The Seamstress free porn video

Kelly Marie Munson cursed to herself as she tried for the fifteenth time to download Google Earth. She had too many pictures on her computer and she couldn't get the damned thing to run. It was so frustrating to be the only person in a small, one person company. All the perks were also the liabilities.

She had gone off to college and received a masters degree in journalism and was doing good writing short stories and getting them published. It wasn't a lot of money, but she was surviving.

After her father had died, she came home to help her mother in her haute couturier shop. It had been fun as a teenager. They had gone to Vienna, Burano, Brussels, Bruges, and Ghent during the summers to participate in little known workshops for making Chantilly, Needle, Bobbin, and Belgian Lace.

Every so often, they were able to find original garments from the sixteenth century to bring back. When her mother went as a child with her grandmother, the garments were not that valuable. Now, they were about as priceless as coins from the tombs of Ramses that had been sold by Egyptian shepherds.

Kelly didn't want this to be her life's work, but her mother was in poor health and in her seventies. She had nobody else to run her little shop; nobody to sell it to. It was more of an effort of love than a basified business.

Kelly garnished some of the outrageously expensive wedding dresses with very labor intensive and artistic stitching. She had many outrageously ornate tablecloths on display and for a little less, she could get machine made lace from Thailand.

It could be a very satisfying job, but for Kelly, she was more obsessed with her writing. Often, if there was a lull in the work, she could pull out the computer and work on a few chapters. From Kansas City, it was hard to get a decent agent and get much published.

Their small Victorian house, which had been used for fifty years for the sewing shop had been condemned and taken by eminent domain by the city to make way for a shopping center. There was nothing wrong with the ornate, gingerbread house, but the city wanted the property to resell to a developer.

Kelly had decided to get a small space in the garment district. Several blocks of warehouses along Broadway had been renovated and turned into boutiques, coffee shops and sports bars. It was good for tourists who were enthralled with the ornate stone gargoyles and terra cotta statuary that decorated the cornices.

Kelly's little shop, Guinevere's, was on a corner near the entrance of Union Station. Union Station had fallen into serious disrepair during the 1960's. Parts of Union Station had been renovated just enough to film movies like "Truman, Mr. & Mrs. Bridge, The Dalton Gang, and Pretty Boy Floyd."

Some nice restaurants had been put in the renovated spaces, and Kelly felt fortunate to get a very small place they just wanted occupied. The cost was relatively negligible; they just wanted the store for the character it could add to the place.

Kelly's high heel shoes clacked noisily and echoed off of the 90'-0" high ceilings and stone walls as she walked down the main Grand Hall of the Beaux-Arts building. Once you were in the building, you could never forget the memories of Union Station's headlines of June 17, 1933, as four unarmed FBI agents were gunned down by gang members attempting to free captured fugitive Frank Nash. Nash was also killed in the gun battle. The "Kansas City Massacre" highlighted the lawlessness of Kansas City under the Pendergast Machine and resulted in the arming of all FBI agents.

She took out her key to open the lock on the small oak door on the wood and glass store front of her simple sewing shop. She remembered fondly when her mother had hired a painter to put on the sign.

He was an old man, probably in his eighties. He had one grey eye, blinded as a small boy by a chip from his ax when he was splitting firewood. She remembered him opening a big old book and pulling out the thin sheets of gold leaf to apply to the center of the letters on the glass window. It was an exciting time in her youth to watch the older women measuring their customers and fitting them with ornate wedding dresses.

Customers rarely showed up before noon, unless they were tourists. She walked over to the Harvey House and got a cup of coffee to go and went in to get a few paragraphs started before any customers showed up.

About mid-morning, the bell over the door chimed and she looked up, surprised to get any customers this early. She was startled to see the odd couple come through the door.

The young man was about 6'-4" tall and about 225 pounds. He had an Afro/Mohawk running down his otherwise shaved head. He had an unbuttoned, sleeveless leather vest that covered a "muscle shirt." The shirt had tiny bands of cloth that joined the front and back of his sleeveless t-shirt together. It was a token garment. The thin fabric did almost nothing to hide the muscular framework of his biceps and abdomen.

His boot-cut Levis hid the top of his lizard skin boots. Following him was a tall blond with gigantic silicone breasts that never jiggled when she walked. Her skirt was a joke. There was almost no fabric below her crotch or above her gravity-defying breasts. Her high heels added about eight inches to her height. She had an incredibly slender set of legs, arms and abdomen. She turned heads wherever she went and she knew it.

Slowly, Kelly realized who the man was. She had seen the articles in the sports section and television news stories of Santana Battle, the first man taken in the NFL draft a few years ago.

"Hi, I'm here to help my lady friend buy something for a party this weekend." He said as he smiled and wrapped his arm around his trophy date.

"I'm sure you will both find something you will like in here." Kelly said as she closed her laptop and stood to greet them." Santana never really looked at Kelly; he was focused on the array of fine lace trimmed garments displayed around the room and on the mannequins.

Santana's eyes were as big as saucers as he gazed with wonder at some of the 16th Century garments draped over the statues. Not only was Kelly and excellent seamstress, she was a master of window display.

The only thing the dizzy blond could focus on was the price tags. She squealed and hugged her date as she fingered the price tags. Her eye caught on a black, lace, sleeveless bolero. "How much is this?" she asked.

"About $2,000.00" Kelly replied.

"What? That's outrageous." She replied.

"I'm sorry about the price. I spent a couple of months adding the fringe to it. The original bolero came from Bruges, in Belgium. It dates back to the 17th Century. My mother traded a ring for it, and I added the stitching. It was a lot of work. I don't really care whether I sell it or not. I doubt that you could get something like this for twice the price." She said almost apologetically.

Santana looked at the proprietor without speaking. "Oh, fuck." She thought. He is probably a huge spender. If she had given a discount, he may bring in the rest of his teammates. On the other hand, it was a piece with great sentimental value to her. If they don't want it too bad. I would rather keep it.

All of a sudden, Santana began to look at her a little differently. She was probably about forty, he thought. She didn't have any rings. Her long reddish brown hair had a slight waviness to it. The fishtail braid down the side of her face was kind of refreshing. It wasn't dyed blond like every other woman he had met. Her breasts were not huge; perhaps melon sized with no low cut top or push up bra. Her dress was a little long for his taste, and she wasn't even wearing high heel shoes. "Who does that?" he thought. Her wire rim glasses made her look like an English professor, which in a sense she was, or could easily have been.

"You actually made this?" he asked, trying to hide his curiosity. The blonde caught it. She sensed the interest in him. She felt the curiosity in him. She dismissed it. "No fucking way." She thought. I am a thousand times better looking than this MILF. There is no fucking way he will take an interest in her." she thought.

Something flickered in Kelly to; for a millisecond. She caught the fraction of a second eye contact he made with her. She dismissed it. "There's no way he'd be interested in me." She thought. "Besides, there's no fucking way I would have anything to do with a savage like him either." She thought.

Never-the-less, for that fraction of a second, it was flattering to get that flash of a spark from a younger man. It had been a long time since she had seen it. Actually it happened more often than Kelly was willing to admit, she just never felt a mutual attraction when she saw it. All the men who hit on her were married, divorced or fat. It was always somebody looking for a quick fuck, she had grown to realize.

Kelly had longed for a certain kind of man; educated, reasonably wealthy, dependable, and hopefully a good father. This man was none of that, she thought. He is out to fuck anything that will hold still.

Kelly finally sold them a silk shawl; something mass produced in Thailand on a loom. It was intricately woven, but not by hand. Kelly knew it; Santana knew it. The tall black man handed her his credit card, signed the receipt and walked out the door with the fine looking blond on his arm.

Kelly worked until about seven that night. She had several wedding dresses for people to approve before she could leave. When she started to close, she noticed Santana Battle's credit card against the computer/register. She called him. "Mr. Battle, I'm sorry to bother you. This is Kelly Munson; from Guinevere's, the sewing shop. I think you left your credit card here. I don't know how I missed it. I'd be glad to get it to you somehow. Just let me know what to do."

"Oh, hi, Mrs. Munson. I'm so sorry. It was so stupid of me to forget it. Thanks so much for letting me know where I put it. No, you don't have to make a special trip for it. Suppose I come by tomorrow. I'll bring you a cup of coffee and meet you before you open."

Kelly agreed to meet him at the coffee shop just outside her shop at 7:00 am.

The next morning, Kelly was up bright and early. She spent too much time combing her hair. She agonized over what to wear. She finally decided to put her hair in the same fishtail braid again. It was twisted twice at the top of her neck and held with a rubber band. She clipped an emerald butterfly over it.

Kelly put on some high heels and a button front green summer dress. The color matched her eyes. The dress hit her just above the knees; very provocative for her.

She put her computer in her leather computer bag and couldn't decide to wear it on a strap over her shoulder, or hold it like a purse. She tried to appear aloof as she clipped across the great hall the next morning. There was a long line of people waiting to get their coffee that morning.

Santana was already there. He was sitting by himself at one of the tables for two in front of the coffee shop. "Hello, Mrs. Munson. Thanks so much for meeting me here. They both stood at the back of the line to get coffee.

"My name is MISS Kelly Marie Munson. No, I'm not married.' She said, not wanting to correct him, but not wanting him to assume she was married.

Santana made small talk about how fascinating the Train Station was. When they got their coffee, Kelly took him on a tour. She took him down the long hall and explained how people used to sit on long wooden pews waiting for the trains to arrive below the station; and how they would go down the stairs at each end of the hall to get to the appropriate stairs.

She showed him how the rooms were arranged around the mezzanine of the great hall on the upper level. She pointed out the great clock that had been custom made. She took him down one of the interior corridors where all the original working drawings had been displayed.

They walked around the east side of the building and she showed him where the bullet holes had spalled the limestone on June 17, 1933, as four unarmed FBI agents were gunned down by gang members attempting to free captured fugitive Frank Nash; and where Nash was also killed in the gun battle. The "Kansas City Massacre" highlighted the lawlessness of Kansas City under the Pendergast Machine and resulted in the arming of all FBI agents.

It wasn't planned, but finally they were by themselves up on the mezzanine. She had been showing him the vault where all the money had been stored as it was transferred from train to train. Santana took her hand as they walked out of the vault. They were all alone when he swung the huge brass door shut. It clanged shut and the echo reminded her they were all alone.

"This is a fascinating tour. You are the first person in town to show me anything about this place since I was drafted here. I think I am going to like playing here," he said as he swung her slowly against the limestone wall.

Kelly had a sense this might be coming. She had struggled with what she would do if it did. "He's got a girlfriend. What the fuck am I doing with this guy?" her mind screamed. "There is no fucking way I am going to do it with this savage." She said to herself.

On the other hand, it was flattering to be wanted. She could always stop him; just not quite yet. She was curious to see where this went. "I can always stop." She said as he leaned against her. His hands went to the side of her cheeks. Kelly never moved a muscle. She didn't really look up at him, but she didn't resist him either.

His massive hands softly turned her face up to meet his. Kelly closed her eyes as she felt the heat of his lips hovering close to her. Their lips touched. They were both dry. Santana pulled back just enough to moisten his lips. Kelly didn't realize it, but she had done the same.

When he leaned back down to meet her, they both tilted their heads a little for a better angle. He rubbed his lips across hers. Kelly's mind was racing. "Where do I stop?' her mind seemed to be screaming.

She had pulled her arms up and crossed them across her breasts. Santana pulled back softly, and grabbed her hands. He guided them down to her sides.

"I want to thank you for this wonderful tour..." He didn't really finish. Kelly felt his hands move up her sides away from her arms. He put both fingers on the top button of her dress.

"Is there any way you could be talked out of opening your store this morning?" he whispered as he began to unbutton the top of her dress. Kelly's heart was racing. "All he wants is a quick fuck. That's all I am to him." She told herself.

"I can't get out of opening the store. I have several fittings this morning. They will be angry if I am not there. They have skipped work to get her and their weddings are too soon to re schedule." She said as he continued to undo the buttons.

He had pulled the bottom of her dress up to her waist and was starting at the bottom. Kelly held his hands as he continued to unbutton the garment. She wasn't going to let him do anything, but still it was intoxicating to get this attention. "I can stop him anytime I want." She told herself.

Santana had the front of her dress completely unbuttoned now. He didn't care if she let him fuck her or not. She had clearly shown enough uncertainty in her struggle against him to reveal that he was in control.

"Please stop here. I have to go to work.' She pleaded softly, almost in a whisper.

Santana moved his hands back to her face and gave her a long kiss again. She put her hands over his; convinced she had won the struggle. "I'll let you go on one condition." He said. Kelly did not respond, uncertain what it would be.

"The condition is that you let me take you to dinner tonight."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Battle, but my mother is old and I have to get home to feed her and get her to bed. Maybe we can meet for a snack after that. I think mom will be in bed by 9:00. She doesn't have to be watched all night. I can meet you somewhere." She said softly as she broke the kiss.

Santana went over the buttons to make sure she was presentable when she went back to the store. He gave her an access card. It would get her into the secured parking spot at his condo.

Kelly's mother knew something was up while her daughter made dinner that evening. She talked continually about all the things that had gone wrong at the shop that day. People were late for fittings. The whiney bitches were never satisfied. They complained about the costs. Her mother knew Kelly never complained about anything. "What is she up to?" her mother wondered.

Kelly was shaking she could hardly back out of her parking spot when she left home. She stopped at one stop sign and waited for it to turn green; until the three cars behind her began honking. She had been lost in thought and had been too confused to drive off from the stupid sign.

"There's no fucking way I should be here this late at night." Her mind screamed as she shoved the access card into the card reader. When the security bar went up, she guided her blue bug uncertainly up the double helix parking structure to the stall assigned for the penthouse.

She presented the access card to the security guard at the reception desk. The tall immaculately dressed black man looked at the card and turned the guest sign-in pad to her. She signed her name and time of arrival. The guard checked her signature with her driver's license and called the penthouse.

"Mr. Battle, there is a young lady here to see you. Shall I send her up?" He said in a very businesslike voice. "Yes sir. She certainly is." He said with a faint smile as he looked at her." He hung up the phone and said; "Okay, Miss Munson. He is expecting you. The elevator is right around the corner."

When she moved in the direction he had pointed, another tall man in dress slacks and a blue oxford button-collar dress shirt got up out of a leather couch and walked ahead of her. He stepped into the elevator to wait for her. He smiled and pressed the button for "32" the top floor.

"I bet he sends four girls a day up there." She thought to herself. "Well he's not going to fuck this one." She told herself.

When the elevator opened, Kelly was facing an 8'-0" wide sliding glass door to an exterior balcony. It had teak chairs and potted plants. The view down across the city was magnificent. "The front door is right around the corner to your left, Miss Munson." She heard the elevator operator say.

He stayed long enough to see her knock on the door. She heard the hum of the electric motors as the doors shut and he went back down.

Santana's door opened. "Hi, Kelly. I was so afraid you wouldn't come."

"Why is that?" she responded.

"Well, you seemed awfully glad to be rid of me this morning. I didn't know if you would be back or not."

Santana turned as she walked in. He watched her as he closed the door. Was he imagining anything, or was the dress quite a bit shorter than the dowdy one he had met her in? Also she now had high heel shoes.

Once she got in and he shut the door, Kelly nervously walked to the front window. It wasn't really the window. He had a 10'-0" wide glass sliding door that opened to a patio. She did not realize that by standing in front of the sliding door, she was being back-lit to the man behind her. He stood behind his unsuspecting date admiring her silhouette in the almost transparent green dress.

"You have a wonderful view." She said enviously. "You have no idea." He said with a faint smile.

The front door opened to a vestibule in front of the dining room. On one side of the dining room was small, compact kitchen with granite countertops. On the other side of the dining room was a nice living room with a generous exterior deck 32 stories above the lobby.

Let me show you the rest of the space he said as he wrapped one arm around her; eager to continue from where he had left off that morning. Kelly let herself be guided to the circular staircase. It wound ¾" of a turn to the bedroom. The bedroom had a glass handrail with a view overlooking the living room. The living room had enough glass that the view from the bedroom had just as spectacular view of the city as the living room.

He showed her around the condo. Kelly was surprised to see a variety of framed pictures and mementos all over the place. Most of them were subtly arranged in the bedroom and upper hallways.

There were pictures of him and his teammates at the Whitehouse holding up a super bowl trophy. There were pictures of him with the football commissioner after being picked first in the draft. There were pictures of him with a number of celebrities. The biggest surprise to Kelly of all was his Suma Cum Lade plaque and masters in Journalism. There were several books he had written on a variety of Self-Help subjects.

"He's still not going to fuck me." She said to herself. Somewhere along the tour, she sensed that she was alone. She smelled fresh coffee brewing. She heard the refrigerator door latch.

What kind of pie do you like? I've got apple, rhubarb, blackberry and one small piece of peach."

"Are any of them sugar free?" she asked. "They're all sugar free." He answered.

"Everything in this house is sugar free. For every spoon of sugar, I am going to have to run about two miles; and I hate running. It is just easier not to eat.'

By then, Kelly was beside him at the refrigerator. He opened the door. There was bottled water; steaks; edamame; apples; oranges and plenty of lettuce. His 2% body fat was no accident.

He took the two plates of pie and glasses of milk out to the deck. He sat down in one of the Adirondack chairs and tugged her down on his lap. He set his plate on the coffee table and began cutting up her food and feeding it to her.

Kelly was in turmoil. On one hand, this was all very flattering and romantic. She had not thought ahead of herself to be thinking she would be sitting on somebody's lap. Although she had balked somewhat with her emotions, the somewhat short dress was even shorter when she was trying to cross her legs on his lap and hold the plate of pie. She could hold the dress down and balance the pie slice.

The best she could do was trapping the pie plate against her thigh to keep the garment from riding up any more. To Santana, he was used to girls dresses being even shorter when they were standing up.

Kelly was struggling with a lot of social circumstances she had avoided for many years. "He is not going to fuck me." She continued to tell herself.

When her piece was gone, Santana took the empty plate out of her hand; handed her the fork and picked up the other plate of pie. He turned her around so she was on his lap facing him.

It seemed so natural to him; she had no time to protest. When he repositioned her to face him, her dress and legs were turned towards him, almost exposing herself completely. Her right leg was doubled up under her. She had a choice, she could keep herself on her knees on his lap to get some cover with her dress, or spread her legs so that one was on each side of him. Then, what to do about the dress? Her mind screamed.

The decision was not left to her.

Santana grabbed her right leg at the knee and swung it around and wrapped her right leg around his left side. Rather than fight him, Kelly tried to beat him to it as she pulled her dress down around her as best as she could. It had happened fast enough, she did not have that much time to protest or be embarrassed.

Now that she had her legs on each side of him, she tried to conceal her embarrassment as best as she could. They made small talk about the apartment, her work, his work and the city. Kelly wasn't really sure what either of them had said. There was so much to get accustomed to.

She was like a fourteen year old girl at her first prom in a limousine. She was overwhelmed with so many confusing things going on.

When the pie was gone, again, Kelly was again growing uncomfortable. "What is going to happen next?" she wondered nervously.

Santana wrapped his hands around her back, making her feel almost like she was in a chair. As long as there was not much movement, she managed to keep her dress in a somewhat modest position. She thought she might be able to get through the even unmolested. Maybe conversation was enough for him, she thought, hopefully.

Reluctantly, Kelly felt herself becoming attached or at least interested in this black man. He was everything she found objectionable; yet somewhat attracted to him.

She could see it in his eyes. She could see it coming. His eyes focused on her buttons again. Like a young child, he seemed drawn to her dress. He continued his casual conversation as he grabbed the two buttons at the hem of her dress. One by one, he slowly, almost absentmindedly, peeled the buttons through the eyelets, exposing first her long tanned legs; then her panties. Once at her waist, he changed directions and started with her top.

Kelly was struggling with her emotions. She had her hands over his all the way, not sure whether to resist or assist him. She squeezed her hands over his; not pushing him away, but not helping either.

When he had the whole dress unbuttoned, he slid the top back over her shoulders. She was sitting on enough of it that it fluttered in the breeze and did not blow over the handrail.

"Shouldn't he be at least kissing me?" her mind screamed. Their eyes were locked together. He was talking casually, but her heart was blasting in her ears enough the words didn't seem to register.

She was aware of his hands behind her; unfastening the clasp at her back. "The bra was a ridiculous garment." She thought. "Why had she even attempted to wear the stupid thing?"

As an older woman, she was used to wearing the thin, transparent stretch fabric that pantyhose were made of. It hid nothing when exposed. Her long, pink nipples thrust mindlessly against the stretch fabric.

Santana watched in fascination as the garment snapped back around her. She managed to cup the front against her; hiding her nipples that he had already seen.

The girls he was used to seeing were dark haired girls with large dark areoles. This was a totally natural woman; no silicone; no dye, no surgery. Her breasts were not huge, but as big as they could get without sagging; medium melon size with coral pink nipples that were three times as long as anything he had ever seen.

"Look Santana; I am getting to where I might actually like you, but we are 100% opposite people. You are a young, wild man at the peak of your athletic ability. I am forty years old; almost enough to be your mother. You are probably fucking everybody in town. I am not wired like that. It's not that I won't fuck you; I just don't think it would be right. I am too old to be having one night stands. Please allow me the dignity of leaving before we do too much. I'm begging you." She said without bothering to cover herself.

Disappointed, but trying to keep his own dignity, Santana smiled. Without saying anything, he reached around behind her and pulled her dress up enough for her to get her arms into the sleeves.

As Kelly buttoned up her dress, she did not have the hands to also get rid of his as he slid his two forefingers under her panties. "Well I've really enjoyed our time together." He said as he rubbed the back of one finger fondly against the downy soft pubic hair above her cleft.

Understanding that he was not going to do any more, Kelly let him fondle her as she dressed. She had forgotten the bra when she started with the top, but wasn't about to undo it and start over.

She managed to button the entire dress while he fondled her. It was a sacrifice she was willing to endure if it got her out of there.

When she had all the buttons back in place, she placed her hands over his; almost seeming to participate in his fondling of her.

They talked for about an hour more, or so. Finally she managed to slide her leg over him and stood. She smoothed her dress. She had not removed her high heel shoes.

"I like you Kelly." He said as he kissed her softly.

"The girls my age and younger are certainly great looking. They look great for a while. The thing I've noticed about women like you is that at a certain age, instead of lying about their age, it becomes something to brag about. At some point a woman who is still trim, has a different beauty about her. She has been through many of life's trials and tribulations. They have struggled to raise a family and be skilled at a job. They are not a young giggling girl with potential. At some point they have blossomed and realized their potential. That is you Kelly. There is plenty to like about you. Don't ever change and don't ever apologize about your age."

He kissed her as she went out the door.

He never called her after that. "Maybe she should have fucked him." She thought.

"If I had known he was going to dump me, maybe I should have fucked him at least once.' She thought.

One day she called him. "Santana, I belong to a poetry club and a writer's club besides all the sewing stuff. Would you be willing to speak to the writer's club?"