For each of us, there is that one special lover who stands out from all of the others in our past, no matter how many lovers one has taken in their lifetime.
Linda Shaw was that lover.
This is my tribute to Linda, commemorating her beauty, and the lasting memory.
Enjoy as I share this story with you. I'm most confident that you shall.
*****
"God, how I love this cock!"
Those were the memorable words that served as my wake-up call on this frigid winter pre-dawn. As my eyes blinked open in sleepy adjustment, my cock began to stir in tandem as I realized an even more pleasurable tactile sensor several feet southward of my fuzzy head. Linda Shaw's beautiful face was nestled between my legs, a happy smile, full of mischief and lust, visible through her thick puffy lips.
One of those lips, the lower one, was curled around my expeditiously thickening shaft, holding it determinedly in place for the oral assault that Linda was performing on my cockhead with her upper lip and long, snaking tongue. Licking, sucking, slurping, teasing, kissing, as if she were patiently trying to devour a rapidly melting ice cream cone with her own patented technique. Slow and sensual, that was Linda's preferred pace for lovemaking. It was enticingly enchanting, and inevitably culminating in explosive, torturously pent-up climaxes. The combination of the pastel hues of her bright pink tongue and my engorged purple head brought to mind a tutti-fruity flavored cone, disappearing in and out of Linda's mouth as she moaned tiny, indiscernible exhortations of glee.
Thin strands of saliva were now silhouetted in the dim light of the bedroom as Linda released her head back a few inches to admire her handiwork. She stroked my cock lovingly as I reached down to caress her soft cheek as an expression of gratitude for her uniquely thoughtful method of awakening. My cock twitched in her grip, arching in appreciative salute, and I took a second to absorb the erotic beauty of the sight in front of me as Linda purred huskily, "Do you know how much I love giving you head, John? How much I crave this cock in every hole of mine?"
I didn't know if it was a pop quiz or a trick question, so I furrowed my brow in pensive contemplation, grasping a handful of her silky, raven hair in one of my palms and lifting her chin with the other hand so that I could see her face more clearly.
Quite succinctly, Linda Shaw was the most stunning woman I had ever had the pleasure of calling my lover. Without the slightest pretense of hyperbole, Linda was a dead-ringer for the porn star Tera Patrick. In fact, it might be even more accurate to say that Tera was a dead-ringer for Linda, such was Linda's beauty. Tall, five-nine, with jet black hair cascading down to the curve of her sensational ass. She was the beneficiary of exotic facial features from her Irish-Welsh father, the magnate and patriarch of Shaw's Department Stores, and her Persian mother. Linda had gently slanted bedroom eyes that smoldered in the semi-darkness of the bedroom, and a singularly spectacular, curvy body with olive skin that glowed, essentially radiating bronze sparks as she indulged in our simmering intimate activities.
Several years ago, she had abandoned her career as a high-fashion model in New York for the purpose of being honed as the management successor in her father's chain of very successful department stores in the Mid-Atlantic. I was a store manager, and for now, she was assigned to my store as a merchandise manager under the auspices of learning every aspect of the business. A few months back, though (in fact, it was at the close of business on Black Friday, the busiest shopping day of the year) we surreptitiously became torrid lovers. I had since enjoyed her beauty, mind-boggling body and enthusiastic and boundlessly creative sexual appetite five days a week, four or five times a night, to the complete bliss and ignorance of our fellow colleagues. Complete professionals by day, then ripped each other clothes off, sometimes literally, the moment we arrived home.
But, wait. Only five days per week, you ask? How can that be? Weekends off, maybe?
Exactly, regretfully so. You see, Linda was engaged to be married in the upcoming Spring to her childhood sweetheart, who just happened to be the son of her father's best friend. It was the closest thing to an arranged marriage you can imagine in today's society. Linda's domineering father made it clear that any aspirations that Linda harbored of becoming the youngest female CEO of a major department store would be dashed were she not to marry within her same social caste. Me, a lowly store manager, well, I just simply wouldn't do. No, no, no.
I had actually known Linda since college, though everyone assumed in those days that she was out of reach for anyone. Her fiancee, Timothy Harrelson, was a former All-American lacrosse player at our alma mater, the University of Delaware, and the son of a high-ranking Navy admiral, assigned to the Pentagon. Through his father's influence, Tim Harrelson worked as a lucratively compensated lobbyist for the defense industry, and spent his weekdays on Capitol Hill. He returned home via Amtrak either very late on Fridays or early on Saturdays, and traveled back to Washington every Monday morning. It was during that interim period each week that I would pump Linda's mouth, pussy, and ass full of my cock and seed about, oh, twenty or so times each week, for hours upon hours, night after night, in marathon, passionate, illicit, clandestine carnal sessions.
As such, I decided that I would worry about tomorrow tomorrow, if at all. Why fret about my future with Linda under circumstances that were beyond my control, especially when I was enjoying the most insatiably delicious sex of my life? It reminded me of a quote by Mickey Rivers, the former Yankees center fielder, when asked if he was worried about the Red Sox making one of their late-season charges towards the Yankees' tenuous hold of first place.
Mickey, in his eloquent wisdom, contemplated the perilous situation, and replied pensively, "If you got control over somethin', ain't no sense worryin'. And if you ain't got control over something, ain't no sense worryin'. So, ain't no sense worryin'." The Yankees went onto win the World Series that year, by the way. No worries.
Words to live by. Much like, "God, I love this cock." Now, where were we? Oh, yes.......
Linda's head ducked beneath my legs so that only the top of her head was now visible from my vantage point. I released the grip on her skull, propped my arms back under my own head, and felt the gentle suckling of Linda's warm, talented mouth on my heavy testicles, taking first one, and then the other, between her lips, those impossibly soft, plump lips. Her slender fingers began to glide up and down rhythmically along my shaft as I reveled in the view of her manicured nails tenderly scratching along the veins of my cock. I let out a gasp of pleasure as Linda's tongue began to slide down into the incredibly sensitive area at the base of my pubic bone, right on the perineum.
I moaned my encouragement as Linda's administrations brought my dick to heretofore uncharted length and thickness, the blood rushing through my genitals in furious waves as she stroked my shaft vigorously with one hand while cupping her palm flat against my pubic bone with the other, her tongue flicking back and forth between my scrotum and my anus, until she snaked her tongue into my asshole and began to, oh so lightly, tongue-fuck my asshole while alternating licking around my anal rim.
My dick felt as if it had been infused with titanium. My hands gripped the bed sheets in a death-hold. The more I writhed and bucked helplessly on the bed, the more my hips involuntarily rose, and Linda eased the tip of her pinkie into my sphincter while tightening the grip and quickening the pace of her exquisite handjob, eating my ass while bringing my dick to mammoth proportions, taking me to the absolute edge of desirous insanity. Then, just as suddenly, she lifted her beautiful face from her perch between my asscheeks, looked up at me with a sly cat-that-ate-the-asshole grin, and placed her perfectly soft yet firm ample breasts around my throbbing cock.
I looked down at her as she tit-fucked me, smiling in an almost sheepish way at her display of wanton salad-tossing sluttiness, and wagged a finger at her as perspiration dripped down my forehead. My hips still heaved up and down involuntarily. "Now, that," I grunted appreciatively. "That was quite interesting."
She giggled as her big, soft tits encircled my dick. I reached down and rubbed her breasts around and over my cock, and gave her the equivalent of rousing applause as I playfully clapped on her tits. "It's a good thing you stopped when you did lest my cum might have blown a hole in your mouth, fair maiden. Jeezus........." I was on the verge of hyperventilating.
She climbed up on her knees and shook her beautiful mane, which had fallen onto her breasts and covered her long, lean torso. She reached once again for my dick and held it at a ninety-degree angle from my body as she positioned her frame on top of me, preparing to mount. "Just thought it was high time to reciprocate for the lovely ass-lickings that you always give to me." She licked her lips and grinned, smacking them together. "Mmm, tastes like chicken, who knew?"
Linda laughed at her own culinary comparison and then paused to watch her own hand caress my ever-lengthening cock, which still was on the verge of detonation. Linda was experlty controlling the trigger device with her usual devious teasing.
