Waiting 70

It had been four years since she had died, and Chris was finally feeling he could let go of his wife. They had met seven years earlier, and her slow decline had been difficult for both of them. The first year was the hardest, then Chris managed to burrow into his work teaching biology at the local college, taking on new research, and slowly putting together a new life for himself. The students responded well, and his colleagues were supportive. But he lacked any real companion, and was hesitant about how to make that happen in a way that felt safe and relaxing. That is until Livina came into his life.

They had met at a social event organized by the department chair. She had been a lab technician in the department several years earlier, and left to get her PhD. She now worked at a start-up in a nearby city, but spent weekends in town visiting her aging parents, and connecting with friends from her time at the college. She happened to be in town for the gathering at the chair's ostentatious house outside of town, and they hit it off while disagreeing about their tastes for eggnog. He was a believer and didn't mind the raw egg flavor and rum; she grimaced, and explained, while sipping on a glass of red wine, how only the uncivilized would eat raw eggs mixed with alcohol. The disagreement must have had some flirtation in it, because she accepted dinner the next night when he choked out an invitation. Dinner went well, and they exchanged emails and dates for several weeks.

It became apparent to both of them that they were now more than dating. She would drive south from the city to see him, or he would commute up to the city after his last class Friday morning. They talked on the phone during the week, they exchanged little gifts. He had met her parents at their cozy cottage and talked house plants and collies (they had two) with her father for hours while she and her mother ran errands or cooked dinner for all of them. He was surprised how comfortable he felt, and he rarely reflected on the hard times from a few years before. He was settling into a happy rhythm with Livina, and she seemed comfortable with him as well.

Sex had been something new for him -- he hadn't been with a woman in several years. Livina was very attractive to him, with dark eyes, mid-length dark hair tied tight back into a pony tail. She was shorter than he, and lithe, with a quickness about her that surprised him. She used to train seriously on her mountain bike, but she had redirected her intensity recently on yoga and running, which she alternated most days of the week. She had been receptive in bed, letting him take the lead and set the patterns. But they were new enough at this together that they seemed to learn something new each time they were together.

Chris got the phone call at about 3 pm on Friday, as she was driving up. She asked him if he was up for a little adventure. He wasn't sure what she meant exactly, but guessed something about a bike ride before the spring sun set or else a weekend away together.

"Sure, I love the idea of an adventure. What should I pack?" he asked.

She told him to sit tight, and just follow his instructions -- it would be another 40 minutes before she got there. So he agreed, they hung up, and he lifted his shoulders in a shrug, not knowing what to make of it. He took a quick shower, ate some leftover pasta he had cooked the night before, and was dozing in the easy chair when the phone rang again. It was Livina.

"Hi Chris. Don't say anything, just listen. I have put a small bag on your porch and am parked a block away. Take the bag, read the instructions inside." The phone went dead.

Very strange thought Chris. What the hell, he asked himself. He slowly got up from the chair, turned on the light, walked across the room to the hall, down the hall to the front door. Opening the door, he wasn't sure what to expect. On the front step was a small Disney Mickey Mouse bag, with a small tab of tape holding the top shut. He remembered that she had been to Disney with her parents and her brother's family the year before. Very strange he told himself again. He looked up the street, then down. Nothing. No sign of Livina's Honda. Nobody out on the street.

He grabbed the bag, closed the door behind him, and padded into the kitchen. One side of the bag was noticeably heavy, so it felt lop-sided in his hand. He pondered what was inside as he set he bag on the counter and stared at it. What was Livina up to he wondered?

He opened the bag with a sharp knife. Inside was an envelope that said "INSTRUCTIONS" on it. Next to that was a bottle of wine, uncorked. And next to that a smaller black plastic bag.

He laid these items on the counter, turned on brighter lighting, and red the wine label. It was something he had tried once when his parents returned from Italy, and he remembered that it was very tasty. And expensive. Livina tended to be humble about her gifts, so this was a bit unusual.

Leaving the black plastic bag aside, he opened the envelope. He assumed that she was going to the store for dinner or something, but why all the secrecy? Why the instructions? Why the fine wine? Why not stop in and say hello to him before going out to get them food? He didn't understand. He pulled a folded up printed letter from the envelope, unfolded it and read:

"I am asking you to follow my exact instructions. You have to trust me. If you prefer not to trust me with this, I completely understand. Just put the bag on the porch, I will see it, and we can pretend none of this happened. If the bag is not back on the porch in 10 minutes, I will presume you have decided not to accept my instructions. Here they are:

1. Open the wine to let it breath; place it beside your bed with two glasses.

2. Get the candles in the black bag, and light them, placing one on each side of your bed.

3. Close the blinds in your bedroom, and turn the heat to 77 degrees.

4. Undress yourself, and lay across the bed sideways, without covers.

5. Let your head rest on the edge of the bed, just over the edge, facing outward.

6. Let your legs rest on the bed, with your knees bent over the other side of the bed.

7. Place the blindfold over your eyes (no peeking!) and wait.

8. When you hear someone in the room, follow the instructions exactly. Do not argue, do not move unless you are told to move. Stay completely still, and do NOTHING.

9. Enjoy yourself!"

Blindfold! What the hell. Those were the instructions. Chris's heart was racing, and he could feel sweat break out on his palms. This didn't sound like Livina, not the Livina he knew. And he wasn't sure what it all meant. It felt new to him, and the anxiety was mixed with intense desire and sexual urgency all of a sudden. He contained himself and quickly opened the black bag. Inside were two long-burning candles, and a thin but light-proof blindfold, like nothing he had seen before. The part of about "hearing someone in the room" made him question what was going on -- did she mean she would be in the room, or someone else? He made his decision: trust her, and go for it.

He put the empty bag on the porch, with a coffee mug inside so it wouldn't blow away. He closed the door, opened the wine, and carried it with the glasses and candles and blindfold upstairs. Turning up the heat, he slowly undressed, looked at himself in the mirror, and smiled. He felt free and open, but also nervous and tense. A strange combination of feelings he thought to himself. He noticed his erection -- he couldn't help it he figured. Something was going on and it was something sexual -- otherwise why the bedroom, why be naked? He lit the candles, turned down the light, closed the blinds, and lay down on the bed, trying to relax.

The bed made him uncomfortable, and it seemed like forever when he finally heard the front door open downstairs. He couldn't make out the footsteps really. The door closed. The bathroom door opened, closed. He heard the fan run briefly, the water run. He palms were really cold and sweaty at this point, even though the room was warming up. His nipples had hardened in the air, and he fought to lay still, blind to what was going on. He wanted to call down to her, but he kept his tongue.

The bathroom door opened, and he heard footsteps down the hall to the stairway. Then the ominous sound: a heavy bang on the stair treads with each step up! Each time she stepped up, she dropped something heavy on the tread and it reverberated through the small house. A heavy THUD sound. It was a little frightening, and clearly announced her slow arrival. Worse than the noise of it was the speed of it: agonizingly slow. Every ten seconds or so, he heard the step then the thud. And as she very slowly made her way up the stairs, he heard the noise more clearly -- the intensity of it. He shivered, and rubbed the flat palm of his hands across his belly and the bed. At this point, he erection was completely gone, and he was more focused on the sound and the intensity of the experience than anything else.

He tried to count the steps, but lost track. THUD, THUD, slower and slower she came up. By the last step it was 20 seconds between steps, and he was really anxious at that point. Between that step and the next, he listened intensely. He heard breathing. He could hear the sound of air rushing into lungs -- he could "hear" her body just fifteen feet away. But blindfolded he could see nothing. Suddenly he became aware of her physical presence, and blood rushed to his cock, swelling it. He could feel his face flush and his mind started swirling. He heard no more steps and he guessed she was standing in the doorway, watching him lying there, watching his erection form, and his hands agitate at his sides.

Then she stepped into the room. He realized that he had lost track of his concern that it was someone else -- he KNEW it was Livina. At least he was pretty sure. And he was pretty sure she was alone, at least from the breathing and stepping he heard. She made one slow step after another across to the center of the single large bedroom in his house. With each step the THUD came. It must have been a broom handle he pondered. Or a boot on one foot. Something heavy and loud but muffled and deep. Again, as his mind wandered, his erection faded slightly. But he was so excited at that point that some of his cum had surfaced, and he could feel its cool touch on his belly. He moaned slightly, softly.

She reached the bedside. And he heard the wine being poured into a glass. Slowly. It was a luscious sound, like a river, like a waterfall, like birds flying in migration, like the grass blowing in a field in the summer. He lost himself in the waves of wine and it went on and on in his mind, for much longer than the five seconds she probably spent pouring. He saw wine pouring, then silk, then the stream flowing. He felt like he time traveled briefly. Then all went silent again. He could feel his eyes bug out slightly at the silence, under the slight pressure of the blindfold, urgently trying to sense something, to see, to understand what was happening. But all he got was darkness, silence.

Suddenly, his nose picked up her scent. It washed over him in a wave, like the wine sound, and his nostrils flared to breath in more of it. He had noticed it before, but not very consciously. It was the smell of fresh showered Livina, but also of tension or anxiety, and of her sex somehow. Mixed together, he pulled the scent into his lungs and watched his mind construct the "feeling" of her scent. The woman of it. The female intensity of it. The desire mixed with mischief, the feminine mixed with strength. And then he again heard her breath. She sucked in a large lungful of air, and exhaled, forcefully enough that he felt it just billow out over his face and across his chest. She clearly didn't exhale with the intention to "blow" on him, but he could feel it gently nonetheless. His chest hairs stood up, his nipples tightened, and he could feel the slow warm wave pass across him, barely.

Automatically, instinctively, his mouth opened. He was getting a little bit of a head rush with his head tipped backwards over the side of the bed. He had propped a pillow under his neck to make himself more comfortable. But his mouth opened and his tongue darted out instinctively. He could feel himself salivate slightly, in some strange anticipatory way. With his mouth open, his tongue resting on his lower lip, he breathed and waited. Nothing happened for a minute. Just pulsing in his ears, breathing, and darkness.

Then the drop of wine fell to his lips. It surprised him, and deflected on one lip, splashing into his mouth. It came with speed and she must have dropped it from at least 18 inches. And again the wave of energy came across his body. He tasted the wine, barely, a single drip only in his mouth. His tongue darted out for more; he held his tongue outward, and moaned slightly. The next drop wasn't a drop of wine at all. It was her hardened nipple grazing his tongue. He mind spun as his tongue transmitted the feeling of her hard nipple to his brain, and down to his cock and his toes. Livina had small, tight breasts, something he had never experienced before, and the nipples were taught and became very hard at times. The nipple grazed back the other direction, and his tongue darted out to chase it, his head turning with it lifting to get more. He wanted the nipple in his mouth and his head instinctively lifted to reach for it.

At that instant, he felt the sharp pain on his cheek. She slapped him, hard enough it shook him from his reverie, but not hard enough cause a welt or any lasting pain. She clearly did not approve of his searching tongue moving towards her. He suddenly understood the entire picture: she was in COMPLETE control, and he was not to move whatsoever. He nodded briefly, in submission, and opened his lips again, with his tongue outward, longingly. The pain was intense but brief, and he felt tears in his eyes from it momentarily.

The nipple stopped for longer this time, and it was covered in several drops of wine which he sucked off and enjoyed. His tongue moved across her nipple several times and his teeth even tightened down on her once before she pulled away. He dared not lift his head to follow this time, and he could feel the burn in his left cheek where she had slapped him. He smiled slightly, and coughed in nervous anxiety.

He knew her clit was near when he could feel the longest of her hairs on his chin, and his nose took in her incredible scent. He waited in anticipation, and felt his tongue meet her clit. She finally let out an almost silent moan as she pressed up to his lips, standing above him, letting him comfort her with his tongue. He started slowly, then sped up slightly. Her hands reached down to each side of his skull, and held his head in place, and she slowly fucked his mouth, moving her hips, pulling his tongue into her, pressing her clit on his lower lip and teeth. Another moan came from her lips, and she pressed harder.

One hand on his right ear, tugging at it, while she fucked him, the other on the bed post (he could feel the bed rocking and her gaining leverage with the post), she moaned again, and he felt her clit tighten into a small stone. Holding his head deadly still, she fucked her clit slowly up over his lower teeth and lip, then back down across the teeth again, then back up. Infinitely slowly. He let his tongue sit at her entrance and press inward when she rocked downward on his lips.

"I am fucking you and I am going to fuck you harder still. Don't fucking move Chris, and press your tongue into me harder!", she yelled. The first thing she had said since they had been on the phone an hour earlier. Her clit was harder yet, and he felt the first wave of an orgasm tense onto his tongue as she lifted up higher and pressed very hard down on his mouth. He worried momentarily about breathing, feeling slightly suffocated, but realized much of that was the blindfold not being able to see anything, and he went with it. She tightened in her first contraction.

At that moment, her left hand let go of the bed post, and she hammered it down on his chest as she fucked his mouth harder yet. Not faster -- harder. Pressing down hard. Her fist came down on his chest with each contraction. It didn't hurt him, but it sure surprised him, and with each hammering his cock bounced upward to full attention, pushing more lubricant to its tip. Each time her hand came down on his chest, her pussy tightened in contraction, and her clit popped up over his lower lip onto his chin and back again. Her right hand was shifting his head in an almost robotic way as she came, pulling and tugging his ear. Her scent washed down over his lips and cheeks, and the wetness was intense as she came in his mouth. She rocked upward and downward fifteen or twenty times, slowly, forcefully, pushing every bit of her orgasm outward.

Her hands finally stopped moving, and he remained perfectly still as she slowly extracted herself from his mouth. Her head fell to his chest, and he felt her exhale heavily, panting, letting herself drool on his chest, and laughing slightly. He wanted to reach up an hug her, but remained in this awkward but loving reverse hug position, his face to her belly, her face to his chest.

After several minutes, she rose. He was alone in the dark and silent again. He felt cool again, even though the room was warmer than before. He felt the tension again, wondering what would happen next. And he was awash in desire, more than he had ever felt before he believed. He waited.

The liquid on his cock was not wine, he was sure. It was softer. Saliva perhaps. But it was warm as well, and his cock responded with an upward pulse from his belly where it lay, filled, pressured, tense, and pulsing. The bed lurched as she jumped up onto it. And the sides of her legs felt like heaven alongside his as she straddled him. She fucked him slowly, pushing him inside by slowly shifting downwards in tiny motions, lining him up, and letting him fill her up. She stayed that way for several minutes and he pulsed inside her, urgent for the friction.

Up on her hands, she started long, slow motions on him. Pressing downward, he could feel her strength and the weight of her hips on his thin hipbones. Almost hurting from the pressure, he was being fucked and he loved it. His tongue lashed out, and, forgetting the rules, he lifted himself on his elbows and moved his tongue towards where he imagined her nipples would be -- desperate to find the hardness again. That was it for her. The gentle fucking ended as she snorted out loud, pressed him back to the bed hard, and holding his chin with both her hands and all her strength fucked him harder.

"Hold still my man. Let me do this. Don't fight back and don't try to take control of this. This is ALL about letting g my man. Let go of yourself," she growled in a low, intense unforgiving but intensely loving, erotic tone.

He let go. What could he do really? He was enjoying it immensely, but he just got excited and then he forgot the rules. Her hands on his chin and neck felt good. She could not hurt him in reality he figured, and she was really fucking him hard at this point. She ground downward, pushing this head from side to side with each stroke.

"I wanted you so badly Chris. And our sex so far has been fantastic, don't get me wrong. But I needed to fuck you badly, and I need you to just give in to me sometimes Chris. Does that make sense? Don't fucking answer me, just digest that," she said, again in that low, menacing, erotic voice that he had to admit he hadn't heard from her before. He nodded, not saying a word.

She rocked downward, in a shuttering motion, and he felt her nipples scrape along his chest as she mounted him further.

"I am going to come on your cock now, hard, and I want you to come into me too. That is a command, do you hear me? Don't answer. Just come", she said.