Here goes nothing, or everything, depending upon how you perceive it...
"I want it. I want it now, please."
"Good girl. Very good.
He reaches for my hair, caresses gently, runs his fingers through it, grabs a handful, squeezes and jams his rock hard prick into my hot wet cunt, pulling on my hair as he fucks me. Damn! For a beginner, he's sure caught on quickly!
He's like a kid in a candy store, his hands are everywhere. Reaching around to squeeze my breasts, my shoulders, my ass, my thighs, fingering my clit clumsily, but effectively, and I begin to feel it build.
It feels as though there are ten pairs of hands on my body at once. My hair swings as he, quite simply, fucks my brains out for a full ten minutes, hard. Pounding me from behind, I hear his raspy breath and I know it's taking everything he's got to hold back his climax, but hold back he does and he lets me cum.
My legs stiffen almost to the point that they're straight out behind me at an angle, my toes gripping the Persian rug as I ram my pussy back onto his cock, quivering and spasming around it, my breath coming in short pants and animalistic grunts.
He's got hold of my hips, but in his effort to prolong his own orgasm, he lets go of one and yanks on my hair and the effect is such that it prolongs my own orgasm, offering me renewed waves of pleasure. He has to let go to grab my hips again as I grind myself onto his cock to keep his balance.
After my breathing slows a bit, he pulls out slowly, lets go and sinks to the floor, sitting with his back to the sofa. Still on my hands and knees, I crumple into a ball, drawing into myself until my forehead is resting on my knees, and my arms are curled around my legs, jerking occasionally from the aftershocks of my powerful orgasm. Staring through the crack between my knees at the Persian rug, I wonder if it's handmade, and if the dye used was natural or manufactured, anything to distract myself from the way I just behaved.
Ashamed and confused, my mind still spinning, I raise my head a bit and peek at him over my arm. He's breathing hard, sweating, trembling, watching me closely as if trying to read my thoughts and body language, and when his eyes meet mine, he smiles, eyelids heavy, cock ramrod straight.
Tentatively, I straightened so that now I'm sitting on my knees, hands flat on the floor propping myself up, looking back over my shoulder at him. I know there's more to come and I know he's pleased thus far. This is a novel sense of awareness, this sense of approval, this sense of acceptance, it feels good.
A thought pops unbidden into my head: I could help him. Wait. Help him do what? Well....help him learn to give me what I need. But what is it I need? What's wrong with me? Despite my confusion, I have a deep feeling it's something we both need, we just don't know the words yet. So, I could help him, teach him. No, he knows. He doesn't need help, I do. Christ!
Even though he was a virtual virgin until two months ago when we made love on top of his desk, he knew what to do and how to do it. He took charge. He's definitely authoritative. His instincts are right, most definitely.
I smile to myself. Need to ride this out, see where it takes us. Maybe we can learn from each other. Teach other. What exactly that would be, I don't know yet.
These jumbled thoughts swirling around in my head confuse me. I am unable to fully comprehend them. It's as if Nature has taken us and molded us to Her hand. It's as if She has intervened, allowing us to be who we are, not who society dictates we should be.
We smile at the same time as if our thoughts are intermingled and move in tandem toward each other in one fluid motion, kneeling, facing each other.
My hands reach for him and he takes each one and puts it behind my back, indicating they are to remain there. My eyes close as I feel what can only be satisfaction, anticipation, balm to my aching soul.
He puts a hand to either side of my face, looking deeply into my eyes. Slowly he slides them down the front of each shoulder to my breasts, where he places a hand under each, weighing them lightly. His fingers move to my nipples and he pinches each one, watching my eyes widen, listening to my sharp intake of breath.
He twists. Pinches harder. Rolls them between his thumbs and forefingers watching my reaction. My eyes close and I throw my head back in ecstasy as a little jolt of electricity travels from each nipple in a V straight to my pussy.
O God. I need...I need to show him. I need...something. Opening my eyes I stare at him, trying to make him understand what I don't.
His eyes harden, a flicker of fire flashes in them and he stands, giving me what I need. What we both need.
Eye level with his fully erect cock, my hands reach for it haltingly and I rest my cheek against it, preparing myself for what it is I am about to do.
I know this is a normal activity for most, but it isn't for me.
Before, when I would do this for my husband, I did it out of what I thought was love and I did it because I thought it was my duty, and every single time I hated it.
He invariably made sure that he held back for close to two hours and by the time he finished, I could hardly move my aching neck and the inside of my mouth would be scraped raw by my teeth. On more than one occasion, I would look up at him during this and he would be just lighting a cigarette, or flipping through channels on the TV with the remote...or both.
In retrospect, it was a form of obedience, yes, but there was a vile malevolent energy present always. And after, I felt unspeakably violated, akin to the lowest of the low.
Needless to say, I was apprehensive at best. Mike saw this, he SAW it somehow, and so he placed a gentle finger under my chin lifting my face to his and said. "Try. For me." And I did.
I slowly slid a single finger from the base of his cock to the tip, reveling in the velvety softness of his flesh, tracing the veins standing out on the sides. At the tip I catch a drop of precum with my finger and trace small circles over the eye with his slippery wetness. He shivers visibly and I smile at his obvious enjoyment of this simple act.
As he watches from above, I bring my finger to my mouth and lick it. It doesn't taste like my husbands, it tastes of ocean breezes and sunshine and as I suck my finger into my mouth my eyes close of their own accord while his hands slide down over my hair touching lovingly, reverently, admirably.
Next I try a small lick around the rim of the head and he inhales audibly at this, tightening his fists in my hair.
Wanting more, I stick out the tip of my tongue and lick all the way up from base to tip, then another slow firm circle around the rim of the head, grasping it with one hand. My tongue dips into the eye and tastes his spirit as he moans quietly through his teeth. "Ohhh...Godddd."
Looking up at this, I see his head is bent back, his throat working as if in silent prayer, thanking God for this. I can't believe the difference in the reactions between he and my husband. I LIKE this. I WANT to do this. Pleasing him in this way fills an empty place deep within me. It's unexplainable, it just does.
Bolder now, I inhale deeply and press my lips tightly to the head, opening bit by bit as I push my mouth onto his cock, inch by inch, my tongue flicking under the rim as it slides deeper and deeper until it hits the back of my throat. Two inches remain, and I am as yet unable to take it all in so I grip the base and tighten my fingers around the excess.
On the outtake, I suck lightly and he gasps in pleasure. His first blow job. O yes...I DO like this.
Confidence building, I take him in and out, going deeper each time, relaxing the back of my throat, sucking a little harder on each stroke. His hips are moving in rhythm with my bobbing head, his hands gripping my hair tighter and tighter. Deeper and deeper each time it goes into my mouth until there is no need to grip it with my hand so I reach around behind him and lightly scrape my nails vertically across his ass, then trace his crack with a fingertip from the top to the bottom barely touching, feeling his muscles tighten and twitch.
I want all of him. I want to taste him, feel him and hear him. I want to watch his reactions to my actions. I raise my eyes to his face and see that he's staring at me, watching my lips circle his throbbing cock. I see him swallow deeply, his Adam's apple moving up and down. I blink at him heavily and he blinks back, our only form of communication.
Following Mother Nature's silent instructions, my hands move slowly from his ass sideways, around his hips and my left hand grasps the base of his cock again while my right hand reaches under to cup his balls lightly, balancing them, rolling them over my fingers.
"Ahh...h..h..h.." He groans, gripping harder now, his hips almost twitching as if trying to behave themselves, as if trying not to ram his cock all the way down my throat.
Inside my mouth, his cock gets harder, and a bit larger. Each time I pull back, my tongue circles the rim of the swollen head, and I suck, circle and suck while pumping the shaft with my hand until he firmly places his hands on the back of my head and takes over, pumping my face. Instinctively, I relax my muscles, letting him hit the back of my throat and beyond. I gag a little and place the palms of my hands against the front of his hips and he presses harder, fucking my face with vigor, in and out and in over and over until his thigh muscles turn hard as rocks and he stiffens. His hands practically rip my hair out as he squirts once, twice, three times and more until I hear a loud "AAhhhhh..nnnnn...."
I swallow each spurt quickly and the tightening of my throat on each swallow brings forth one more squirt, until he pulls me by the hair away from his ultra sensitive cock, unable to tolerate one more lick or suck.
He takes a wobbly step back bending forward a bit as if to protect himself from more tongue lashing and I sit back on my knees, palms open and up on the tops of my thighs. my head lowered in satisfaction and regret, secretly wishing I could have sucked him longer...and the realization of this thought stuns me. I liked it. I loved it. He didn't smoke during it. He enjoyed it...the difference is amazing.
Peering up through my lashes to smile at him, he's nowhere to be seen, but a moment later, he strides into the den nude, proud, with a look of determination on his face. A goblet of Chablis in each hand, he walks to the sofa, sits each glass down on a side table and sits on the floor, back against the sofa again, crooking a finger at me, becoming.
Instead of rising and walking to him, I decadently crawl on my hands and knees slowly toward him, watching through sleepy eyes as his cock renews itself at this sight, growing larger and harder right before my eyes. He opens his legs wide and pulls me to sit between them, my back to him. He is a furnace, body heat radiating over my back, warming me, surrounding me.
Handing me a glass, we sip silently, our thoughts our own. My sense of relief and satisfaction overrides the guilt. I don't know how or why, but this was not wrong. Legally, it was. Even morally, it was. But whatever is happening here is much more profound than man-made laws. What we followed were the laws of the universe, as old as time itself and it feels damn good. It feels right. It feels like coming home.
