Smart Phone Sexploits

This is a continuation of two previous entries, "How I Became a Cunnilingus Addict," and "Sorority Party Cunnilingus," but can also be read as a stand-alone story. Enjoy!

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The incoming call is from an unknown number. I know this without even removing my smart-phone from my pocket, because each of my contacts has a unique ring-tone; unknown callers, and those identified by the blinking "Scam Likely" screen, get the "Doo-doo doo-doo, Doo-doo doo-doo" sound-bite from the old "Twilight Zone" television theme.

Since I am sitting in slow-moving traffic on my way home from work, with nothing better to look at than the back of the bald head in the toy-size convertible with the "I'd Rather Be Sailing" bumper-sticker, barely creeping forward at a snail-pace in front of me, I look at the screen.

The number looks vaguely familiar, like it belongs to someone I used to know, and there is no "Scam Likely" message, so I clear my throat and pick-up.

"Hello Papillon," the woman says breathlessly. "Bet you're surprised to hear my voice after all these years."

Papillon, French for "Butterfly."

That is a name I have not heard since my college days, when I was so dubbed by my chemistry tutor, who also became my cunnilingus instructor. She said I was like a butterfly, going from flower to flower and feeding on their delectable nectar with my long tongue.

Goose-flesh covers my entire body at the sound of her voice!

Before I can compose myself enough to respond, she continues, "See if this helps." Then she begins breathing heavily, her volume increasing as she pants, "Ooh, Papillon, ooohh... Yes, Yes, YES... Right there! Right THERE, YES, RIGHT THERE!! OOOOHHH, PAPILLON, YES... YES... OOOOHHH, YESSS!!!!!"

"Barbara?" I say, as though it could be someone else.

Truth be told, it could be someone else, a lot of someone elses, actually, but I recognized her sultry voice even before she started panting. Back in college I was a cunnilingus addict, thanks to her patience and expert guidance. I guess it is fair to say I am still addicted to yummy female secretions directly from the source, but I am married now and get more than enough action to satisfy my obsession from my very libidinous and delicious wife. Not very long ago, though, I had quite a reputation around campus as someone who was willing and eager to perform the act, on anyone, and just about anytime or place.

And I did!

"I hope you don't mind that I have you on speaker phone," she slurs, then breathlessly informs me that her panties are around her ankles and she is pleasuring herself just thinking about me and the fun we had in college, her thumb pressing on her clitoris as two fingers explore the depths of her vagina.

My tongue stiffens at the mental image her words create.

"What color?" I ask.

I used to collect panties from every woman I serviced, beginning with my cunnilingus instructor. I had a pillow-case stuffed full of erotically fragrant panties and slept with it every night!

"You'll have to find out for yourself," she whispers in a risqué voice very familiar to me, then adds, "Tell me how you would do it..."

I inform her that I am stuck in traffic and will crash my car if our conversation continues. I promise to call her back when I get home, then ask her to suck her fingers clean for me and almost rear-end the little toy convertible when I hear her slurp and moan.

Thankfully, my wife is waiting for me at the front door as she is most days when I return from work, naked and on her knees, and she swallows an even bigger load than usual, in record time.

"What got into you today?" she asks as she wipes her chin, then stands to hug me, her smooth flesh pressing against my dwindling member.

"What got into you?" I ask facetiously.

"About twice as much as usual!" she laughs, reaching down to see if she can bring life back to that which is temporarily dormant.

"Can I bury my face between your legs, and savor your delectable taste, before I spank you tonight?" I whisper slowly, snuggling my face against her neck and flicking her earlobe with my tongue.

My salacious wife loves to be spanked just about as much as she loves performing fellatio, but unfortunately, after I spank her sexy backside to a rosy-red, a nightly routine in our home, she is so near orgasm that she typically explodes within the first few minutes of cunnilingus, and tonight I want to really take my time and ravish every millimeter of her lubricious womanhood.

Before she can even acknowledge my question, I carry her to our bedroom, shuffling my feet to keep from tripping over my pants, which are still hanging around my ankles, and lay her gently onto our bed.

Kicking my shoes and pants off as I crawl on top of my darling wife, I spread her legs and begin licking and gently kissing her inner thighs, her soft hand holding my head. With the tip of my eager tongue, I draw a line of saliva to my target and dive in deeper than when she is in either of her usual post-spanking positions, bent over in front of me to be serviced from behind, or straddling my face as I lay on my back.

I love tasting my wife's orgasm from any position, and I really savor tonight's slow-cooked offering, but I cannot resist fantasizing about Barbara and the early days of my cunnilingus education.

It began in my first year of college, when I was studying on an academic scholarship and struggling to pass my introductory chemistry course. The useless old professor could provide no help except to suggest finding a tutor on my own, and my search led to a fourth-year nursing student who charged five dollars per lesson. After several weeks of very educative chemistry instruction, I found myself unable to pay for our latest session, and Barbara proposed an alternative method of compensation.

At that point in my young life, I had never even seen a woman's private area, much less tasted anything so amazing, yet Barbara's patience and mouth-watering female suppuration soon transformed me into a full-fledged cunnilingus addict with campus-wide references and recognition. After that first cunnilingus sampling, we ended each weekly chemistry lesson with further training in the sensual art of providing oral pleasure to women, and often got together throughout the week for supplemental practice. I feel permanently in her debt for the priceless gift of her most intimate self she gave me, and the opportunities she provided for me to share that gift with so many other co-eds.

Plus, I never paid for another chemistry lesson, at least not in cash!

I continue nibbling on my wife's external genitalia, planting random butterfly kisses as she calms down from the explosive climax she enjoyed at the provenance of my skilled tongue, then slowly lick my way up her svelte body to her face for a passionate kiss.

"Where did that come from?" she asks playfully, rubbing her nose back and forth against mine and smiling brighter than the sun.

"Wait till you hear this!" I say excitedly, still laying across her naked flesh.

"Will you spank me first?" she asks coquettishly.

"Please?" she adds when I do not reply immediately. "I've been waiting all day."

I sit on the edge of our bed as she hands me the paddle from our bedside table and bends herself across my naked lap, making no comment about the evidence of my libido as it pokes her toned belly.

As much as my wife loves to start her day with a good, thorough spanking, we discontinued this morning routine on her work days, as it makes sitting at her desk uncomfortable, but she does indeed look forward to a rigorous paddling after I get home.

When I have sufficiently reddened her sexy backside, I return the paddle to our bedside table and she kneels between my legs for a second incredible round of fellatio, her other favorite profligacy.

My second orgasm of the evening takes a little more time to arrive, as I watch my beautiful wife lick, suck, and nibble me to her heart's content. Intuitively, she knows when I am on the verge, and she nods her head in approval, her wide eyes looking lustfully up into mine when I finally explode into her hungry mouth.

She continues toying with me, squeezing the final few drops onto her extended tongue, then licks her lips, stands in front of me for a loving embrace, and finally asks, "So, what was that you wanted to tell me?"

"Barbara called me today, on my way home from work," I reply without hesitation.

She backs her face away from mine and looks into my eyes.

"Is that why you were so aroused when you got home?" she asks, her expression narrowing.

Do I note a twinge of jealousy in her disposition?

Every aspect of our respective past has been discussed, dissected, scrutinized, and eventually put to rest while we were dating, and certainly during our years of marriage, or so I believed, and her history is as colorful as mine, to say the least.

"I couldn't help it," I say. "She was a big part of my life, before I met you."

Silence.

"You and I would never have met if it had not been for Barbara," I add, and this is true.

My wife was studying at a nearby all-female college when we met, and some of her sorority sisters had friends in Barbara's old sorority, where I frequently provided oral pleasure to a seemingly-endless line of co-eds. Girls talk, word gets around, and one thing leads to another, as they say, and I was fortunate enough to find my face between the voluptuous legs of my first true inamorata.

I knew there was something special about this new girl before she even lifted her skirt and lowered her pretty baby-blue panties. Then, when she insisted on reciprocating and proceeded with unparalleled skill, I could tell we were meant for each other!

After we both had our way, we laid on the bed and cuddled for a long time, and I asked her to go out with me on a real date, not just another oral-sex hook-up. I wanted to bring her flowers, and hold her hand, and open the door for her, and sit across from her in the ice-cream parlour where we would talk and laugh until our ice-cream cones melted and dripped down our fingers, then walk her home and kiss her tenderly as we stepped arm in arm onto the porch of her sorority house while moths circled the overhead light and gazed downward to witness true love blossoming.

"I thought we agreed," she begins slowly, her voice monotone, as though reciting the Miranda Rights to a criminal or lecturing a small child, "to put our past gaucherie behind us."

My wife loves fancy words! I would have said our past "indiscretions." And besides, I do not consider the actions of our respective past as mistakes or blunders, but rather, as necessary steps along the path that led us to each other.

But I digress.

"Yes, we did," I concede. "But it was she who called me, not the other way around. And you have to admit, we can both be thankful for the things she taught me back in college."

Her body still pressed into mine, I reach a hand between her legs and she does not pull away.

Despite her portrayed indignation, the ease with which my fingers enter her betrays her arousal.

She is very wet!

Lowering myself onto my knees, I lift one of her small feet and place it against the opposite knee, the yoga position known as "the tree," and bury my face in my favorite place. This is her go-to position for masturbating after receiving a stern spanking, when her backside is too tender to sit, and it also serves well for cunnilingus. She closes her eyes and leans her head back, holding mine with both hands as the tension between us evaporates into much-needed orgasmic bliss.

I marvel at her balance, especially as she reaches her point of no return, but as a former gymnast, she is able to stand on one foot for a long time even without the benefit of my head to hold on to.

I stand after I have consumed everything my exquisite wife offers, and she kisses me sweetly. This is her way of apologizing for being unreasonable without having to actually say she is sorry.

"Why did Barbara call you, anyway?" she asks calmly, still standing naked in my embrace with her head resting on my shoulder and her backside rosy-red from the spanking she absolutely earned post-facto.

"She didn't really say," I begin. "But she wants me to call her back and describe how I would perform cunnilingus on her, so she can masturbate."

"Mind if I listen?" she asks with a mischievous grin.

"I wouldn't have it any other way!" I reply enthusiastically.

I hit the call-back button on my smart-phone and Barbara answers on the first ring.

"Papillon," she slurs, "I've been waiting forever for your call!"

"I had a couple of things to take care of first," I say, winking at my wife, who is on her knees and elbows on our bed in what I refer to as her "Diamond Head" position: head and shoulders down, and rosy-red backside propped up invitingly. I call it this because her silhouette reminds me of the well-known landmark in Hawai'i.

Then I add, "With my wife."

"Is she there?" Barbara asks, breathing heavily. "Tell her hello for me."

"You can tell her yourself," I say. "I will put you on speaker phone."

"Hello Barbara," my wife says very cordially as I set my phone down on our bedside table and inch her knees apart with my free hands.

"Hi Sweetie," Barbara exhales, sounding like a track runner eighty meters into a one-hundred-meter race. "Are you taking good care of Papillon?"

"You know I am," she giggles seductively. "And he's taking good care of me!"

"Do you want to hear me take care of her, Barbara?" I ask teasingly, lowering my face between my wife's spread legs from behind and audibly nuzzling her backside.

"YES!!" Barbara practically screams.

I can hear Barbara panting and moaning with self-induced pleasure as I paint the entire scene, beginning with my arrival home from work, right up to my wife's current position on our bed and my face and tongue in proximity to her goods.

Barbara's fingers must have been working over-time ever since our earlier phone conversation, keeping her on the edge while awaiting my return call. By now she sounds nearly delirious with anticipation for her final plunge!

In between licks, kisses, and mouthfuls of my wife's scrumptious bounty, I describe, in detail, everything happening on our end of the wireless connection, and neither Barbara nor my wife are shy about the volume of their passionate cries of elation. It is as though the women are unconsciously competing to see who can reach the loudest, most intense orgasm!

I remind Barbara that after she has finished, she needs to lick and suck her fingers clean for me, and this elicits a lascivious moan from both women!

I return my attention to my wife, licking and sucking her labia, kissing her inner thighs, and teasing her clitoris with the soft underside of my tongue while probing her vagina with two wet fingers, describing every action to Barbara, who is practically singing unintelligible verbiage.

Soon I take charge of Barbara and ask if she has a vibrator.

Rhetorical question, duh, of course she has a vibrator!

I order her to turn it up to full speed and enter her vagina with it while pinching her clitoris with the other hand, and I actually hear the buzzing sound change pitch as she pushes it home, followed by her own change in pitch!

I continue sucking and licking my favorite treat, but the moans of the two women are getting to be too much for me to endure without some relief, even if I have to provide it for myself! Naked below the waist except for my socks, I reach one hand down to appease my very aroused member, and tell Barbara what I intend do.

My wife will have none of this and repositions herself on her side so we are in a sixty-nine position, and Barbara squeals with excitement when another voice enters the play-by-play!

"We're in a sixty-nine position now," my wife pants, "and... ahh... I am about to... glugghhh, mmpffhhh... oooohhhhhhh..."

She reaches an orgasm inside of my mouth just as she takes me into hers, and I slurp loudly as I share this news with my old mentor, who finally surrenders, vociferously, to her vibrator and busy fingers for her own big moment!

Without needing to be reminded, Barbara sucks and licks all ten of her fingers and her vibrator clean of her own nectar, slurping and moaning loudly for my listening enjoyment.

For a moment I recall my first cunnilingus experience, under the table in our college library's study room, and the many times I drank happily from that same sumptuous fountain, and this puts me over the edge for my third orgasm of the evening, which my wanton darling greedily devours, swallowing loudly for Barbara's sake across our cellular connection.

All three of us spent, the only sound on either side of our raunchy conversation for the next several minutes is heavy breathing as we try to recover from our shared encounter.

Finally, Barbara is the first to speak.

"Bubble-gum pink!" she exclaims.

My wife looks up at me from between my legs with a quizzical expression on her adorable face.

"Your panties, right?" I ask.

"You asked me what color, remember?" Barbara replies, giggling.

"I almost crashed my car!" I blurt out.

"Sorry about that," she says, "But anyway..."

"Keep the panties until next time," my beloved wife quickly interrupts, then gives me a devious look and adds, "And it won't be over the phone!"

Stay tuned to Literotica for our further adventures...

SPOILER ALERT: In the next installation, I will discover the real reason Barbara called me, seemingly out of the blue.

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Thank-you for reading about our latest sexploits! I invite you to check out my wife's narrative, "How I Became a Spanko," for a fascinating glimpse into her past debauchery, or "gaucherie," as she likes to say. And if you enjoy reading about married couples who are far from perfect yet perfect for each other, take a look at our other stories on Literotica, written under the nom de plume, "PapillonButterfly."