If you don't buy a ticket IV

If you don't buy a ticket IV If you don't buy a ticket IV

Status: In Progress

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: In Progress

Genre: Erotica

Summary

Nyree gets to know the chipshopman...quite well in fact.

Summary

Nyree gets to know the chipshopman...quite well in fact.

Content

Submitted: May 02, 2016

A A A | A A A

Content

Submitted: May 02, 2016

A A A

A A A


If you don’t buy a ticket IV

 

My mobile rang just after 11, no name, so not a contact, not number with-held, those I never answer on principle, just a number I didn’t recognise. But plenty of clients contact me on it if they think they might not be answered on the land line. Why they would think that I have no idea, but, like most of the world I can’t leave a ringing phone unanswered.

“Hello, F. P. I. - Financial and Personal Investigations, my name is Nyree, how may I help you.” I rattled off.

“Hi,” pause, “ Erm, Nyree, you rather firmly directed my attention to your card on Friday evening, so the question is, how may I help You ?”

Cheeky sod, I though. “You can start by telling me who the fuck you think you are I said sharply, “and why you smacked my arse in the chip shop 3 months ago?”

“As to who, people usually call me J.T. as to why, maybe I could buy you lunch or a coffee and tell you in person?”

This direct approach set me back a bit, but I had given him my number with some sort of expectations in mind, what expectation I had no idea, just in keeping with the ticket / raffle thing. I decided.

“One O’clock at the Coffee Shack, Rosedale Rd next to Fatboys Tavern.” It was across the road from where I was. “Don’t be late.” and put the phone down.

Then I rethought it, I had half an idea what he looked like, but no idea ‘who’ in the greater scheme of things, he actually was. I saved his number to my contacts under ‘Chip Shop Man’. Then sent him a text.

‘send photo ID and selfie thx’…no smile face. A few minutes later I got back a copy of his Driving License and smiling self of a slim guy, brown hair about my age, wearing a blue polo with a company name on J.T. Cable and Camera.

I ran him and his Company through every ‘Big Brother’ program we had and we have a few. I got everything in the public domain on him and a few things that are less open.

Birth Cert. John Thomas Dickson, born 07/05/76…no wonder he calls himself JT I thought. All know addresses past and present. School records. Qualifications, people lie on CV’s; fact. No Marriage Cert, no registered civil unions. No criminal convictions except for the odd speeding fine. But here in Auckland they are just another Local Govt. tax. Company records and audited accounts for the last 5 yrs. No court judgements against him for debt or default on contracts. One cheque account / debit card for the Company. One Company credit card, in the black. One savings account. One Kiwisaver account – well stocked given it’s only been going for 8yrs or so. One RSA membership. One white Toyota Van. One boat and Trailer. One house in Torbay with a low mortgage…In every way the perfect credit risk.

I saved him into the system under ‘preferred contractors’ with his own sub folder ‘Potential murderer’ I could delete it later if it all came to nothing…you can’t be too careful these days. I then printed copies of everything I had. I would give them to him at the end just to let him know I had him pinned down.

That took most of the morning and I would have to knuckle down after lunch and maybe even work late to make up. But on my new Improved salary, not too much of a handicap.

I popped my head into Kevin’s Office. “I’m off to lunch over the road, do you want me to bring you anything back?”

“No thanks, I’m off out myself soon, switch the phones over to auto and take your keys, I’ll lock up. I probably won’t see you until tomorrow morning.”

 

I went in the Coffee Shack had a word with Stacy the owner and told him I was meeting some body and we would order together, then found myself a table for 2 where I could see the door. I didn’t have long to wait, in he came, ‘Chip Shop Man’. Saw me and walked over grinning.

“Hi,” he said, extending his hand.

We shook hands, he had smallish hands with long fingers. “John Thomas Dickson, I presume, no wonder you go by JT.” And sat down.

He shrugged it off. “What can you do. It is what it is, JT or Dicko.” And waggled his hand. “Take your pick.” And smiled.

It was a nice smile, I realised that besides the sexual side of the encounter - that mirror orgasm was still the best I ever had. It did have its funny side, which made me smile too.

I re-offered my hand. “Peace?”

“Peace in our Lunch time.” He said, “and Lunch in our lunch time, what do you want?”

I told him, he ordered at the counter. “They’ll bring it over.”

“So?” I asked, “Why smack my arse?”

“Because it was there?” he offered and before I could accuse him of saying my arse looks like a mountain, added, “Anyway it wasn’t a smack it was a spank, whole different deal. Some bottoms need spanking and yours looked so inviting blowing in the wind.” He shrugged again.

I was new to this whole ‘telling it like it is’ thing, but he seemed to be totally at home with it.

“You didn’t mind me looking, I took a chance that you wouldn’t mind too much if I touched. Which you didn’t, well not too much, your face gave you away, you just didn’t know what to do about it…until Friday…So?”

Time for more honesty, I thought. “You were right, but I’d just had a messy divorce and wanted nothing to do with men. On Friday I saw you bent over the table and I couldn’t resist a bit of payback…If you don’t buy…”

“A ticket you won’t win the raffle? What do you think of your prize then?”

“Depends, are you the 1st Prize or the Booby Prize?” and applied myself to finishing my Chicken salad wrap. Let him stew on that I thought.

He glanced at his phone on the table. ” Listen, I have to go, your call, no pressure, if you want we can meet tomorrow night and talk some more, you text me with a time and place and I’ll be there…or don’t bother…deal?

“Maybe?” I said. His phone went then, he looked and answered.

“Yeah mate,” He started for the door. “I’m just coming on to the Albany Highway now.” He lied. ” Be there in ten.” Turned and waved, mouthing ‘Call’ and headed out the door.

I took my half-finished bottle of water with me and headed back to the Office. Various options for tomorrow night passing through my mind. It seems my mind had made up its own mind without asking me either way. I hadn’t even given him his copy of his dossier. Getting stuck into my work to make up the backlog, I left Chip Shop Man, on the back burner.

By 4.30 I was up on the backlog and had decided see him again. I knew where he lived, he as yet had no need to know where I did. I texted him ‘fatboys tav nxt 2 coffee shop tues. 7.30.’ and pressed send. Thirty seconds later I got back 3 smiley faces and a cocktail glass. Enough for today. I locked up and went home.

After work the next day I went to the gym and put myself through a hard work out, but came home to shower. Ever since my world view had been expanded by the slap or should I more correctly call it a spank, I had explored the new to me, area of internet porn. I knew about it in theory, even in my former restricted ‘Stepford Wife’ state, I had picked up on the fact that it was out there.

On line I had bought toys to spice up my solitary sex life. I had shaved my pussy to be like the other women I saw, but it seemed to grow back twice as quick even though there was a bonus of cumming from all that touching, pulling, soap and water. I had started going to the beauty shop for a regular wax as you had to be a contortionist to get in all the nooks and crannies with a razor and I could do without razor cuts as well.

I still got aroused by a mixture of being exposed, the touching and I couldn’t deny it, the sharp pain when the wax was ripped off. I think the assistant knew, I don’t think she could avoid knowing, as my pussy lips got damp and visibly swelled.

She smiled at me the first time and told me not to worry it’s normal, enjoy it if it makes you happy.

I came in my apartment all fired up from the exercise, stripped off my sweaty gym stuff and went to my dressing table. I had a vibrator and my favourite, an 8 inch flexi-plastic dildo. This I could stick on a wall, chair or in my case – the mirror. I even, inspired by the Internet, bought a riding crop, not a pretend one off the internet, but a real one from a proper Tack shop I found in Warkworth.

By trial and error (such fun) I had found the right height for my flexi. Although I had tried the crop on my own backside it wasn’t doing it for me, until one day I tried it on my front side. Light flicks of the flappy leather end of it on to the clit and pussy lips works wonders. I stuck the flexi on the mirror and using the vibrator got myself good and wet. I threw that on the floor and backed myself onto the mirror mounted flexi. Fucking myself onto it an inch at a time.

In an inch and out, in a bit more and out, until I could slide up and down it in steady, smooth strokes. I picked up the riding crop, holding it halfway down and started giving light flicks to my clit and, as my aim was naturally a bit erratic, my bald pussy mound and dangling labia. Suddenly a picture of the Chip Shop Man came in my mind and my speed increased, the flicks got harder. I had meant to bring myself to near orgasm as many times as I could and then stop, arriving at my date in a state of sexual tension. Why? I had no idea, just to see if I could I suppose. But the moment I thought of him, over the top I went. I thrust at the flexi, lashed at my clit and mound, my legs gave way, I was supported only by the flexi on the mirror and my weight caused it and me to slide to the floor, still impaled on its 8 inches while I shook and twitched.

I had a new winner in the ‘Orgasm on the Mirror Stakes’.

I recovered and took myself to the shower. When dry I massaged some paw-paw based cream into my stinging pussy mound and outer lips, making sure none went inside, as the Vagina, if left to its own devices, is self-lubricating via little glands, creams and lotions can block them up – not good.

Next, Dinner. I could cook well enough, ‘that cunt’, my ex-husband (I had a mental picture of somebody in the French Resistance spitting at the mention of the gestapo and smiled) ‘Insisted’ upon it, like he ‘Insisted‘ about everything else in my life back then. So to spite him I didn’t cook very often, preferring to use home delivered chilled meals or eat out.

That sorted I went to have a look in my wardrobe. What to wear? Based on where I was going and what day it was – nothing flash. Then it came to me, I pulled out a knee length, denim scoop neck dress with press studs down the front, with a waist length denim jacket if it got a bit chilly in the bar. These places seem loath to spend out on heating when people are in and out opening the door all the time.

I parked outside the Office and walked across to the Bar and in. The place was about half full, not bad for a Tuesday Evening in late Autumn, I thought.

Chip Shop Man, JT or Dicko, whatever I was going to calling him, was sat at a table talking to someone who looked like staff, He saw me, gave half a wave, the staff member said something to him and walked off.

The back wall where he sat had a bench type seat along it and was divided by a number of small partitions, each complemented with a round table and a chair. I sat on the chair opposite him.

“You made it then, I wasn’t sure if you would despite the text.”

“Who could resist a man called ‘John Thomas’.” His face darkened.

Seeing his displeasure and remembering Kevin’s ‘time and place’, I held my hands up. “Sorry, rewind, Hi… well what do I call you? I have you down on my phone as ‘chipshopman’.”

“I’d prefer that to the other, I was well sick of it by the time I was 10, stick with JT, most people do.”

“JT it is then.” I said, then remembering the folder I didn’t give him at lunch. “Here you go JT, This is your life.” And passed him his dossier.

He thumbed through it, his face getting more amazed at each disclosure.  “Jeez, you got all that from my driving license? I’ll have to call you ‘big sister’ not big brother.”

“Why?” He asked in a slightly harder tone.

“Why? Because I was off to meet a complete stranger who had already performed what the courts might describe as a sexual assault on me, who for all I know might be a serial killer. I didn’t really think so, but I left a paper trail just in case…That’s your copy.” The honesty kicked up a notch. “If tonight comes to nothing, I’ll leave it on file for a period of time, when I decide you’re Kosher I will delete it all…maybe. Think of it as my back up ticket in life’s raffle.”

We were Interrupted by a waitress who put a sheet of paper and a pen on our table. I turned it over and read;

Fatboys Jackpot Pub Quiz.

1st Prize $50 bar tab.

Round 1

Two columns of spaces 1-10 marked give in and keep, to keep of check your scores I presumed

turning it round so JT could read it. He looked at me. “Are we in?”

Why not I thought, you can learn a lot about someone from what they do and don’t know.

“We’ll need a snappy team name.” I said and we pondered for a minute, discounting the usuals like the A team, winners, dynamic duo, the know alls.

“Got it.” he said, “Describes us to a tee - A pair of Slappers.” I passed him the pen, “Nah, you can do the writing, it’s bound to be neater than mine.”

The guy that was talking to JT when I arrived was up on the little stage and set a Mic. Up on the DJ’s console along with a chess type clock. After all the usual blowing, tapping and 1, 2, 3-ing. He welcomed everybody stressing No Phones at all, all phones to be in plain sight, on airplane mode and vibe only. incoming calls only. Any mysterious hands and phone under the table, trips for a smoke, toilet etc. If there are 4 in a team, then the table next to you want to be able to see 4 phones at all times.

“What if you haven’t got a phone?” shouted out the usual comedian.

“Then you’re a sad bastard and too thick for this quiz so feck off – Round 1” and off it went.

After a few question, due to the need to confer in hushed tones, less we give our answer away, I moved round to sit closer to him. Very close, thighs hip and shoulders close.

“You know all about me he said looking at the folder on the table what about you.”

Number 10 and your first Jackpot qualifier; What is the state capitol of California?

I know It’s not San Fran or LA it’s further down than that, San Diego that’s it

“**************” I said

“Sure?”

“Super sure.”

“OK we go with that. So go on tell all.”

So in between questions I did.

“I was born in Taranaki, I won’t tell you when just yet.”

“You don’t look a day over 45.” he said, that got him an elbow in the ribs.

“I meant 25.”

“Better.”

 All about how I was the youngest of 1 brother and 3 sisters and lived on a farm in the shadow of The Mount. That I went to Massey in New Plymouth did accountancy. I had one or 2 entry level jobs, but I didn’t progress much as my main job was looking after Mum and Dad as they wouldn’t see that they were running themselves into the ground trying to run the farm like it should be.

““Number 10 and your second Jackpot question” stopped my flow “Cars have nationality stickers on the back when the go abroad, like NZ, Aus. GB. Where would you be from if you had HKJ on the back.”

“Hong Kong has ‘H & ‘K’ in it, not sure where the ‘J’ comes in though?” said JT.

Then I got it “They don’t all have to start with the letter of the country. The plate for Switzerland is ‘CH’ the ‘H’ is for Helvetica, the Latin name for Switzerland.”

“HKJ stands for*********************”

“Sure?”

“Super sure.”

I filled it in and gave it in to Fatboy.

“What about your Brother he prompted in the round 2 break?”

I told of how he was even quieter than me and wouldn’t say anything to upset Mum and Dad. That he hadn’t had much to do with girls when the bitch got her claws into him. Nobody else seemed to see she was just leading him round by his dick for what she could get and would hear no wrong about her. She had everybody fooled. They got married and moved in.

Within a year she had talked Dad into retiring and they were building a little cottage for them. Robin would take over, with her calling the shots no doubt, with Dad as ‘adviser’ to make it look like he was still involved, while all the time she was calling the shots. The Farm was in a trust for the four of us. Robin had 40% as he was doing all the work and the 3 girls had 20% each. The 2 older sisters having no real ties to the Farm sold out their share for under market valuation just for the cash.

My other Sisters had jobs and lives of their own away from the ‘The Naki’. I was being pressured by the bitch to sell out but wouldn’t, so she started to work me out. I didn’t need much of an excuse to get away from her and drifted further under my soon to be Husband’s spell. I subconsciously knew I couldn’t stay on at the farm and he was an ‘Out’

“Number 10 and your third Jackpot Question; If LAX is in Los Angeles, where would you find CDG?

“What do you reckon on the airport thing.” I said, “I wouldn’t have a clue I don’t even have a passport.”

“Easy peasey,****************************.”

“Sure?”

“Super sure.” He said writing it in then taking it up, returning with.

“Carry on then.”

“Helped by being eased out at the Farm, I allowed myself, by default, to be swept off my feet by my Boss, we got married and moved here, where I knew nobody but his circle of friends. I was turned into a Stepford Wife. I had nowhere else and nobody else. I let myself be led. We did everything he wanted I wore what he wanted. Turns out he was an ’Elder’ in this Fundamental Church. The only social life we had was his church and all the other clone wives of the Inner Group.

When it came to money though, deep down he and they weren’t that Christian at all. Helped in part by his network of Church Cronies the Contract Cleaning business took off and he was making money hand over fist. Probably still is for all I know, paying Immigrants to do the dirty work, for less than minimum wage, no benefits, holidays, nothing, in cash, off the books.”

“Number ten and your forth Jackpot question.” Interrupted Fatboy.

‘Who is commonly acknowledged to be the 1st US President to be born in the U.S.A…anybody putting Bruce Springsteen will be disqualified.”

“There goes my answer.” said JT.

I shrugged and put a line through that one. ” So much for the Jackpot.”

When I returned to my seat JT said. “That’s not legal at all.” I looked at him, not quite – ‘are you real’ but getting that way.

“Everything’s legal if you don’t get caught, it was my job, under his guidance of course, I was only a mere woman. To exploit all the legal and not so legal loop holes so he could hide cash from the Tax and GST men and I think from his own Church colleagues as it was one of those deals where you had to ‘tithe’ and donate for the bigger churches ‘missionary works’.”

This whole confession was starting to take its toll on me and my voice started to waiver a bit.

I got a shock when his hand came on top of mine and gave it a squeeze.

“I now know that whole attitude is stone age but back then I was drifting, afraid to think about anything different. A bit afraid of him as well, he had a terrible temper.”

“He didn’t hit you did he?” and I could feel him tense up, my knight in shining armour.

I smiled at him. “No he didn’t hit me but it was close a few times. It was mostly verbal, how I was nothing without him, how he worried about me. How I had to strive through prayer for the strength to be worthy of him. There was other, more personal stuff, which I can’t talk about here, maybe I never can.” I shrugged.

“Last but not least, your fifth and final Jackpot question.” I was saved by the bell.

“Who was the 1st Captain to lift the Super Rugby Trophy?”

“Fitzy,” I said, “He was All Blacks Captain as well.”

His face took on a pensive look. “I can see the wheels turning in there, It’s got to be Fitzpatrick, late 90’s, who else could it be?”

“Nah.” he said, “I’ve got this picture in my head and it’s not him.” The chess clock was ticking away.

“Who then?” he shut his eyes, 10 seconds later they flew open.

“ ***********************.”

‘Sure?”

“Super sure?

The results were announced; we came second overall, to a team of five geeky looking guys. But more importantly we were in a 3-way tie for the chance at the Jackpot.

We looked at each other. “You go up.” I said.

“No you go…I’ll toss a coin, you call.”

He tossed “Tails.” I called. He showed me.

“Heads, go on.” he said, “You’ve got as much chance as me, maybe better.” 

“If I’m going up against a couple of geeks,” I stated, “I’ll need every advantage I can get.” and started popping the press studs on my dress top and bottom. I hefted my tits such as they were.

“We’ll have to make do with what little I’ve got.” and popped another one to make sure.

“You’ve come a long way since you were a Stepford Wife.”

“Remember, I’m the new me now.”

“You don’t you wear underwear by the look of it either.”

“Not unless I have to.” I said pointedly, there was a pause, then he said.

“Oh, yeah, right.” And looked sheepish – Men…

I looked down, “Let’s face it I’m never going to be a topless model am I?”

” Go get em Chesty, poke their eyes out.” he laughed as I walked up to the stage, my knees quaking.

The two guys stood one side of Fatboy and I stood the other. We were facing each other sideways on to most of the audience

He gave five envelopes to the geek nearest him and told him to shuffle them and let the lady pick one. He did. I looked at him licked my lips, breathed in, for all the good it did, leaned forward, his gaze darted to what passed as cleavage and he swallowed nervously. I picked one at random and gave it to Fatboy

 

He opened it and said, “and the Oscar goes to” it got a laugh…just.

“For tonight’s jackpot of,” for fucks sake stop milking it, I thought. he glanced down at the clipboard.

One hundred and eiigthy dollars.”

“I'll give you a series of clues, you can jump in at any time, but a wrong answer goes out. First correct answer wins.”

“I am a Black American male singer???”

Nothing.

“I was born in Georgia???”

Still nothing.

“I moved to Florida when I was small where I went blind

 “Stevie Wonder.” Jumped in geek #1 smugly.

“Wroooong.” And he slumped away dejected. I licked my lips and breathed in for geek #2. He was looking everywhere but kept coming back to my tits.

“My Sir name is Robinson.”

“Smokey Robinson.” he blurted out in triumph, beating me to it. Fatboy paused…

“Wrooong.” He slunk away too, I could breathe out now.

 Wrong?? I though how the fuck can that be wrong, I waited for the last clue, because if it wasn’t Smokey Robinson, I didn’t have a clue.

“If you don’t get the final clue we will jackpot to $190 for next week.”

“One of my songs has been adopted by a U.S. State as it’s state song.” And hit the chess clock and started to count me down. I was lost in my own head.

10, Aaaagh.

9, Help.

8, State song??

7, Born in Georgia.

6, Not Stevie Wonder, not Smokey Robinson.

5, I didn’t know Georgia even had a state song.

4, A rainy night in Georgia, no that was Gwladys Knight, think Girl, think.

3, I’m leavin da da da da on the night train to Georgia something, I could half hear a man’s smooth bluesy voice singing it

2, Then it hit me…Ray Charles

1, “Ray Charles,” I said, “It’s Ray Charles.”

“Yeaaaay, we have a winner.” announce Fatboy. I must find out what his real name is one day, I thought.

After all the fuss had died down and I was sat back with JT. I tried to share the winnings with him.

“No you won it fair and square, I bombed out with the 2nd geek on Smokey Robinson.”

“So did I,” I told him, then I took him through my though process, while he fiddled with his phone…’ Rainy night in Georgia – Gladys Knight…Midnight train to Georgia – Ta-daaa Ray Charles…they’re all easy when your good like me” I boasted.

“Really.” he said, still tapping away on his phone.” Easy when you good eh?” and poked his phone decisively.

The funky voice of Gwladys Knight and her fuckin Pips hit me, singing, ‘Midnight Train to Georgia’. He tapped it again and the silky tones of some guy started up with ’A rainy night in Georgia’.

“OMG, That’s not Ray Charles.”

“I know, It’s Brook Benton.” My face said who??

THIS is Ray Charles.” And the plaintive notes of ’Georgia on my mind’ sang out. “If you can’t be good be lucky. ” he added.

“Shit.” And I pushed the money towards him. “You have it, I cheated.”

“No you didn’t.” He said with a smile, “It doesn’t matter how you get across the line so long as you do, It’s yours, one right answer=$180, them’s the rules.”

“OK, but if it’s mine, I get to spend it how I want and If I want to waste it on the both of us, then who are you to say no…yes?”

“If you say so, yes. Also I want to hear the rest of your tale…if you want to keep telling me.?”

“I do, I need to tell somebody and I feel that I can trust you…If I find I can’t, I can always trash your credit rating into the triple Z range.”

He held his hands up, “I’m yours to do what you will with. Anyway now you’ve finished Psyching out the opposition with your monster cleavage, you might want to do your buttons up again?”

“Do You mind?” I said, a bit sharply.

“No,” he said cautiously. “Not if you don’t, it’s your body, your life, you can do what you want with it.”

I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “That’s the nicest thing anybody has ever said to me, Thank you.” I turned a bit more on the seat to face him, holding out my palm.

“Give me your hand.” He looked at me. ” Hand.” I said a bit firmer.

He placed his hand in mine, I moved and held his downturned fingers just before his thumb. With my other hand popped two more studs on the lower part of my dress, opened my legs, then pulled his unresisting hand down and under on to my pussy. The look on his face was priceless. Rubbing it slowly up and down until both he and I could feel the wetness starting to seep. I gently removed it, brought it to my lips and lightly kissed it.

“All this and more may be yours…one day…but not tonight.”

Needing some thinking space, I stood, shoved the cash in a pocket, necked what was left of my drink, turned and left with an; “I’ll call you.” Thrown over my shoulder.

As I walked across to my car, my mind was in turmoil. What have you done you stupid bitch, I thought, you helped a guy you barely know rub your pussy then fuck him off…

Well, you ought to know me by now. I will keep buying those tickets.

 

Jackpot answers;

 

1) Sacramento

2) Hashimite Kingdom of Jordan

3) Charles de Gaulle

4) Martin van Buren

5) Zinzan Brooke*

*Yeah I know but there’s always an obscure rugby question in an NZ quiz, I think it’s in the constitution or something.

 

 

 

 


© Copyright 2017 E.M. Ockleshaw. All rights reserved.

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