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“You have a great voice” she said with a smile. Stark smiled back a little taken aback. He took his coffee off the counter.

“Thankyou…uh, you don’t have a name tag on”

She was something. He could tell she was a “knockout” even though she wore flannels and a smock that was coffee stained and had ice cream drips down the front from making too many smoothies on a hot day. She stood nearly as tall as Stark, with heels on she would tower over him easily. Her dark auburn hair was pulled back in a pony tail, but he noticed right off her arched eyebrows. Gave her a look of a predator.

“My name is Tiffany” she said and extended her hand over the counter.

“I’m Charles…no, wait Chuck…” he was stammering, and Tiffany’s smile faded. He looked down, took a quick puff of breath, and looked up again. “Call me Stark, I actually answer to that, the other names, official as they are, cause me to stutter” she laughed kindly as he shook her hand, but her smile was back again. The feel of her hand was strong, but soft. Stark was smitten early. He wanted to stay and talk, but her attention was already on the person next in line, who was ordering something with a double shot decaf and a twist of lemon.

“I’ll see you tomorrow” he said to her after he paid.

“Good” she said. He stuffed a dollar in the tip cup and off he went into the quickly heating day. While he sat at work, his mind kept drifting back. The eyes, the smile…the easy compliment she gave. Great voice, he thought…she’ll have to hear more of it.

The next morning Stark walked into the coffee pub again, and there she was with her back to the door. He walked up to the front counter, and someone else…someone nice, but someone else, asked for his order. “I was hoping to talk with Tiffany” He said. The girl looked a little flustered, as if she might have done something wrong. Tiffany, her back still to him, popped her head up from what she was doing. “Well, it’s Call me Stark” she said without turning. Stark’s cheeks heated, but he weathered it without turning too red.

Tiffany turned and faced him, smile intact, but composed, planned.

“I’m sure Cynthia can take your order quite well, besides, you don’t get waited on by the owner everyday.” She said and exited out a door behind the counter. Stark’s little hopes effectively dashed, he ordered his coffee and stepped out into the morning shine. He turned around the side of the building where he was parked, and there she stood, again back toward him, and leaning against his car. She turned to face him again, she was packing a cigarette.
“You have a light” she asked, “I decided I needed a break”

“I don’t smoke…not good for my voice, but that doesn’t mean I can’t help you out” He unlocked his car door, and pulled out a lighter. He put his coffee on the roof of his car, and lit her cigarette.
They commenced to small talk, until she had finished her smoke. He drove off feeling pretty good about himself, he had her phone number in his shirt pocket. She watched him pull away, and his coffee spill over the road and the back of the car, because he never picked bahis firmaları it back up again. Stark never noticed he didn’t get his coffee.

At work, he flitted about, nervously looking in his pocket, making sure it was still there. He thought the silly things men do, ‘do I wait three day’s to call? ‘ that’s the protocol after all. He knew he did not want to wait, he knew he wouldn’t. It was Friday, and he did not want to wait until Monday to see her. He did manage to make it until Saturday afternoon. Heart beating in his chest, he dialed the numbers she had written down. The phone rang, rang again, 4 times it rang, and the machine kicked on. He sighed, feeling like he let himself down. Then he heard her voice,

“I’m hear, don’t hang up” and the machine turned off.

“I wont” he said.

“Well, if it isn’t call me Stark”

Then again, the small talk ensued. She kept asking questions, wanting him to tell her anything, everything. He thought to himself…she is really into me. She was really into his voice. The resonance, the timbre. After over an hour, she took the initiative.

“I am making a special dinner tonight” she paused. “Want to share it with me”

Stark coughed, “yes” he answered simply.

“Be here at 8:00” she told him.

“Little late for a dinner don’t you think” he said playfully.

“Be here at 8:00” she repeated.

“I’ll be there at 8:00”

She gave him directions and the wait through the rest of the day began.

At 8:00 he arrived at her house. It was surrounded with tall trees, moss hanging from them. Ferns and tall bushes surrounded the house, almost hiding it. He rang the door.

She answered the door, wearing a sheen robe, which in the hot weather, clung to her body. He couldn’t help but look her up and down, he could see the line of her panties rising across her hips. The roundness of her breasts, perfectly formed. He felt himself bulge almost painfully against his jeans.
“Well, good evening” he said full voiced. He noticed that at the sound of his voice, her nipples puckered as if touched with ice. The hunger he had in his stomach, was gone. Filled with another hunger. His slowburn was catching up to him. ‘I should have jerked off before I came’ he thought to himself. She glanced down to his zipper. She couldn’t help notice. She grabbed both his hands, and held them out.
“Well look at you” she said. Then led him in the house.
“I have been working on something all day, I want to show you” she said to him, and led him into her bedroom. Her entire house was dark. Not for a lack of light, but that is just the way it was. Her room, was lit with candles, the bed covered in silk the color of dark blood. He noticed her bedroom had no windows. Speakers hung up in various places, and a computer system sat to the side, a large keyboard on a table next to it plugged into a mixing board. Other various instruments lay about the corner of the room.

“You’re a musician?” he asked.

” I like to record things, let me play something for you” She went around to her computer. She was lit up by the glare from the screen. She was kaçak iddaa devastating. She tapped a couple of keys, and the music started. He thought he had to be dreaming. A deep base sounded, and a slow rhythmic beat began. It was a deep funk groove George Clinton and Prince would be proud of. Then he heard a breathing, getting louder, then it caught, and shuddered. He heard a low moan, then the sound of a raven, with it’s purring caw. Then breathing again.
“That’s fantastic” he said.

“That’s me” she replied…”I was thinking about now” The robe fell. Her hair was full, and this was the first time he had seen her without it pulled back. She wore a bra that just covered the bottom of her breasts, a garter belt with lace panties. All a deep red, the red of her sheets, the red of blood, the red of her hair. Her hawk like gaze had captured him, she walked to him and began unfasten his belt.

“Do you want this” she asked.

His own breath was catching…he could still her moans in the music, and the sound of the raven. “Yes” he managed.

“take off your shoes” she said into his ears, and pushed him onto the bed. He took off his shoes, his socks, and stood back up. She eased his jeans down. She could now see how his underwear, boxer briefs, were failing to contain him. He was also already wet, and seeping through the material. She cocked her head,

“not to quick now” she warned. He smiled. She unbuttoned his shirt, using her lips to kiss the spot just above each button. His shirt fell to the ground. He was well built, but not Men’s Health cover material. She cupped his balls in her hands through his underwear and kissed him hard. Then pushed him onto the bed. He bounced one bounce and she was on top of him. The low base of the music filling the room, the occasional sounds of a raven. He tried to kiss her, to feel her, but she pushed his hands away. She was kissing every part of him. She slid his glistening black boxer briefs off, and kissed his erect penis. It rewarded her with a drop. She rubbed it off with her thumb. She stood watching him watch her. Then removed her bra, garter, stockings and panties. Then straddled him. He could feel the heat, the humidity of her pussy on his cock. God how he wanted this woman. He moaned, and let her know it.

“Do you want me now?” she asked.

“oh god yes”

She bent down to get something under the bed. She placed a dog eared book of Edgar Allen Poe poems on his chest. Then reached below the bed again, and came up with a high end microphone. She fastened the microphone to the head board just above his face. Her breasts hanging in his face. He nuzzled a nipple. All the while her hips grinding on him. She sat up, and looked over at the computer desk, tapped the microphone once, and saw the reaction on the monitor.
“What are you…” She cut him off.

“Do you want me?” she asked again with a quiver of her hips.

He breathed his response.

She then took the book, and opened to a marked page. She turned the book around and put it in his hands. She leaned down so her eyes peered over the page. The arched eyebrows looking down kaçak bahis at him. Grinding into him, his own hips bucking as he fought a moan. A moan that matched the music playing. Her moan.

“Read it” she said and stroked her pussy up his cock, then lifted.

“Don’t stop reading” she said with another long slow wet stroke.

“If you stop, I stop” He blinked at her, heart pounding.

“keep your hands on the book, and don’t cum, until I say” again the long slow, slishy stroke with her pussy up the ridge of his cock. He was now in some pain. He felt if he grew harder, he would burst.

He looked down at the page she had turned too.

“The Raven, Once upon a midnight dreary” and she slid him into her. She let out a long loud breath. He kept reading.

“Suddenly there came a tapping” she caught the rhythm,

“as if someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door” he kept on. She threw her head back, and started pinching her nipples, and grazing her hands across the top of her breasts. He kept stealing glances up at her, but he didn’t dare stop.

“Then I heard a tapping, somewhat louder than before” The more he read, the harder she pushed against him. She moaned louder, but never uttered an actual word. His breath began to catch, but he read on.

“Tell me, tell me I implore, quote the raven never more” and a raven cawed with the base tones, the funky beat, and moans, both recorded and live.

“Take thy beak from out my heart”

She pushed against him, the bed began to shake, he could barely see the words on the page. Both from the shaking bed, the banging headboard, the banging of blood in his head. She shuddered, quivered, but she held his dick tight, milking it. He held the book with one hand, as his other hand kneaded the sheet, fighting his own urge to release. He could feel her hands upon his ribs, as she dug in and grinded harder.

“And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted- nevermore” he finished the poem. He couldn’t fight his own body anymore. He reached above his head and braced the headboard.
“Now” she shouted. He yelled as he shot into her. When she felt the hot jet, she grunted, and came hard, now wiggling back and forth on his cock. She felt every pulse. His eyes now shut hard, he trembled with the last spasms of his orgasm. He noticed that he had bitten into his arm when he came. Blood rose out of the wound. Then he looked down, and noticed the tattoo above her neatly shaved mound of hair. A raven, with wings spread, peered at him. After a few moments, she slowly eased off of him. The music still deeply thumping, the raven still purrily cawing. She walked over to the computer. Stark could see the dripping coming from between her thighs, he could smell the sexy funk on the air. Could feel the wetness of his balls, the sheets. He shuddered again, then he heard himself, reading the Raven. Mixed in with the music, the cawing, her own moaning. He had forgotten about the microphone perched above his head. He smiled.

Later, she walked him to the door. Kissed him lightly on the mouth.

“Will I see you again?” he asked.

“Quote The Raven nevermore” she replied. “But I have other books”

She stepped back from him, and began to close the door.

“See you Monday” she said, “Coffee black, no cream”

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