The Diamond Club (10 page)

At the end of those first 24 hours I had received introductory messages from a professional cyclist who probably shaves his legs more than I do, an ageless, pictureless, anonymous entrepreneur who simply calls himself ‘Dan’ and who, if I had to guess, is probably married with two kids, but fucks strangers in a hotel a block away from his home while his wife patiently waits for him to return from his ‘late work meeting,’ and an antenna engineer from one of the big telecoms happily informing me that a date with him would result in the most erotic anal fisting I’d ever experience. I’ve come to enjoy a little anal here and there, but even I’m not ready for a fist up my ass.

That’s when I received the message from Jim.

Righty-Tighty, Lefty-Loosey

It was the second day and I was starting to think maybe Roman’s site wasn’t all I thought it was. I had woken up to an out-of-town dentist looking for a one night stand during next week’s medical convention (tempting but dentist offices seriously freak me out), and another offer of anal. What is it with guys and anal? Our vagina’s aren’t enough?

It was Wednesday so I walked downstairs to take a tour of the local farmer’s market. I had enjoyed attending the market every Wednesday morning for more than a year before meeting one of the local produce farmers. I had stopped at his stall when he offered me one of his freshly picked strawberries. My lips bit into its juicy core as he flashed a gentle smile and sent a wink my way.

Within hours he was banging me missionary on my bathroom toilet and filling my throat with steaming-hot cum as he forced his ejaculating cock into my mouth. In the aftermath, I had since avoided the farmers’ market for months in the fear of seeing him again. For me he was a ‘one and done’ and I really didn’t want him approaching me for more. I had become addicted to sex but I was no cum slut. Last week I decided to finally suck it up and go back to the farmers’ market I had missed so much. After all that worry I discovered from another farmer that ‘Strawberry Gary’ that been arrested as part of a federal marijuana-growing sting operation. Guess strawberries weren’t the only thing he was growing.

So here I was back again enjoying the fragrant berries and locally-made soaps when my iPhone sent a vibrating tingle down my leg. There was the introductory message from Jim, a 34 year old ‘store manager.’

“Hi Konka. I just came across your profile. Looking for someone to meet for a drink, a good conversation, etc. I’m sure that’s not your real photo, but know that mine isn’t either. I’m just a guy busy with work and looking to take a break and relax. Message me back if you’re interested so I can meet you and hopefully find out your real name : ) ”

I guess smiley faces get me every time. He seemed like an honest enough guy and maybe that’s what hooked me. I probably wasn’t going to find anything better in the next few days and I definitely wasn’t going to contact anal-fisting-antenna man (of course I’d keep antenna engineer in my inbox in case the urge ever came to have a fist rammed up my ass ever - you never know). My best option seemed to be Jim.

“Hi Jim, this is Konka. LOL. I’d love to meet. It’s about time I meet an honest guy and you seem down to Earth. Are you free to meet tomorrow around 9pm? There’s a lounge called the Diamond Club that’s close to my place. You know it?”
“I just checked and found the club on Yelp,” he replied an hour later. “So I have the address. Let’s meet tomorrow. I’ll be the guy with an IKEA shirt.” IKEA? I love that place. Half my furniture is from there. Does he really work there? Maybe Fully Datable was the site Roman talked it up to be.

I knew this place too well. Dia is at the counter, servicing not one but two lonely looking fucks. To my right is a table of 30 somethings, one of which caught my entrance and probably at this very moment has me inside his head saliva sucking his cock and performing what he can only imagine to be my first ever face fuck. What he doesn’t know is that at this very moment the thought of his thought is already starting to make me wet. Unfortunately for him I’m here to meet Jim, but I’ll be keeping the 30 year old face fucker in my back pocket in case Jim is a no show or turns out to be a creep.

And that’s when I see a bright blue IKEA shirt in the back of the room. As the man stands I see his full 5 foot 8 frame and slim but muscular arms and thighs.

“Jim?,” I say.

“Konka?” We both share a shy laugh. “It’s very nice to meet you,” he says. “I’m glad you found me here. Can I get you a drink?” He waves over Dia. Suddenly fear comes over me that Dia will announce I’m a regular here and ask me how many one night stands I’ve now had with men from her club. But as she takes our order she is the consummate professional.

“I hope you both enjoy my place. Simply call me if you need anything else,” she says in her motherly voice.

“Konka and I will definitely wave you over if we need anything,” Jim says.

I see Dia shoot me a glance and amused smile upon finding out my ‘name’ for this evening. “I’m sure you guys will have a great time tonight,” she says as she turns away and returns to her two sad, lonely customers at the bar.

“So, do you really work at IKEA?” I say.

“If you can keep a secret… yes I do. Is your name really Konka?” he says.

“If you can keep a secret… no,” I say with a smile. “But if this goes well I’ll make sure to tell you my real name.”

We both laugh and relax a little as we dive into a conversation about life, work, and relationships. I’m amazed to find he really does work at IKEA. He’s originally from Chicago and moved out to San Francisco a year ago to take on the position of the manager of the city’s IKEA. While I’ve been liberally fucking my brains out and letting life (well, except for the sex) pass me by, he’s conservative and has been sucked into his life in IKEA and hasn’t had the time or the energy to enjoy much leisure or, as he shyly admits, sexual pleasures.

I don’t reveal any of the history of Roman and I and how our split had driven me in search of nightly organic pleasure that only flesh can provide. I simply tell him I was in a committed relationship but have had nothing serious since then. After 30 minutes of conversation and a few cosmopolitans, I decide to ask him more about his job.

“So you know, I was excited when I discovered you work at IKEA. Almost all my furniture is from there,” I say. “Your hot dogs are also the best! Sorry to say this, especially to you, but I haven’t been to the San Fran IKEA in a while. I used to love walking the aisles and trying out all the couches, but not only did the store get too busy and popular but I didn’t really need to buy anything else.”

“Well we do have comfortable couches,” he says. “Before moving to Chicago I used to help manage an IKEA in China and people would literally come in from off the street and sleep on the couches for hours. Luckily we don’t have that problem here much. It’s very busy during the days as you said. Fortunately or unfortunately, I’m the one that closes down the IKEA at night so I get to see it absolutely silent. It’s a little eerie.”

“I bet,” I say. “Probably feels like a horror movie where everyone on the planet has disappeared. Must be amazing to see a huge store like that without anyone in it.”

“Well let me know and I can show you the store at night at any time,” he says with a laugh.

“How about tonight!,” I say jokingly.

“How about tonight…” he says.

His tone catches me off guard. It’s one that’s only half joking like he’s prodding me for any sign of seriousness. Does he really have the ability to show me the IKEA in the dead of night. It would be an amazing sight and something I’d probably never have the chance to do again. I consider it.

“Can you?” I ask inquisitively. “I mean, that would be really interesting to see.”

“I don’t see any reason why not,” he responds. “Do you really want to see it? I don’t want to force you to come if you don’t want to,” he says.

“No, that would actually be cool. I’d love to see it. I’m up for it if you are…”

Screws Included

It’s 20 minutes later as he pulls his car into the manager’s designated parking spot. IKEA’s are usually large buildings but in the dead of night, the store in front of me seems absolutely gigantic. We both get out and I follow him to one of the back entrances. I catch his scent as I follow closely behind. Chanel Allure Sport? Some new Burberry fragrance? I can’t exactly put my finger on it but all I know is that this scent has drawn me closer to him until my breasts are only centimeters away from brushing the arch of his back as we arrive at the door.

“Are there any security guards here?” I ask as I put my arm around his.

“There used to be but we then installed an automated security system. It costs a million but no one is getting into here at night unless they have the manager’s keys, which I just happen to have,” Jim says with a smirk.

We’re now in a dark hallway which leads to his office. He unlocks the door and we quietly enter. The office is no larger than my bedroom and contains a computer, a couch, and shelves galore. Jim directs me to the couch.

“Wait here. I need to turn off the security system. I don’t think the company would appreciate me bringing a stranger in at night for a look around. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

The door shuts and I hear his footsteps trailing off in the distance. Silence ensues. I take a quick look at the surroundings and don’t see any security cameras in the room. There are also no windows. I wonder what else is in his office. A quick look around won’t hurt anyone, plus I’ll probably hear his footsteps as he’s walking back down the hallway towards the office, which will give me enough time to sit back on the couch and project my innocent face.

The files on the shelves are mostly inventory lists. I also find a folder containing projections for this month’s sales. The name on the top of the folder identifies the creator as Jim DeGrace. I guess DeGrace is Jim’s last name and sadly it seems he doesn’t live an interesting life; He’s been stuck 8+ hours a day in a windowless office day after day. I then make my way to the cabinets beside his computer desk. The first cabinet is locked but the second opens at my beckoning. As I skim through the various papers I see nothing but spreadsheets. At the very bottom of the cabinet is a stack of brochures. I lift one up after the other, finding nothing but Ikea promotional materials. I about ready to return to the couch when I lift up the last of these brochures and that’s when I see it: a DVD titled “Bang That Teen Pussy #10.”

Footsteps quickly approach and I shove the brochures back on top of the DVD, close the cabinet, and rush to the couch. Jim opens the door just as I get sit back down.

“So, is everything okay,” I ask?

“Couldn’t be better. So you want to see the store? Follow me.”

We first make our way to the large warehouse that contains the millions boxes of unassembled tables and chairs waiting to be taken home by new owners. I can’t believe how quiet it is. The slightest noise results in the largest of echos. As we walk, I think about the DVD I just saw, that blonde teen on the cover taking a large penis from behind while she stares at the camera with longing eyes. How good that must feel, those strong hands steadying her tight butt cheeks as ass and pelvis thrust against each other again and again.

“These boxes contain everything you need to assemble the pieces yourself,” Jim says. “Even the screws are included. But I guess you must already know that.”

“I know,” I say. “Girls always enjoy when screws are included.”

Jim looks at me with a mildly confused expression. I then see him crack a smile as he realizes my true meaning. “Haha. I guess so…” he says.

As we walk I start imagining how Jim must be here late at night, so often working away in a windowless office with no one and nothing around except for lists of inventories and that porn DVD. How he must slip that DVD into his computer wanting to find some visceral escape. I try to imagine what scenes he watches as he strokes his cock and musters the only enjoyment available to him. I’m suddenly that girl on the front cover and he’s that man, grabbing my ass just as a hawk snatches a mouse from a field, his balls repeatedly smacking the short, trimmed hairs on my vigina as he comes ever closer to ejecting his hot load inside of me.

“So this is the couch area,” he says. I’m suddenly snapped out of my daydream and realize I’ve had one finger touching my lips as my other hand gently strokes my pelvis. Did he see me doing this? From his casual tone I believe not. It’s a good thing we’ve continued to walk as this has allowed my tight, red dress to keep hidden the moisture that has accumulated between my pussy and black lace Victoria’s Secrets Hiphuggers.

“So you like our couches, right,” he asks? “Well there’s no giant crowd of shoppers here to get in your way of trying one out. Which one do you like?”

There must be 30 or 40 couches in front of me, all of them with large tags and unpronounceable names. I walk between them, my nails skimming along the top of each, searching for one that comforts and warms my fingers’ bare skin. I then pass a pinkish-red one which seems to have comfortable cushions and firm, solid armrests. Red is my favorite color after all. I feel my moist underwear rubbing against my inner thighs as I sit down and cross my legs.

“I like this one. What do you think,” I say.

“That’s the Karlstad Loveseat. It’s one of our most popular sofas. I don’t think I’ve sat on one of them for a while,” Jim says.

“Well come over here and try it,” I say.

As he walks towards me I suddenly imagine him picking me up, turning me around, and bending me over just like that girl on the DVD’s cover, except our couch is a red Karlstad Loveseat and we’re in the middle of a huge, entirely empty IKEA. We’re the only two people left in an imaginary world after a zombie apocalypse has wiped out every other remaining soul but we’re not fucking to keep the human race alive - we’re fucking for our own immediate pleasure.

Jim’s suddenly sitting beside me and I again notice his cologne. Except this time I don’t seem to be smelling the cologne with my nose. The cologne seems to be entering every orifice of my body and it’s just a matter of moments before my pelvic pussy juice starts to soak through my red dress. That’s when I decide if he’s not going to act, I will. I mean, I’m alone in IKEA with a man who has not only not screwed a woman since moving to San Fran, but jerks off to porn DVDs in his office. I’ve slept with some of the most powerful people in the tech world, men with arrogance the height of Everest. If I can break their wills and have my way with men like that, why can’t I with a lonely big box manager? It’s time to drop the casual something somethings and have some real fun.