Almost always for these sessions there is music, food and drink. Tonight it begins with a Rachmaninoff piano concerto, and Champagne and soft strawberries, about two days past ripe. Squishy.
We set up by the fireplace, on a beanbag built for two. The strawberries are in a bowl, bathing in Champagne. Champagne flutes sit next to us, each with one strawberry. She sits between my legs, spoon-style, her back against my chest. There is a large mirror on the ceiling. We can watch. We lean back. She begins with a sip of champagne, and then slowly strokes her breasts, her nipples, her tummy, her legs. Her hands find the golden triangle, and she begins to moisten. I reach around her and gently stroke her breasts, making slow circles, and occasionally brushing her nipples, now beginning to stand out. I take two strawberries from the bowl and repeat the circles, adding pressure as I do, the berries changing the tactile sensation. Soon they begin to break up, leaving traces of the sweet red flesh on her sweet pink flesh. I will clean them up later with my mouth. Small sounds escape her lips and her breathing quickens.
My palms, damp with wine and berry, gently caress her sides, her abdomen, her belly. I keep up my end of the effort even as her sighs become moans and her breathing comes faster. Her fingers work in concert, and head to toe she sways to the music. She is breathing faster now. As her orgasm approaches, I become secondary to the effort, but still I whisper sweetness in her ears.
"You are so beautiful, " I tell her.
"God, you turn me on when you are coming, " I tell her.
"I can feel your heart, " I tell her.
Her moans are loud now; her breath is fast and faster. Her left hand reaches up and behind her and she grabs the back of my head, pulling it close to her ear.
"Bite my earlobe!" She commands. "HARDER!" Louder.
Suddenly her whole body shudders. She pulls hard on my head and turns her face to mine. She kisses me hard. She bites my lower lip, hard. I can feel her whole body trembling. It seems like forever. Then, just as suddenly, she relaxes. She sighs deeply, contentedly. She lets go of my head. She turns halfway around to me, takes my face in her hands and kisses me deeply, then gently. A short deep breath, and she goes slack.
She rests a minute or two and catches her breath. Another sip of Champagne. I take one. I take another. Then she turns over and kisses my nipples. That's my switch. I gently hold the back of her head, letting her know I want her to continue. My erection is pressing against her breasts. She presses them together around my hard member, eases up, and presses again, undulating up and down as she does, all the while alternately kissing, licking and biting my nipples. I moan quietly; I can feel my temperature rise, my breath begin to shorten, and the muscles in my legs begin to tighten.
She senses it too, and eases up. I tighten my sphincter muscle hard and count to ten; she rings the head of my penis with her thumb and forefinger and counts along. Stopping my orgasm once allows me to go on, allows me to relax as she now takes the head—just the head—of my cock between her lips. She laps circles around the head while her hand encircles the base just above my balls and squeezes, hard.
She moves down slowly to my scrotum, taking my balls gently into her mouth while gently stroking the length of my erect shaft. I'm beginning to lose it. She can tell. She moves back up to the tip of my cock, licks it lightly, then harder, wetter. She takes a strawberry, bites into it, chews it a little, then takes me fully into her mouth. What a sensation. It's a different feeling with the mashed-up berry in her mouth. The pressures are different; the sensations are incredible. She reaches up to my right nipple, finds it and squeezes.
All this is too much, and I completely lose myself in a jolting orgasm. She doesn't miss a beat. She sucks my hot milk, sucks it dry. I spasm and spasm, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve times, each time the contraction seems slower and harder, until there is nothing left. My thighs finally relax, and so does she. She kisses the underside of my shaft, from the scrotum to the tip, licks it once more, and comes to me to give me a deep, soulful kiss. I can taste myself and the strawberry. This kiss is the longest, deepest one yet. It communicates. So does she. She whispers to me, tells me that she loves me. I can tell. She tells me that she can feel me loving her back. She's right. We pour more Champagne. We sip. We talk. We embrace. We're just getting started.
A little while—a full glass of Champagne—later, she tells me she's ready for more. She turns around and places herself in position for mutual oral stimulation—sixty-nine, and she positions herself on top. I love this. I can't get fully hard, having just come so completely, but she does get a rise out of me, enough so that she has something to work with while I raise my head to her pink nether-lips. She lowers her hips to meet my tongue. At her request, I go slowly, and trace little circles around her vulva, licking the outer lips, the insides of her thighs, and occasionally penetrating the outer flesh to moisten her inner lips. Slowly her hips begin to rotate as the feelings inside her intensify. I quicken the pace of the tongue circles, and begin to glance against the little bead at the top of her vagina. It rolls around softly as my tongue traces small circles. She is now getting wet, and her secretions and my saliva create a delicious chemistry that starts her moaning again. As her hips begin to rotate faster, I take hold of her buttocks and pull her down to my mouth.
"Wait, " she says, "Turn over."
We roll over, never completely disengaging, but her mouth loses its grip on my semi-erect cock. She takes it in her hands to try to reestablish her hold, but I stop her.
"No, " I say. "Let me take over now."
I swing my hips around, slide down, and approach her with my torso between her knees. A few licks of her inner thighs to re-establish a rhythm, and then my tongue finds her sweet little button—a tiny marble floating in oil—again. This time, while I trace those gentle circles, I insert my thumb into her vagina, pressing my thumbnail against the front wall. She flinches, then says, "Again. Do it again." My tongue and my thumb work together to create a combination of sensations I know she loves. My thumb works up and down, against the top wall, then against the bottom.
"Deeper. Please. Deeper, " she says. "Give me your middle finger the other place."
