Illicit lovers push their boundaries. This continues the story begun in "Paris Bound" but it is not necessary to read that story first. The current chapter can be read independently.
*****
He woke to the feel of her mouth on his cock. He was already hard. He wondered if she had awoke to find him erect and wanting her or if it was the feel of her mouth that had aroused him. He decided he didn't care. Her panties and bra lay by his head where he had dropped them when he "untied" her. Somewhere in the bed, or scattered about the floor, where the tufts of ermine he'd warmed before caressing her with them. And a pink feather, for the rest of the afternoon's activities he'd made due with fingers, ice cubes, mouth, tongue and penis.
He shifted his hips to let her know he was awake. He could feel his chest hair pull as he moved, encrusted in cum that had dried on his chest. They had hugged and kissed afterward, his chest smearing the semen over her breasts. After days of anticipation, anxiety and finally relief, it had been a prodigious outpouring.
She was taking all of him now, holding for a moment with her nose in the mat of curls above his cock, then slowly withdraw, her hand following and twisting around his shaft. The other hand cupped and tugged at his balls creating a delightful ache in his belly.
He pulled his right leg up and let it fall outward, giving her more room to work between his legs. She lay across his left hip, sitting on her heels and leaning over her legs to suck him. Holding his hips still he twisted his torso to the left, closer to his lover's body. His right hand folded the damp pillow and pushed it lower under his neck, propping his head up. His left hand caressed her ass for a moment, then wiggled its way between her legs. She moved slightly, opening herself to him. The insides of her thighs were wet, not from him; he'd slipped out of her and came all over her belly and chest. Her thighs were wet with her own excitement.
He pressed against her right leg. She didn't understand or perhaps she was worried about her rule. Her pussy she reserved for her husband's mouth. It wasn't her pussy he wanted but he stopped pushing, not wanting her to feel pressured.
She pulled her mouth from him and slide her barely parted lips down the underside of his cock. Her hand tightened on the shaft and he was treated to a soft moan as he slide two of his fingers into her pussy. She was still open from their earlier romp. He added a third and began to move his fingers in and out, spreading them as he withdrew, massaging the walls of her pussy. She began to flex her back, pressing against his hand.
Her mouth fell over his cock again, as she pulled back her tongue pressed to the underside of his shaft, milking him. He tuck his thumb in and pushed his fingers deep enough to wet it, then pulled his hand back and began to rub her bottom, mostly circling but pressing a bit as well. As he did so the hand fondling his balls clenched and he groaned.
The hand relaxed and her mouth left him.
"Sorry, did I hurt you?"
"Don't be sorry. It felt good. I don't mind." He hesitated. "You can do it a little harder. The tugging too. I'll tell if you if it is too much."
"You sure?" She sounded nervous. He was rushing. He knew that but they only had a few days.
"Uh huh, a little ache, a little pain, makes cumming more intense. I'm not into serious pain." He hesitated again, then pressed a little harder with his thumb. "What about you? This okay? Rather I not?"
"A couple hours ago I would have said 'no' but earlier didn't bother me, so okay, but slow."
"Of course baby," another pause, "you want to shift over, straddle my head? I'll keep my mouth away from your sex. I'll behave. Promise." For such a passionate woman she was reserved, formal even, when it came to talking about sex or their bodies. He had never heard her say 'pussy' or 'dick' much less 'cock'. She did not use those words so he tried to avoid them as well.
He moved his hand from her sex and pushed against the insider of her right leg once more.
"It's not you I'm worried about." She whispered but she inched closer and threw her right leg over his head.
Her glistening pussy hovered above him and he wondered if he could keep his promise. Clear liquid flowed from her labia onto the inside of her legs. He decide to concentrate on that and raised his head enough to lick along the inside of her right leg. He moved upward until his nose parted her labia and pressed against her clit. He dropped is head back to the pillow.
"Too close?" he whispered.
She didn't respond except with a shake of her head that he could not see. He took her silence as assent. He licked her other leg as she took him back into her mouth. He kissed and nipped at the inside of her legs until a fresh rivulet would make its way to his waiting tongue. He repeated the process several times. One advantage of having a few years under his belt was that he lasted much longer these days. Twenty years ago he'd have probably cum already and been back to sleep.
He stopped and enjoyed the sensations she provided. The feel of her mouth, the swirl of her tongue around the crown, the squeeze and twist of her hand, all felt glorious. All the while her other hand tugged and squeezed. She encircle his scrotum with her thumb and first finger and pulled down.
"Oh, uh huh, like that, harder, harder, a little more. Oh fuck that's it; stop there. Keep doing that once in a while baby. Perfect."
God, she was driving him insane. His mouth found her thighs. He retained enough control to remember not to leave any marks. As he licked toward her pussy he tilted his head slightly, dragging his tongue between the engorged and glistening lips and her equally glistening thigh, reaching higher until his nose passed her pussy and pressed into her ass crack.
He held himself there and wrapped one arm over her lower back, the other hand found its way back into her pussy. He decided to risk it and pulled her down with his arm, scooting upward as he did so. This put more pressure on his balls and the ache in his belly moved past "a little". He didn't care.
His mouth found her ass.
-
I had rolled away from him in my sleep. The light that filters through the sheers over the window is still bright. Dust motes dance in the light. I cannot have slept long. I experience none of the disorientation I usually feel when I wake in a hotel room .I know exactly where I am. And I knew whose leg my naked butt nestles against.
I yawn and have to stifle a giggle. The place is awash in the smell of sex.
I sit on the edge of the bed and stretch. I turn to survey the lover I see far too infrequently yet far too often. It is a paradox I have never been able to unlock; so I ignore it. He is rolled slightly toward me, one hand over his head resting atop the panties I had been tied with. When he'd started "tying" me up I was not sure I wanted to play that game. Then the feather. I hate being tickled but the feather had not tickled. Somehow it managed to tease and torment and arouse, all without tickling.
The other sensations: cold tongue, warm fur, caressing tongue, the feel of him finally filling me and the teasing thrusts before he got down to business, cascade through my mind as I watch the slow rise and fall of my sleeping lover's chest. His lips are parted and wet and I want to feel them against my own but resist the urge.
His chest hair is matted in spots. I try, and fail, to recall if there had been the smattering of grey on his chest the last time I saw him. Lower, on his belly and around his penis the hair is as dark and as thick and as curly as it had been twenty years ago.
I shake my head at the little lie I am telling myself. Twenty years ago my fingers had told me how thick and curly the hair under his jeans was but I had not seen it. I did not see him naked until years later, long after it should have been acceptable. I refuse to go over, yet again, how it had happened. It no longer matters. It had. Then it had happened again.
Now here I am, yet again. Third times the charm perhaps. I hope I will leave Paris with the part of me that lusts and craves his body sated while the rest of me retains the love, friendship and memories. The way my eyes fix on his erection makes me wonder if there is any hope of that happening.
It is hypnotizing, the way his penis bobs with each heartbeat. For the moment it seems the embodiment of his aliveness, his presence here in the world. In isolation an erect penis is a ridiculous thing. But attach it to someone you love and enfold it in desire and it becomes, if not a work of art, an object of great desire.
The hair around his penis is matted as well. That is my doing, mostly anyway. He had ejaculated on my belly and breasts, another thing that in isolation I would have turned my nose up at, but when it happened earlier it had caused my own orgasm to reach new heights. No, his semen is not inside me. It is dried on my chest and on his. The fluid that matts his pubic hair is mine. The shiny patches and the duller dried patches on his erection had been part of me as well. Looking at the imprint my body has left on my lover's starts to make me feel wet again. I can feel my nipples crinkle and harden.
I swing my legs into the bed, feet toward the head. I lean over my legs and blow on his penis. It twitches. I smile. I blow again, another twitch, another smile. I lower my head until his hair is tickling my nose. I breathe in, deeply, as if checking the bouquet of a particularly beautiful rose.
I can smell myself. I can smell my lover. His scent is, not stronger, but richer, more, well, musky. I have never paid much attention to my own scent I am glad he took the time to bathe me, especially after he'd started playing around "back there". I can't bring myself to think "around my anus". That is another thing I would never have imagined enjoying.
"Don't just sit here," I hiss to myself.
Given my current position the easiest thing to do is to take him in my mouth. I don't care that he is covered in my own drying secretions. I don't want him to get up and wash. I want him; I need him, now.
I'm curious to see how long it will take him to wake up. The answer is: not long. Once he is awake and I am less concerned about leaning on him, I start to use my hands. When he presses against my leg I know what he wants. I long to give it to him but I can't. I need to keep part of myself out of this, untainted. It is a silly rationalization, and seems ludicrous when my whole body is screaming for him to plant his mouth on my sex, but silly or not I cling to it.
With one hand I begin to stroke him as I move my mouth up and down. I love the strange combination of soft yet hard of his erection. With my other hand I began to fondle his scrotum. I had been blindfolded earlier. This was my first good look at this part of his body. His scrotum is shaved and I'm distracted for a moment wondering if that was true when last we meet.
When I feel his touch "back there" I stiffen. In my surprise I pulled, hard, on his scrotum and I hear him groan. All desire leaves me. What am I doing? I hurt him. In the span of a single breath I go from being consumed with desire for him to wanting to run from the room, embarrassed by my inexperience and incompetence. I pull away from him.
"Sorry, did I hurt you?" I whisper.
"Don't be sorry. It felt good. I don't mind."
