My hand was on Barry’s crotch, my fingers tight around the bulge that pressed against the fabric of his trousers. But I barely remembered they were there, as my mind focused instead on the taunting shivers that swept through my body, as his own fingers traced up and down my moist slit, parting my lips with the gentlest touch, and sending my heart rate into orbit.
I ended a kiss that had lasted forever, and looked down, fumbling with his zipper – no, my mistake; buttons. But I’d scarcely moved before his free hand slipped onto the back of my head and, with a loud, almost rapturous groan, he angled it in the direction of his lap. Angled and pushed.
I broke his grip. “What are you doing?”
His eyes met mine and I was surprised by the look of absolute horror on his face. “I’m sorry, I thought you were going to…” His voice trailed off, shocked into silence, I think, by the way my eyebrows raised as he spoke.
I kissed him. “Sorry, no.” A pause, and then, “I don’t like doing that.”
The horror turned to hurt. “No, of course you don’t. I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”
I gave him my sweetest smile. “Well, perhaps you’d better cum over me instead.” I finally unfastened that recalcitrant fly and slid my hand gently in to grasp him. So hard, so warm; as my fingers closed around him, I could feel his pulse beating like a drum. My thumb ranged over his helmet, gliding through the pre-cum that coated the flesh, teasing at the eyelet from whence it came.
I glanced down. My hand looked tiny against his shaft. My nostrils caught his scent, as thick as his prick. One little kiss – that wouldn’t hurt, would it? But no. I’d made myself a promise and, no matter how stupid it sounded, I intended keeping it. Besides, there was no time. I’d only just begun jerking him when I felt his body tense, heard his breath catch in his throat, and then his cock jerked so hard that, for a moment, I thought I’d broken it off.
His cum was thick and almost blindingly white. It didn’t spurt, it erupted, a great glob of cream that rose above his swollen glans, hung for a moment as though inspecting its domain, and then fell hot and heavy onto my still-stroking hand. Again, I almost forgot myself; almost gave in to the urge to lean hungrily forward and take him into my mouth, to savor the last few drops of his ecstasy, and feel him softening between my lips.
But I caught myself before I moved and contented myself with a few gentle squeezes, before looking around for a tissue. Typical bachelor’s apartment, there wasn’t one in sight. I wiped my hand on his belly instead, then kissed him once again. “There, wasn’t that a lot better?”
Barry rested his forehead against mine. “That was amazing. Thank you.” And that’s what I love about guys. It doesn’t matter how much they beg and plead for you to do some special thing for them. Once they’ve cum, it really doesn’t matter. Who says romance is dead?
You know how sometimes you get an idea into your head, and it won’t go away, no matter how hard you try to shake it? On the subway to the office, sitting at my desk, during the dull parts of staff meetings, lying in bed at night – <I>especially</i> lying in bed at night, spiraling around in my mind until my nipples burned and my pussy flooded… written down like that, it sounds like it was the only thing I thought about… and who am I trying to kid? It was. I don’t think I’ve masturbated so much since I was a teenager.
My friend Sandra started it, eight-plus months pregnant, and having a last night out before her life became subsumed beneath a tidal wave of diapers, rattles and baby talk. We were sitting – or, rather, I was sitting; she was perched uncomfortably on the edge of the sofa – in my living room, just talking about the same sort of things we always talked about when we got together. Work, other women, and sex. Right now we were onto sex.
“So how’s Mike adjusted to things?” I asked, nodding towards her swollen belly.
“However I tell him to,” she smiled, but there was a hard truth to her words, despite the jocularity. No-one ever asked who wore the figurative trousers in Sandra’s home, and I very much doubted whether things had changed now. “I’ll tell you what, though. He said the weirdest thing the other night….”
I laughed. Mike often said weird things. For Sandra to actually remember one, though, it had to be a real doozy.
“We were messing around, I was telling him what a pain it was having to use the breast pump all the time, so he started… well, you know….”
“Feeding?” I prompted.
“I don’t think that was his actual intention. He was just playing with my nipples, this thing with his tongue that he knows I like. But he got one helluva mouthful. It was hilarious, the look on his face, the coughing and spluttering…”
I opened my mouth to speak, but she hushed me. “I know exactly what you’re going to say. The thing is, that’s what he said as well. Well, not exactly, but along the same lines. ‘That must be what it’s like to suck off a cock,’ is what he said. And then, and this is the weird bit, ‘I’ve often wanted to ask you what it feels like’.”
“Did you ask him why he hadn’t?”
“I think I was too surprised. I didn’t know guys even thought about things like that!”
You know, I don’t think I had, either. But, from then on, that’s all I could think about, the fact that there must be thousands of guys who have wondered the same thing, and that sent the thought-train chuffing even further forward, to wonder whether guys have any idea whatsoever, precisely what it means to a girl when she takes a mouthful of hot cum?
What is going through her mind as it floods her throat and she fights against choking? As her taste buds struggle to absorb the strange, new flavor (because it does taste different, almost every time)? As her body struggles against the instinct to spit, not swallow? Could a man even begin to comprehend the manner in which all those sensations and emotions merge together into one unmissable surge of animal lust, greed and triumph? And, even more intriguingly, was there any way of letting them in on the secret?
It was that thought, more than any of the others, that kept my mind whirling as I tried to sleep. Well, there was only one way to find out.
Barry probably wasn’t the guy I should be trying this on, though. We’d been seeing one another for almost a month and, believe it or not, last night was the closest we’d ever come to sleeping together, a bout of heavy petting, and a cum stain on his cushions.
Of course, I probably wasn’t helping things along. Almost a month, and the most he’d got out of me was a grope and a handjob. Oh, and the assurance that, if he was looking for blowjobs, he’d better not start waving it in my face. I mimicked myself in my mind. “I’m sorry, I don’t like doing that.” Some guys would have spent the rest of the evening trying to convince me I was wrong; others would have lost their boner on the spot, and sent me packing into the night – yes, I’ve heard all the stories.
Barry, though, just took me at my word and, when he called this morning to check our arrangements for this evening – a spin around the antique stores, and then a late downtown dinner – there wasn’t even a hint of reproach in his voice. Wow, a gentleman, at last. Plus, if it didn’t work out between us, I knew just the gal to introduce him to. Sally really <I>didn’t</I> like doing it.
Ah, but it would work out, because I had a plan. Or, at least, I would have, once I’d figured out what it was. I just hoped he’d stick around long enough for me to put it into action. Like they say in those advertisements for snake-oil… sorry, for Male Enhancement products… I’d have him feeling like he was 18 again.
As I changed my clothes after work, I ran through the options that presented themselves. I did not want him sucking a real cock. Or a fake one, come to that. I wasn’t certain quite where our relationship was going, or even where I wanted it to go. But anything that happened between us needed to be natural, unforced, spontaneous. It needed to be between the two of us alone. And it needed to be his idea.
“Dinner was lovely, thanks.” I kissed him and looked expectantly up the street, as though a taxi would magically materialize there and then. A glance at the clock across the road could have told me that it wouldn’t – a few minutes past 11 on a Friday night, every cabbie in the city would be plying his trade in the theater district, four blocks in the other direction.
“We might be in for a wait,” Barry shrugged, and I could sense the apology forming on his lips.
“Fancy a walk, then?” I asked brightly. “It’s still early and it’s only…” I counted quickly in my mind… “half a dozen blocks to my place. You can always call for a cab home from there.” I thanked heaven he didn’t have his cell with him.
“If you don’t mind. We’re not in the best of neighborhoods.” I saw his eyes sweep the arcades and Triple X video stores that lined both sides of the street.
“I walk it all the time,” I assured him, and slipped an arm through his. “Besides, if the White Slave Trade should leap out, I’ll tell them you’re already spoken for.” We started walking, slower than I think he felt comfortable with, and slowly enough, too, that every garish window display that we passed seemed to take an eternity to slip out of view. And I could see him absorb every one, through the corner of his eye.
We chatted about our plans for the weekend. Barry was seeing his kids the following afternoon and evening; maybe we could get together on Sunday?
I agreed delightedly. “I’ll cook, if you like.” And then, stopping suddenly, “maybe we should rent some videos?”
He looked at me; then turned around, to gaze – I assume in bewilderment – at the storefront behind him. Pirate Cove Video.
I laughed. “Not from here, silly. Unless you want to?”
He shook his head. “No, sorry… I knew what you meant. It was that just your timing was a little off.”
Yeah, sure it was. I stepped to the window. Pirate Cove’s great; years ago, when the local authorities used to make up the obscenity laws as they went along, Pirate Cove was the only store that managed to stay in business, battling the city every step of the way, always making sure that their window displays were so close to the letter of the law that you couldn’t have slipped a dollar bill through the gap. They were busted so many times that people used to joke that the only people who worked there were lawyers and undercover cops – and then it turned out that it wasn’t a joke after all, because the store was actually owned by a Civil Liberties lawyer, for whom the fight was less of a crusade than it was a hobby.
The display tonight wasn’t one of their best, but I pulled Barry alongside beside me. “See anything you fancy?”
“You are on form tonight, aren’t you?” he chuckled and wrapped an arm around me. “How about if you tell me whether there’s anything you fancy?”
Actually, there wasn’t. Bondage and submission were the dominant themes and, while there was a lot else going on around the whips and chains and full-face leather masks, it seemed gratuitous to physically point them out. I peered deeper into the store, reading the handful of signs that marked the display cases. “What do you think bukkake is?”
I heard Barry splutter. “It’s… I don’t know. I don’t think you’d like it, though.”
I squeezed his arm. “You’re the boss. How about… oh, I don’t know. Maybe we should just watch television instead.”
He nodded, and was that a shadow that crossed his face, or a cloud of disappointment? As we started walking again, I hoped it was the latter.
It turned out I’d miscalculated when I told him how far we’d be walking. It was closer to nine blocks than six back to my place and, by the time we arrived there, I was beginning to hope that he would just call for a cab, and let me fall straight into bed. But his arms encircled me as I hunted for my key and, as we kissed on the doorstep, the urgency with which his hips pressed against me let me know that, if I sent him home tonight, we’d both be regretting it tomorrow.
I pushed the door open and, as I stepped inside, he whirled me around and buried his face in my neck, his mouth hot and wet against my flesh. I slipped a hand under his jacket and tugged at his shirt. It untucked easily, and I let my fingertips graze his bare back.
His hand was on my breast, pawing roughly at first, but becoming gentler as he located a nipple through the fabric of my bra, and began flicking at it with his thumb. I shifted position a little, partly to allow him more access, but also to part my legs a little. I brought a knee up very slowly and gently, until I felt it make contact in-between his legs, and then rocked myself languidly back and forth, feeling his warmth building through his trousers, and his excitement rise with the motion.
I kissed him hard. “Let’s go through.” The wall in the hallway has never struck me as the most romantic place in the world, not when I’d spent a fortune carpeting the rest of the apartment.
Barry nodded, and we tumbled into the living room, his hands already fumbling at the last few buttons of my blouse. I reciprocated, stripping off his jacket until it dangled from one wrist, and then pulling at his shirt. He had already moved onto my skirt –I reached behind and released my bra strap; then, while he continued fumbling, I deftly unbuttoned my skirt and let it fall to the ground.
He’d already removed his trousers, and my eyes fell to his cock, straining against his jockeys, pulling the waistband away from his body. I reached out and jerked his underwear away; it snapped against the top of his legs, and my hands slid down to cup his balls.
He groaned as my palm skimmed across his scrotum, and my fingernails scraped the tightening sack, then he reached out to stroke my cunt through my knickers. Now it was my turn to groan, as his fingers sank through the soaking fabric. Hurriedly, I pulled them down, stepped out of them and crushed myself into his arms, relishing the hairs on his chest as they prickled my breast, and the force of his cock pushing hard against my stomach.
He felt so strong. A lot of guys can get so hard that you wonder sometimes why they don’t rip their own trousers apart. But there’s not so many whose cocks can actually pull at your hand, and make it move. I squeezed a hand between us, cupped the tip of his prick between thumb and forefinger, and rubbed him. The stickiness drove me crazy.
I stumbled backwards, tumbling onto the sofa, my legs wrapping around him as I fell. I expected him to slide straight inside of me; instead, he fell to his knees and, parting my legs, drew his tongue slowly up one thigh.
I squeaked and, with a hushed chuckle, he repeated the motion on the other leg, tracing the tip to my groin before flicking away. Again and again, he licked to the very edge of my pussy, and all the while his fingers danced against my hips, or stroked across my belly, or buried themselves beneath my ass, to draw me closer to his face. His nose brushed my clit and, for a moment, I almost threw myself into him, to bury my cunt in his face and grind myself to the orgasm that I knew was hovering so unbearably close. But I held back. Outside the video store, I told him “you’re the boss” and, right now, that’s what I wanted him to think.
His fingers were parting my lips, stretching them wide as his mouth brushed my flesh. He was sucking me in, first one side and then the other. My hips were moving gently now, my clit screaming out for the contact it craved and, as his hands pressed against my ass and lifted me, I couldn’t have stopped my hands from clasping around his head, even if I’d wanted to.
He was licking me hard now, his tongue dancing across me, zeroing in… encircling, clockwise first, and then anti-, tripping and flicking and whipping around. A finger drove up inside me and I gasped aloud as he started fucking me with it, without once losing the incredible rhythm of his tongue. It was maddening, I was so close, so very… very… and then I was there, and I swear I levitated, that my body left the sofa and wrapped itself around his head, as my legs crushed his ribs and I was flying on his face, with every nerve end singing a different note.
I fell back, heard the springs of the old sofa growl in protest, and he leaned across and kissed me hard on the mouth, my cunt juices still sharp and luscious on his lips.
I was jelly. I could barely move my tongue as his twined around it, and I couldn’t even feel my legs. But I forced myself to lean forward, as my hands clasped his ass and I pulled him to his feet. His cock twitched before my face, still hard, but with a bright sheen of moisture coating its thick head. I reached out and grasped it, pulling him towards me, but he stepped back. “No. You don’t have to.”
I looked up at him. I felt the words on my lips… but I want to… and then forced them back down. I jerked him gently, and then lay back against the sofa, cupping my breasts in my hand. “Please… here.”
He smiled and stepped forward, lowering himself until his prick bobbed between my spread tits. I clasped them together, trapping him between them, saw his knob end poking defiantly out from the two mounds of soft flesh. And the words came tumbling out before I could stop them. “Fuck me, Barry. Fuck my tits.”
He began moving slowly, carefully. “Harder,” I breathed. “Faster.”
He increased his pace, one hand cradling his weight, the other gripping the base of his cock, holding it into place.
“Faster. I want you to cum all over my tits.”
He was losing it now, his eyes closed tight, his cock driving through my cleavage. I bent my head further, stretched my tongue as far out as it would go, and felt it make contact with the tip of his prick, a fleeting lash and the unmistakable tang of taste that made my pussy water as fast as my mouth.
Again, I had to taste him again. I clamped my hands on his ass so he could not withdraw so quickly, and if he came just a little bit closer, I could fold his helmet between my lips, and a little bit closer still, and I could suck this man dry. But then he cried out and his prick jerked away, and his cum… it spurted this time, splashing on my tits, into my cleavage, across my nipple, thick and white and lovely, every drop tingling and tart on the sensitive flesh – and, as he fell back, so I sprang forward and pushed my dripping tit towards his mouth.
“Suck me. Please, Barry, suck me.”
His mouth closed around my spunk-soaked nipple, drawing it into his mouth and swallowing hard. He sucked, and then he licked; and then, as I couched ecstatically above him, his mouth swept across my chest, devouring all the cream he had spilled there, so that when I bent to kiss him again, there was only the ghost of his flavor on his tongue, and only the shadow of stickiness adhering to his lips. So I turned my head and, without a word, I scooped his semi-soft cock into my mouth, so deep that I could not breathe, and so warm that I didn’t want to.
I sucked him as hard as he had sucked me, and rolled his balls in my palm until his hand told me to stop. He raised my head – there was a plop as his softness flopped onto his stomach – and gazed at me in wonder. “I thought you didn’t…” he started to say, but
I hushed him with a kiss.
“I thought I didn’t, as well. But maybe I do, now.” I thought of adding something… “of course, there’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?”… something like that. But it would only wind up sounding crass. I decided to tell him the truth. Or something like it.
“It was when I saw you… felt you…” I hoped I wasn’t laying it on too thick. “My breasts…. I’ve always been afraid, in case I didn’t like it. But then you did it, and I wanted it as well.”
He smiled. “I’ve never done anything like that before. Never even wanted to. But the way you spoke, the passion… no-one’s ever talked to me that way before. I would have done… would do… anything you asked me to. And I loved every drop of it.”
I cuddled up to him on the carpet. “I know exactly what you mean,” I whispered, and my hand fell onto his lap. He was hardening already and, judging from the twitch I just felt, I think we’ll be sharing glorious feeling again – very, very, soon.
And, if he says anything else, I’ll just tell him I’m a fast learner.