Paula the Perfect Pear

I woke and realized immediately that I had overslept.

The clock said 7:42 and I like to be at work by 8:00.

As I rolled out of bed his hand caught me by the upper arm and pulled me back.

"Baby," I said, giggling a little, "I've gotta go."

"No you don't," he said, his grip strong. "Call in."

"Oh David, I can't do that," I said.

"Why not?" he asked.

And in all honesty, I couldn't think of a single reason. I had been working at the same place for 13 years, was the Director of Research and Special Projects, and I figured I probably had something like 200 sick days accumulated.

So I called in.

It was hard to concentrate since his hands were playing with my boobs as I made the call, leaving a message, lying about my imagined sickness.

When I turned to face him he was grinning broadly.

"Good girl," he said, and the way he said it got to me. As I said earlier I'm, well, let's just say 40-something. I literally could not remember the last time I was called "girl."

"Okay," I said, answering his grin with one of my own, "now what."

He was strong and understood the leverage as he quickly rolled me back onto the bed.

"We," he said, giving me a quick kiss, "are going to take inventory."

The question must have shown on my face and he laughed softly.

"For instance," he said, his forefinger pressing my nipple into my breast, "what do you call this?"

"ummmm, my nipple?" I said, the question mark in my voice.

"mmhmmmm," he hummed, "and when it gets hard like this," and he was playing with it, rolling it between his forefinger and thumb and I could feel it tighten to an almost painful hardness.

I giggled.

"Well," he said, giving it a pinch hard enough to draw a little yelp.

"I really don't have a different name then," I said quickly.

"And this," as he traced my areola.

"Just my areola," I said, feeling it tighten and the love bumps grow.

"These?" lightly touching those bumps.

"Love bumps," with a little blush.

"This?" his hand was light on my breast.

"My boobs or my breasts, sometimes my tits," I said, "not enough to qualify as hooters or jugs or headlights or fun bags," and I was giggling.

"mmhmmmm," he hummed, lightly caressing them, "they are smallish, but we can take care of that." He started massaging my breasts, his fingers gentle at first, but pushing harder, getting to the glands, and harder, making me groan, but bringing an electric charge that ran from my nipples directly to my clitoris and then inside, deep, where a sudden need awakened. He worked on my breasts like that for a full minute, making me squirm and groan with the combination of pleasure and pain he was delivering.

"And this," his finger was tickling my navel.

"My belly button," I said as I squirmed a little.

"And this," his fingers playing with the thick mat of my pubic hair.

"Oh God David," I said, blushing furiously now.

"And this," he repeated, tugging hard enough on a patch of that hair to make me grunt.

"Oh God, my bush, my muff, my beaver," I giggled, "my pelt."

He laughed a little at that.

"It IS that," he said, tugging at that little patch again.

His fingers moved a little lower, gently probing and finding my clitoris, drawing a little gasp.

"This?" he said, watching my face.

I blushed again.

"My button," I said.

"hmmmmm," he hummed, gently pressing, "it is a hard little button, isn't it."

I couldn't help parting my legs a little more for him.

"Yesssssssssss," I hissed.

His fingers went a little lower, finding my labia and gently caressing.

"And this?" he said.

I giggled. "My pussy," I said.

"Only that?" he asked.

"Well, sometimes my cunt or my twat," I said.

"And this," and now he was tugging on my labia.

"My lips," I said with a little moan.

Suddenly he slapped my hip hard enough to sting.

"Roll over," he said.

I did as he asked. God, I was so aware of the size of my ass right then.

And, of course, he started lightly caressing it.

"And this," he asked in that same soft voice.

"My broad beam," I said with a giggle.

And then I yelped as he slapped it, hard.

"STOP putting yourself down," he said, and I heard real anger in his voice.

"My ass," I said, "my butt, my bubble butt. You asked, I answered. My broad beam."

He was caressing my ass then, palms light as he did so.

"Your beautiful ass," he said very softly.

He moved around, so that his knees were between mine, forcing my legs apart a little.

And then his hands were on my cheeks, spreading them, exposing that most private, sensitive spot.

I shivered as the air touched me there.

I could feel the bed shift as he moved and then his lips brushing my cheeks, deep in the crack. I clenched my butt muscles automatically at that sensation and he gently, but very firmly, spread them again.

"And this," he said as his tongue lightly traced my anus.

"Oh God baby," I whispered, my fingers hooking into claws and digging into the pillow, "I don't call it anything. My asshole? My butthole? I really don't."

His tongue was driving me absolutely mad. I had never imagined a sensation like this and I was afraid to relax. I mean, his nose was right THERE.

He chuckled softly as he released me and then crawled up beside me again.

"You're beautiful," he said and kissed me.

And there it was again, the need, that absolute compulsion to have him, right then.

His kisses were firm and his tongue was busy exploring my lips and my mouth, meeting my own tongue.

When I tried to move my hips, to take him inside of me he chuckled softly and pulled away just a little, making the angle impossible for me.

"Honeyyyyyy," I moaned.

"Oh no Paula," he said very softly. "First you need to learn your first lesson in being truly female."

That stopped me.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

He propped himself up onto his elbow so that he could look down at me slightly.

"I think, no, I believe," he said, "that to be truly female, to be utterly feminine, a woman needs to surrender to a man."

That primal urge deep in my belly was a little quieter right then, allowing me to think.

"What do you mean?" I asked. "Are you into some sort of kinky Dom/sub thing?"

That got a soft laugh from him.

"Not in the sense that you mean Paula," he said, "with collars and that sort of nonsense."

"But think about it," he went on. "When we were still climbing out of the trees. There's not much more helpless than a female eight months pregnant, or for the next five years needing to protect a pretty much helpless infant."

I started to respond but he put his finger to my lips.

"Hear me out," he said.

"So if there were females who thought that they could handle things without a male around, well, they became leopard lunch pretty quickly and that strain was flushed from the gene pool."

Again I started to speak but he shushed me.

"Hear me out," he said, a little iron in his voice this time.

"So, females who would do whatever it took to keep a male around were the survivors. They were fittest."

"Now," he went on before I could say anything, "I understand all of the arguments. How modern women don't have to worry about a man bringing home the kill. How, hell, you don't even need a man to get pregnant anymore. But, and here's the important thing, down on the genetic level, almost the cellular level, way down in the brain where that monkey still worries about the leopard on the ground, at that most basic level, to be truly female you need to surrender."

"You're serious," I asked.

"Oh Paula," he said, "I am absolutely serious. But here's the thing, it's not about some, as you say, Dom/sub thing. It's helping you to find true happiness, real pleasure, to be a real woman in every sense of the word."

Again he put his finger to my lips when I started to respond.

"Look," he said, "you like it when I do little things, don't you? Open the door for you? Help you on with your coat? Pour the wine?"

"Yes," I said.

"Those are just vestiges," he said, his eyes very serious on mine now. "If you say no I will stop, always, no question. But if you will let me I will open a door to, well, contentment, bliss, pleasure, ecstasy, pick your adjective, that you never imagined."

I didn't say anything for quite a while, and he held me pinned with his eyes while I considered what he had said.

"I don't know," I finally managed to get out.

He smiled at that.

"Of course you don't Paula. Your generation has been raised on the 'I can have it all' philosophy. But the thing is, you have denied your real femininity in doing that."

"I will make you a promise though, right now," he said. "If you ever say 'no' then I will accept it. I am many things Paula, but a rapist is not one of them."

"ummmmmmmmmmmm," I was stalling while I thought, "you're pretty free with slapping my ass. Is that part of it?"

He smiled.

"Yes," he said simply.

"That's it, just 'yes'," I said.

Now he chuckled a little.

"It's almost a contract Paula, between two freely consenting individuals. In the case of what I offer, the answer is yes. There will be some pain," and he chuckled, "okay, a lot of pain," he went on. "It seals your surrender," he finished, once again holding my eyes with his.

"Like, ummmm," and again I was stalling. Partly I was stalling because as he was talking he was getting to me, as he put it, at the deep level in my brain. My belly was responding and I knew I would be slick if I touched myself.

"Like, ummmmmmm," I started again, "a spanking."

"Yes," he said.

"I don't know," I whispered.

"Paula, another promise. I will not spank you until you ask me to," he said.

"Huh?" I said stupidly.

And he grinned.

"Paula, I'm going to teach you things about your body you just don't know and you'll want the ultimate in time. Or not, and if you don't, well, I'm not a rapist as I said," he said.

"Okay," I managed, "now, let's make love."

He grinned broadly at that.

"Ask nicely Paula," he said.

I didn't know how to respond to that. For my entire life, it had been men who had been the aggressors, who I had to decide whether or not to allow to go further. The thought of asking was so foreign to me that I was stumped for a moment.

"Please David," I said, looking into his eyes, "make love to me."

"Tell me what you want Paula," he said, his grin turning a little devilish.

"Oh god, please David, I want you inside of me," I said, starting to get a little desperate to fill the void in my belly.

"Be clearer sweetheart," he said.

"David," I said, feeling the desperation in my voice and kind of liking it, "put it in, put your cock into my pussy, please baby, please."

His grin spread.

"Whose pussy Paula?" he said softly.

"My pussy," I said again.

"Whose?" he repeated.

And I realized what he wanted me to say but I didn't want to say it.

"Please David, God, please," I said, a little catch in my voice.

"Please what honey," he repeated.

"Put it in, put it in," I took a deep breath, "put it in your pussy, please baby."

And he did then.

And I came, almost instantly, my legs kicking, my belly clenching, my heart racing, my nose running.

"Say it again," he said softly into my ear.

"Your pussy baby, yours, all yours," I said as I bucked under him in another crushing orgasm.

"Again," he whispered softly.

"YOUR PUSSY," I yelled, cumming again.

"Good girl," he said, meeting my rhythm with his own now.

His kisses were hard, bruising almost, as he drove into me, bringing me to wave after wave of pure ecstasy.

And I heard myself breathing "yours, all yours, your pussy, all yours, yours."

And there it was again, that gush of my ultimate release, soaking us both.

I heard my own cry, guttural, almost animal in its intensity.

But he wasn't finished.

And I was building again.

And this time we came together and I thought I would die.

Literally, die.

My heart was hammering. My breath was ragged. There were bright little haloes surrounding everything. I thought I was passing out.

And suddenly he pulled out of me with an audible little pop and a little splash.

Then he was on his feet, pulling my hand, forcing me to first sit and then stand.

"Come on Paula," he said, pulling me toward the door, "I'm starved."

I followed, almost in a daze.

I was aware of what a mess I was. Semen and my natural honey were leaking down my thighs which were sliding together. My nose still running, snot dribbling down to my breasts. My hair was untouched by a brush.

And he was right.

I felt wonderfully feminine at the same time.