The One with Jim's Lil' Dainty Fingers
Winter in Scranton was as boring as it sounded.
The constant snow and frigid temperatures had them essentially house bound between the months of November through mid-April at least. After too many nights of reality TV marathons, Jim was going stir crazy.
Which is how they ended up at Idle Hour Lanes on a dreary Saturday afternoon.
There weren't too many other patrons in the bowling alley as Jim approached the counter to pay for their lane and shoes. He was taken aback when the bleach blonde cashier turned around and he met the wide eyed stare of Ryan Howard.
"Uh, hey man," Jim started awkwardly, wishing that Pam hadn't wandered off to find them a pair of bowling balls.
Ryan gaped, blinking back a moment of hesitation before becoming nervously business-like as he rang up Jim's purchase and tossed a pair of size 8's and size 12's across the counter before hurriedly disappearing behind a door labeled "Staff Only."
Jim grabbed both pairs of shoes, shook his head, and made his way to Lane 7 where Pam was waiting with a ball for each.
She smiled warmly when he approached, offering a small, "Hey," as he offered her shoes and sat to put on his own.
"So, weird news," he began, toeing off his Converse and slipping into the tattered bowling shoes. "Ryan Howard just sold me these shoes."
Her head snapped up from where she was tying her own laces, her eyes bugged.
"No," she stated, "you're kidding."
He smiled smugly, patting his thighs as he shook his head from side to side.
"Nope. Not kidding."
Jim cocked his head behind their lane towards the counter.
"Just wait for Malibu Ken to turn around."
Ryan, who was spraying down a pair of shoes, eventually turned to put them on the shelf, making eye contact with Pam before he quickly ducked behind the counter.
With her eyes bulged and her lips pursed, she snapped her head back to Jim to share a silent laugh.
As Pam plugged their names into the computer ("Really, babe? Do I have to be Slim Jim every time we bowl?"), Jim rolled his fingers over the 9 pound and 11 pound balls she had left in the ball return.
Pam watched him pass the larger of the two between his hands, his eyebrows furrowing as his lips pursed into a pout. He then selected the smaller ball, drawing his fingers into the three holes and pulling them back out again several times before setting the ball down.
When he turned on his toe and wandered several lanes down, bending down to inspect ball racks before moving farther into the bowling alley, Pam watched, bewildered, before ultimately taking a seat to wait for him. When he returned, her eyebrows pinched in laughter.
"What?" Jim asked, replacing the hunter green 11 pound ball with his new one.
"Jim, you're not serious, are you?"
She pointed at the sparkly pink ball that now sat cradled next to hers, a bright purple number 6 imprinted above the holes.
"It was the only one that my fingers fit into," he replied in seriousness.
Pam guffawed, holding up her hands in surrender.
"Hey, whatever you say there, slick," she challenged, biting back more laughter.
He rolled his eyes as she sidled past him and picked up her ball to approach the lane. He couldn't help but stare as she sashayed up to the arrows, her jeans hugging her ass just right. He leaned with his butt against the console, crossing his arms to watch her.
She turned before throwing, resting her chin atop her shoulder with a cocked eyebrow and a demure smile.
"Hey," she started, her words seeming to roll off of her tongue like silk, "if you're the one with the dainty fingers and the pink ball, I think that means I get to start taking charge of this relationship."
And without missing a beat, she knocked down all ten pins in one fell swoop.
Jim swallowed and adjusted his belt as she walked back towards him, winked, and sat down with her arms crossed.
"Show me what you've got."
He ended up hitting six total, which was saying something for the the current cloudiness of his head.
But eventually, they fell into a fun rhythm, with friendly competition falling to the wayside for balls tossed granny-style between their legs and a lot of dorky dancing to the pop soundtrack that played dully over the speaker system, only taking a quick break when their soda and pizza arrived.
Jim was moonwalking down the lane with his pink ball poised in front of his face and his eyebrows waggling across his forehead, leaving Pam in stitches, when a small hand poked repeatedly into his thigh. When he snapped his stare downwards, he met the big blue eyes of a blonde, pig-tailed little girl.
"'Cuse me, mister?" she started. "I think you have my ball."
While Pam brought her fist to her lips to bite back laughter, Jim's face flushed.
"We were having birthday cake in the party room and then my ball was gone," she continued, pointing at the pink ball.
"So, can I have it back?"
He nodded sheepishly, lowering the ball to the little girl's hands and watching her as she skipped back to the birthday party that he could now see emerging from the aforementioned party room. When he turned back to face Pam, his shoulders dropped with his head, and she laughed at him with her tongue between her teeth.
"Oh my god," she chuckled, standing with her arms crossed.
"I don't want to talk about it-"
"Jim. She was like, six-"
"I don't-"
"Six, Jim!"
Pam bent at the waist, her palms flat on her thighs as she continued to double over in laughter, Jim's neck reddening by the minute as he grabbed the 11 pound ball and chucked it quickly down the lane, hitting one lone pin before sitting behind the monitor.
Instead of taking her turn, Pam sat beside him, nudging him with her shoulder and a wide grin.
"So, dainty fingers, how's it feel to have your balls taken by a little girl?" she chuckled, her cheeks still pink with delight.
"Pam. Seriously," he pleaded.
"No, seriously, babe. I mean, I know I was giving you shit earlier, but your score is seriously about to plummet. Should I go over there and see if, maybe, I don't know, she wants to take the bigger one? I wouldn't want you to feel emasculated or something."
Jim rolled his eyes, sinking further into his seat, wiping one large hand across his face as Pam bowled a spare and headed to the tall counter for a drink of her Coke while Jim lofted a ball straight into the gutter.
She was mid sip, leaning against the counter, when he turned around and let his head hang back, lifting his face towards the ceiling, and she promptly spit her drink out in laughter, Coke spilling down the front of her shirt.
"It's not funny," Jim responded. "I don't know why you're laughing."
He shook his head, palming his forehead as he took a long swig of his own drink.
Despite the fact that she was laughing at his own misfortune, Jim couldn't help but notice how gorgeous she looked with her mouth wide in laughter, her eyes bright, her curls shining under the terrible lighting. He smiled in spite of himself, allowing the embarrassing flood to disappear as he knocked back the last of the pitcher.
"I'll be right back," she said, her words still tailed with chuckles. "I'm going to go blot this out."
She gestured to her shirt and he nodded, grabbing a slice of pizza as he watched her climb the two steps up to the carpeted area. Before she could get past the counter, she turned to eye him over her shoulder once more.
"Don't cause too much trouble while I'm gone, dainty fingers."
He choked on his pizza when she winked, her hips swaying as she disappeared behind the swinging bathroom door.
The blood in his body pulsed, some strange combination of her smile, her wink, her taunting, her ass swaying as he watched her bowl all afternoon.
Without a passing thought, he followed her.
She was standing in front of the dull mirror, using a wad of paper towels to blot out the front of her v-neck shirt. When the door slid shut and the lock clicked, she looked up, seeing his stare in the mirror. The intensity in his eyes froze her motions, her hands poised in mid-air.
She smirked, a cheshire smile winding its way onto her lips as she began to slowly blot out the wet spots again, only communicating with him through the mirror.
"Excuse me, dainty fingers, but this is the ladies' room." Her voice, a controlled sultry tone, was supposed to give her the upper hand, the one she'd had all afternoon. But what she hadn't expected was the quick movements of his long limbs, the short distance closed in no time at all.
His hands quickly came to spread one across her abdomen and one at her hip, pulling her flush against him.
She gasped, almost silently, as she felt him incredibly hard already against the small of her back, the paper towels falling to the floor without so much as a sound.
Their eyes locked in the mirror, and she watched as he bent to trace his nose along the shell of her ear, the air from his nostrils hot on her skin.
"I don't know, Pam."
When he spoke, his voice wrapped around her like dark chocolate. His fingers flexed on her hip, holding her in place.
"The last time you made a comment about my dainty fingers, it was to ask me to put them inside you."
His words were a whisper to anyone else, but her eardrums were on fire, her skin burning as the fingers splayed across her stomach pulsed, leaving imprints in her skin through her t-shirt.
"Just last night, if I recall," he continued, his lips behind her ear, barely puckering against her skin as his fingers stretched wider now, his longest one skimming the waistband of her jeans.
"Do you remember that?"
His finger nudged under the waistband then, the other hand stilling her hips as she tried to push herself against him.
"I had my lips between your legs, and you grabbed my hand and said, Put your fingers in me Jim."
Her eyes closed, her head falling back to thud against his chest as a wash of memories overcame her, hearing her own words on his lips pooling moisture between her legs.
Her breath quickened when his lips touched her neck, sucking so lightly that she had to focus her eyes on the mirror; he closed his and moved his mouth from her ear to her shoulder and back up again.
All the while, his fingers continued to budge past the waistband of her jeans.
"I'm just curious; were they dainty then? Because, if I recall, you didn't seem to be complaining."
His thumb unhooked the snap of her jeans, and he immediately shoved his first three fingers below the waistband of her underwear, rubbing softly over the bare mound of skin that he found.
"In fact," he continued, the hand on her hip holding her more tightly to his body, "I'm pretty sure most of the words you were saying were undeniably filthy."
When the tip of his middle finger began rubbing slow, insistent circles over her clit, she reached up behind her to hold onto his neck, doing her best to climb inside his body.
"So, genuinely, I'm just a little concerned."
She sighed in protest when his middle finger dipped lower, the pressure on her clit disappearing, but her breath hitched again when he was painting up and down her slit.
"Am I not pleasing you, Pam?"
His first two fingers spread against her outer lips, her body begging to turn around and be absorbed by him, the teasing a delicious nightmare as she writhed against his front.
"Because if I'm doing something you don't like, I have to know."
She didn't know where to look. His eyes were a hypnotic black hole. His fingers were moving underneath her clothes at a tantalizing pace.
"You have to tell me so that I can fix it."
She used the grip that she had on his neck to pull herself up, needing to feel him moving against her, to bury her body into his.
They locked eyes, his fingers still teasing out and around her, one hand still holding her in place, stopping her from the desired friction. When he placed his lips against her pulse and sucked less than gently, she leapt up on her toes, and let a high moan escape the confines of her throat, and finally, he dove in.
His long fingers entered her, so slick already, and began to move slowly, pulling all the way out before plunging back inside.
He turned his head, sighing himself as he pressed his lips to her ear, continuing to drive his fingers inside her as she sighed and squeaked. Still hard against her back, he held her even more tightly to his body, grinding against her as he curled his fingers wetly inside of her.
"Is that good, baby?" he breathed.
He watched her in the mirror, nodding with her eyes closed, her brows pinched in pleasure as she twisted against him. He swept his thumb up and towards her clit, feeling her body push against him.
"God, oh," she moaned, gripping the sink in front of her as she continued to writhe on his fingers.
He quickened his pace, watching the blush in her face turn a deeper shade, transitioning from pink to red with the addition of a third finger.
"Jim," she whined, moving her hand from her neck to his forearm, her nails biting into his skin.
"Good?" His voice was like gravel in her ears.
"Ahh," was her response, high pitched as she did her best to meet him thrust for thrust.
He smirked, his lips quirking in the mirror for only a moment before his expression set in concentration.
Nudging her cheek with his nose, he kissed her cheek softly before mumbling, "Open your eyes."
When she obliged, her gaze was hazy and dazed, searching for reason as she fought to keep up.
"Watch. Watch yourself come," he commanded, his words low, his fingers slowing until her eyes locked onto the mirror before he quickened his pace to a footrace, driving his thumb against her clit until she was shuddering against him.
As she came down, her hands fell limply to the sink, her chest heaving with labored breaths as he pulled his slick fingers from her. He reached in front of her, his arms wrapped around her body as he pumped soap onto his hands and washed, his stare stuck on her reflection as the color in her skin faded again to a dull pink. After he dried his hands, he wrapped himself around her in a bear hug, resting his chin on her shoulder and smiling as she picked her eyes up to meet his gaze in the mirror.
He kissed her cheek, eyes not wavering as he watched her body doing its best to find its center again. As soon as her lips turned up in a lazy smile, he had her facing him, their noses touching, his still hard cock pressing insistently against her. Her moan was a whisper that bounced off his lips, and he had to bite his own to keep from undressing her in the bathroom of their local bowling alley.
"So, Beesly. Dainty?" He flexed his hands around her waist, his own hooded eyes seeking answers.
"Mmm. No. Nope. Definitely not," she managed, her hands limp against his chest.
He bent to kiss her softly, a slow touch of lips, before bending to her ear and whispering, "I'm going to need a minute to, uh, calm down. Why don't you head out of here first?" and propping his body against the wall next to the sink.
What the cameras caught that Valentine's Day was Phyllis and Bob sneaking away for a lunchtime quickie.
What they didn't quite catch was the prodding of You just have little dainty fingers, and the car ride home that had her eyes pinched shut while he kept one hand on the wheel and the other buried in her skirt.
Ryan Howard was no idiot.
Sure, he had been sent to prison on a not-so-legal business ideal.
But he was no idiot.
When Jim followed Pam into the bathroom that day, he looked like he was on a mission.
Ten minutes later, Pam emerged looking thoroughly flushed, and Jim followed behind with a big ole smirk on that stupid face of his.
After they were gone, having left their balls in the ball return like a pair of real assholes, and he was sent to pick up after them as Head Shoe Bitch.
He couldn't help but notice that Jim's ball had a funky smell to it.