After dinner, he sat at one end of the sofa, simply watching MSNBC while slowly enjoying a beer. For a Friday evening, we were both fairly calm and quiet, both of us looking forward to a weekend alone, a weekend without work, a weekend to simply indulge in each other.
The dinner cleanup complete, I decided to start the official weekend a little early. I joined him on the sofa, but instead of sitting beside him, I instead stretched out, my head in his lap, looking up at him and caressing his cheek. He glanced down at me, smiling as he gently squeezed a breast, then simply rested his hand there, molding his hand to one of his favorite curves of my body. But after a few minutes, however, I needed to be more active.
Slowly, I turned over, feeling his eyes upon me, sensing his wonderment of what I was about to do. Slowly, I unzipped his slacks, and a moment later I had fished out his penis, the portion of his anatomy which so often consumes my every thought and causes me to salivate like Pavlov's dog whenever I see it. I looked up at him shyly, flashing him my best "innocent little girl" expression, knowing that at that very moment, I looked anything but "innocent" with my face just mere inches from his crotch, from his exposed manhood.
He simply placed a hand on my head - not guiding me, just petting me, as if I were a puppy. I whimpered, looking directly at the slowly-growing treat before me, exhaling my warm breath onto him, smiling at his soft contented sigh. I gave the tip a tentative lick, as if tasting a lollipop for the very first time. Gently, I scratched with a fingernail, enticing my treat to grow, solidify, lengthen, tempt.
"You have a way with me that no one else ever has," he said softly, the jazz music of a commercial playing in the background, the scent of the alcohol tumbling upon me as he spoke. The way he was petting my head was having an effect on me as well, causing my heart to swell within my chest. I continued to breathe hotly upon him, lick him slowly and gently, scratch him with delicate care and admiration, and ultimately I kissed the very tip of his extended manhood, taunting him - and also taunting myself - by moving forward so slowly with my actions as the talking heads blathered on in the background. Fortunately, the blathering suddenly ceased as he used the remote to either turn off the television or mute the annoying chatter, then set it aside to pet my head with both hands.
"You now have my full attention," he quietly assured me... as if I needed a verbal notification of that fact, even though his manhood was definitely standing at attention before my very eyes.
I kissed the tip again, my fingertips gently pressed around the root. So firm and thick and erect as a missile, I thought briefly of the first time I had enveloped my lips around the then-strange shaft. With my first boyfriends, I had never done anything sexually other than feeling each other up through our clothes. In college, I slowly discovered my sexuality, but had somewhat resisted taking my boyfriends into my mouth. But this man, soon to be my husband, had somehow managed to change my perception, had somehow managed to show me the satisfaction and the pleasure I could derive from pleasuring him while essentially denying my own pleasure.
Upon hearing another sigh tumbling down to my ears, I looked up at him. His lips were parted, his eyes closed, his head leaning back against the wall. A slight smile curled up the edges of his lips.
Closing my eyes, I fully engulfed him, rapidly, plunging my mouth around his tall erection, surrounding him, sheathing him, and he groaned aloud at my sudden, unexpected act, his fingertips curling roughly against my scalp. I laughed around him, and his groan lengthened and intensified as it penetrated my ears, my soul.
