Monday, October 6, 2014

Wherehouse Ellen

Ellen Joy

Ricky and I were out in the parking lot playing our version of handball. Really it was just slapping a tennis ball against the factory wall and keeping a pseudo type of tennis score. Boy it was hot that day. One of those steamy August days in Chicago. As usual Donna and Annie were sitting on the shipping dock watching us spend our lunch hour running around working up a sweat. At twenty years old neither Ricky nor I had a clue why these two 40 something women would watch us so intently, or had any idea of the thoughts that were going through their heads. Call us naive.
We all worked for an advertising specialty company, Ricky and I were shipping clerks, and Annie and Donna were engravers, silk screeners, and general production staff. It was a small company run by Sheldon Roth.
Ricky and I were in full lather, our shirtless muscled young man bodies running  and pounding the tennis ball into the wall when Ellen Joy, the freelance artist sauntered out onto the loading dock. Ellen Joy was in her thirties, the Bohemian artist type sporting a floppy sun hat, a sheer peasant blouse over tight jean shorts and lace up sandals. Not usual business attire, but with a long relationship as company artist casual was acceptable. Ellen Joy was a five foot five enigma to me. She had straight black hair  cropped in a 1970’s feather cut with bangs that swept seductively over her left eye. Perfect olive skin, well formed breasts that stood up proudly in the often bra-less state she sported under sheer white blouses. You could detect large brown nipples under the fabric. With my limited experience of skinny blondes and red headed Irish girls, those nipples were an endless focus of my attention. Ellen Joy knew that. She would always give  me a big smile with her prominent white teeth couched in soft full lips as she bounced through the dock on her way to meet with Sheldon. But that was only a preview of the best part. It was the full round buttocks that would wiggle through the loading dock that would grab Ricky,s and my eyes like super glue when she would pass through.
On this day she sent a big smile in our direction and slowly looked us up and down with a leer that I never knew a woman could pitch,  punctuated with a wink in our direction, Since it was at a distance Ricky and I would argue the rest of the afternoon over who it was meant for.
First thing next morning Sheldon had an assignment for me. Apparently Ellen Joy had forgotten the product sample she needed for her design work and I was to deliver it to her studio at precisely eleven AM. The time was made clear to me , twice.
I was at Ellen Joys door at eleven on the dot. Ellen Joy’s studio was actually her apartment so I was a little shy, but very curious to see how a thirty year old Bohemian lived. The door opened and there was Ellen Joy, hair wet and blacker than usual but still seductively straight and provocatively swept over her left eye.  She had a blue satin robe loosely draped over her fragrant freshly showered body. I stammered a few apologies for being too early even though I knew I was not.  She put me at ease quickly by waving me on in and closing the door behind her. The view of her round booty was exceptional in that rather sheer robe as she led me into the room. When she turned to receive my delivery her robe was perched perilously close to slipping beyond those extraordinary areolas I had fantasized about endlessly.
With product in her hand held up to the light of the large apartment windows she gave me a tantalizing view of her bodies silhouette under the flowing robe. My youthful exuberance let out an audible sigh.
When Ellen Joy turned she said “I am going to need your assistance for a few moments. Can you pitch in for the company?”
“Of course,” I said quickly and eagerly not really knowing what I was agreeing to, but since the front of the robe was now revealing the dark brown edge of one of those brown desire disks that tipped a goodly portion of Ellen Joy’s left boob, I would have agreed to almost anything at that point.
“I need you to photograph something to reference as a font style I am thinking of using. I have tried but I cannot get focus or proper angle for my needs.” With that she handed me a simple camera. I was momentarily disappointed that  she really needed me to do something rather than the sex fantasy my little monkey brain had instantly cooked up.
But hope sprang eternal as did my erection. She turned and lowered the robe revealing her bareback, tiny black thong, and a tattoo above her bulbous bountiful booty. Ellen Joy looked over her shoulder to see the look on my face and then explained. “If you look real close at my tattoo and stop looking at my ass you will see that it is made up of very tiny script. I need you to get a clear picture for my art reference. If you do a good job on that, and you are a good boy, maybe I’ll show you my tits.” For emphasis Ellen Joy had demured and wrapped her arms to cover her breasts .
Being a good scout, I put the lens close to the tattoo and indeed it was made up of very small characters. Of course rather than marveling at the skill of the tattoo artist I was enjoying the scent of this freshly showered Italian beauty.
I took a couple of shots with the Polaroid and let the photos develop in the apartments sunlight. Once satisfied I showed her my work.
“Good job,” she exclaimed and pirouetted around while raising her arms high above her head.  She struck a pose that displayed her perfect pair of large brown nipple crowned boobs with salacious delight. I basked in the vision of the straight black hair that framed her features,  her flawless tanned bareness, and full womanly hips.  Ellen Joy approached me and ran her arm along the ridge of my broad shoulders. My hand caressed her hip as I greedily reached for a handful of her firm round ass. Ellen Joy whispered in my ear, “Now see if you can write me a story with your tongue in that tattoo font so I can really feel it”
With that Ellen Joy pushed down on my shoulders bringing me to my knees as  as I pulled her thong to her ankles leaving me face to face with her full retro nineteen seventies Italian black bush in my face. She draped one of her legs over my shoulders which opened the moist pink rose beneath the furry fringe. As my tongue made slow sweeping motions across the slick palette of Ellen Joy’s cunt I wrote of desires I had never told any girl before, but Ellen being a women understood. As I worshiped at her moist curly black haired altar with my young and resolute tongue I heard her say breathlessly “I think I am going to need you for the rest of the afternoon. Let me call Sheldon, He’ll understand.”

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