Chapter Ten
I woke in the middle of the night, needing to pee, so I got up, being quiet, did my business, and then climbed back into the bed, still being careful to not wake her. I moved the pillow over a bit, so it was just touching where her breast sagged over her side. I adjusted it so the height was right, laid down, took her nipple in my mouth, and drifted back to sleep suckling like a well-fed baby.
In my dream, I was answering the phone but the damn thing wouldn't quit ringing.
She gave my shoulder a shake and said, "your phone, baby."
Which fucked up a nice dream but I fumbled on the bedside table, found the damn thing, and hit "accept."
My voice had that first-thing-in-the-morning, haven't even had time to clear my throat, croak as I managed a, "hello."
"Is this David?" the voice asked, clearly female.
"Yes," I said.
"I saw your flyer at the Senior Center," she said, and then let out a kind of giggle, "well, I saw you too," she went on, "and was wondering if you can handle painting."
"Sure," I said.
"Well," I amended, "I'm not equipped to do a whole house or anything like that."
"Oh," she said, "no problem. I have a small shed in the backyard where I keep the stuff for the pool and I just want it freshened up."
"Sure," I said, trying to mask a little gasp when Doris's finger started probing between my ass cheeks.
I caught my breath and said, "who is this and where is the job?"
"My name is Rita Rose," she said, and then rattled off an address.
"Hold on a second," I said, my breath catching as her finger penetrated. I opened the little notebook app on my cellphone and said, "what's the address again?"
My fingers trembled a little as that finger probed deeper, and I put the address in the phone.
"Will you be home today?" I asked.
"All day," she said.
I was squirming now and managed, "okay, I'll be over later this morning and look it over."
"That's fine," she said.
"See you then," I said, hit "end," and laid face down on my pillow, enjoying what she was doing.
"Don't move or I'll stop," she said, and I felt a little electric shock run between my balls and my nipples when she found and then pushed a bit on my prostate.
It was one of those timeless moments.
Her finger was deep in my ass, touching and releasing and touching again, my prostate gland. Her other hand was caressing and rubbing and tickling and squeezing and pinching as it explored my body.
My body twitched, involuntarily, and she pulled her finger out and stopped her tickling.
"One minute," she said, and I could almost hear the grin on her face.
I used my minute to try to get myself under control. Honestly, I can't say that it worked. I was hard and throbbing.
I concentrated very hard on staying still when I felt her finger, slick now so I assumed she had been gathering her own natural lubricant to use, slip into my ass.
I managed to relax finally as she just held me like that, touching my prostate, taking me immediately to the edge, and holding me there.
"Where did you learn this," I said softly, being careful to move nothing but my mouth.
She giggled, used her free hand to tickle my back, almost breaking my concentration and making me move, and said, "I've been studying, honey. I want to be a good wife for you."
Her finger, moving inside me, would brush my prostate and I would feel a little spurt of semen, not ejaculating, just a little spurt.
"Do I please you, David," she asked.
"Yes," I said into my pillow, careful to not move.
I have no idea how long we stayed like that, her finger up my ass moving around and lightly brushing my prostate gland, her other hand lightly tickling my back. Certainly, it was minutes but it might have been an hour or more. The way she was doing what she was doing, such light touches, my arousal was beyond anything I had ever imagined. I was relaxed, hell, I'm not sure I could have moved if I wanted to, but also I was so damn sexually aroused I could barely breathe. My breath was in hard little pants.
When I came, finally, it wasn't an ejaculation like I'd been having since puberty. Rather it was like my balls and my prostate were simply too full. It was more like peeing, but with that wonderful sensation of cumming all rolled into one. If we're being honest here, I actually thought for a minute that it had been MY bladder control that had failed the way I just kept going.
When I was finally done I started moving and she pulled her finger out. I rolled up onto my side and saw that the sheet was soaked. She was giggling.
"Tell me I please you," she said.
"You please me," I said, reaching for her and pulling her into a side-by-side embrace.
I squeezed her waist fat and kissed her. "You please more than I ever imagined a woman could," I said.
She giggled at that, and positively beamed.
"Even though I'm your dirty girl?" she said, her eyes downcast, trying to look coquettish.
"Yes," I said, kissing her again, "even though you're the dirty girl that I need to keep changed regularly." She giggled at that too.
Things changed, the mood changed, as it sometimes does. It wasn't anything specific, just those subtle little changes in tension or breathing or other subliminal cues. I knew she was going to turn serious.
"Are you really going to get embarrassing pictures of all those women who have been mean to me all of my life," she asked.
I grinned at that, glad the mood was broken and I was back in charge. She really had me going earlier.
"You betcha," I said. "Any specific requests?"
That seemed to stop her.
"Requests?" she asked.
I flashed The Grin.
"Yeah," I said, grinning, "requests. Something special? A big eggplant shoved up a pussy? Bruised tits? A tennis ball stuffed in a mouth? Let your imagination run wild sweety, and I'll fulfill your fantasy."
Her eyes had gotten bigger and bigger as I talked as had the smile on her face.
"Can I think about it?" she asked.
"Of course," I said, reaching down and touching her clitoris under her fatty clitoral hood that hid it so well.
"Now," I said, kissing her, "your turn."
I took her nipple into my mouth, began suckling, and used my finger to masturbate her.
I took my time, feeling how her clitoris got hard, like a tiny cock, as I played and made circles.
I brought her to one of her messy orgasms, womanscent and urine scents mixing as her body arched.
"God," she said softly, looking straight up at the ceiling, "how do you do that to me."
I gave my best Groucho Marx eyebrow waggle and then said, in my best W.C. Fields imitation, "practice my dear, practice."
She giggled at that.
I helped her stand, walked her into the shower where I washed her, as had become our standard morning ritual, and then helped her into the tub to soak while I changed the bed.
When I had her clean, dry, and in her Depends and she was making breakfast I asked her if she knew this Rita Rose.
She stopped and I could see her eyes look up and right, as she was thinking.
"Oh," she said, "yeah. She was behind me in school a few years. An Old Maid (the way she said it made the capitalization obvious) who lives over on Euclid Avenue."
She paused to do something with the eggs and sausage.
