Part 1 - An Encounter With David
I was working on a difficult passage in my latest story and didn't notice until something twitched at the edge of my vision. Knowing it was likely him, and not wanting an interruption, I continued staring intently at my computer screen.
It was his cock, his very large cock, that twitched. It was lengthening and intruding into my space. His hand gently rubbed against the back of my neck. He knew that I wanted to be left alone and still he came into my study to disrupt me. His hand presented a small vial in front of my face. This was his little way of giving me an ultimatum. The vial held scented, edible oil. We had used it before. I was to apply it to his now fully erect cock and then place that organ in my mouth and give him head.
"Damn you," I muttered under my breath, eyes closed and fists clenched. His fingers were pulling the long tee shirt over my head. It was the only garment I wore around the house when we were alone. He greatly admired my breasts, frequently saying they could launch a thousand ships. He joked that an educated girl like me should have educated tits that had a sense of history. History or not, they were firm and the cool air in the room was making my nipples stiffen. Or maybe it was just him. He turned into my side and rubbed his maleness on my breast. The vial was now uncorked and he poured a tiny lake of oil into my hand, then did the same to his hand.
I thought about refusing him, telling him to fuck off, so I could finish the last chapter of the story. It was a good story, but it wasn't getting finished today if I succumbed to his intrusion. I had only two choices, put the oil on him and let that purple throbbing tool overcome me, or chasing him out, in which case there would be punishment later.
Sometimes when he hit me, it was a step on the path to an ecstasy that I had only experienced with him. Other times, mostly when he had me bound to the rough wood post in our playroom, I screamed and cried and cursed him.
We fought a lot. Always had. We were competitive. Intellectually, athletically, sexually. He was an architect-builder, I was a writer. We weren't famous, yet, but we were known. He had several commissions that kept him busy long hours. After one of my stories was published in the New Yorker, I found myself with an agent, a publisher, and an editor. This raised the bar, as they say, on my writing. I didn't like the pressure much, but it was better, a lot better, than opening rejection letters.
Fighting was an escape valve for both of us. One time, when my mother noticed a bruise on the side of my breast, she asked if David did that to me. I said he did, but I didn't mind because he got a badly boxed ear in return. She asked if we couldn't let off steam a little more peacefully. I horrified her small town sensibility by whispering in her ear, "You mean, like fucking?"
She hugged me back and said, "Yes, you decadent tramp of a daughter." The glint in her eye undermined the tone of her voice.
He inverted his hand and let the oil drip onto my breasts. I still would not look up at him, but let my hand reach out and smear oil on the pulsing head that was pushing at my nipple. He grunted with satisfaction. I extended my tongue and tasted the drop of liquid poised at the extreme end of the large cock. My tongue circled the head, drawing in some of the oil. I liked the mixture and when he saw this, he knew he had me.
I surrendered, standing up and pulling our naked fronts together. "You're going to pay for this. That story is two months of groceries." He kissed my neck, then along my cheek and then everywhere he could get to. His fingers were busy in my bottom, which was leaking. He called me a useless cunt one time in a moment of passion. I turned us over, and pounded on his chest, "David, don't use that word around me, and don't you dare call me useless!" I surprised myself with my own violence, but everything I detested about cheap, predatory sex surrounded men calling women cunts. David was so surprised he just apologized and we went to the shower. Later, he asked what triggered me off, pointing out that cunt was a common Anglo-Saxon word with a very long history.
I climbed into his lap and got teary. "When I was sixteen, I saw my older sister's football boyfriend, full of beer, shove her out of the passenger seat of his car, calling her a useless cunt. She was totally broken up about it. He had tried to get her into the back seat for sex, and when she said no, he dumped her. It was her introduction, and mine also, to bad guy behavior."
After a moment of silence, I had whispered to David, "If you want, not very often, you can call me an Anglo-Saxon cunt." He laughed and held me tight. I giggled and kissed him.
His slippery fingers were all over my woman parts and his mouth was firmly latched onto my breast. I gushed on him, a sure sign I was getting revved up. Maybe the story could wait. He picked me up and I thought we were going to screw right there. But he carried me bride style, kissing and licking, up the stairs to the loft where we had covered half the floor with mattresses, blankets and pillows. When he suggested this approach to loving and sleeping, I said the mattresses had to have double thick covers on them, the kind with a waterproof membrane in them. He just smiled and came home with an armload from the store.
I remembered the first time we had sex in that loft. I was still in graduate school and David was studying for his architecture license test. The house was on a hill just south of the canal. Sort of arts and craftsy, but not very faithful, and in very bad shape. David's father, Bill, bought it for us, saying it was a wedding present. He knew marriage was not on our 'must do' list and we sat there silently, wondering whether we were being bribed, until he said gently, "Hey, I love you both and I'll love you whether you are married or not. Enjoy the house." Then he went and hired some people from the restoration community and they literally remade the place.
We were still getting used to having a house rather than a one bedroom apartment when David said one afternoon that his friends Eric and Katrina were coming over and we were going to populate the loft. Two hours later, a small acreage of mattresses and stuff had been hauled up two flights and a ladder. While Eric went to get beer from the car, the three of us lay in our new luxury, enjoying the view of rooftops and the Sound in the distance. When he came back with champagne rather than beer, we cheered. Eric explained that the bubbly came with conditions. The new rule was that for parties in the loft, everyone had to get naked and snuggle under the blankets up against the giant headboard David had found somewhere.
Katrina and I looked at each other, smiled and complied by getting under the covers before anything strategic came off. The guys were being guys, and stripped down before they uncorked the champagne, giving us a good view of two athletic bodies with mostly hard cocks.
The two bottles went quickly. When Eric said maybe he should go for more, David said he had a better idea and grabbed me. Eric thought this was a fine idea and did likewise with Katrina. Both of us protested loudly, which got us kissed, our bottoms slapped, and a stiff cock in us before we really knew what was happening.
Katrina and I both liked sex and we liked our partners. It didn't take long before protests were silenced and we were moaning and sighing and trying to be quiet so the other didn't think we were slutty. It didn't work. We reached our hands out to each other and screamed our orgasms as loud as we could.
Forever afterwards, the loft was the go to orgy place for David and me and our friends. David's sister Christine even decided to stop taking her pills and have her fiance make their first child with her in the loft, with an audience that didn't know until later what happened. Before she got too big, several of her women friends would climb up to the loft for cocktail hour with Cristine and rub her belly while she drank soda. The baby, who turned out to be a boy named Toby, kicked up a storm, to which we all laughed loudly, but a little jealously.
By the time David got me to the ladder, I didn't have to be persuaded to climb it, although David's hand between my legs helped boost me.
"Are we celebrating something?" I asked, as he pushed duvets out of the way and lay me down on the moisture proof pad.
I got a kiss and a nip on my breast before he answered. "I'm stuck on that latest residential design commission and I'm jealous of you clicking away in there on your story. Don't you ever have writer's block?"
He knew damn well how often I was blocked. There was something else going on. He was on a long conversation with his sister Sonja's boyfriend Mark in Portland this morning. Maybe he said something that set him off. Before I could ask about it, he said he would be right back with some refreshments.
The sun that we didn't see enough of was slanting in the loft window. I relaxed. It was four o'clock anyway and a short day wouldn't corrupt me too much.
He came back up the ladder with a tray of wine and a box under his arm. He put the box to one side and handed me my glass.
"Mark told me they are engaged."
The wine was delicious. He was looking at my naked body with interest. Were we going to talk or get on with the blowjob?
"He says Sonja is being dodgy about the engagement."
"Why get engaged if you are not pretty sure about each other?" David and I were pretty sure, but not up to the next step. He joked that we should get married before we got engaged to keep our parents and friends at bay.
He sipped his wine and kept giving me the once over. I couldn't see whether he was hard or not, but guessed he was. The wine and his dark eyes were making me gush.
"He says they have rough sex she is addicted to, but afraid of."
I pulled clothing out of the way so I could see his crotch. He was very erect.
