Dreamy Distraction (Quest for Love Book 1)

by Emily J. Wright

  I push her legs apart to free my head and take a couple of deep breaths, filling my lungs with her scent.

  “Don’t stop! Don’t stop!!” She is begging—literally.

  The lady shall get what the lady wants.

  I get down to business to attend some last-minute details. Her pussy lips swell further, and honey nectar drips as I suck on to her clit in my mouth.

  “God! I love you so much,” I say, latching on to her cunt, eating her out, and lapping up that sweet cunt juice.

  She is moaning and chanting my name again and again. I can’t blame her for being a fan; I am a superstar down there, plowing her field for the final touchdown.

  As I move my tongue in and out, tongue-fucking her like never before, I can feel her whole body trembling and pussy clenching. She is about to have an orgasm, and the way she is scratching me with her nails, it’s going to be a big one.

  Her stiff body lightens as she comes on my face, giving me what I wanted in return for my efforts.

  It’s over for her—but not for me.

  I remain under her sweatshirt, with my tongue in her cunt, cleaning her out like a Roomba. I give a final deep kiss to her pussy and then pull my head out.

  She is in the euphoric state—heavily breathing, body quivering, profusely sweating, mouth agape, eyes wide open.

  Yes, I blew her brains out. A job well done. Thank you. Thank you very much.

  I snap my fingers before her face to bring her back to her senses. “How was it?”

  “One of the best—no, probably the best—no, the best.”

  I was so good that she couldn’t decide. She is flustered.

  “Glad you like it.” I smooch her, letting her taste herself as I gently run my fingers through her hair.

  And then, I rest my head on the softest pillows I could find: her bosoms.

  While she strokes the back of my head, I bury my face deep into her soft breasts. She embraces me in her arms, and with a kiss, places her chin right on the top of my head.

  “This is just the beginning of our anniversary.” I turn my head and kiss her boobs. “Wait till I show you what I have planned for you in the morning, afternoon, evening and night.”

  “Huh . . . sounds like you have done a lot of planning for this day,” she says, coldly.

  Not much enthusiasm. I don’t know why? Maybe she is just tired, or probably mad that I teased her too much before finishing her off.

  “Yes, I did,” I say, rubbing my face against her breasts.

  “So, you fed me, eat me, and also have an entire day planned for me, but don’t want anything in return? Not even a tie pin? Are you that selfless?”

  And there is that tone again. What has gotten into her? Did I offend her someway?

  And how selfish does she think I am?

  Okay, I am a bit selfish when it comes to her boobs . . . or pussy . . . Never mind.

  “You are the first and last thing I truly wanted. Your presence in my life is everything for me. I don’t have any desire left for anything else in my—”

  “You jerk!” she shouts, grabbing my hair, and yank me off her breasts. She is breathing heavily on my face, practically huffing.

  I am not a fool. I know she is mad at me. But why? What did I do to deserve this?

  She pulls my hair harder and again screams at my face. “Tell me what you want!”

  All right. I get it now. She thinks I am rubbing it in her face that I have an entire itinerary planned while she failed to even remember this day.

  Yeah, that must be it.

  She can be a little immature sometimes. By now, she should have realized that I am the prisoner of her love. I am doing this for her to have a nice and memorable day.

  “Calm down, sweetheart,” I say, trying to cup her face.

  But she slaps my hand away and shouts, “Don’t call me sweetheart!”

  “Okay . . . listen. Just like a wedding is all about the bride, and the groom is more or less like a prop, same goes for the anniversary. I am just here to serve you. It’s your day. It’s all about you.”

  “All about me, huh?” She let go of my hair, and her face breaks into a smile—an evil smile.

  “Absolutely. You can do anything you like,” I say with sheer determination.

  “Sounds good,” she says, smacking her lips. Must be enjoying her pussy taste the same way I did.

  Finally, I am successful in putting some sense into her that this is . . .

  Holy fucking cow!

  Chapter 2

  OUT OF NOWHERE, SHE shoves me away, all the way to the sink. I regret paying for her classes now—especially the kickboxing one. As her gaze meets mine, I nervously gulp down.

  Now, what does she have in mind? Am I wrong in loving her more than anything in this world, my life included?

  She jumps down from the kitchen counter and kicks her panty out of the way. “Now, I am going to do to you whatever I like.”

  She comes closer, and in the blink of an eye, she is in my arms.

  What is she, a daredevil? That was quite a long jump.

  Before I could wrap my mind around what just happened, her legs are tightly wrapped around me, and I am getting kissed all over my face.

  I don’t know what led her to do this. It may be my romantic gesture, or she is returning the favor for eating her, or I am some kind of symbolic gold medal for her record-breaking jump.

  Either way, I am really liking what she is doing to me. She is biting my lips, scratching my neck, and hugging me like a bear.

  With her lips in a friendly battle against mine, and her tongue shoved deep in my throat, I have no chance but to surrender. I tap on her shoulder, requesting a moment to breathe, but she ruthlessly denies.

  I consider myself a generous lover. Gets rough a little only when told to.

  Sure, I like to tease, but only because it builds up an explosive orgasm.

  But I am nothing like her.

  When her horniness reaches the saturation point, she becomes inconsiderate, wild, passionate, and without limits. In simple words, she becomes a horny slut.

  I tap on her shoulder too many times, but then my hands just become cold and motionless. I see a white light before my eyes, calling my name, asking me to join it.

  With a pop, she let go of my lips, and I quickly take a couple of big breaths.

  I was this close to saying goodbye to this world. This close. All thanks—no thanks, really—to her breath-play torture.

  I thought she was done with me. But no, she seems to be just getting started.

  She frees me from the bondage of her legs, and gives me a gentle kiss this time, before ripping my shirt to shreds.

  I would have appreciated if she had taken a little time out of her busy schedule and opened my shirt in a more civilized way. Probably, unbuttoning it, or at most, popping all the buttons at the same time as they do in the movies, instead of ripping it apart like a savage, which makes it impossible to sew them back.

  Guess, she will never learn. Not a week goes by when she hasn’t destroyed a couple of my shirts and subjected me to mourn their untimely and cruel passing.

  There goes another $75-dollar shirt to the bin. It’s tragic, really.

  She puts her cold palm on my chest and strokes it for a while. No doubt, it feels so great and relaxing whenever she does that.

  I lean in for a kiss, but she shoves my face away. She is on some kind of mission of her own. She kisses me though, but not on my lips; she is done with it.

  She goes straight for my right nipple, then the left one, and then alternates, making me let out a soft moan. I close my eyes, enjoying what she is doing to me.

  For the first time in my life, I am in a position where I don’t have to do anything. She is in the driver’s seat. Scratch that, she is on the auto-pilot mode.

  When she stops kissing, I open my eyes and find my pants down to my ankles.

  Imagine, I am standing in the kitchen in my underwear without a clue as to how she meti
culously dropped my pants without me knowing.

  She is a sneaky one—I must tell you.

  But I still would have caught her if my blood was not taking the journey down at a rapid pace. I feel dizzy, and a tad out of touch with reality.

  I blame it all on her—the finesse of her tongue, and her leaving my nipples unattended forever.

  Who knew men have sensitive nipples too?

  She is now on her knees, rubbing my dick through the underwear to return the favor of rubbing her pussy. She is gazing right into my eyes from down below as she seductively moves her hand on my crotch.

  My cock is already strained enough against the confines of my underwear, and if she doesn’t stop soon, it may very well poke a hole in it and give her a facial.

  She pulls my underwear down, and my cock springs up grazing her bottom lips, and then comes back down hitting the tip of her nose.

  That’s what you get for messing with it, or as I like to call it ‘The 10-inch of steel.’

  She smiles, wiping the pre-cum off her lips, and then spits on my dick, making me hornier. My cock throbs and she grip it in her hand and spit on it again, making it all lubed up and ready to go.

  That’s so hot!

  And I squirm when she gives it a little jerk.

  Fuck!

  She hasn’t tried anything rough yet.

  Just a little stroking. Up and down. Smooth motion. Nothing special.

  What will happen when she takes me in her mouth?

  She stops and looks at me with pure innocence while biting her plump bottom lip.

  What?! Did she forget to say grace?

  The innocence on her face is now overshadowed by an evil grin.

  She slowly brings her mouth closer to my dick.

  Just a bit more.

  Then some more.

  And some more until she is breathing heavily on my cock.

  She sticks out the tip of her tongue to touch the tip of my cock before reverting it back in her mouth.

  I am panting, moaning, even though her lips have yet to touch my ‘10-inch of steel’. I spread my legs some more, and firmly placing my hand on the marble countertop, lean back to stick out my dribbling cock, yearning for the affection of her mouth.

  She starts the whole process again.

  She moves her mouth close—I whimper.

  Moves further closer—my whimpering continues.

  I am looking down at her, and from what I am seeing, I have a feeling that she is only interested in giving me blue balls. Nothing else.

  After everything I have done for her today. What a shame?

  I haven’t lost hope yet. Maybe the third time is the charm. Fingers crossed.

  But she does the same thing again for the third time in a row.

  And like that was not torture enough, she looks at me again with the same evil grin on her face, trying hard to hold on to her laughter.

  Yeah . . . laugh at the poor guy who called you better than the symphony of Mozart just yesterday.

  I don’t know why she is doing this to me. I have done nothing but to please her. That’s my life’s goals. Where did I go wrong?

  With a deep breath, I recover from the ruin of my crushed hopes and bend down to pull my pants up.

  Whoa!

  What just happened?

  Unthinkable.

  Unimaginable.

  I can’t believe she is doing this.

  She tea-bagged me.

  My balls . . . in her mouth.

  It has been a fantasy of mine for a long time. I always wanted to know how it feels when someone sucks on your balls.

  But I couldn’t have said that to her, could I?

  Even I find it degrading. Imagine, how she would have reacted if I had told her that?

  For the sake of my balls and my marriage, I never shared my fantasy with her. But somehow, she knew. Maybe she checked my browsing history.

  My eyes roll on the back of my head as I experience the euphoric feeling of getting tea-bagged for the very first time in my life. She truly proves that they are not just ornamental and goes all the way—tapping them on her beautiful face, biting them with her pearl-like teeth, kissing them with her luscious lips. She plays with it until they are no longer blue, but red due to all the biting and lip marks, and swells twice the size.

  “How was it?” She looks at me and asks while gently stroking my cock.

  “Wonderful! It’s the best wedding anniversary present,” I shout in excitement, enough for the neighbors to hear that I am having anniversary sex.

  “And you said you didn’t want anything.” She scoffs and turns her attention to my poorly neglected dick.

  She starts off with a kiss on the shaft, moving ahead to the head, and then abruptly stops.

  Not again! Now what she has in her mind?

  Holy mother of God! She is moving her tongue in little circles on the head of my dick.

  Where was that move on our honeymoon?

  Oh yeah, I remember she was a virgin until last year.

  Did I not mention that?

  I am sorry. It must have slipped from my mind due to the enticing situation I am in.

  This sex goddess on her knees was a devoted Christian when I met her. Completely against premarital sex. Completely ignorant of the tricks.

  I didn’t have sex with her when we were dating. Not even a blow job. A hand job after Sunday Mass and eating her whenever we eat out—that’s where I had to be assertive.

  And don’t even get me started on her technique—unimpressive, pathetic, like a 40-year-old milking a cow on a farm.

  Even though she had zero to none sexual experience, I still married her. When I saw her for the first time, wearing a white floral dress, quietly working on her laptop, I knew she was different from the rest of the girls I had been whoring around. When after a couple of months of dating, she finally allowed me to give her head, and my lips pressed against her pussy, that’s when I became sure she was the one for me. That was the pussy I wanted to be with forever.

  She gave me love, stability, and a life I never imagined I could lead. She is my everything—a lover in the bedroom, a counselor in the time of need, and my best friend for life. As long as she is with me, I don’t care about, or need anybody else.

  She is perfect.

  All right, all right . . . I exaggerated. She is not perfect. Nobody is perfect.

  Why do you think I cook and clean around the house? Yes, I love her and don’t want her to lift a finger. But that’s not the only reason. She is a terrible homemaker and her cooking—a serious health hazard.

  I could have gotten a defense contract to sell her cooked food as a weapon, but I missed out on that opportunity. They needed samples, and by that time, I had already told her to not cook and focus on making her career as the rare talent like her shouldn’t be confined to the house.

  She has a rare talent all right. How many of you can say that your wife’s chicken parmesan was so dry that it chafed your food pipe? I can say that. And I can also say and hope that I am the only one to ever cut the lasagna with an electrical saw.

  What the hell!

  Teasing! Again?

  She licks the tip of my dick and abruptly stops. And then again. And a few times thereafter.

  I begin to realize that I am being sabotaged here. She is taking the vengeance—one lick at a time. Remember, what I did earlier when I was eating her pussy? A lick and a stop. She is doing the same thing to me but with more finesse and frequency.

  My balls are getting heavy with each lick. I feel like falling with their ever-increasing weight. And my dick is as pink as cotton candy—she has teased me that much.

  I want to come, but she is not letting me. She brings me to the edge, stops, and starts all over again. She has become merciless.

  “Please don’t do that,” I say.

  “Do what?” She plays innocent, does another lick, and stops.

  “This.”

  “Oh, this?” She does it again.
r />   And I moan. “I can’t take it anymore. Please finish me off.”

  I beg for an orgasm with tears in my eyes. She has toyed with me enough for today, and for many years to come. I wanted to make our anniversary memorable for her, but she has done the same for me. I’ll never forget what she did to my poor self. My dick will never forgive her.

  She makes a pouty face and says, “But you said it’s my day. I can do anything I like . . .” Damn it! I am caught in my own words. “. . . Besides, you are not ready yet. Edging makes the orgasm better. Remember?”

  What?! How dare she use my teaching against me?

  I made her. I taught her everything she knows about sex. And she chooses this day to put every trick in the book in action.

  On second thought, who am I kidding?

  She is a natural. Always was. Just needed a little push out of the cocoon. The student had become master a long time ago. If she says I am not ready, then I am not ready.

  And as much as it hurts me to admit that, it does feel kind of good that I am at the mercy of a woman who will decide when I would get to come.

  Isn’t it exhilarating?

  Let’s just hope I don’t get a heart attack before she blows me off.

  “Do what you want to do.” I raise my arms over my head, grab the handles of kitchen cabinets above, and firmly stand on the ground.

  She continues giving me the tease treatment with three moves in her arsenal—lick, kiss, and stroke. I swallow a breath each time she does that.

  A dribble of my pre-cum hangs down from the tip of the penis and touches the floor.

  “Touchdown,” she says, raising her arm in victory.

  I don’t know what that means, but maybe she does. And for the first time, I realize my sexual slangs are outdated.

  She gives me a smile—not the evil one, but a reassuring one. She is congratulating me in her own way for enduring all the teasing she put me through.

  Son of a bitch!

  She opens her mouth over my dick, and I see my ‘10-inch of steel’ disappearing in her mouth, inch by inch. Once she swallows my entire dick in her mouth, she begins deep-throating me—thanks to her no gag reflex.