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the server
"The Server" (MF)
by Souvie
Copyright February 2001
***
Author's note: This is a work of erotic fiction. If
you're not of legal age to be reading it, then please
don't. The is copyright by me, Souvie, so please no
reposting unless you've gotten permission from me first.
Archiving, as long as you make no money from it, is
allowed. Feedback is my only payment, so please, make this
check a big one. <g> Email me at souvie@netdot.com
***
Gregor Vasily whistled as he walked down Cedarcrest
Avenue. He was in a moderately nice neighborhood, just a
couple of blocks from downtown. He'd had a hell of a time
tracking down Mrs. Natalie Simms. He'd gone to her last
known address, only to find out that the government had
foreclosed on it, and the new owners had no clue as to
where she'd gone. There'd been no forwarding address at
the post office. Her driver's license had expired two years
ago and she'd never gotten it renewed. All had been at a
standstill until he'd checked unemployment records. After
sifting through unorganized files, he'd hit paydirt... Mrs.
Natalie Simms, 232B Cedarcrest Avenue.
She lived less than a mile from his house and the day was
unusually warm for March, so he'd decided to walk. He
patted his jacket pocket, reassured by the bulky papers
inside. Just a few more minutes and he'd have made his
grocery money for the next two weeks.
He stood at the curb of the red-trimmed duplex, and double-
checked the address. There wasn't a car in the driveway,
but since she didn't have a current license, that didn't
necessarily mean she wasn't home. He climbed the two steps
and rang the bell.
The door was flung open and Greg was grabbed by the
collar and hauled inside. The door slammed shut, plunging
the hallway into a dim gray murkiness. He blinked a couple
of times, trying to get adjusted to the abrupt change in
lighting. A hand was placed in the middle of his chest,
pushing him roughly back against the door. By the time his
eyes had finally adjusted, the hand had the top two buttons
on his undone, and was working on the third. He
looked at his assailant.
She was about 5' 10'', a good inch taller than he was, and
young; probably about 22 or 23 if he went by looks. Long
dark hair, full lips - he wasn't sure about eye color. "Wha
-" he started to say, but was cut off by her lips pressing
tightly against his.
She kept kissing him, running her tongue along his lips,
all the while her hands rubbing his now bare chest. Her
fingertips teased his nipples, her nails raking across
them, making him groan in pleasure and pain.
She broke off the kiss and moved her lips down to his
collarbone. "Natalie?" he moaned, halfway between a
question and a statement.
She raised her head and grinned. "I like the way you say
my name."
"I -"
"No," she said, placing a hand against his lips. She gave
him a look he couldn't decipher, then started licking and
sucking his nipples, first the left, then the right.
By the time she'd worked her way down to his navel and was
unbuttoning his pants, talking was furthest from his mind.
In the wake of Natalie's sexual onslaught, Greg's thoughts
melted like snow under a warm spring sun. He forgot about
his job, why he'd come to be there in the first place. He
forgot that he was turning 52 in three months, and that
Natalie was likely less than half his age. The only
coherent thought as Natalie's mouth descended slowly toward
his groin, was that he never wanted this moment to end.
Her mouth closed over his hard cock and his knees almost
buckled. It'd been close to five years since he'd last had
a - since he'd last had sex, period. The more she
sucked, licked, nibbled, and fondled, the closer he got to
losing control and cumming all over her face.
Finally he grabbed her hair and pulled, forcing her head
back and her mouth to break contact. She smiled, her mouth
rimmed in spittle and precum. Greg hauled her to her feet
and spun around, reversing their positions. He noticed she
was wearing a skirt, and he lifted it, surprised and
pleased to find she wasn't wearing anything underneath.
He rubbed his index finger along her slit, and it slid
between her lips, slick with her wetness. Bunching her
skirt around her waist, he bent his knees slightly and
locked his hands under her butt, hoisting her up and onto
his waiting prick. He threw his head back and sighed as he
slid into her. He moved a couple of inches, until she was
braced between him and the door, her legs wrapped around
his waist, her hands gripping his shoulders. He started
moving his hips back and forth, sliding in and out in
quick, shallow movements. It was the way his wife, Emma,
had liked to be fucked, and from the noises Natalie was
making, was the way she liked to be fucked, too.
Greg increased his tempo, ignoring the sweat starting to
pour down his face, and the fact that his arms were
beginning to tire. "Unh, unh, unh," he grunted, feeling his
balls start to tighten.
"Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, yes!" Natalie screamed,
digging her nails into Greg's upper arms and squeezing her
legs together as tight as she could.
Greg came in one heated rush. His legs locked up, and his
left toe jerked with tiny spasms, like it was wont to do
during sex.
Coming down from the adrenaline and hormone high, Greg
felt Natalie's hands dressing him, tugging his pants back
into place, and haphazardly buttoning up his shirt. He
couldn't even remember letting go of her.
Before he knew it, Greg was standing back on the front
step, his jacket askew, his halfway buttoned, and the
door firmly shut behind him. He staggered down the steps,
yawning. Damn! but he was stone-faced tired.
He was halfway down the street, before he remembered the
summons in his pocket. He pulled it out, and glanced back
down the street at the duplex with the trim. A goofy
smiled crossed his face. He shoved it back in his pocket,
and whistling a lively tune, continued down the street,
O'Tooley's Pub his new destination.
***
Natalie picked up the phone and dialed a number. She
pushed her hair behind her ears, as she waited for someone
on the other end to pick up. "Shirlene? Hey, it's Natalie.
About that tip you gave me, well it paid off." A slight
pause, then, "Yeah, the process server just left. I think I
bought myself a few more days." She laughed at something
Shirlene said. "Yeah, well, you can tell that prick lawyer
my husband hired that he can shove his summons where the
sun don't shine." Another pause and a laugh. "Yeah, I
know you won't, but I can always dream. Take care, now,
and I owe you one." She hung up the phone, satisfied in
more ways than one.