After Deborah got her promotion, our entire situation changed. She began making far more money than we ever dreamed we would. She had been the breadwinner throughout our 2-year relationship, but with her new salary, my paltry income became unnecessary. One evening while she spooned me from behind, she whispered in my ear, "Sammy, I want you to quit your job tomorrow. I want you to stay home and start packing. We're going to be moving downtown."
It turned out she had been meeting with a realtor and had found the perfect condo for us. It was on the 14th floor of a building not far from her office. Those were the only details she would share with me. She refused to take me to the building so I could see our new home. She wanted it to be a surprise. She kept me away from it until the keys had been turned over and we officially owned it.
For the next three weeks, while she was at work, I packed up all of our belongings into boxes. During that same time, I always made sure I was freshly bathed and had a warm meal ready for her when she walked in the door after work. After she'd told me about her day and she'd eaten dinner, I went down on her and ate her to a relaxing orgasm or two. We'd snuggle up on the couch and talk or watch TV until we went to bed. When I'd go down on her once more before she fell asleep.
Deborah had been married once and her ex-husband was a jerk. From the few stories she shared, he didn't care much for foreplay and always left her messy with his ejaculate. She stopped enjoying traditional intercourse during that time. But she loved to be eaten. For a time, she thought she may be a lesbian or bisexual. But after she'd met me, she said she got the best possible solution to her sexual likes and dislikes.
Being a little more than a decade younger than Deborah's 34 years, I grew up always being the smallest kid in my classes and the last one picked for every sport I was forced to play. Being small shouldn't have been a surprise. My mother was very petite, standing two inches under five feet. After I'd stopped growing, I managed to top five feet, but just barely. I took after my mother in many ways. I got her eyes, her nose, her smile, her wavy blonde hair, and her petite build. After I'd gotten to my late teen years, my mother and I were often mistaken for sisters. It happened so often, we stopped correcting people.
Until I met Deborah, I'd never been with a girl, much less a woman. After we'd been together for a little while, we did make love. By then I was fully aware of how she felt about intercourse and let the foreplay last for more than an hour. I kissed every inch of her voluptuous body. I suckled from her breasts. I ate her to orgasm. I even tickled her brown button with the tip of my tongue. When I did finally slip my thin penis inside of her, I didn't last long at all. And knowing how much she disliked messes, I pulled out and squirted into my palm. While she lay there on her back, I knelt between her thick thighs squeezing out the last drips of my juice into my palm. Not having anything to clean up with nearby, I did what I'd done since I began masturbating, I raised my palm to my face and swallowed the evidence.
Deborah moaned while watching me slurp my juices up, "I love watching you do that." She didn't say any more until I'd finished cleaning up. She then pulled me into her arms, "If that was an example of what intercourse is going to be like with you, you've just changed my mind about it."
But I knew she'd been through a rough relationship and I wasn't the sort of person to push myself on her. I never instigated intercourse. I always waited for her to suggest it. But I really loved making her cum with my mouth, lips, and tongue. Or course I got wildly aroused while eating her. Sometimes she'd give me a fingerjob, I'm a bit too small for a handjob, she has big hands. During those fingerjobs, she liked to slip one of her fingers into my bottom. Other times I'd play with myself while she watched. After a long day, she'd sometimes fall asleep after I'd made her cum. Those nights I'm lay beside her and play with myself very slowly so I wouldn't shake the bed. But most times, I went without. I loved to make her feel good. And I never felt like I needed to cum.
I enjoyed being spooned from behind, in her embrace, with her taste on my lips, tremendously horny with a very stiff penis, while she slept. I truly enjoyed those nights where I struggled to think about how much I loved Deborah and horny I was. I tried to think of something to calm me down so I could go to sleep. That struggle always made me extra horny the next morning. Sometimes it went on for days and even weeks. But I didn't mind. When I did next cum, it was always a big one!
When Deborah returned from closing on the condo on the big day, I was waiting for her. That day I wore the outfit she most liked to see me in, white linen shorts with a relatively high waist and a mere inch-long inseam. She always said my butt was too cute to keep hidden behind baggy clothes, so those linen shorts fit snuggly. For that same reason, she also got rid of all my tighty-whiteys and replaced them with thongs and g-strings. Under those shorts, I wore a white g-string. The dress shirt I wore was matching white linen and just long enough to meet the waistband of my shorts. If I raised my arms, a strip of my pale midriff would be exposed. On my feet, I wore new, bright white, slip-on tennis shoes.
When she pulled up outside, I raced out to her car. After I'd jumped in, given her a kiss, told her I loved her, gotten buckled in, and began quizzing her on the closing, she placed her hand in my lap over my bump and said, "I love you too. You look lovely! The closing went smoothly, but I'm tired of signing my name."
Deborah often used words like lovely, delightful, cute, and pretty when complimenting my appearance. Every time she did, I felt a warmth in my chest and a tingle in my penis.
During the drive to our new home, I quizzed her on what our condo was like. But she continued to refuse to tell me even the smallest detail about our new home. While she drove us into the city, the buildings around us grew in height. By the time we'd gotten to our new building and Deborah had found our space in the parking garage, she grabbed her purse before coming around to open my door. She had always insisted on opening doors for me and it never failed to make me feel special.
She held my hand protectively while leading me into the building. She guided us to a bank of four elevators, pressed the up button, and we waited for it to arrive. A moment later, the doors opened and we boarded the vacant elevator. She pressed the button for the 14th floor before turning to face me standing against the back wall. She crossed the elevator and after taking hold of my hands in her, she pinned me against the wall and pressed her thick thigh between my legs. She kissed me with a level of passion I'd never experienced before. When our lips smacked apart, she bit my upper lip before moaning, "I'm going to take such good care of you."
I couldn't resist grinding myself against her thigh while I whimpered softly, "I love you so much."
When the elevator began to slow its ascent, we quickly broke apart and tried to look innocent before the doors opened. When they did slide open on the 14th floor, we found we were still alone. Deborah took hold of my hand and while leading me out of the elevator and down the hall, she told me, "In the four times I've been here, I've only seen one other person in the elevator."
When we got to our door, she slipped the key into the lock and opened the door. But she didn't let me rush inside. No, instead, she threw her purse inside before leaning down and scooping me up into her arms. She carried me across the threshold into our new home! After I'd looped my arms around her neck, I squealed, "This must be what a bride feels like!"
Deborah stared down into my eyes and stopped walking, in a perfectly serious voice she said, "Maybe the next time I carry you over that threshold you'll be wearing a wedding gown and we'll be coming home from our reception."
We'd talked about marriage before. During those talks, Deborah always said I'd look cuter in a gown than she would. She said clothes for petite girls were always cuter and sexier than the larger sizes she had to shop for. During one of those conversations, I admitted that I often fantasized about being a bride. She immediately agreed, she likes the idea too, a lot!
Staring back into her eyes, I whispered, "I'd love that."
