The next day we decided to split up. My girlfriend went to the beach and I went in search of something a little different.
I found the tiny shop on an alley just off the seafront. I almost missed it, its dark door and tiny drab sign conspiring to make the presence of the place almost undetectable. I pushed the door open and a small brass bell hung above it jangled.
I was in a small foyer a couple of metres square whose only light was from the window, the dirty yellow panes filtered out most of the bright sunlight outside and a couple of low powered candle effect bulbs in the fitting on the back wall. I assumed put there to create atmosphere. It wasn’t working.
I pushed through the wooden beaded curtain into the back of the shop and said “Hello” to the hooded figure at the round table.
“Sit” she said, pronouncing the “i” as a double “e” in a way that vaguely suggested an eastern European heritage.
“No crystal ball?” I asked, a smile playing on my lips.
“Do you come here to mock me?” She spat the words across the table, they were like a slap to the face.
“Erm, no.” I was beginning to wonder if I had the right place.
She chuckled enjoying my discomfort. Then threw back the hood of her cloak and I saw the familiar face of Zoe, the love of my life when I was eighteen. Her green eyes sparkled in the light from the candles dotted around the room and her cherry red painted lips were smiling. Her long black hair was still as curly as I remembered.
“Lock the door and I’ll get us a drink.” She said, “And turn the sign to closed.”
I did and returned to find a bottle of whisky opened on the table and my tumbler half full of golden brown liquid.
We raised our glasses.
“Noroc” I said, tilting the glass to her and tapping the side of her tumbler.
“You remembered.” She replied gleefully, “Noroc”. And with that her whisky disappeared in one gulp. I followed suit.
“I don’t remember much Romanian, but we did drink a lot together.”
We chatted for a while and got more than a little drunk. She looked good, very good. The business wasn’t paying the bills I discovered, bar work in the evenings kept the wolf from the door not the fortune telling.
I kept finding myself looking at the opening of her blouse and trying to catch a glimpse of the curve of the ripe breasts inside. I became aware she’d stopped talking, but realised I hadn’t been listening.
“Are you looking at my tits?”
“Yes.” There was no reason to be coy. I’d seen them innumerable times, licked them, bitten them, sucked them, cum on them. They looked as inviting as ever.
Her tongue darted across her lips and she paused for a moment. Then her fingers began unbuttoning the dark purple silk of her blouse. She slowly pulled it open to reveal her black lacy bra, two C-cups holding breasts with inviting dark nipples if memory served me correctly.
I shuffled in my chair.
“A little.” I replied, my cock was hard.
“At the risk of sounding clichÃ©, I’ll deal with that …”
Zoe knelt in front of me and unbuttoned my jeans. It brought back memories of liaisons in places we shouldn’t have had liaisons.
“This is the sort of school reunion I like.” She said.
She was clutching my cock in one hand. The swollen head was dribbling precum, too inviting for Zoe to resist. She lapped at the stream of clear liquid, enjoying the taste as she always had. Next she engulfed it, sucking and licking at my cock while I groaned and writhed my appreciation.
Her hand worked my shaft as I wished I could get my hands on her tits, the tits that had been the subject of so many wank fantasies before I’d finally persuaded her to go out with me.
I could feel my balls tightening and remembered the time she had first sucked them, in the back of my first car. I could still feel the delightful discomfort as she sucked too hard and made me yelp … I could feel that I was cumming. So could Zoe.
She pulled away and frantically pumped my shaft with her hand. My groin pulsed and pumped my cum in four long arcs across her chest before subsiding to a dozen less violent spasms which dribbled my remaining issue over her fingers.
I watched the sticky white fluid begin to dribble slowly down her tits.
“Just like old times.” She remarked.
“We ought to do this more often.” I suggested. “In fact, I have an idea. How would you like to do something very, very bad indeed?”
“Tell me more.” Said Zoe in a low cat-like purr.