Pretender

"You should have given me a new personality to go with this," Lacy whispered into her purse. "I feel like a fish out of water! What am I supposed to do? I don't know anything about meeting men!"

"Just go with the flow," came the muffled voice. "You're gorgeous, sweetie. No one can resist you. Just remember that."

Maybe he was right. Maybe physical beauty was enough, because there wasn't a door that wasn't opened for her, not a man who didn't smile, and all this worked to give her an unfamiliar but wildly exciting sense of power. Lacy felt that she'd been charged with a kind of sexual static electricity. When she reached the top floor she was feeling bold enough to even strike a pose in the doorway of the Mercedes Room. The maitre d' hurried over, and Lacy felt positively devastating. She almost felt sorry for the men she saw inside.

Almost, but then she realized with something akin to panic that she had no idea of what to do or where to go in the restaurant. It was a place of old-style elegance and sophistication, with deep carpets and wood-paneled walls, white linen and potted palms. There were red and white hearts and cupids hanging from the cornices and trailing down, and a piano trio provided tasteful dinner music.

"Where should I go?" Lacy asked into her purse as the maitre d' awaited her pleasure.

"The bar! The bar!" the little voice answered, and that's what Lacy told the maitre d'.

She ordered a martini, a drink she always associated with elegance, and she perched her lovely bottom on a leather barstool and turned and inspected the room.

Her man was out there somewhere, somewhere amidst the tables set with red and white flowers and the tasteful sprays of ribbons and balloons that comprised the Valentine's Day decorations. No doubt the colonel was right: whomever she was looking for would be most likely alone, which meant he would probably visit the bar. No doubt, too, that he would be terribly handsome and built like a movie star, as perfect in his male way as she was in her female way, so she only had to find the most impossibly hunky man in the crowd and strike up a conversation.

It was harder than it looked. The men came in pairs, and Lacy couldn't understand why they didn't return her smiles until she saw one man shake his head ruefully and heard him mutter something to his companion about "too rich for my blood."

So that was it. They were intimidated.

Lacy sipped her drink. She hadn't counted on this. The idea that she might be entirely too much woman had never occurred to her, and she was wondering what to do when a man came up and leaned on the bar beside her.

Lacy looked up at him. He was pleasant-looking enough, though nowhere near movie-star good looks, with a funny twist to his smile. When he asked her if she would let him buy her a drink, she jumped at the chance, grateful for the cover of his company till her man should show up.

His name was Arthur – Artie – and he was a bond trader. He worked in the building, and maybe he wasn't as handsome as she'd expected, but there was something in the way he looked at her. By now Lacy was used to men's eyes -- the open leer, the surreptitious glance, the X-ray stare of the younger ones, the resigned admiration of the older and/or married men – but Artie looked at her differently, as if in looking at her his eyes had simply found the most comfortable spot in the room, and Lacy wore his gaze like it was a piece of jewelry made especially for her.

They talked, and talk came easy, as did a kind of understanding she'd never experienced with a man before. It made her drunk, being understood like this, and she thought it must be because of her beauty now that such openness came easy. He asked her to dance, and it was the first time since he'd sat down that she even noticed there was music.

She didn't know how to dance. She'd never danced in her life, not with a man, not for real, but she somehow knew that wouldn't matter. Artie would take care of her, and that's just what happened. He held her lightly in his arms, like something precious, and they just swayed to the soft music. Her body went just where it was supposed to go, and she quickly forgot all about her feet and concentrated on the more interesting sensations that were occurring elsewhere.

But then her body began to betray her. It was as if she were too ripe, too sensitive, too much the sexual animal, and the pressure of his chest against her breasts; the feel of his thigh moving against hers as they danced; the way his hand rested first on the flare of her hip so that she could feel it as she moved, and then in the small of the back just above the thrust of her ass, where it seemed to exert a pressure that was far out of proportion to its size, was almost more than she could stand. She wasn't used to this kind of touch from a man. Lacy's experience of love and sex had always been dark, hurried and somehow shameful, and always third rate.

When he danced her into a dark corner of the floor and kissed her, there was nothing third rate about it, and Lacy almost swooned.

"I'm sorry," he said, his face almost touching hers. "I didn't mean—"

"No, that's all right. Really."

She tried to smile at him, but it was as if he had magnetized her lips, and all they could do was reach up for his

Ah, poor Lacy! This time he pushed her gently against the wall and she fell against it as if it were a bed. He leaned his body against her, making her his prisoner. Artie knew how to kiss and Lacy had never felt anything like it. There was nothing obscene or even suggestive about it, just a desire to feel her lips against his, a gentle curiosity to find out who she was, and an offer of much more to come. When he lifted his hands to her face and gently caressed her cheeks, she almost melted on the spot.

"You're the one I've been looking for, aren't you?" he whispered to her. "I can feel it. You got a very special valentine's present today too, didn't you?"

Lacy's eyes went wide. Her heart hammered in her chest. "Then youare him, aren't you? The man I was supposed to meet! Oh my God, I can't believe it!"

"Hurry," Artie said, and he took her hand. "It's almost midnight, and I don't want to take any chances!"

She barely had time to grab her purse and coat as Artie dragged her out of the restaurant and over to the elevators. He lived right in the building, and they kissed all the way down to his apartment, her lust glowing like a coal within her.

Inside the curtains were open, showing the whole city beneath them, spread out like a web of diamonds, and Artie took her in his arms and kissed her again. Lacy felt her body respond like a thoroughbred on a clean track. She could almost feel the valves clicking open and the hydraulics snap too life, the hormones release from her finely tuned glands. Her breasts felt full and deliciously sore, aching for his touch. She felt like she was flowering between her legs, like a gorgeous blossom was opening and spreading its petals to the sun, and Lacy could barely contain her excitement.

She'd never been a very demonstrative girl, but now every touch made her shiver, every kiss brought a hungry moan from her throat, and her hands were all over him, caressing his face, stealing inside his shirt, even reaching down to feel his hardness, a hardness that thrilled her so much, knowing that she was the cause, that he was like this because of her. Her desire made her bold, and for once she followed her desires. She bit his lip and went so far as to unzip his pants, her hands burning with the need to feel what she'd done to him.

"Oh my God!" she moaned when she had his cock in her hands. It was hard and thrillingly heavy, like it meant business, and Artie's sob of desire sent a spear of pure longing down her spine.

Lacy had never held a man like that, with such wanton boldness, and now, to her own shock and disbelief, she did even worse. She kissed her way down his body and got on her knees in front of him. She held his magnificent cock in her hands and looked up at his face and she saw that look: the look she'd been wanting to see in a man's face all her life: desire so intense it looked like fury.

She opened her red lips and took him in.

She'd had men's pricks in her mouth before. It had been the one thing they seemed to like for her to do, but never had she felt this overwhelming surge of power and control. Artie moaned. He threw his head back and growled with pleasure. When she wrapped her sinuous tongue along the veiny length, he jerked in her mouth like a puppet.

Lacy couldn't stand it: a real, live cock and a lovely man to go with it. She boldly pushed him back, crawling after him on her knees until the backs of his legs hit the sofa and he sat down heavily. Lacy put her hands on his knees, dug her nails into his hard muscles and began doing pushups over his loins, his tool making slobbering sounds in her mouth. He dug his fingers into her rich mane of hair and began lifting his hips in time to her bobbing head, gasping and moaning with abandon.

"Oh Christ, Lacy! You're fantastic! I've never felt anything like it! I'm close, baby! I'm already close!"

That was all she needed to hear. Her need for power was satisfied, and now that she knew she could give as well as get, she decided it was time to get some more. She pulled her mouth off him and stood up, leaving his cock standing up and glistening in the light from the window.

She stood where he could see her up and stripped off her dress over her head. The very act of undressing for him was maddeningly erotic in itself, feeling her dress caress her breasts and her belly as she slid it over her head. She unhooked her bra and let it slide down her arms, then stood there for him, posing without posing, luxuriating in his gaze and enjoying the slack-jawed look of wonder on his face. That was what she wanted to see, and the look of desire on his face thrilled her almost more than all the touching and kissing that had gone before. She kept her eyes on his face as she slowly peeled her sodden panties down her thighs and stepped out of them.

She stood before him in all her glorious perfection: her rich, luxurious tits, the tiny waist and the generous, promising hips; her absolutely perfect ass. She felt a thrill of sheer power come over her, and she growled in her throat as she boldly walked right over to the sofa, straddled his hips, took his massive cock in her hand and guided the head into the hot clutch of her feverish pussy.

"Oh yes! Yes! YES!"

Lacy threw her head back and laughed with a pleasure that was just too intense to keep inside. For the first time she understood what sex was all about: the sense of power and fulfillment, the indescribable feeling of closeness and sheer physical pleasure that seemed to radiate from his stiff cock inside her. She felt vibrant and alive, and even more beautiful than she had before. She felt complete, and more than complete, like she was part of something bigger than herself and even bigger than the both of them.

"Oh God, Lacy! You're too much! Fuck me, baby! Fuck me!"

Yes she would: she would fuck this beautiful man. That's exactly what she would do.

She put her knees on the couch and began to move, squeezing her cunt around him and pulling up, trying to draw his prick up into her body. Artie lay beneath her, his head lolling against the back of the sofa as Lacy began to ride his cock for all she was worth, driving down on top of him and then pulling up, bouncing so hard that her big tits started flopping on her chest, and she had to lift Artie's hands to them to hold them still. He started pinching her nipples and rolling them between his fingers, and Lacy leaned forward so that the top of his cock bumped over her distended clit every time his thick, hard meat filled her emptiness with potent male urgency.

Artie raised his head and howled. His hips thrust up from the sofa as he pummeled into her cunt and Lacy realized that he was coming. She felt the jets of liquid heat splash inside her and that was the final straw. Lacy screamed, dug her nails into the hardness of his shoulders and came, waves of painful pleasure followed by a deep and throbbing satisfaction that laid all rational thoughts to rest.

So that was it! That's what poets wrote about and singers sang about and lovers killed themselves over. That's why men are built one way and women another. That's why men buy flowers and climb mountains and carve their girl's initials into their arms, and women weep and spend a fortune on clothes and marry the most unlikely mates. She understood it now. She understood every bit of it.

But Artie wasn't done with her and that one was only the first of many. They'd no sooner caught their breath than Artie flipped her over on the sofa and fucked her that way, with Lacy free to so nothing but hold onto the armrest and tilt her bottom up at him and grunt and wallow in her own selfish sensual gratification. And the more she moaned and yelled, the harder he fucked her. She was in heaven.

"I've never known anyone like you," he snarled as he stirred his thick cock in the simmering broth of her pussy. "You're wild, as crazy for it as I am. I'm never letting you go, you hear that? Never!"

From the sofa to the floor in front of the sofa, to the floor by the window, and from there to the bedroom where they did everything, knocking the pillows to the floor and stirring up so much heat from the friction of their bodies against each other that Lacy felt as if they'd melted together into one wonderful, moaning puddle of love, and they lay there exhausted, not knowing or caring who was who.

Midnight came and went and they didn't even notice it until Lacy, glancing sleepily at the bedside clock, saw that it was one-thirty.

"Oh no!" she exclaimed. "It's after midnight! Valentine's day is over."

She glanced down at him. He looked the same.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Are you going to turn into a pumpkin or something? You still look the same to me."

Lacy looked down at her tits. Still there. She picked up her hair and looked at it. It was still that lush, raven black mane. She jumped down and stood in front of the mirror. It was still the new body. But for how long?

Artie was up on one elbow, looking at her curiously.

Lacy looked at him with fear in her eyes. "I was afraid I'd change back to the way I looked before. He said it could happen."

Artie looked confused. "The way you looked before? I don't get it."

"The magical valentine you got. Didn't you get to pick the way you wanted to look?"

He laughed. "No. Why should I want to change the way I look? Is it that bad? No, the little grandmother from my valentine told me I had a problem. I only looked at the surface of things. I was superficial. I only liked people for the way they looked, so she changed that."

He smiled at her. "My valentine's gift was that I wouldn't see people the way they appeared; I'd see them for the way they were inside. I took one look around that restaurant and you were the most gorgeous woman in there."

Lacy looked at him to see if he were joking, but there was no mistaking the look in his eyes. He was still looking at the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

She wiped the tears from her eyes, streaking what makeup there was left. She came over and pressed herself against him, feeling her wondrous new body react in so many new and wondrous ways, and she kissed him.