Charlene was a happy woman. Dating a man who adored her, secure in her job, and still looking good in her forties. What else could she want?
Deep down, she knew that there was something missing. There was a longing, a craving that she couldn't put her finger on. She wasn't sure what it was...or what it meant. But it woke her up at night. She'd find herself staring at the ceiling, resisting the thoughts that entered her mind and wondering what it all meant. Finally, she would break down and masturbate--giving those cravings a voice...a room to grow inside her head--in an attempt to make herself tired enough to finally get sleep, to push those thoughts down and out of her head.
She and Peter would cook together, watch old comedies, and joke around. The relationship was great. The friendship was great. The sex was great. She loved that he doted on her and didn't act like most men she'd been with. Her release was most important to him. He'd tease and finger her, lick her pussy, and suck on her clit until she'd cum and cum again. He loved to watch her face when she exploded.
Other men had taken much different pleasures from her body. Her past had been filled with rude men, ones who would push her to her knees and expect to have their cocks sucked. She rarely obliged them, but she never liked it. It wasn't her choice; it was something that they had demanded and taken through intimidation, their size, their commands, or simply through the threat that a single mother couldn't be choosy about who she dated. But she hated every second of it. They were oafs, men of little imagination, and less respect.
Peter had been different from the beginning. He'd never asked for it; in fact, he'd stated that it wasn't "his thing" and left it at that. So she'd been relieved to learn that there would be no more clumsy but strong hands on her shoulders pushing her down, no morning demands of "suck my cock, Babe" as she was awakened by a semi flaccid penis being pushed between her lips as a wake up call. Instead Peter would wake her up by gently spreading her legs and licking her to two or three sleepy orgasms that would finally awake her fully until she would sit up, breathing heavily, and holding his head between her legs as she came again.
Peter pleased her in so many ways...but left that little itch un-scratched. And she'd tried--oh how she'd tried--to tell him about this other side of her. The side that wanted to serve. The side that craved being submissive in every way. The side that desperately wanted for someone to overcome her reticence for the rough and crude acts she'd been "forced" to do by others...and make her WANT to do them. To kneel. To be commanded. To be spanked. To be forced to cum on command. To worship his cock. To be taken roughly in the time and place of his choosing.
But was it Peter that she saw in her fantasies when she thought about these things? This bothered her. She thought it was him, but she also knew that he couldn't do it. He revered Charlene and placed her on a pedestal. Reddening her bottom was beyond the pale for him.
"My brother is coming" he'd mentioned off handedly while they were lying in bed one morning. She'd just had a series of small orgasms provided by his skilled tongue, his fingers, and finally, in the missionary position, his cock. Spent but wanting more, she was barely paying attention when he'd said it. It took a couple of minutes to process and finally she said, "A brother? What?"
"My twin. Richard's an asshole. I'm sorry, but I couldn't put him off. He won't be here long." She was alarmed by the pronouncement of his twin being an asshole, but didn't think more of it since she was still enjoying some lovely after effects of her orgasms.
Two weeks later, a cocksure, arrogant, and slightly intimidating Richard came into their lives. He was planning on staying for a week. He was in the spare bedroom if he was there, but he usually was gone. Dressed in black suits with red ties--like it was his uniform--he would appear perfectly coiffed and disappear for the night to return in the early morning hours. The few times he did hang around in the "common" areas of the house, he looked at her with a malevolence that frightened her. She was intimidated by his attitude. He seemed to know things. Things that he shouldn't know about her. She knew Peter would never tell him about their lives, about her. But Richard had an insight...a knowing to him. She felt like he was always looking through her and reading her most intimate thoughts. It scared her.
He spoke to her all the time. A slow, reassuring tone that did nothing to threaten her outwardly; the threat she felt was internal. He was polite, helpful, and even friendly, but in his words she felt a knowledge that he wanted her...that he would have her. An advance never came; he remained aloof. But her feelings pushed her to continually think of ways to keep the defenses up.
She hated him immediately.
He acted like he didn't care at all. This drove her dislike of him to new levels. He didn't deserve a woman like her. She almost wished he'd make a move so she could shoot him down.
Wait! Why was she thinking this way? How on earth had he gotten into her head so far that she was actually thinking about him touching her, despite the fact that her outward desire was to humiliate him by saying no? She had to admit that there was a feeling in her that made her keep thinking about the possibilities of time spent alone with him. It made her angry to think about it; she didn't want him in her head that way. She blushed visibly when she realized that not only was her mind telling her that she would have to fight harder to resist him, but that her body was also betraying her. She was feeling the effects of the attraction she secretly held for him. Her nipples strained against her blouse, her skin got goose pimples, and she felt herself moisten.
Late that night, Peter brought wine home. They'd finished two bottles and started on a third when the festivities had moved to the bedroom. Peter had slowly stripped her of her clothes. She'd found herself standing in nothing but her sexiest heels in front of the closet's full length mirror. Peter had caressed her breasts, kissed his way down her belly, and knelt in front of her while licking her. She'd never experienced this before. She felt like a goddess being worshiped by a subject on his knees. Her legs spread, she squatted on shaking knees just enough to put her sex closer to his awkwardly positioned head as he'd lapped at her pussy. The orgasm built in her until she dripped with her pleasure. Like a good lover, Peter lapped at her, catching every drop of her sweet nectar. He'd wrapped his arms around her upper legs and buttocks to steady her while he'd buried his face in her clenching pussy.
A finger intruded between her pussy lips. Working, pushing, and twisting, it found her g-spot and she exploded again. He held her up; there was no way he would let her fall. A beautiful, sweat slicked, orgasm-producing goddess stood in the spacious bedroom and exacted her tribute from a man who wanted nothing but the most he could get from her body. When her breathing calmed, she found that he was already on the bed, resting, satisfied that he had done wonderful things for her. She couldn't put a finger on it, but there was something melancholy in all this joy. Something was still missing from all this bliss.
She lay in the bed, awake for a little while, and must have drifted off to sleep. Some time later--she didn't know when--she awoke in a still house with his quiet breathing the only sound. She was thirsty, so she got up from the bed, still naked except for the heels which she noticed with amusement were still strapped to her pretty feet. The sexy shoes clicked on the hardwood floors, echoing through the quiet home.
The glow from the refrigerator bathed her body in a cool white light as she stood in front of the machine, peering into it. A bottle of water opened and was held to her lips. She drank deeply of the cool liquid and was about to return to the bedroom when she started. A strange noise frightened her and she turned quickly to see him standing in the kitchen behind her. The smile on his lips was one of amusement and interest. She'd forgotten that she was naked and he simply stood and enjoyed the view. She made no move to cover up; after all, he'd spent a half hour pleasuring her this very night. Why be modest?
"Very sexy, Kitten," he'd intoned when he finally spoke, "I'd love some of that." She could tell that he was in a naughty mood from the way he said it. If he was ready for more, then so was she.
"And how do you want it, Sir?"
"Ahhh, 'Sir' now is it? That's a good girl. I'm glad you're learning some respect for a man." He grinned wickedly in the low light, and moved towards her.
