Paula the Perfect Pear

Chapter Six

I have lived alone for quite a few years now. Never, in all that time, have I cooked naked.

I felt exposed. I knew that if I looked out one of the windows I would see the whole neighborhood looking in at me.

I felt naughty.

And again that rush, that sensation.

I felt feminine.

As I broke the eggs to make an omelet I realized that he really had something here. When I had declared it to be "his" pussy, something had changed.

I surprised myself by catching myself humming a little as I whisked the milk into the eggs.

I felt, well, proud that he wanted to watch me.

OUCH!

Reality reared its ugly head when the bacon popped.

As I tied on the apron, the old-fashioned kind over my neck and then tied in the back, I felt even more naked than I had when I was completely nude.

There was something absolutely primal about cooking for him in nothing but the apron. I knew I was smiling like an idiot, and I didn't mind. Even as I made coffee and got in the refrigerator for orange juice I was aware of my nakedness, of his nakedness, and of that itch deep in my belly.

Breakfast was something my grandmother would have been proud of. Bacon. Eggs (sunny side up). Toast. A sliced potato fried. Orange juice. Coffee.

And again I was struck by how right he was. How completely feminine I felt, padding around in bare feet in nothing but an apron, still leaking from our earlier lovemaking, serving him his breakfast, hoping for his approval.

When he smiled and said "Good breakfast Paula," I felt a rush between my legs again.

And it was good. I'm not much of a breakfast eater, and this was filling. I realized, about three bites into it, just how ravenous I was.

We ate in silence, only the clink of silverware making any noise.

When we were done, leaning back in that well-fed relaxation period, I met his eyes again.

"Do I please you, David?" I asked and it seemed the most natural question in the world.

He smiled.

"Yes little one," he said, "you please me very much."

With that odd little endearment, "little one," I felt the rush that was starting to be familiar deep in my belly.

"Little one?" I asked.

That got a little chuckle.

"You're what," he said, "five-foot nuthin'?"

I laughed.

"I'll have you know I'm 5'4". Well, 5'6" in heels." I said with a giggle.

"Yep," he said, "little one. But it's more than that Paula. You're small in the right places," he said, with a little leer at my booblessness, drawing a blush from me.

"But," he went on when I started to respond, "big in the right places too. Now take off that apron and show me."

He didn't raise his voice but I felt compelled to do as I was told.

I stood and with a quick over-the-head pull stood naked before him again. And I liked being naked before him. Feeling his eyes on me. Making me want to please him even more.

He pushed back his chair and leaned back a little, pointing at his crotch. I was surprised to see his penis growing full again.

"Come here, Paula," he said in that same gentle but commanding voice, "on your knees, in your natural position."

I held his eyes with mine, as I complied.

When I was on my knees, my small breasts against his knees, I slowly lowered my head, still holding his gaze, until I had him in my mouth and was sucking very gently, feeling him harden against my tongue.

His hands were light, stroking, well, all right, petting me as I sucked his growing erection. And when I started to close my eyes he said "no baby, look at me."

His eyes held me as I took him deeper into my mouth, feeling his shaft starting to fill me. My tongue found the ridge of his glans and I caressed it gently, liking the way his own vision went vague for an instant before he refocused on my eyes.

Fingers in my hair were twisting now, controlling me. Not pulling and hurting, but ever so gently forcing me down, forcing him deeper into my mouth. When I started to gag he whispered "swallow hard baby, it'll be all right."

I could feel my eyes getting big as he pushed himself deeper. In self-defense, I did as he said, swallowing hard and suddenly he was in my throat and I was gagging and cumming at the same time.

When I tried to pull free his fingers twisted harder in my hair, holding me there.

I was swallowing hard now, holding him in my throat, and suddenly I felt his release directly into my throat and I came again, gasping, swallowing, and gagging all at once.

When he pulled me off of him a long string of his thick semen drooped between us before it broke, dropping a white drop onto my chest between my boobs. I could feel the tears wetting my cheeks and snot from my nose, but I kept looking up at him and I felt a rush of pure delight when he smiled down at me. When he said "good girl," again I couldn't help squirming a little.

"Do you need to cum baby," he asked.

It seemed natural to just nod my head while keeping my eyes on his.

"Okay," he said with a little grin, "go ahead and masturbate for me."

I knew this was one of those control tests, but I didn't care. My fingers went immediately between my legs, finding my clitoris, and I started masturbating. I had never tried it in this position before and it was awkward. I couldn't get any leverage. But I needed, I really needed the release, and there was something about him watching me that made me want to hurry but also to make it last.

In the end, it was a matter of leverage and simple tiredness. I was rubbing furiously and suddenly actually literally heard the spattering on the floor of my release and collapsed, my head in his lap, his cock against my cheek, as I panted my satisfaction.