Tuesday, March 17, 2015
The Tommy Crown Files
April 15th, 1999
The day started about like any other workday in the city. I hopped out of bed at 5:50 a.m. and went to the pisser as usual. During my early morning piss, I ran my fingers through my long sandy hair, checked myself in the mirror above the toilet tank top, grabbed my Marlboro's and sucked in the first of many deep inhales that I would endure during the crappy day I had planned.
Oh, I hadn't planned a crappy day. I just knew that my assignment to interview an opera singer wasn't very high on my bucket list; but as a card carrying field writer for my latest employer, Society Slut's, it was the task assigned to me by my crazy publisher Harriet Harriman of Harriman, Inc.
Harriet and I had an on and off relationship during my brief tenure there. On when I was on her fucking her 60 year old pussy till it burped, and off when I wasn't. But, for 65 grand and a hefty expense account, what the fuck?
I then did my routine of push ups, sit ups, pull ups, and running in place before lighting another cigarette.
A hot shower and shave, a splash of Fendi, and after slipping on my best Calvin's, I punched my legs into my Haggar's, slipped on my standard long sleeve blue shirt, grabbed my grey Herringbone sports coat and dashed to the cab stand out front of my deluxe accommodations in Soho.
Then it was off to breakfast at the diner on 54th street that served up cholesterol by the pound, and two of the blackest cups of coffee this side of a mine shaft in Pennsylvania. Naturally, after indulging myself, I needed two cigarettes before I was back on the street in time for the 7:40 train to west fifth avenue and the palatial home of Felicia Carter, the aforementioned opera singer.
I preferred the 7:40 mostly because that was the train the hottest little Puerto Rican broad I had ever laid eyes on took to her crappy job off Lexington Ave. I think she was some kind of domestic, but not entirely sure since my Spanish and hers were no match. If the moons lined up properly for me, I usually fucked her between cars as I stared down at the rails whizzing by my glossy winged tips. Life in the fast lane took on new meaning in those situations.
But, she was one hell of a fuck and had the sexiest over glossed purple lips and tightest pussy that I could remember since I fucked Rosie Gernazio over in Little Italy. Another mind blowing teenager that had the suction of a Hoover to match her hot lips and slippery tongue.
The moons were not lining up for me that day though. I did see her, well...some of her. I'm sure those were her legs sticking up over the seat as some other horny bastard was arching his back and slamming his hips into her squeaky pussy.
Oh, well. I guess its just as well since I sure didn't need a face full of purple lip gloss when interviewing the woman known widely around New York City as having the best pipes in the business.
I jumped off at Battery Park and walked over to the former Vanderbilt mansion which was now the home of Felicia Carter, my opera singer. From the looks of things old Felicia was doing swell.
I'm not sure what a four story Greek Revival mansion was worth in NY, but I figure one that faced the harbor and the Statue of Liberty must have set her back a bundle. I smacked the three pound clapper to the brass plate a couple of times before it creaked open. I lowered my head to peek inside the crack and saw a woman of about 40 sipping from her gold rimmed cup before dragging the hundred pound door open.
"Tommy Crown for Felicia Carter please." I said with a smile and raised eyebrows.
"I am Felicia Carter, Mr. Crown. Please come in. Thank you for being on time."
She stepped aside and waved me in as if I were royalty. Then she led me to the drawing room and offered me a seat on a sofa that probably costs more than most cars. I unbuttoned my jacket and was about to grab the lapels and slip it off when she said, "oh, let me help you baby."
I glanced over my shoulder and I don't know if it were her glossy red lips or her calling me baby, but something had my cock swelling. When a woman calls me 'baby' it affects my highly trained cock in ways that are hard to describe. Somewhere between mild wiggle and a raging hard on, depending of course on the tone of her voice and texture of her lips.
Felicia had checked my boxes and had me embarrassingly stiff.
She grinned as she glanced at my tented slacks, then folded my jacket over her arm and said, "My, my...aren't you something. How big are you baby?" I could have done without the 'baby' as I now knew my pre cum was sticking to my brand new briefs.
"I'm 6'4" more or less."
I didn't think it was that funny, but Felicia Carter chuckled into her hands and replied, "I wasn't referring to your height baby. I meant how big is your dick?"
I sensed this interview was going to be a challenge, but had no clue we would be discussing the size of my dick. Since I was a man of some reasonably gracious manners, I answered, "I've never actually measured it, but I'd say it's in proportion to my body."
I hitched up my slacks as I plopped down on the oxblood leather sofa.
She winked. "I'll get us a drink."
Felicia walked to a drum table and poured two glasses of sherry before returning. She sat next to me and handed me my drink. I don't drink before 11:00 a.m. and don't drink sherry at all. But, this didn't seem like a request, so I nodded, sipped the sweet sherry and smiled.
The opera singer then slipped a cigarette between her teeth as I scrambled for my Bic. I held the flame under the tip as her puckered lips sucked the flame to the cigarette. We were sitting so close that I actually heard the crackling of tobacco as she drew deeply. My cock did a double take and I felt a tiny spurt wet my briefs a bit more.
The highlight of the lighting ceremony was her smooth open mouth inhale that made the inside of her sexy mouth look like soft white cotton candy. Since I have always had a sweet tooth, our mouths were clamped tight as our tongues met in candy-land instantly. Feeling no reluctance from her at all, and armed with a fully loaded cock, I laid her across my lap and proceeded to lick inside her smoky mouth while inhaling. If you think about that for a second, you'll realize that's a task for the highly trained. Similar to patting the top of your head while rubbing your stomach, but with a higher degree of difficulty.
I distinctly remember a sexy French inhale before snuffing out her cigarette.
The next thing I knew, my slacks and briefs were on my shoe tops and my cock was lubing the throat of the best pipes in the business as smoke poured from her sexy mouth. My hands were inside her satin housecoat in seconds where my fingers twisted and turned her puffy nipples until they were rock hard. The hot kissing began again as she dropped her housecoat revealing her unbelievable body. Rich full breasts with areola that had to be five inches across, a flat tummy, perfectly landscaped pussy, and curvaceous hips were now mine for the taking.
She lay her head against the soft arm of the massive sofa and only said two words.
I was happy to oblige. I laid on her as she guided my cock to her dripping pussy. Apparently, I wasn't the only one that had such animal instincts. One hard shove from me and one even harder hip thrust from her and my cock was living the good life in million dollar pussy!
Man, could the best pipes in the business fuck! Felicia matched me stroke for stroke, kiss for kiss, and gasp for gasp while squeezing her legs around me and digging her nails in my back. After an exhausting length of time, and plenty of sweat, I felt her hot pussy clamp tight against my throbbing cock while she gushed her sticky juices all over me and her pricey sofa. I gushed as she took my cock out and sprayed her face. My balls emptied as she milked them with her smooth fingers.
Felicia sat up, scooped my cum from her face with her forefinger, then sucked it clean. I smiled while she lit a fresh cigarette and slipped her satin robe back on.
Then she asked, "Now, about this interview, Mr. Crown." From 'baby' to Mr. Crown in a micro second. This bitch was fast.
I knew then that we were out of the fucking mode and entering the pesky landscape that one encounters when interviewing celebrities.
I heard a booming voice bellowing from the landing at the top of the stairs.
"What interview? Is that you Mr. Crown?"
I glanced at the voice as I tucked my shirt tail back in my Haggar's.
"Yes, ma'am. I'm Tommy Crown.Who might you be?"The portly woman said as she came slowly down the stairs, with a cigarette in a gold holder held gingerly between her fingers.
"I am Felicia Carter, sir. I see you have already met my daughter Olympia."
I tried desperately to hide my happiness that I had fucked the daughter of the best pipes in the business instead of the real deal. The real deal was as round as she was tall and had a face for radio.
Needless to say the interview was very brief and the only newsworthy item I managed to get out of Felicia Carter was that she was heavily into BDSM. She showed me her dungeon complete with chains and a shitload of equipment that looked like it was manufactured by John Deere.
The deceitful Olympia walked me to the castle like door and kissed me softly.
"I am sorry about lying to you baby, but nothing else. Can I see you again?"
My answer was clear. But, that's another story.
Case #1320 closed. tc.