Not Her Type

Jasmin Marchand threw her head back again with a squeal of delight, her cunt tightly wrapped around Mark Archer's turgid shaft. Her breasts were in his hands and he was playing with her soft flesh and the pebbled knots of her nipples as she squealed and shuddered on top of him. They were in a hotel suite, on the carpet in the sitting area, and Jasmin still had her shoes and glasses on, cum from their first coupling still shining wetly on her belly.

She rode him hard, bouncing on her heels and rocking her hips, repeatedly impaling herself on his shaft, eyes shut tight and crying out as he cupped her breasts in his hands, teasing the swollen brown tips with his fingers. He suddenly raised his head up and took one into his mouth, sucking hard and making her gasp and shudder in pleasure on top of him.

A moment, and then his head fell back, her nipple popping out of his mouth, and she continued to slide up and down his shaft as his hands reached for her breasts again. Jasmin opened her eyes then, staring down at him through glazed eyes from behind her glasses as her mind once again went back to how they had met; who would have thought that she would be taking his cock into her body for the umpteenth time just a little over a month later?

He was not her 'type', certainly not - he was not lean, tall and blonde. But there she was, frantically riding him on the carpet of a hotel room and getting ready to cry out in what would be her second orgasm in fifteen minutes. She let out a soft hiss as he started thrusting back up into her in earnest, fucking her back, kneading her soft firm breasts in his hands. "Ooh ... yes!... just like that ... yess! ..."

A little over a month before, she had been on the bus on her way home from work.

There were quite a few times when Jasmin did not like being short. More than a few in fact. Like when she had to reach up and hold on to one of the straps hanging down from the ceiling to keep herself from being thrown every time the bus lurched to a stop. At just two inches above five feet, she had to stretch herself a little more than was comfortable to reach it.

Jasmin grimaced with irritation as she grabbed hold of the strap over her head, looking around again to see if she had missed an empty seat or space around the more comfortable standing poles. None. The sun was on the verge of dipping below the horizon but the evening still retained much of the day's heat. She felt sweaty and sticky, and the tight press of bodies around her most assuredly did not help matters. She sighed, eagerly looking forward to a soothing ten minutes in the shower once she got back to her apartment.

The sun was halfway below the horizon and it was notably cooler twenty minutes later when she squeezed herself to the doors to step off the bus and begin the seven minute walk to her apartment building. It was turning out to be a lovely evening, Jasmin realized as she walked. Maybe she could take a walk, get dinner at one of the outdoor cafes lining the High Street and get some groceries while she was at it. Feeling her spirits rising, Jasmin smiled and increased her pace as she turned into the quiet narrow street leading to her home and made to cross the zebra crossing to get to the other side.

The car was not going very fast, but it came close enough to send her sprawling back unto the pavement, the brakes letting out a screech as they locked into place more than three feet past where she had been less than a second earlier. The car let out another screech before she could look up and sped off down the road.

Badly frightened, Jasmin did not hear the rapidly approaching footfalls behind her until the man was kneeling beside her. "You alright? Did he hit you?"

"N... no." Her voice was a weak quiver and she had to take a deep breath to calm herself before she could continue. "I think I'm alright. He didn't hit me."

"Son of a bitch." the man muttered under his breath, angry eyes behind his glasses focused on a receding pair of red lights racing down the road, as if by sheer willpower he could get a read off the license plate even at that distance. Abruptly he turned back to the still stunned woman sitting on the pavement in front of him, concern along with the anger in his eyes. "You sure? Can you get up?"

"He just scared me." Jasmin said shakily, wiping at a tear running down her cheek. "I think I tripped on the kerb when I jumped away."

The man let out a sigh of relief and smiled encouragingly. "Well, at least that's better than getting hit by a car."

Jasmin wiped away another tear of fright with her hand and for the first time focussed her eyes on the man kneeling beside her. It was a vaguely familiar face, a man she thought she had seen on one or two mornings at her bus stop. He was somewhat good-looking, she decided, even if nothing out of the ordinary. Not exactly the face of a man a woman would fantasize of as her knight in shining armor.

At the moment though, frightened and vulnerable, Jasmin was not complaining.

"Can you get up?" he asked.

"Yeah, I think so." she said, putting her hands to either side of her and trying to lever herself up, only to collapse as a sharp twinge of pain took her in the hip. She gasped.

"What's wrong? Where does it hurt?" His smile was gone and he wore a concerned frown as he hurriedly laid his bag down on the pavement beside him.

"There." she said, pointing and then jerking away when he put his hand on the curve of her hip and began applying pressure in different areas around it. Jasmin gasped from the pain and almost slapped away at his hand before she realized what he was doing.

"Be still." he said sharply, as he moved his hand around experimentally. It took less than ten seconds but he looked relieved when he took his hand away. "I think you're gonna live." He deadpanned.

Jasmin bursted out laughing, despite the pain, and he grinned, showing a set of even white teeth. "Nothing's broken. It's just a bruise. A little ice and you'll be fine."

"Thank you, doctor." she said, grinning back at him, noting to herself that he had a nice smile.

"Dr. Good Samaritan MD, at your service." he replied. "Let me help you up." She nodded and he reached around her waist and carefully, letting her sharp intakes of breath guide him, lifted her to her feet. He picked up his bag - a laptop case - from the pavement as she stood a trifle unsteadily and regarded her for a moment, a worried look on his face. "I think I should walk with you, at least some of the way. Make sure you're okay."

Jasmin suddenly was unsure whether she wanted him to walk her all the way home. He was still a stranger, after all. But when he offered his arm, she only hesitated for a heartbeat before she took it, and after one attempted step forward found herself immensely grateful that she did. The pain in her hip took her by surprise, and if he had not been there for her to fall against, she would have ended up on the pavement again.

"Easy does it." he said, sounding amused. "I think you just need to walk it off for a while."

Jasmin's lips tightened, she certainly did not find it as amusing as he did, but the next step hurt less, the next one even less than that. A minute later, she no longer really needed him to support her as she limped along beside him, the pain having faded to a dull ache that sharpened if she increased her stride by so much as an inch beyond half a foot ahead of her and put too much weight on her hurt side. She did not let go of his arm, however.

Jasmin stole one or two glances at the man as they walked - rather, he walked - she limped. He was perhaps an inch shy of six feet and his broad shoulders and what she could see of his body shape under his jacket made her think Dr. Good Samaritan was a rugby player. Late twenties to early thirties, she estimated. Together with his square chin and curly dark hair, somehow everything conspired to make him remind her of a bear - a cute and cuddly teddy bear that could in the next moment turn into a vicious predator. Definitely not the tall, dark and breath-takingly handsome knight on the cover of the bodice rippers but ...

... she suddenly realized that she felt very ... protected, and strangely very attracted to him. Which was surprising, considering that she leaned more towards leaner and taller men. Well, her therapist had suggested that she "broaden her horizons". But if not for her current circumstances Jasmin knew she probably never would have noticed him in any way beyond the fact that he was someone she shared the bus with on some mornings on the way to work. Maybe it just had to do with the fact that he had been there when she was hurt and vulnerable. Maybe if she saw him again tomorrow at the bus stop, she would not feel the the same way. Either way, she was absolutely certain she very much liked the stern cast of the eyes behind his glasses, with the strangely incongruous smile lines crinkling at the corners.

Unconsciously, she squeezed his forearm where her hand rested on it. It was not a strong squeeze, but it told her there was a lot of muscle under his coat sleeve, before she realized what she had done. The man, of course, looked at her. "Anything wrong?"

"N ... no. Nothing's wrong." she stammered, feeling heat flood into her face. Her little squeeze had been almost ... intimate, and she was finding it hard to meet his eyes.

"Well ... okay." he said, with another grin, after a moment of studying her face. He laid his hand, his left - ringless, she noticed -, on top of hers, but just for a second, something of a pat, before carrying on walking beside her as before.

They got to her apartment building in a surprisingly short time, Jasmin silent the whole way, thinking her near-death experience must have affected her far more deeply than she had thought. All of a sudden, she could not wait to get into her shower and return her day to her control once again. "This is me." she said, when they were in front of the glass doors to the brightly lit lobby.

The man stopped. "Nice place." he commented, giving the lobby an appraising look. He turned to her and smiled as she let go of his arm, but the concern was still there in his eyes. "You're sure you're gonna be okay?"

"Yes, I'm sure." she said, smiling back. He had a really nice smile, she thought, feeling a small blush creeping up her cheeks.

"Alright then." he said, his concern visibly easing. He adjusted the strap of his laptop case on his shoulder and looked her over for a moment, his eyes resting on her hip. "Don't forget to put some ice on that, alright? Doctor's orders."

She giggled. "I will." She quickly went up on her tip-toes and kissed him sofly on the cheek. "Thank you very much."

The man looked a little surprised if pleased. "My pleasure," he said. They stood looking at each other for a moment, then just before the silence became akward, he nodded, mouthing a quiet "See ya," before he turned around and started walking back up the road.

Jasmin watched him walk away for a long moment, trying to make sense of the inexplicably profound feeling of disappointment that he had not insisted on seeing her all the way to her apartment door. She shook her head to clear it of the thought - she really needed that shower, to get her emotions under control. She turned - he never looked back - to enter the building, careful in climbing the two short steps to the entrance lest she find herself on the ground again. Surprisingly, the pain was a great deal less than it had been just five minutes before, and she was limping only slightly when she slid her card through the key slot, punched in her security number, pushed open the glass doors and walked in.

It was only as she was waiting for the elevator to come down and take her to her floor that she realized that she did not even know Dr. Good Samaritan's name.

An hour later, Jasmin stood in front of the dressing mirror in her bedroom and examined the darkly mottled patch of skin on her hip. She had to admit, it was a spectacular bruise. But the pain had reduced to a dull ache that no longer sharpened into a piercing stab of agony whenever she took a step with something approaching a normal stride.

She glanced at the ice pack lying on the dressing table. "Thank you, doctor." she murmured to herself.

She had started stripping the instant the door to her apartment had closed behind her, clothes and underwear thrown heedlessly unto the hardwood floors of her living room, and padded straight into the bathroom, stopping only to take out her contact lenses. After ten refreshing and blissful minutes of being pelted by streaming jets of barely heated water, Jasmin had quickly stepped into a fresh pair of French cut panties, and squeezed herself into a comfortable old tube top before she sat with the ice-pack on her hurt hip while she dried her long black hair.

Hair dry and pulled into a pony tail with a white flower ribbon, and after a total of fifteen minutes of the ice pack on her injury, Jasmin felt her day was fully back in her control. She looked at herself in the mirror again, this time examining the rest of her body. She grimaced; her injury would of course be on her hips. They practically exploded out from a relatively small waist and then thinned out almost abruptly at mid-thigh down to her knees. If ever some dictionary wanted a picture to go along with their definition of "child-bearing hips", hers would be perfect.

And she had the ass to go with it. She turned to her side ... the size always made her wince, her ass was not abnormally large for her body, but it came just a little too close for comfort. She had no complaints about the shape, however, a near perfect heart shape, from any angle she could see. Either way, wearing a sundress or tight pair of jeans in the summer always resulted in flushes of embarassment from the inevitable cat-calls and wolf-whistles, even if she had to admit to herself that her naughty side thoroughly enjoyed the attention and the boost to her ego.

Satisfied, her tummy was fleshy, soft and feminine beneath the swells of her breasts - but still gratifyingly flat - Jasmin turned away from the mirror and padded to the closet behind her, taking out a recently bought pair of low-rise capris. Biting her lip, carefully avoiding putting any undue pressure on her hurt hip, she slipped her legs through and slowly wriggled it on, turning to look at herself in the mirror. It rode much lower on her than she had expected, even with the partly elastic waistband, leaving a significant expanse of skin and flesh on the upper curves of her hips and waist exposed for all to see. With the lace of her French cut panties riding up on her hips, the view she saw under her tube top in the mirror verged decidedly on the erotic.

For a moment she considered taking it off and trying on something else. But then she shook her head; a nice long shirt would cover the exposed flesh, and anyway, it strongly appealed to her naughty side. Decision made, she went into the closet again and took out a shirt that fell down to her upper thighs, slipping it on and buttoning it up as she padded back to the dressing mirror. She picked up a tube of lip gloss and her wallet from the dressing table, slipping the wallet into her back pocket as she ran the gloss on her lips. Jasmin liked her lips; like much of the rest of her, they were nicely full, lush to only just a shade shy of poutiness. She smiled, happy with the wet gleam, and kissed at herself in the mirror, giggling to herself at her own silliness, before she tucked the tube into the back pocket together beside her wallet. She slipped her cellphone into her other pocket and clasped a watch around her wrist.

She had one more decision to make. The contacts, which she always dreaded putting on, or the rimless glasses she was certain made her look like a boring scientist?

Two minutes later, glasses perched on her nose only because they were faster to put on, comfortable rubber heeled strap sandals on her feet, and mindful of the little twinges of pain at her hip, Jasmin stepped out of her apartment building, feeling strangely exhilarated, and began the ten minute walk up to the High Street.

Jasmin paused in front of the dance studio and studio, a slightly wistful look on her face. Two female mannequins in leotards, tutus and tights stood on the toes of one foot with the other leg extended behind them at an angle near perpendicular to their arched torsos in the display window. One was smaller and shaped like a prepubescent little girl, the other taller and shaped like an older teenager. As she regarded the mannequins, a woman and her little girl walked - the girl actually skipped - into the door, the child dressed just like the mannequin in the window even if in brighter colors.

Jasmin remembered enjoying going to ballet class until she was fifteen and puberty had altered the shape of her body to what a ballet dancer's body should definitely not be - ballet dancers almost never wore large D cups, not to mention carrying around a rear end like a throw-pillow. But even after all the years since, Jasmin was certain she was still flexible enough to do most of what she could do before she gave ballet up. She smiled to herself; well, maybe not 'most'.

Her hip still sent twinges of pain up her side but even that could not ruin her mood. A smile on her face, she walked, window shopped and exchanged greetings with amiliar faces, mostly the storekeepers, barely noticing that the sky had gotten dark until her stomach rumbled loudly.

It was another five minutes before she came to a Thai restaurant that had seats and tables on the patio a few feet off the sidewalk. Couples sat at three of the seven tables. The middle aged waiter quickly sat her down at the table by the door once he had ascertained that she wanted to sit outside and quickly took her order of a green prawn curry with a starter plate of spring rolls. Jasmin looked around her as she sat, suddenly all too aware of sitting by herself surrounded by happy couples all wrapped up in each other.

It was not often that she felt lonely but for a moment, as she looked around, she did. It would be nice to have a man sitting in the seat across from her, to feel that frisson of sexual tension again and wonder where it would lead. A familiar bespectacled face loomed in her mind and Jasmin squirmed unconsciously in her seat before she caught herself. Sighing, she shook her head, deliberately shutting off that train of thought before it travelled to places she did not want to go. It was not too difficult, but the arrival of her starter plate was a great help.

She had just started on her second of the four spring rolls that had been in the basket in front of her that she heard a voice that almost got the food down the wrong way.

"My damsel in distress." Dr. Good Samaritan said, amused.

Hurriedly wiping her lips with a napkin, and surprised at how happy she was to see him, Jasmin beamed at him, "My knight in shining armor."

He had changed out of his work clothes as well and he was casually dressed in an open shirt, the sleeves rolled up, T-shirt and khaki cargo pants, and he was standing less than four feet away on the sidewalk. He still wore his glasses though. And a smile that made Jasmin realize that she just might not feel any differently if she saw him on the bus the next morning.

"Hi." she said, smiling.

"Hi." he replied. "How's the hip?"

"It's fine. A really nice guy," she felt some heat rush to her cheeks, "I think, told me to put some ice on it."

"What makes you think I'm nice?" he said, his grin teasing.

"Who said it's you?" she shot back, a playful grin on her face.

"Touche." he conceded, laughing.

She giggled, noticing another couple being seated by another waiter. "Have you had dinner?" she asked, hope in her voice.