Day 55
Jon awoke on Saturday morning with a challenge set for himself. What Caitlyn had said—about bringing a partner to orgasm using only the appendage intended by nature—had stuck with him; he wanted to see if he could do it. And today was Saturday; aside from Marissa Helmsley's wedding to Rob Caruthers, which would require their presence (or, technically, Caitlyn and the harp's presence; but the thing was too big for her to move alone) at 2 PM, they had nothing to do at all. This was the perfect time for some good sex.
Assuming I can make it good.
Caitlyn, of course, slept like a stone; she didn't waken as he extricated his arm and then rolled her onto her back. She was limp and trusting in his arms, her mouth slightly open to admit small, ladylike snores. He clasped her cheek with his hand and kissed her forehead. There were some whose instincts would be to take advantage of her vulnerability; his were to protect her, to shelter her with his efforts and love and his body if need be, to keep her safe from the storms outside. He loved her. He could do nothing else.
In spare moments over the week he had researched this dilemma. The theory was obvious: to bring her as close as he could to orgasm before penetrating her, and then to let his cock do the rest. He knew to slide up her body a little further than normal, to put more direct pressure on her clit; and he knew from Monday's watershed discussion that she was incredibly turned on by his presence bearing down on her. Beyond that was timing, luck and speculation. How close could he get her; and how much of that orgasmic tension would fade away while he maneuvered himself up to penetrate her? How quickly
could
he do that? He felt equal to the challenges... But he knew himself well enough to know that it was unearned confidence, that he was flying more or less blind here. Several sites had suggested throwing her legs over his shoulders for the deepest possible penetration and G-spot stimulation; he was sure they were right, but thought it might still be smarter to go with what he knew. After all, despite her flexibility, he didn't think he could rest all
that
much weight on her if her legs were up like that—not without hurting her or yanking something out of shape.
Still, this was the kind of challenge he thrived on.
He planted gentle kisses around her brow, her nose, her cheeks, her chin; when she didn't waken, he began to move around to her ear, applying lips and tongue to the delicate ridges and folds, to the pale lobe of flesh below. He did it gently; he had suddenly realized that it might be better if she woke up mid-way through, already turned on before she was even conscious. Though she still slept, he could see that his efforts were having an effect; her breathing was growing steadily deeper, and every now and then she breathed out a sigh and moved a little.
She didn't wake up until he had already paid some homage to her breasts and was halfway down her stomach. Her breathing gave a sudden hitch and she moved convulsively, as though being startled out of sleep; a moment later, her hand landed on the back of his head. "Good morning," she said.
"Good morning," he said in between kisses.
"I was having the most remarkable dream," she said, a smile evident in her voice.
"Good," he said in between kisses. "Just lie back... and let me... make them... come true."
"Mmmmm," she said, a verbal smile. Her hand tightened in his hair.
When he reached her hips, he bypassed her privates entirely, knowing she would have expected him to go there; there was something to be said for anticipation. Instead, he began to kiss her inner thighs, down one leg and up the other until making his procession down to her feet. Besides, she was on the tail end of her period, and, no matter how brave he acted or how he steeled himself, he just wasn't a fan of that salty taste.
As he began to kiss around her ankle (her hand was long gone by now, of course), she said, "You certainly seem to like it down there."
"Well... I guess I do. Anything wrong with that?"
"Umm... They're kind of dirty."
"Why? You wash them when you shower. They smell just fine. Your
socks
don't smell when you take them off, nor do your shoes."
"Yeah, but, Jon—"
He wasn't going to let her hesitation stop her in this case. He took her big toe in his mouth.
She liked it. He could tell, she liked it—her words cut off mid-sentence with a moan, and he saw color flood into her cheeks. Her toe tasted like her fingers did—warm skin with its faint reddish taste—but was a little large for his mouth, so he began to transfer down the row. (
This little piggy...
) Her second toe curled in his mouth like a big comma, the bulb fleshy and light, with plenty of crevices and folds to explore. Her big toe brushed against his cheek, and from his vantage point here as he knelt at the foot of the bed he could see her pussy beginning to open like a flower, the outer lips parting and the inner petals beginning to show themselves—a sure sign of her arousal.
When he had reached the last of her toes, he was tempted to try using his teeth, but some instinct made him resist; perhaps he decided he'd pushed enough for one day. Instead he began to kiss back up her body, switching from leg to leg, once again bypassing her pussy in favor of her breasts. He spent longer here this time, kissing over every inch of them, only leaving them when her nipples were fully erect and he could sense that he was no longer thrilling her in any meaningful way. He was here to build her up, not waste time.
As he approached her pussy for yet a third time, her legs parted to welcome him, but once again he took his time. The heat and scent of her arousal were palpable, but he kissed around her legs and the skin of her crotch, concentric circles that slowly narrowed towards that single velvet spot. He thought about going for her anus, or at least her perineum, but decided she'd been stretched enough for one day. He kissed up and down her outer lips, and then up and down the inner ones, caressing them with his tongue; and then he was there, and, abandoning pretense entirely, he latched his lips in a circle around her clit and sucked.
Caitlyn gave a yelp; her whole body jerked, her knees coming up around his head. Simultaneously her hands landed on his head and shoulders, locking him in place. He was starting to learn some of the signs of her impending orgasm, and many were there—he couldn't actually
find
her clitoris, it had retreated so far under the hood, and her breathing had gone raw; the flesh of her pussy had darkened in color, and her legs were tense against his body. And her whole body, not just her face, had begun to flush, a sure sign that she was getting close. He added a rubbing element with his tongue, licking up and down in the little patch of flesh he had staked out, and she began to moan.
"Tell me when," he said, taking a moment away from her body. "Tell me when."
"Keep going. Keep going. Oh, oh, oh... Jon, keep—"
This was the critical moment. As her pitch spiraled higher and her body continued to tense, he knew that if he wanted to penetrate her, the time was now. But could he compensate for the sudden disruption in her pleasure?—she wouldn't stay aroused for very long, maybe only seconds. If he was going, he needed to go quickly and he needed to go now.
In retrospect, he wasn't sure how he did it; maybe Caitlyn helped him, somehow, despite her pre-orgasmic delirium. All he knew was that one moment he was hunched between her thighs; the next he was up over her, guiding himself in. He sunk to the hilt in one go, and then moved himself up until his shoulder covered her face, changing the angle to put more stimulation on her clit. Caitlyn grabbed him by the butt and pulled, as though trying to consume him bodily. "Jon— Jon— Do it, do it, oh—"
Three quick strokes, and she was there.
He felt the tremor under him, watched her body seemed to stretch and tense like a spring; then her face went slack with the relief, and he felt the firm clenching of her pussy around his shaft as she shuddered under him, her arms and legs losing their strength, the tension in her face melting into an expression of exhausted joy. The squeezing must have felt remarkably good to him, but he didn't notice; he was too busy watching her come.
Her eyes closed and she relaxed back onto the bed; he kept himself occupied kissing her neck, her ear, her face, even her eyelids until she opened them again and smiled up at him.
"Wow," she breathed.
"I love you too, baby," he said.
"Oh, I love you so much..." She reached up to kiss him. "That was... I see what you mean about... About wanting me to cum."
He smiled. "It was fun for me too. Most of the time I'm down there when it happens, or coming too; I don't get to watch."
"Yeah, no kidding. Remember what Alice Larson said during the session we spent talking about sex?"
"Umm..." said Jon, casting back through his memory. "Some of it." The other college-group kids had been surprisingly mature about it, even Harold—Jon had half been expecting titters and suppressed sniggering.
But then, we're none of us eleven anymore. Or even fifteen.
"Everybody was looking at us funny."
"Well, we
are
married," she said. "The only ones who are supposed to have that knowledge, besides Mr. and Mrs. Larson themselves."
