensuality, sexuality, and the rawest of primal fiery feminine forces on display to anyone wishing to dare and step over the edge.

Then she shifted just a bit more, movement drawing my attention downward, to where the glittering mass of her breasts hung full and free for me to gaze upon. I gave up a massive gulp, its echo carrying across the store and drawing a soft, luscious giggle from her that sent the two wondrous mounds of undefined pleasure to bouncing around. The nipples were fully erect, demanding that I close my mouth, unlock my brain and get in there to begin giving the absolute limits of endurable passion to Miss Jasmine; and to continue until she is screaming from the mountain tops, or I die from sheer exertion during the effort.

My blood was boiling with smitten desire, my manhood at the absolute limits of its strained efforts; the roar that filled my brain demanded that I hurry on in an effort to seduce her and consummate a relationship right then and there.

I could imagine that at any moment the fire alarms and smoke detectors would go off; as I was consumed on the spot in body, mind and soul from the tsunamis of primal lust and heat crashing and surging over my body and into the primordial soup that is now my brain.

I momentarily pictured the scene of the fire department captain explaining to his chief: “He just erupted into flames and took out fifteen city blocks in the process; though Miss Jasmine is unharmed in the least…”

Miss Jasmine turned her head in my direction yet again, and she winked.

She turned slightly one more time and then bent over, adjusting her underpants; touching the silken black laced fabric here, there, and then THERE, snaking her fingers just above the one location I know that drives women into the heights of ecstatic bliss and the depths of Nirvana when pleasured just right by someone…and then the material shifted just enough, deliberately done on her part, to allow me to behold the mysterious depths of her womanhood.

She stood up to the limits of her wonderful form; stretching her hands high into the air, pulling the muscles of her abdomen taunt to show the flawless perfection of each one in turn. Then with one arm behind her back, the other behind her neck, she altered her pose many times over, shifting foot to foot, side to side, all with the grace of a dancer in complete control of her entire being.

My gaze kept shifting between her and the reflection in the mirror; my brain in desperate overload as it kept demanding more and more input from all of my senses; with each pose, every subtle and absolute change in posture and display of swan like grace in motion, the images infused into my memory, branded there for all of time to come.

Putting both of her hands behind her neck, turning her chest slightly to one side, she looked upon me and gave off a grand smile that would send a million millions of men racing to carry forth her every deed, and die happy to have made such an effort.

She said something to me, and apparently repeated it many times over until it finally sunk through the roaring waves of my brain that she was asking me a question…

“Uh, sorry Miss Jasmine, I did not hear you the first time…” I belatedly said with uttermost cluelessness.

“Mr. Phillip’s, I asked of you, how do I look?” she asked twice more before it sunk into my head.

“Oh…wonderful…good enough to snack on…nuts….” I palm slapped my face in complete humiliation for saying that to her, convinced the rental of the gown was now fully ended.

Can a man possibly make more of a fool of himself than doing that?

“Mr. Phillip’s, that is very kind of you to say so; not very many would give such an honest, from the heart type of compliment. Most of the men and women I deal with in the business world are as ruthless and relentless as a swarm of vipers in the midst of a killing frenzy,” she said.

“Vipers in a killing frenzy?” I softly inquired of from Miss Jasmine.

She just nodded, not the nod of one trying to intimidate another; nor that of dissuading a man from paying any attention to her in turn. Just the nod of one long acquainted with danger on a larger and much more lethal scale than I could even imagine…

Unless…

My gulp probably sent shockwaves across the entire city; causing heads to turn in wonderment, save for a handful who would have knowing looks on their faces, approaching the door of my shop at any moment, hands hidden in their trench coats…

So who would it be concerning Miss Jasmine and their response in finding me staring at her feminine form of absolute wonderment…

Would it be a last, not so friendly, “Evening comrade” from the ‘men in black’ of the KGB just before they use the silenced pistols to fill me full of holes and sack my shop? Or the ever efficient, ruthless and merciless men of the mob; having been sent by Miss Jasmine’s Godfather guardian, to “give Mr. Phillips his final farewell…” as my car, on the next turning of the ignition switch, erupts into a ball of fire and million fragments of metal tearing my carcass into smoldering shreds…

Or would it be one of Her Majesties Secret Service, the infamous, double-oh’s, who would do me in via a poisoned hotdog, cyanide in the soda, exploding fountain pen. Oh I could see the last one all too well in my worst dream of terror…

…I am at my desk, answering the phone, and need to take a message down, I tell the person on the other end, “just a moment and I will write this down,” I click the pen, and the explosion takes out the entire shop and all for ten blocks around while the operator calmly tells the other party on the phone “I am sorry, it appears your call has been interrupted due to technicalities…”

I looked at her from between parted fingers, seeing the soft little pout on her face while she spoke of these other dishonest people. It gave me the additional impression that they saw her as one of three things: true rival due to her beauty, a one time conquest in bed or a potential playmate and girl-toy.

“I’m sorry to hear they treat you that way; hopefully this gown will change their minds, not to mention turn a few heads on someone as wonderful as you Miss Jasmine,” I declared unto her.

Of course, I suddenly thought, she could be an international assassin and agent…

She smiled a smile like the richest of bee’s honey, teasingly running her tongue along her lips as she looked down at my manhood. The first glimmering trails of sweat were commencing their journey down my forehead, my cheeks flushing from terror filled heat, though she probably assumed it was generated for a different reason.

“Thank you Mr. Phillip’s, I will be up to the front shortly,” she said as the door closed in its entirety.

“Your welcome Miss Jasmine, more than welcome,” I headed back to my desk, wondering just how much trouble I have stumbled into tonight; and listened to her singing a soft, haunting melody in the language of India, beautiful as a dream and as longing as a tale told…

The very book I had been reading and so casually discarded earlier; the story of the British Captain of the 25th Regiment of Foot, the esteemed “King’s Own Borderers,” who in the year 1869, made his last stand in the deserts and mourned for his Princess Jasmine, who he would never see again…

I had to wonder, did she read the book, learn a true tale the book is based upon…or is she a ghost of some sort maybe that of the long lost Princess Jasmine herself?

Any more speculation had to wait as I walked into the corner of my desk, the point jutting out in the shape of a griffon delivering the full, unyielding force of wood directly upon my manhood, causing me to go crashing once again unto the ground, mewling like a kitten as my eyes crossed over.

“Note to self,” I pitifully cried out, “never do that again.”

*********************
Back at my desk I just fidgeted with the paperwork, all of it done long ago as I waited for Jasmine to come into view. I hoped that she would want to rent the gown and several others, maybe even to become a steady client for the shop.

Although that gown she has selected would hug her figure so tightly that one wrong move would sunder it to the finest degree; a sight any man and many women would enjoy to the fullest!

Oh how I could see it happening…

She starts walking up the aisle, her high heels doing their steady clip-clip-clip-clip with each step she takes.

Her body would set the gown to gleaming in the light, swirling with the sapphire blues and emerald greens as a sea of iridescent beauty ebbing and flowing; her hips swaying ever so gently from side to side, causing her hair to bounce playfully where it sweeps down over her shoulders, ending just above those wonderful breasts that strain for freedom underneath the fabric.

Those blue eyes dance with humor and mischief, showing she wants the gown for the night, and maybe for her own later on as a purchase.

Then one step results in the sudden tearing sound of cloth strained too far and too fast.

She holds still as the material tears away from her body, from one side to the other, leaving her momentarily in shock and disbelief at the treachery it displayed; leaving her breasts fully exposed, her fine hourglass figure shown to the world, and those stockings and undergarments the only covering she has.

And then her smile widens as she stands there with one hand on her hip, arm bent at the elbow, the other one playing in her hair as she asks of me…

“Excuse me Mr. Phillips, how do you think it looks on me?”

I snapped out of my daydream to see Jasmine standing in front of the desk; bent forward to enable a grand old view of her partially covered bosom.

“Uh…uh, you look…oh man…I mean you…” I just stammered.

Her eyes showed a coy expression and she blew me a kiss.

My heart felt like it would instantly explode as my body becomes a pile of smoldering ashes as a flash fire sweeps me away into the afterlife.

Heavens above that gown matched her in every way possible; hugging her like a second skin from her bosom to the middle of her thighs. How it kept from going into instant failure of the material I could not understand, as there should be no room for any movement at all, let alone the soft and steady breathing she does, letting her bosom rise and fall in such a way as to demand all men’s attention instantly.

Putting her hands on hips, arms bent at the elbows, she did a series of quarter and half turns for me to see the entire outfit. Then she stepped forward and placed one leg, bent at the knee, upon its surface, allowing me to see the hem of the gown give way to the copper tan of her skin until it flows under the sheer lace stocking.

Supporting herself on one arm, she leaned forward and touched my cheek with her free hand, swirling the finger tips in slow circles and teasing spirals.

I could smell her perfume, the heady mixture of body lotion and shampoo for her hair swirling into the scents of the shop and the other clothing; along with the leather backing of my old office chair.

“Mr. Phillip’s how does the gown look on me?” she asked one more time.

I finally managed to get my mouth to link with my brain and speak:

“Miss Jasmine if there was a crown placed upon your head with one hundred finely cut, flawless diamonds they would still pale when compared to the wonders you present to my old, tired eyes.”

She giggled in delight, bringing a flush of uttermost embarrassment to my face.

The gown was as good as rented for the night…

Excellent!

I am really glad my pants were still hidden by the desk, as the instant she began caressing my cheek, my very manhood rose swiftly to the moment and hit its climax almost instantly. It would have been total mortification for her to see my own cum staining part of my britches.

It’s a good thing I do keep a few sets of extra clothing of my own here at the shop, including new underwear.

*************************
As it turned out, not as excellent as I had hoped; for as it has become usual for me, old Murphy and his most infamous of laws came home to roost.

Jasmine stood there, a pout of disappointment on her face, eyes downcast as she understood her available funds were just shy of the deposit and rental fees for the gown.

The difference was very small, only a few dollars, and I did not want to miss a rental or disappoint Jasmine; she has her heart on that one gown, and I figured if I cut some slack, it would improve the odds of her becoming a repeat customer.

“Miss Jasmine I’ll cut you a deal this time; I will wave the deposit for this one time only,” she looked at me with a expression of delight and surprise, all but dancing around while clapping her hands in excitement.

“Just remember, that the gown has to be back tonight; by closing time; and maybe we could…” I just stopped, amazed that I nearly asked her out on a date!

“And we could what Mr. Phillips?” she asked, giddy with excitement.

“Maybe we could have some fun here at the shop?” I asked and then grimaced as my foot once again wound up in my mouth. I fully expected to get slapped or kicked in a rage of feminine anger, one I so rightfully deserve for such a statement.

Her hands flew up to cover her mouth, which just hung open in a silent, shocked gasp of astonishment from my utterly bold and stupid query. Any moment now she will either storm out of the shop or slap me so hard I will be able to see over my back for the rest of my life…which could cause a few problems with walking forward…

Her lips changed into an impish smile as she asked “Mr. Phillip’s, May I wear the gown to the party? There is not much time for me to get there and they can be so, so touchy about punctuality…”

“Of course you can,” I said.

She pulled the cash for the gown’s rental out of her purse and bent over the desk to hand it to me, leaning in so close that she suddenly gave me a peck on the cheek followed by a smile.

“Thank you Mr. Phillip’s, when I get back tonight we shall see how much fun we can half,” she said to me.

She smiled, turned in a dainty half circle on one toe, and strolled out of the shop; I watched her every step and flow of her body until I crashed over the desk for the second time this day…not landing on my feet, but into a barrel roll that ended in a rack of cloths.

Thankfully the falling metal crossbar that made up the length of the rack missed my head and abdomen; though as it crashed down upon my chestnuts, I understood once again the classic dread of all men: The Nutcracker maneuver.

Needless to say, most of the few other customers I had that evening wondered why my voice was so squeaky.

*************************
The rest of the day was as normal as any before, i.e. BORING. Not that I should complain, the news over the radio has been proclaiming over and over of a ‘wonderfully strong storm.”

The weatherman kept describing it with relish: “This storm is to be one so powerful that it will rival that of the cataclysm of 1769, 1869, and 1969; the entire city will be destroyed. Flooding tens of feet deep will occur in the first few minutes; while buildings will be burned by searing arcs of destructive lightning; howling winds that will fill you with the dreadful cry of a banshee on the moors before they pick you up and fling you miles into the air for a bone smashing landing somewhere else…”

I listen to this for the fourth time tonight as I turned the lights off, exit the shop and turn around to lock the door, the storm brews high overhead with the rumbling retort of thunder echoing across the cities man made canyons of steel and concrete. Flashes of light come from the lamp posts as the barest of illumination they provide flicker on and off, the brighter flashes of lightning mixing with the first falling of rain from the heavens to cast an eerie glow across the land between times of darkness.

For some reason I held my hand from turning the key and looked over at the sidewalk near my car, I mean my car is not much to look at, just an old, very beat up VW Bug, but its mine…and right next to it is that dingbat weatherman broadcasting live outside the radio station (also across the street where my car is).

He goes on and on and on about “…being live in the heart of the cataclysm of the century; the winds are so fierce that I can barely hear myself think…’

Of course he is calmly sipping away on a cup of coffee between his ‘desperate, danger filled broadcasts in the heart of the storm.’ I just shake my head at the sheer hypocrisy and arrogance of such a man; not to mention the fact he has most of the broadcast equipment upon the top and hood of MY BUG!

“Blast it! May you get your just reward for your act, this is unforgiveable!” I saw the look of utter disdain and disgust he gave me, especially as I pointed my remote starter and car alarm activation gizmo (sounds a lot better saying that than “remote car key”) and pushed the button.

My car alarm goes “beep-beep-beep” just as a thundering flash of light filled the area, the retort shattering many a window up and down the block as I stand there taking in the sight before me…

The weatherman standing, smoldering microphone in his hand, charred clothing hanging from his frame, while his eyes are alight in pure terror as they gaze upon me. My VW Bug is now a smoldering mass of twisted metal and spare parts, victim of the intense series of lightning bolts that happen to hit at that minute.

“Blast, I guess I forgot to turn off the auto destruct switch for my…” I had to smile as the weatherman howled in pure terror and ran off down the street. Of course for me, now I face a long walk home in the rain, which is growing in intensity and hope I can explain to the insurance company of how another car went up in smoke due to a lightning strike…six in one month now.

Turning back to the door, I reached for the key again, and wonder again about Miss Jasmine and the grand old fool I have been played for…

Key in the door lock, I prepared to turn it when I heard a feminine voice shouting out for me to hold on and the click-click-click-click of high heels closing as rapidly as their wearer could.

She just stood in front of me trying to apologize for being late while gasping for breath, the gown straining to keep intact as her bosom heaved in and out at an alarming rate. It seems the car bringing her back to the shop had broken down and she literally ran to the store, trying to get back here in time. Mind you, the gown clings to her body like a second skin, soaked through and through by the rain, allowing her heaving bosom to be seen in full detail, including those nipples at stark attention, keeping my eyes locked on them for some time.

Holding the door open for her and flicking on the lights I told her I would be inside shortly.

Jasmine smiled at me, a coy look on her eyes, lips spread in a smile as her tongue playfully licked and swirled over one of her fingers held oh-so-innocently. She swayed her hips especially fine, keeping my attention fixed on her posterior as she headed for the changing room.

A band of Marines and their Sergeant, out jogging in the rain, completely uncaring for this fierce storm passed by and looked briefly at Miss Jasmine with smiles and a quick succession of nods; their Sergeant declaring to the world “Men, now you know one reason we serve on the edge of freedom; to allow such a lucky couple to have fun creating the next generation of Marines…’

I shook my head in disbelief and started to step forward, amused by their display of humor; only to have the canopy over the door split open and dump gallons of utterly ice cold rain water down upon me.

How much more craziness is going to occur tonight?

======
Once inside I found her by my desk, standing ever so patiently, as I had forgotten to give her the key to the changing room. I did manage to find a body towel for her to dry off with as well; explaining it’s a gift for her due to the weather.

I just sat at my desk, listening to her soft, melodious singing as she changed and dried off, sorting out all the garbage I need to deal with tomorrow morning. I put it in the usual categories of “pain-in-the-tush junk” to the ‘I-really-don’t-need-this-stress-in-my-life-junk” and the ever present “OH-NO-IT’S-THE-IRS junk.” I even took the time to check my e-mails and saw nothing of importance among them: just the usual complaints about my VW bugs constantly drawing lightning down into the area and an inquiry from the radio station of the location of their weatherman.

“Mr. Phillips…” called out that melodious voice. I have no idea how long Miss Jasmine has been standing there while I went about my business. But when I looked up, I almost had a heart attack on the spot. My brain melted away, bones became mush and muscles just sagged in the revelation before me.

She had placed the soaked gown off to one side of my desk, and next to that is her own plain gown she had on earlier this day. Her purse was on that gown, and atop it laid her high heels and undergarments. Those sheer white stockings were the only thing else on as she stood there, smiling, hands on her hips and one leg slightly crossed in front of the other.

Oh my stars!

All I could do was gaze upon her with wonderment as I fought to gain control over my body.

Her coppery cheeks shined in the light, enhanced by the smile of her lips, those blue eyes dancing with a raw mixture of humor and awakened desire. Her raven hair hung across those fine shoulders, ending just above the pair of breasts so large and fine that any man would be proud to suffocate between them with a grand old grin of delight on his face.

Her other hand lay on her hip, legs set to support her pose as a model for a photo shoot would assume; the same pose that allowed me a full frontal view of her bared womanhood!

My heart went to pounding so fast I had to wonder if those earthquake measuring machines were registering the event. I imagined the entire block must be slowly shaking to pieces, so hard and fast was it pounding away.

“Do you like Mr. Phillip’s?” she teasingly asked, licking her lips in a swirling motion.

I started croaking like a bullfrog, still unable to believe this was going on right here and now.

Mind you, it’s not like I have never been with a woman, it’s just the sheer…HER here and now that is making me into a idiot extraordinaire.

“Mr. Phillips, do you like what you see?” she asked with a bit of concern in her voice.

I just nodded my head yes, and she breathed a sigh of relief; probably figured I was going to die right on the spot or something similar.

“You said you wanted to have some fun, so that is what I am going to do; a deal is a deal after all,” she said to me. I just could not believe this is happening. Here it is, late in the evening, a fierce storm raging outside and I am here with a lady that most men could only dream of having nearby, let alone having anything occurring between them!

My mind raced at the mystery of how much she has planned for the two of us tonight…

I can hardly wait to find out…

She came over to the back of my desk, eased down across it on her stomach and looked back over her shoulder at me with the biggest grin I have ever seen on a lady. Her legs shifted slightly, bending into the air at the knees as I got a clear view of her naked womanhood. She scissored her legs once, twice, and then a third time before rolling over onto her back, grasping her knees to bosom with her hands.

Her giggle drew my gaze up to her face, to see her glimmering smile, and a double wink to me.

She swung up and around to change to being on her hands and knees while facing me.

With one finger she motioned for me to come closer.

I could see her breasts hanging down, moving ever so slightly with each action she undertook; even swirling her head around to send hair back over her shoulders made them bounce and jiggle, holding my interest like a vice around a pipe.

I gave out a little squeaking sound and scooted my chair closer to her.

Jasmine moved one hand upward, her fingers gently touching my cheek, moving in a inward spiral only to reverse direction and repeat the pattern twice more, drawing a heated flush to my face; my breath was beginning to sound like a broken bellows, raspy and heated, as the fires of desire stoked higher and higher in my body.

One part of my brain was screaming for me to flee, howling in terror, into the storm outside.

The other, the portion gradually gaining ground; said to let it happen and enjoy the ride!

Ever so slowly she moved her fingertips over my chin and jaw, then my lips in repeated circles with a teasing probe of my tongue. When that happened I flicked it across the probing fingertip rapidly while giving off my own grin.

She giggled as their journey continued along my nose and across my brow, then covering my ear.

Each moment of motion set my bodies temperature higher and higher; feeling like my body should disappear in a blast of steam that would consume me utterly.

She put her hand firmly behind my neck, drawing me closer as she slowly moved forward.

Her kiss was one of pure fire and lightning; surging across each and every fiber of my body. I could feel the sweat beginning to appear on my skin, my manhood rising in full to the moment, as on my lips the salty taste of her own flowed and measured, bringing a refined taste that mixed with the strawberry flavored lipstick she has put on sometime tonight.

I felt my world collapse in on it, Nirvana has been achieved!

Then she planted that fiery, passion filled, electrifying second kiss, followed by a third, and even a fourth; each one redoubling the intensity of the preceding kiss.

She just softly giggled at my dismay.

Her giggling intensified when my hands reached up and encompassed those wonderful breasts, shortly to stroke and knead so gently the nipples and flesh wherever I could reach. They felt so soft, warm and wonderful to my touch; her eyes closed, neck arching slightly as she braced her hands – one on the desk, the other moving from my neck to my shoulder.

I heard a small, contented sigh pass her lips.

I started to kiss her neck, taking great delight in the taste of her skin; a mixture of scents arising of her perfume and personal smells; along with that from her earlier dinner – fine steak with sauce, grilled veggies, and the ripe odor of clover and vinegar from a side dish of salad.

Soon enough she leaned in to begin kissing my neck with such force I imagined there would be lip marks well into the next month. I could feel the warmth of her quickening breath, the fires building in her body from the attention given to her body and breasts.

Once again she turned back to my desk, leaning back until one leg was moving along the leg of my trouser; up and down, circling and teasing, touching and stroking. She kept licking her lips as this happened, puckering and nibbling on them; as she gave that oh-so-innocent look on her face, while her eyes danced with abandonment of all control over her burning passion.

When her foot wound up stroking my manhood I thought I would erupt into flames. It was all that I could do to keep my manhood from pushing over the edge and hitting my release; I did not want this fun to end any time soon.

That wild fire of her eyes redoubled, and redoubled again; I knew then and there I was doomed, and to be honest, I did not care.

Bracing on one arm, she brought her other hand to her lips, playfully nibbling and licking the tips of the fingers; and then playfully sucking away as her eyes and smile enticed me into their depths. Then her hand commenced to move down her body, teasing circles on her chest; across each breast, slowly caressing and teasing me in the small circles and spirals she executes, the nipples firmly at attention and then some. She brings each one up to her lips, sucking and licking them gently, eyes locked upon me with a message that the fun was about to reach a new level of intensity.

I put my hands on her one leg, gently running them over the firm muscles, caressing and softly massaging each in turn, working my way up to her inner thigh. Where the material of her stocking gave way to flesh, I made sure to redouble my efforts, seeking each spot that would cause a shivering, quivering or giggle deriving bit of sensation.

I moved my chair in as close as I could to her, lifting both of her legs up upon my shoulders; then commenced to kiss her further and further upwards toward her pelvis. She lay back, eyes closing once again as I drew closer to her womanhood; breath becoming mixed with soft cooing and mouse like squeaks, lips being gnawed on as desires mixed and flowed, hands covering her mouth as the fingers made soft balls, only to release and tighten again moments later.

I commenced to gently blow soft puffs of air onto her thighs, alternating side to side, generating small ripples of delight from her with each one. Finally as I closed within reach of her most private of areas, one puff followed another, causing her to squirm and dance about while a fountain of giggled and squeals erupted past her lips; hands covering up the growing blush on her glistening skin.

When my tongue slid within those magical depths, savoring the taste of flesh and mixture of textures, the heat of her body and scents mixing one into another with the pace of a coursing river, her hips swayed about, back arching to the heavens and her hands flying down to grab my head, firmly holding me in place.

I had to force my way up enough to take a breath before she shoved me back down yet again.

For a moment I could see my tombstone, engraved upon its marble surface the words:

“He died pleasing a goddess made flesh; at least there was a smile on his face.”

As my ministrations reached the hidden area deep within, that one location bringing maximum pleasure to all women, she thrust one leg straight out against the unit of shelves I use for record storage; it promptly collapsed into a heap of wreckage with a crash both of us ignored.

More and more my exploration and ministration flowed into a series of letter styles across the alphabet and varying in speed and force; I just wanted now and always to draw every ounce of wonderment and passion I could of Jasmine before anything else happened…

Such as the chair sliding out from under me, leaving gravity briefly in command of my destiny until the floor rushed up to smack solidly into my body; the chair rolled with some force backwards, bouncing off the wall and into a nearby cloths rack, which promptly toppled over into another, and a chain reaction commenced across the store…half the racks collapsing or toppling over by the time it ended.

As I climbed back up to my knees, looking at the utter devastation, then back to her, she giggled and covered her mouth with one hand, giving off a soft “Oops!”

“Yeah, big Oops,” I said to her.

She got up off the desk and stood there for a minute not saying anything. I finally climbed up, figuring the mood was done for – the destruction of a shop can have that effect on a night of intimate activity between two people…

“Well Jasmine I guess that means…” I could not get the next words out of my mouth other than as a mixture of squeals and peals as she moved up right next to me, one hand pressing the small of my back while the other slid down my britches, and commenced to massage my manhood along its full area (with the smallish size that is of course not saying much).

I just looked at her with a sheepish grin on my face as her ministration threatened to send me into instant and complete meltdown.

Of their own accord, my pants had sauntered downward, until they fell away to puddle around my ankles.

She giggled and looked into my eyes, her own showing laughter and passion mixing in their depths.

======
She guided me to the desk, gently having me lean upon it as she went to her knees; easing off my shoes and the surrounding britches, then my underpants.

Her hands came back to continue their joyous ministrations of my manhood, each movement sending a series of thundering, pounding, pulsating and electrifying sensations into my brain. My eyes felt like they would cross over to the other socket and continue right out of my ears, which had to have smoke bellowing out in columns for anyone to smell and see.

It took every bit of control I had left to keep from hitting my release then and there; especially when those soft lips closed about it, the warmth of her mouth adding more and more to my own as she teased away upon it. I heard and felt my breathing becoming deeper and faster, the sounds of a bellows being driven by a windstorm would sound tame in comparison!

How long she went on for I have no idea, just my entire world came down to her actions.

The room felt like it was spinning round and round, the sounds of the rain and retorts of lightning shaking and quaking the building; lights flickering on and off with each close strike.

I felt like she was drawing what remained of my brain out of me; one cell and neuron at a time.

Move by move, moment by moment she kept me right on the edge, until she sensed I could hold back no more and quickly lay over the desk on her stomach.

With no hesitation I slid my manhood deep into her body, feeling the firm holds of her muscles, the warmth of them flowing into my own; while I was seeking only to make the culmination last as long as possible for her enjoyment.

I kept pumping and pumping, until a point was hit in which my body started to shake and quake, the entire waves of pleasure reaching new heights.

My roars of passion soon were joined by hers; as the two of us moved in a rhythm that grew between us; not perfect but close enough.

She shouted something in her native language of Hindi, then again in another – I assumed screams of delight and intense passionate feelings that must be flowing through her at that moment.

Then she shouted out to me, loud and clear:

“Inside me, do it inside of me Mr. Phillips; do it inside of me!”

Faster and faster I continued pumping away, until the line was crossed and a scream of primordial passion went roaring from my lips…

Okay it was more like a scream of an airplane crossed with a broken down washer.

You get the idea…

Once, twice and a third time my release hit, sending my life seed deep into her body.

My manhood promptly collapsed in and on itself, no longer needed and unable to perform for some time.

Jasmine hit her release at the same instant as my own, her body having shook with such force and excitement that the desk collapsed out from under her; only a quick grab by me, arms around her waist and chest kept her from falling onto it.

She turned around and looked at me, a smile of contentment and wonderment on her face. For a moment her gaze went downward to her thigh, which I saw had a trace of my life seed mixed with her release flowing downward.

“I’m sorry about the store Mr. Phillip’s, I did not ever imagine such a mess could occur from our fun tonight; how much is this going to cost me to get it fixed?”

I saw the clear worry in her eyes, the anticipation of some outrageous amount, or some kind of outburst on my part.

“I don’t know; my insurance should cover most of it, just going to take a few days to get everything back in one piece before I can open again. All of that business being lost will be a problem with my bills coming due in the next week or so,” I had to shake my head as I gathered up my britches, wondering if this was the end of my business.

“Mr. Phillip’s, let me make a quick call…” she went to her purse and stood there, debating with someone on the other end of her cell phone; mind you she was still in her birthday suit, so I got a wonderful show of her every move as I got dressed again.

In the end she smiled at me, holding up a “V” for victory sign.

“Mr. Phillip’s my mother will cover everything that needs fixing and your business losses; her secretary Miss Shannon will be here in the morning to make an initial estimate with you.”

“Where does your mother get that kind of money from?” Was she truly the daughter of a Mafia Godfather? Or yet worse, A Mafia Godmother; one who knows my address now and will demand due recompense in the most painful and final of sadistic means for a bit of company with her daughter?

Or will the Godmother simply have it be the usual – cement shoes and chains, then a brief car ride to the piers and into the ocean I go…

“Oh I forgot to tell you, she is the diplomatic envoy to the UN down the street for India,” she showed me her own diplomatic pass that confirmed the story. I just kept shaking my head in disbelief; it’s much worse than her being the daughter of a Mafia Godmother!

Many, many times worse! Her mother is a diplomat at the UN of all things!

I looked at the door, expecting her bodyguards or assassins dispatched by her mother to come in and sweep her away to safety, while reducing me and my shop to a pile of smoldering kindling after introducing me to all manner of delightful tortures to insidious and hideous to contemplate…

Her gentle, bubbling laughter snapped me back to the here and now. Obviously she gets my kind of reaction with a lot of normal people. “Mr. Phillips my mother does not have people ‘taken care of’ like in those crazy movies you Americans love so much; too messy. I stay out of that stuff when I can, I prefer the American way of having fun – tonight I went to an ‘old fashion orgy of 1969’ and thoroughly enjoyed myself.”

“Oh and Mr. Phillip’s I want to thank you for reading that book on your desk; it’s not the best fiction in the world I know, but mother wrote it and I told her you liked it.” Her smile was one of genuine mischief, which let me know how horrendous the book really reads.

“Tell you what Mr. Phillip’s, for my part, I will not only tell my friends to come here for the best gowns around; I will come by each night and bed you, for as long as you want, as many times each night that you want, and you can cum inside me. How does that sound Mr. Phillip’s?” she asked.

I agreed to it, and as she got dressed, preparing to head home for the night; she mentioned in passing that she will have some friends with her the next evening for our “fun” after the shop closes. I wondered if the building would even survive; let alone be standing if another such night is held in the place…of course it would be fun to find out!

(fin.)