Petroleum Play

You hear His car pull up in the driveway. You feel the electric shock of anticipation as you watch through the bedroom window as he gets out and shuts the car door. The wait is over, it’s time for action!

You have to hide between the two windows as he walks past on his way to the front door so that he doesn’t see you. One last time you scan the room to make sure everything is in place and ready. You check yourself in the mirror one last time, then wait by the bedroom door, listening for the sound of the front door closing.

The front door shuts, and you hear him in the entry hall, checking the mail, going to the living room and turning on the stereo. Good! You had already picked the music, this saves you the chance that it might be an awkward task (or one forgotten!) once things get started. Don’t want to forget the music!

An old Carly Simon, she always starts with one of her commercial tunes, but you know she’ll be in her “bitch in heat” mode by the second or third song. What if he catches on when he hears you had her on the stereo? Let him. Tonight isn’t so much about surprise as predation.

And you’re the predator. Like a lioness, you creep quietly down the hall to the living room, walking on tiptoe to keep your stilettos from making a sound, no easy task on the tile floor. You try to stay on the rugs as much as possible.

You spy him around the corner of the hall standing with his back to you in the middle of the living room, leafing through one of his magazines that came today in the mail. You catch a glance at the pictorial starring one of his favorite movie babes and you smile a wicked smile. You know he’s already going to be aroused when you pounce.

You’re already aroused yourself. First by the sheer anticipation (It’s not for nothing that you decided to start out with this particularly Carly Simon album), which has been building up in you all day as you bathed and creamed, powdered and perfumed for Him. All for Him. That’s what makes it more enjoyable, when it’s for someone you know will appreciate the effort and share your joy, which multiples the delight more than just double.

And second because he’s wearing that suit! It’s the best weapon in his arsenal, and it always makes you a little weak in the knees to see him in it. Clothes Make the Man, and if you have anything to say about, dem clothes gonna’ make dis woman tonight!

You smile at your own private joke, then take up your pose, crossing your arms and ankles, leaning against the corner to the hall like a streetwalker against her lamppost, doing your best to push your wabbos up and together with your arms.

“Hey, you!”

He looks over his shoulder at you, brightens and straightens, then turns three-quarters to you, letting the magazine hang from one hand as he slips his fingers into his pocket. He knows how to pose for effect too. His eyes crinkle with that crooked smile of his as he gives you the once-over, slowly, appreciatively, and replies more softly: “Hey, you!”

Your hair is sleeked back the way you know he likes it. Hey, you’re a jungle cat, right? You’re in a white see-through babydoll nightie that closes with a single bow at the plunging neckline. A white satin g-string, cut low enough that you have to shave your puss to wear it, keeps you about a quarter-inch decent.

Decent? Hah!

Your feet are in white kid heels, and you are amused to see his confusion, as he tries to concentrate on your eyes, but can’t decide which part of you to look at, your legs, your hips, your bazongas, or your face. Good. You want him off-balance as you circle in for the kill.

You drop your arms and strut your stuff for all it’s worth as you circle him, giving him the once-over. He tries to follow you with his eyes, but can only see with the corner of his eye as you stroll behind him.

You turn, press yourself against his back, grab a handful of his butt through the cloth and rest your chin on his shoulder.

“Hey, big boy…ya’ wanna…fuck?” You insolently whisper, dragging it out and flinging the last word into his ear with your lower lip. You leave your chin on his shoulder, your made-up eyes heavy lidded, your painted lips parted, your body gift-wrapped and almost naked. The very image of a female ready to mate.

He turns and the magazine goes bye-bye to the floor. He takes you in his arms and begins to kiss and nibble your neck. He knows that even though you both long to do the french-kiss boogie it would make a mess of your makeup. Besides, makeup tastes terrible. It can wait, and then it will taste sweeter for having been withheld.

He caresses your breasts and brushes aside the filmy cloth to reveal them in all their glory. He bends to kiss them, as he gently fondles and squeezes. When he straightens, you put your arms around his neck and pull his head down by your cheek, then lightly trace his ear folds with your tongue, then pull at the lobe with your teeth. You hear him make a humming sigh, and are rewarded.

His hands slide down and grab both your asscheeks firmly. You know how men are unable to resist a woman’s breasts and buttocks, after all the phrase is “tits and ass.” Crude perhaps, but accurate, even sexy if done the right way. Like now.

A very smart man once said: “Women are born exhibitionists,” and he was right. Men would be too, if they were as pretty as women are. You revel in displaying yourself, and the nakeder you are the better. You love the feeling of sex with the right partner, of pawing and being pawed, of the touching, the feeling, the kissing, the licking, the sucking, the biting and the scratching, and of being touched, felt, kissed…you love this man so much you want to strip yourself stark raving nude and spread yourself wide in the middle of Main Street at high noon for Him, just so everyone can see how much you want him, his body, his cock…

…that, and to shock the shit out of the old biddies.

You begin to strip your prize, to unwrap your present. Off comes the tie, the jacket, the shirt, the trousers…then he is naked before you, more naked than yourself. And ragingly hard!

You pause and take his shaft and balls in your hands. You feel his intense heat, and the pulse of his heartbeat as it throbs. His sack isn’t dangling low in the heat as it usually does in the summer, but feels full, very full, and you realize that he must not have had any sexual relief in days. He is so full of seed you must be holding the potential for complete world repopulation between your fingers. When the time comes he will shoot like a fire hose, and is probably on a hair-trigger even now. Be careful with him!

All for you.

Yes, he is on the edge already. You look up into his eyes, but instead of a proud leer of a man who has a woman to fondle him you see pleading want in his eyes. The pressure inside him must be enormous, and he is struggling for control, restraining his body as it demands release from the pain of containing so much sperm. You had planned for a marathon session of lovemaking, with any and every position, technique, and trick you know on the menu, but perhaps not…perhaps the greatest love you can show would be kindness, to bring that relief to this man who loves you so that he would save himself up like this.

All for you!

Another notch up on your Love-O-Meter for him! This one’s a keeper.

But just how to release him in a way that would maximize his pleasure without unduly prolonging his agony? You know, or can guess, where most of his “hot buttons” are and how they should be pressed. He likes the thrill of the chase, the dance of seduction, to watch and be watched. Anything less would be a disappointment, and you can’t have that.

Maybe this is why he loves you, besides your greeting his return dressed like his own personal sex slave, his favorite harem girl, that you have the skills and the knowledge to tailor your style to the circumstances.

“You are full, my love.” You gush. “You are full of the cream of life! Come…” and with that you take his cock in your hand like a handle and gently pull him along behind you towards the bedroom. He follows you meekly, like a child.

You have set your lair for him, in a way you know he can’t resist. Red, green, blue, and yellow spotlights have replaced the traditional bedroom lamps, and you become colorful living statues in their glow. What is it about spotlighting that makes men more muscular-looking? He has told you it also makes women’s bodies look rounder and smoother. You move in front of the red light so that your babydoll lights up, silhouetting your naked figure, and you see him react to the sexual signals of your round breasts, the narrowness of your waist, the glorious flaring curve of your hips, the bulge of your belly that you hate and he adores…you pose there for a moment and swivel your hips. A little extra coquettishness on your part isn’t going to hurt him that much.

All men like a good striptease, and you are happy to accommodate. You begin to bop a little to the music, you sway your body, you jiggle your titties, anything that flaunts your nudity in a blatantly sexual way for Him. He is stroking himself now, his eyes on your every move. You know at this moment he would gladly do anything you commanded, his entire being yours. “Kill for me?” “Sure!” “Give your life for me?” “Okay!” The feeling of power, the feeling of the power you have in your breasts and between your legs is intoxicating…

Intoxicating? Omigod, you forgot the champagne!!!

But then again…boys like it when a live nude girl orders them to do something to please her. “Open the champagne!” you say, then blissfully close your eyes, raise your arms sensuously over your head, and turn away, all the better to wiggle your fine butt-flossed butt at him.

You feel him by his heat before you feel him press his body against your back. You can feel his erection against your ass, his hair tickling you. He reaches around and hands you your flute, filled to the brim with the golden liquid, the bubbles making the surface boil. A ripe, red raspberry lies at the bottom of the glass, it’s opening lewdly suggestive of your vagina. You turn and offer your glass to him first. He returns the favor, and you both drink together, your eyes locked. Then you close yours, kiss him, and turn away again. Chase me, you fool!

He presses closer, gently nuzzling your neck, your ear…you press back against him and drape your arms behind his head, stretching catlike as you do so.

The wine is having it’s effect, and you float through space. You twitch your tail into his crotch and he takes your breasts into his hands, gently squeezing them as he gently but firmly bites your shoulder. You swoon.

“Dance with me.” You say, and turn to him, your eyes still closed. Working by feel alone, you stretch your arms around his head again and bury your face in his chest, smelling the heady semen-smell of his balls, unusually pungent because of his surplus, and the cologne he bathed himself in this morning. You would think the sweet of the cologne would be the stimulant that attracts a woman to mate, but it is the sweaty musk of his sperm that is making you wet. He wraps you in his arms, his hands clasping the twin pads of your back muscles, his fingers playing on the flute of your spine. You raise your face to his and pull his lips to yours…

You both press your bodies together, from thigh to shoulder you want to feel all of each other. You begin to sway to the rhythm of the good Ms. Simon’s sweetness, alternated as it is with her howls of unbridled passion. And the luuuuuuuvvvv’sssssss stillllllllllllllll grow-wo-wo-wohhhhhh-i-inggggggggg… You feel his hardness between your thighs, his hair against your shaven mound, his hands on your butt his tongue and yours...

You step back, take another drink, and open your arms wide, thrusting your chest as high as you can to signal your readiness to unwrap. He takes his cue and slowly pulls apart the ribbon bow that holds the two halves of your babydoll together. As they part, He hands you his glass and uses both hands to stroke softly across your breasts, parting their veil, and in a single motion continues to your shoulders, and the garment falls back on your arms. Deftly, you slide your fingers to the rims of the glasses so that they won’t spill or catch as you drop your arms to your sides and shuck the nightie on the floor behind you.

He takes you in his arms again, sliding them over your body to feel your exquisite smoothness, your female shape. He kisses and licks your breasts, your nipples…the sensuous bulge of them underneath and on the sides…He kneels before you, worshipping you like a goddess, for to him goddess you are. He kisses your belly and your thighs. His hands stroke the bare flesh of your woman’s hips and close on the straps of your gee, pulling them down with agonizing slowness to reveal your slit.

He places his hands inside your thighs and presses outward to open your legs so that he might have access. He leans forward on all fours and for a moment He presses his nose to your smooth mound and breathes in your woman’s scent, that most fundamental of all perfumes. You know how other women would be offended by such an act, but you understand the gesture, that your scent is to him what his was to you

He moves in and begins to kiss your nub, and all around your smooth mound. He licks your slot and you tremble with the sensation. He uses a finger to stroke your labia, and you feel him spreading your wetness around, pushing your lips, making you weak.

He rises and continues his touching, finding that spot above your clit where he presses against the bone and begins to circle his finger rythmically. Always thinking ahead for you, he slips an arm around behind your back for support and you both start kissing, your breath hissing out through his nostrils as your breath becomes harsher, your passion rising like the mercury in a thermometer placed in a boiling pan. You grab clumsily for his shoulder as you near the top, then break the kiss and bury your head against his neck as he sends you over the top.

Your cum electrifies you. You attack him as if to devour him, his mouth, his neck, his shoulders and chest, you work your way down to his throbbing pole, gloriously erect and proud in your face, his precum literally dripping from the tip, he is so full. You touch the wet underside and dramatically scrape the nectar, then make a big production of sticking your finger in your mouth and sucking it clean. Guys love that.

His knob is flushed so red it looks like it might be painful, but he has told you that at times like this it is his gut that is hurting with the pressure within. He is bursting at the seams inside, a feeling like needing to urinate in the worst way. You wonder if tonight he would cum in your mouth, something he has never been able to do with a woman, save once, and he said that it took forever for her to accomplish the feat.

Not that you want him to release that way, you want it the other way. So does he, as he has so often said.

You begin by sipping at the tip, like a soda straw, using your tongue to smear his juices around, then little by little you simulate penetration with your lips, as if he were forcing them apart when it actually is you moving farther and farther along his shaft until you finally reach bottom, the tangled thatch of his shrub (women have bushes, men have shrubbery) tickling your nose and upper lip. You withdraw with tormenting slowness, sucking with all your might and dragging your teeth along his skin, and are rewarded with a gasp of agonized ecstacy from above. You repeat, using your tongue on the underside. He groans and you feel him tremble.

He places his hands flat against the sides of your head and guides you in and out. Your pussy is so wet from the excitement of causing excitement that you can feel drops falling on your ankles. His trembling takes on a deeper note, and you cease…not yet, my love. Not yet!

His expression is a mixture of suffering and joy, both fighting for control. “I hunger for you!” he whispers.

“I burn for you!” you reply. You both pause, gazing deep across the millimeters that separate. You take his glass and dip the tip of his cock in the golden fluid and drink it down, then dip your breast into yours and complete the exchange. Your glasses drained, you embrace and neck like teenagers forever.

Eventually you pull away, refill glasses, drink, and drift back into his arms, pressing your smooth flesh against his, his hardness poking you obscenely on your mound before you adjust without using your hands and straddle, entrapping his cock in your gap. You giggle and wrap your arms around his neck once more, still holding your bottle and the glass, pretending to be a drunken slut, but you’re not. You lay one right on him, hot and slobbery, and begin to sway your hips in time to the music, then back away, your arms still around his neck and your eyes still in his, your wordless invitation to dance clear and explicit.

He moves against you, your stomachs rubbing together sensuously. You set down your glass and bottle and return to him, at the last second grabbing his cock and balls. “Oof!” he grunts, and you feel that he is even fuller than before. It’s almost like grabbing a water balloon, and you see real pain in his face. It turns you on that he is in this agony for you, his need to release in you almost written in neon in his eyes. You look at his genitals and realize that in his present state of excitement he must be making sperm at a terrific rate, right there in your hand. You feel his balls squirm and roll involuntarily in his sack as you hold them, the very font of life. For a moment you stand a little in awe.

But not that long in awe. You may not be drunk but you are delightfully tipsy. You begin to dance for him, swaying your hips and jiggling your breasts because you know the sight of your naked body turns him on. He backs away to watch you in the darkened light as you imitate what you saw at that tittie-bar you sneaked into this afternoon for pointers. You flit yourself close but don’t allow him to touch, retreating quickly whenever he moves, like a skittish animal. You shake your tits and ass in his face, and plainly grind your crotch under his nose. He has moved to the big pillows you strategically placed at the corner of the bedroom rug for him to straddle (this is not the first time you have played the game this way), and strokes his cock as you prance obscenely for him.

Delicately, you reach for a big bottle of baby oil on the dresser. You see his eyes light up even brighter at the thought of this, his favorite treat. Slowly at first, you pour the liquid over your breasts and smear it around, then your belly, your thighs, your ass…he rises from his saddle and joins you, taking delight in the feel of your slick body as he pours the oil over your shoulders, arms, and back, slathering it on by the gallon until you are coated all over, your neck and face as well, feeling up every inch, squeezing, stroking, touching, grabbing…

You do the same to him until he too is completely oily and slick. Your two naked bodies slip and glide over each other as you both try to figure out new ways to combine your most intimate body parts. You slide your breasts over him, he grinds his cock into the crack of your ass and clutches your breasts from behind. You stroke his shaft and finger his bung, he slides a finger into your cunt and bung, making a circle inside you until you cum again.

The cum breaks the last tie, and you abandon all restraint. It’s as if you have gone hysterical you attack him with a ferocity bordering on the manic. You suck, you grab, you scratch, you bite…dimly you are aware of him doing the same to you, fingering your dripping cunt, your clit, eating your box until you cry out in ecstacy with yet more climaxes.