He waited for her. She could not be rushed or hurried; he centered himself in her, in her pleasure, in her reaction.
Always her.
Only her.
Now he needed his mind. He joined his intellect to his lust, aiming his laser-like focus on her reaction; he was paying complete and total attention to her cues. His body wanted to give her everything in one overwhelming rush but that was him, and this moment in time was hers, he wanted most to meet her on this plane, to give her what she wanted by following the hints that came forth in the hot shadow. He treated her body as a mystery to solve, paying attention to the smallest trembling clues, moving moment to moment, second to second, patiently in control, ignoring the clawing demands inside his hips. He listened to her; felt her in the humid darkness, her direction. They had traveled to this pulsing place together so many times in so many locations, learning the landscape, finding the secret rooms that when correctly entered wetly or brazenly caused tingles to ripple and swell like waves, waves that burst into a writhing and jolting convulsion of needful thighs, arching back and climactic cries.
He would know success when her hands were on him, insisting, urging, demanding, he would know success when there were tears. The only time he ever wanted to make her cry was like this. And he could. He had done it so frequently he took gleaming masculine pride in this deeply private accomplishment. In this intimate posture he did think of himself. Of all the things he could do, of all the skills he had acquired in his life nothing gave him greater satisfaction than being her lover, her very capable lover.
When they were together like this there was a synergy, a oneness, a partnership of flesh that transcended his ability to understand but that fed some hungry space inside him. There was the sound of a heart beating but whether it was hers or his he could not tell. He smiled inside at the thought that those muscles would synchronize.
He needed her so much. It used to frighten and perplex him this set of sensations she detonated inside him, but now, he felt confident, strong.
Loved.
He was so far into her that time had no meaning. Her excitement shed mere words, her vocabulary melting down to pure sound:
“Ooooooooh.”
Her raw expressions nourished him, satisfied and teased him; her movement against his tongue, its urgency dared him, challenged him, made him bold yet inspired unparalleled tenderness.
“Ah, ah, ahhhhh.”
Impossibly fragile yet breathtakingly strong.
She was near; he felt the approach, the trembling that indicated a chain reaction had begun an erotic electrical storm inside her deepest uncivilized places. The thought of it galvanized him.
And then he heard it:
“Da Da?” the tiny voice said.
All movement stopped.
All movement stopped everywhere.
Traffic outside, the breeze, clock hands, nothing on the planet moved. He was under the covers, her hands on his head between her legs, the fearsome strength that was her birthright demanding complete, terrified stillness.
It was Parker, their youngest. Richie had not locked the door to their bedroom.
“Hey buddy,” he heard Dina’s raspy, vaguely tense morning voice, “Why are you up?”
“The werewolves are back,” the four-year-old responded. “Where’s daddy?”
Richie’s heart joined the motionless world, suspended in his chest. Parker often came in expecting to find daddy for potty, or tuck-in or drink. Why was daddy gone? What would she say? What could she say? She was the liar of the two of them, the creative one, the one that could get laughs with just a garbage bag full of yogurt.
“Daddy’s...uhm, downstairs.”
Richie smiled, trapped in his favorite place in the world; he was in awe of her. She was so quick, so special; he loved her mind, her fast, unorthodox thinking engine. He shook slightly but her hands held him firmly under the covers.
“Can you go get him?” the boy asked.
“Why don’t you?” she responded.
From his shadowy, wet location Richie mouthed the answer.
“It’s dark,” the boy said.
“Okay, mama needs some privacy, you go out in the hall and close the door, I’ll come out and we’ll deal with the werewolves.”
“Liken-throats,” the little boy said. Richie smiled, realizing that the term was a fun-house mirror of the real word, lycanthropes. He pictured the little boy who looked just like him standing in the moonlit room with his armload of stuffed puppies, dinosaurs and daddy’s sweatpants that accompanied him anytime the child exited bed.
“What?” Dina asked him.
“Daddy says they’re called liken...” he hesitated, halted at some verbal road block.
“Scoot out to the hall sweet slice,” she told him, “and close the door.”
From under the covers Richie heard muffled shuffling and the door click shut.
The next sound was her voice - a furious whisper.
“You didn’t lock the door?!”
He imagined the familiar gas flame blue of her eyes.
“Mmmm, frrrumph,” he said into her.
The covers flew back and heavenly cool air rushed in around him, Richie’s eyes panned up the moonlit gorgeousness of his nude wife. Her warm hands cupped his wet chin.
He smiled then whispered with a numb tongue, “Will you be my valentine, princess?”
She looked at him, turning her head to the side as if trying to look into his brain by finding a crack in his eyes. Then she pulled him onto her, kissing him deeply, exploring his mouth with a blistering passion. Dina was the best kisser, years of sampling and savoring meats gave her...skills.
He shuddered.
She broke the kiss, “Dork, you are so going to finish what you started,” she hissed it through her perfect white teeth.
“Now?” he teased, his eyebrow flicking up.
She could not contain her amused smile. She lightly batted his ear, “No, not now. Your werewolf bedtime story is the dumbest thing you have ever done.”
“Wolves have been a part of bedtime stories for hundreds of years. Probably thousands if you think about cave men fleeing...”
She pulled him into another moist kiss, he had only failed to return one of her kisses and that mistake would never be repeated so he leaned into her passionately his tongue meeting her thrusts.
“Mama?” the voice called from the other side of the door, “are you coming?”
Their faces parted both painted with the same frustrated smile, “almost,” she said in a low, wicked tone. Her hand found Richie and gave a single, luxuriant, sin laced stroke that forced him to groan.
“Hold on sweet slice, mommy still needs privacy,” then she added in a conspirator’s voice, “I have to go deal with your son, goon-bag.”
He sucked in a ragged breath then let it out, blinking, “So, you’re leaving me for another man?”
She slid off the bed and collected her robe from the floor, “Younger, cuter, smarter---mama’s no fool.”
“Will you ever stop being mean to me, Mrs. Cameron?”
She looked at him sincerely, “Nope, because you love it,” and her eyes blazed like the stars that hung in the window behind them.
“Yes, yes, I do,” he nodded, and then added, “I love you.”
Her face, the one rendered by some divine artist for the express purpose of agitating his mind softened, “I love you too.” Her expression, the light coming out of her, left no room for doubt.
She closed the big terry cloth robe but as she walked toward the door she paused, turned toward him and opened the garment again, she did a slow, vaguely comedic, completely immoral grind, a dirty, random dance that would scandalize the PTA. How was her body still perfect after all this time? His brain had no answer.
“You better have our Valentine’s Day planned and ready to rock,” she warned.
“No problema, guapa,” he replied. “I went low key this year,” he lied. His plan was complete, he had thought of everything. Sitters, the trip, surprises especially conceived for her. It would be perfect.
She deserved no less.
Always her.
Only her.
And she was gone through the door to the waiting arms of another. Richie Cameron swallowed loudly. He listened to their voices fade in the hall, to the furnace hum in the walls, to the rain drum the roof. He was the happiest man on the planet. His mind needed none of the abundant evidence to come to that logical conclusion.
He knew it in his heart. Where his best decisions always came from.
Porn Interrupted
Victoria Blisse
Pete’s Valentine’s night of surfing for porn is interrupted by an unexpectedly sexy phone call.
Porn. I love it. Some people probably think I am pathetic. All alone on Valentines night surfing the internet for interesting-and preferably free-porn. I, however, am not pathetic. I don’t need pity or sympathy or setting up on a blind date. I have my porn and I’m happy.
What, you don’t believe me? No. I’ve not convinced myself quite yet either but what else can I do, eh? Wendy left me last year, not long after I bought her that expensive silk night dress for Valentine’s. She said I no longer fulfilled her needs-my credit card did though- and ran off with some young millionaire or something. She got half of bloody everything, probably more and she was marrying a frigging millionaire. What did I get of hers? The bill for all her sexy Versace numbers and her “because I’m worth it” make up. Thanks a lot Bodgers & Sons solicitors extra-bleeding- incompetent.
Anyhow, I’m not bitter; I’m searching for porn.
I’ve got it down to a fine (or is that phallic?) art now. I have all my favourite pages in a folder ready for my masturbating pleasure. Hot Horny Honeys is one of my favourites but even the sight of those young pussies dripping in glorious Technicolor isn’t working. Not even a stirring in the crotch area.
Damn woman. She might not have been fulfilled by me but I was pretty damn satisfied by her. Now there is this huge void inside which I try to fill with all kinds of stuff, but nothing seems to work.
I believe in the power of porn and as I log in to Fetish Fun I switch on my messenger programme. I guess there’s not much chance of anyone being online tonight of all nights; most of my “friends” are married or at least shacked up with someone, but you never know your luck do you?
Now what to choose? Tied up Tina or Sandy Spanked? Decisions, decisions.
Beep -boop!
Ooh a message. From Tina.
Tina? I thought she was going away with Bob for the weekend. Hmm weird.
Pete? Are you there?
Hey Tina, yeah I’m here. What are you doing online?
Oh Thank God you’re here! I’ve had a totally awful day Pete.
Why love what’s happened?
He’s left me. Bob has gone.
I can’t believe it but I keep typing. Turns out he’d been cheating on her for months. Yep, decided he couldn’t lie anymore today of all days. Fucker. Tina is one of the loveliest women I know. She’s sweet, kind and sexy as hell. Yeah we’ve done the cyber thing and bloody hell that woman knows how to turn a man on! Mostly though we just chat and flirt and I have to say I kinda like that. I hate knowing she’s upset.
Pete -can I ring you?
The words stand out on the screen like they’re written in neon lights. Yeah we did speak on the phone once. She rang me and we chatted. What a voice! It’s sweet and soft and sticky just like honey. I got so hot talking to her but we just chatted. I masturbated hard after we spoke, exploding with the echoes of that voice spinning in my head. Damn that was good.
She’s not going to be up for sexy flirting stuff this time though. It’s going to be a heavy conversation.
Of course you can Tina. I’ll be by the phone waiting.
I let the phone ring just a couple of times so I don’t look too sad, and then I hear her voice.
“Hey Pete.” I can hear she’s been crying, can guess she probably still is.
“Hiya Tina. How are you?” What a god-damn stupid thing to ask! Idiot!
“Coping. I think. Thanks for letting me ring Pete. I dunno who else to turn too.”
Suddenly she’s in floods of tears and I am a jittering useless fool.
“Oh Tina. I’d kick that fella’s arse from here to December if I could get my hands on him!”
Really helpful, I know, but it’s my man coding kicking in.
“No, no. It’s OK Pete. I’ve been expecting it. Things haven’t been right with Bob and me for ages. It’s just like the little bugger to do all this today.”
I am listening to her as she tells me her woes; how he’s been avoiding spending time with her and how she’d found several things that made her think he might be having affair.I only butt in when she’s putting herself down. She’s a good woman and she needs to know that.
“You’re too good to me Pete.” She sighs “I bet I’ve just totally ruined your night.”
“God no,” I exclaim, “I was just surfing for porn. Valentine’s isn’t anything major for me now.”
Why do I have to be so truthful, eh?
“Porn, huh? Did you find anything good?”
Now the conversation is taking a strange turn.
“Not really. I was just looking at some new sites, you know, with a bit of bondage, a bit of spanking, uniforms. That kind of thing.”
“Kinky stuff then huh?” She chuckled throatily and my cock literally jumped in response. “Can I tell you something?”
“Sure.” She can tell me anything, especially if she makes that noise again.
“Well. I’ve always been a bit kinky. Bob was never into anything different though. I’ve always fantasised about dressing up and being tied down. Oh, and being spanked. That kind of thing. You know, I always wanted to be taken, you know, in public.” She takes a long shuddering breath and then continues, “Just some random guy pouncing on me and pinning me down and pulling my panties down. Yeah, totally taken by a stranger. Never to see his face, never to know who it was. Yeah.”
My cock is straining. I’ve never really felt it so hot and hard and eager. I want to say so much but all I seem to be capable of doing is panting.
“Pete. I’m sorry...”
“Oh don’t apologise. I was just, well, caught up in your fantasy.” I blush. Yeah, I actually feel my manly cheeks heat up.
“Pete. Tell me one of your fantasies.” I swear I can hear her moving in her seat.
“Ok well, I’ve got lots. I hope I don’t get too kinky for you.” I laugh nervously and she makes that throaty chuckle noise again. I can’t help myself, I stroke myself through my boxers. Did I mention that I always surf for porn in just my underwear?
“One of my favourite fantasies was inspired by my old French teacher at school. She was a big buxom lady and I was fascinated by her. Anyway my fantasy is to be tied down to a bed, naked, then I want a beautiful curvy naked lady to come and sit on my face and make me lick her to orgasm.”
That was definitely a moan from her end of the phone. Oh God I think we’re doing it. I think we’re really having phone sex. I think.
“I have always had a schoolgirl fantasy.” She’s continuing, and her continuing is causing me to yank my cock from my pants and gently stroke it. “I’ve always wanted to be the naughty school girl, you know? Sent to the Headmaster’s office and punished.”
“You’re a naughty girl aren’t you Tina?” I butt in. I hope this works. I want to join her fantasy, I want to give her something good to remember about today.
“Yes. Y
es I am,” she hesitates a moment then stammers. “S..sir.”
“Well then you’ll have to be made to be a good girl. I shall spank the naughtiness out of you.” A sharp intake of breath and a muffled moan leads me to believe she’s playing with herself. I ease my cock from my pants and admire its full aching length.
“You’re being naughty now, aren’t you Tina?” I growl the question. My cock feels good in my hand and I need this release.
“Yes sir.” She sounds breathless.
“Tell me what you’re doing naughty girl.” I demand in my sternest voice. Shit, this is like a dream come true. Well least I have the audio, better than the crappy staged porn stuff. Fuck the power of porn and all hail the erotic phone conversation.
“I’ve peeled off my wet panties, sir and they’re caught around my ankles. I’m sat on my sofa with my legs splayed, sir and I’m playing with myself.”
“I need more details. I need to know just how much punishment you deserve.”
She’s playing with her cute cunt. I know it’s cute because I’ve seen it. Yeah one night we both got drunk and sent each other nude pics. She was distraught the next day and asked me to delete them and for some weird reason I actually fucking did. I can visualise her right now though. Her curvy legs bowed wide, her skirt hiked up around her waist, her sweet little brunette bush exposed to my gaze.
“Come on girl, tell me more,” I snap the words out, almost roaring.
“I’m rubbing my pussy lips now, sir, they’re so wet. My finger is slipping down between them and oooh, I’m pressing inside my pussy now. Fuck, I’m dripping wet. I’ve got my thumb on my clit, just the slightest little rub and I think I’m going to explode.”
Fuck. I feel like I’m going to bloody explode and I’ve barely touched my prick.
“You naughty girl, you know you’re forcing me to wank my cock, don’t you? It’s so fucking hard and I’m stroking it. I’m stroking it and my balls are curling up and I know I’m going to shoot. You’d like me to come on your cunt, wouldn’t you?”
“Oh yes, sir.” The words fall out quickly one after each other “Oh sir, sir, sir, I’m going to come!”
XOXO Page 4
