He fills the room with one Oh yes! after another. Then, when he’s barely coherent and I have my way, I slow to spend forever on the final few drags.
He shakes, trembles, rattles, and heaves, bucks up from the bed, screams, “OHMYGAWDLIZA, I LOVE YOU!” then cum floods my mouth.
There is always so much. This time there’s more.
He shoots loads between my lips down my throat. I swallow fast and miss only a little — the final unexpected shot after I pull away from his freshly milked member. The final glob rolls from his tip, over my knuckles, and into a pool at his lap.
I keep stroking Richard’s shaft, gliding up and down to keep his body shaking.
Finally he stills, and I come up to kiss him.
We lie in silence until I say, “Now we eat cheesecake.”
He feeds me until the slice is all gone.
Then, we nap.
I fall asleep happy, knowing we’ll wake to the rest of our lives.
The Proposition
I open my eyes.
Richard is gone.
I smell him in the kitchen, making wonderful. I roll to his side, hug his large pillow to my small frame, inhale his scent, and wish he was beside me.
I’m never sated. Still wet, my body’s still wanting. Life feels fuller than ever, yet being full makes me want more.
I think of him always. I crave his touch and his smile, his swollen cock in my hollow, his whispers in my ear and kisses on my skin. Promises and stories, wise words and I love yous.
I wasn’t looking for Richard, but I’m grateful he found me.
I lower my hand to my slit and run a finger between my wet lips, feeling me, stirring Richard’s milk and my cum, mixed and drying inside me like glue.
He’ll fill me more later. For now I’ll shower.
He’ll hear the water and know I’m awake. When I go downstairs, we’ll share our first morning meal engaged. I still can’t believe this is happening.
I step into the shower, water hot but not scalding. It beats on my scalp, neck, shoulders, and back. I think of life where it’s been, and where it’s now going. I feel happy and scared, timid and fierce. There’s not a cell inside me that doubts Richard is perfect for me, or that I am perfect for him.
He’s 23 years older. So what. I’m in touch with my body. I love sex and would trade it for nothing. There’s no purer form of human expression. Richard’s a world renowned sex therapist with seven clinics in six major cities, author of Cunt” a tome he has publicly insisted he never meant to be controversial. The truth: He knew what he was doing and loved every minute.
I was born rich, and have high expectations for life. A troublemaker in school: artistic, fiercely opinionated, too smart for my own good. I went to a small, and ridiculously expensive, art college, and dropped out my sophomore year to do a lot of nothing. I left a broken heart and country behind, taking my parents’ blank check suggestion to trek Europe. I wandered Europe without a backpack, preferring posh carpet to hostels, until I finally came home and met the man I’m going to marry.
Richard is also highly artistic, fiercely opinionated, and too smart for his own good. I love him more than I’ve ever loved anyone. More than myself. I love Richard for who he is and how right he is for me. I love him for who he makes me want to be.
I touch my pussy. I’m hot and wet from more than the shower.
I wonder how it’s possible, to be satisfied, and still want more. I consider touching myself, but know I won’t stop if I start.
I kill the water, reach for a towel, dry myself off in the giant stall, step out naked, and pull a dress from the closet. Richard bought it for me, and loves when I wear it. It’s white, like most of the things that he buys me, and too short for leaving the house.
Richard smiles as I enter the kitchen, eyes up from his tablet. “Good morning,” he says.
“Is it morning?” I ask, looking outside. Bright and beautiful: heat pours through the windows. I’ve not seen a clock. It feels good to not care and have nowhere to go.
“No,” Richard laughs, shaking his head. “It hasn’t been morning for a while. So I suppose, a good afternoon is in order.”
I sit at the bar. Richard slides his tablet across the counter, dips his fork into a mess on the plate between us, and brings it to my lips.
I close my eyes and savor.
“What is it?”
“It’s an oven omelet. Do you like it?”
“I love it. How is it different?”
Richard puts another bite into my mouth, and I make a long mmmmmmm noise as cheese drips in a string from my chin.
“It’s a baked egg dish, creamy inside. Almost like a casserole. This one has ham, parmesan, and parsley.”
“S0, like a quiche?”
“No crust, so it isn’t a quiche.” He tapped the granite. “Even Liza Elway can make this. Easy and fast. Whisk some eggs and milk, herbs, salt, pepper, whatever, add vegetables or meat. Bake it. Want to make one together?”
“I would.”
“Here, you finish this, and I’ll get our ingredients ready for the next one.”
I smile, watching Richard as he walks to my side of the bar, still naked — I’ve never met a more confident man — to pull ingredients from the fridge: leftover steak, red and green peppers, jalapeños, cheddar and jack cheeses, avocado.
“I’ll make you a deal.”
I raise my eyebrows. “What sort of deal?”
“I’ll chop the ingredients, all you have to do is mix them. I’ll even clean when we’re finished.”
“You’ll do anything to get me cooking,” I laugh. “Including the work.”
He smiled. “Precisely.”
Richard slices jalapeños into slivers, without moving his eyes from mine. It makes me nervous, the way he chops without looking.
“So, what am I supposed to do?” I ask, scooping one of the final bites into my mouth. “Omelets and cheesecake before lunch, I’m such a lucky girl.”
“Yes, Lily, you are.”
I love when he calls me that.
Richard sets his knife on the counter, smiles, walks to my side of the bar, sits beside me, and takes my small hands in his.
“Liza?”
“Yes?” I look at him, suddenly scared by unsaid words.
Richard is going to yank the rug from under us. He’s done this before. I can tell by his eyes that I’m going to hate him for a minute, want to pound my small fists on his strong chest, even though I know it is futile.
“I’m going to say some things you don’t want to hear, OK?”
“OK,” I say, holding his eyes, wishing we could stop. Go back upstairs to bed. Forget the omelet. “But you’re scaring me.”
“Be reasonable, Liza. How can I be scaring you? Last night I asked for your hand. This morning we woke to cheesecake. Sounds like you’re living an exceptional life.”
“I am,” I say, and inexplicably feel like crying. “And I really am so happy. But I don’t want anything to take that feeling away.”
“Of course you don’t, Liza. I don’t want this feeling to fade for either of us.” His eyes say it again, and I feel the knife inside me twist hard to the right. “But it must. At least for a while.”
“What?” I pull away, feeling ambushed. Betrayed. “What are you saying,?”
“Sometimes you must do things that are difficult to preserve what you love.”
“I don’t feel like being a student right now, Richard. Tell me what you’re trying to say. We’re not fucking: I won’t get off on you making me wait.”
“So crass,” Richard shook his head.
I say nothing, and want him to hurry. I need him to finish so I know what to scream at. After a moment of silence, Richard continues.
“I can’t wait to marry you, Liza. I’m often asked why I’ve not married. Until now I haven’t had a reason. ‘I’ve yet to meet the perfect woman’ is vague when compared to, ‘because I’ve not yet met Elizabeth Elway.’ But we only know what we kno
w after we know it, yes?”
“I’m getting upset, Richard. Please get to the point. We are still getting married, right? We’re still engaged?”
“Yes, of course. There’s nothing I want more than you, now and forever. But,” he leans into me, lowering his voice to not more than a whisper. “I feel we must cement our tomorrow. Do you trust me?”
I hate him, and want to pound on his chest. I nod.
“Relax,” Richard says. “This will be good for us, I promise.”
I practically yell, “What is it, Richard?”
“We need a break, before we can marry.”
Richard is calm, I am not.
“What?” I scream.
He repeats: “We need a break. I need you to sleep with people other than me.”
I throw his hands from mine and fall several steps back.
“Are you fucking with me?”
“No,” he shakes his head. “Not at all.”
“Why would you want me to fuck other people, Richard? Isn’t that the point of getting married?”
“No, I don’t believe that’s the point at all.”
“Are you trying to be a big man? Are you trying to show me you don’t need us to be exclusive because you’re that confident.”
“No, not exactly. You can sleep with other people, even after we’re married. Sex is sex, you’ll come when you want me. It’s your heart I care for, Liza. And if we’re committing to forever, I must believe you understand what that means.”
“Of course I know what it means,” I say, trying not to snarl. “Partly, that means not going to fuck a bunch of people!”
“Perhaps we should finish this conversation later,” he suggests. “After our omelet.”
“I don’t want to finish this later, and sure as hell don’t want to cook.”
I turn and start pacing the kitchen. We never argue. Now I’m incensed.
“Why would you want me to go out and have sex with other guys, Richard? How is that supposed to make me feel? Wanted? Protected? Safe? How do you want me to feel, Richard?”
I want to punch the condescending smile from his face.
I can’t imagine my friend Ellie getting a request like this from her husband, Dean.
“Yes, you should feel wanted, protected, safe. You must know what forever means to me. I would never want to control or suppress you, Liza, but am not naive enough to believe I could ever be the only person to please you forever. Mind concerns me more than body. We’re missing 23 years between us. I know myself better than you know you, and I need you to know Liza a little better before you’re wearing a beautiful, white dress I’ll want to pick out and peel from your body.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
I can barely control my voice. Every word quivers with anger. I feel hijacked, Shanghaied, slapped on the back of my head.
“Is it wrong to fertilize your garden because you must bear an unpleasant scent?”
“I’m not in the mood for stupid analogies. Sleeping with a bunch of guys before getting married isn’t going to get anything out of my system. It’s just going to make me miss and be mad at you. The desire to fuck is inside us, there’s nothing I can do about that. If I see a hot guy a month after we’re married, a part of me will probably want to fuck him. Not that I would, Richard. My point is that I could fuck 100 guys between now and I do — that won’t get anything out of my system. It won’t make me more ready to marry you. If you weren’t ready, then you shouldn’t have asked.”
My body’s rigid. I’m doing my best to resist. Like always, I’m melting butter beside him. He takes my hands, and I feel myself soften.
“I understand you, Liza. And won’t court your regret. I know you love me, and believe you’re ready to marry. But I see no harm in making sure. I don’t want you to wake up in five years wondering what you’ve done, and wishing you’d not done it. Love is wonderful when new. Lovers surrender friendships and family like sloughed skin. But all infernos fade, Liza. What you feel in five years won’t be what you feel for me now. In some ways it will be stronger, softer in others. This is unavoidable and doesn’t worry me. But I want you to know what you’re saying yes to.”
“Of course I know what I’m agreeing to!” I start punching Richard in the chest. “What makes you so high and mighty? What makes you so sure you’ll know what you want in five, 10, or 20 years?”
He takes my wrists and lowers my hands. “It’s OK to be frightened, Liza. It would be odd if you weren’t. But you’re proving my point. I don’t know how I’ll feel in 5, 10 or 20 years, because knowing would be impossible. Yet, I’m more equipped than you, if for no other reason than I have spent more years on this earth.”
“I don’t want this,” I say, starting to cry. “I hate it.”
“I know,” Richard says, pulling me to him. “And I love that you hate it. But it will be good for you, and good for us both.”
“So, just to make sure I have everything straight?” I say. Light laughter cracks through my tears. “You’re asking if I’ll go out and fuck a bunch of other guys?”
“You keep saying ‘guys.’ I said people.”
I look up at Richard, raising my eyebrows.
“How do you know for certain you’re not made for women?”
“Because,” I say. “I’m made for you.”
“Yes, of course, but what if your soul is designed for a woman? That, I cannot touch. Your heart must belong to me, and I don’t know if it can. Go and return to me whole. Our engagement can take as long as you want. We’ll get married when you return. This is our final morning, Liza. Tomorrow, you set out for adventure.”
“Where am I supposed to go?”
“Wherever you want.”
“Where am I supposed to stay?”
“Wherever makes sense.”
“OK, Richard,” I swallow hard. “I trust you.”
I sink my teeth into my bottom lip. I don’t want to cry, or for Richard to see what I’m thinking more than he already can.
“Good girl,” he says, and kisses my forehead.
A Calming Bath
Richard calms me.
I’m still mad as we finish cooking, but know my anger will fade. He’s always right, about so many things. I’m sure he’s right about this.
That makes me nervous.
Richard says he has work to catch up on, but that’s only so I can think. He disappears into some corner of the house, probably his office, and leaves me in the kitchen with a parting kiss.
Richard’s home has five bathrooms. We use two, one for showers and fucking. The other is mine. Richard says it’s my space. I take showers that last forever, and baths that last longer.
I pour the water, leave it shallow, and pull my white dress over my head. I fold it neatly, and leave it on the floor.
I climb into the tub and sink into the shallow water. I feel the heat on my skin as I brush my fingers along the length of my body. I should’ve taken care of myself in the shower. I didn’t. Tension gathered and brewed through my long talk with Richard. He said I had to revisit my past, and sort through emotions. Of course, I had feelings for people in my past. I’m a human, and a girl. But those feelings are nothing compared to Richard.
Most of me hates this idea, thinking there couldn’t be many things worse for our relationship than opening old boxes of memories, high on shelves in my mind where I left them. The rest of me knows Richard’s right, and that a part of me — as unacknowledged as it might have stayed — was thinking the same.
I brush my hands along my body, teasing my skin.
I turn my right hand flat and press my fingers to my puffy lips, pouted and waiting for relief. I rub myself lightly, not in a hurry. Minutes pass, then I reach out of the tub, unhook the freestanding nozzle beside it — a thin, silver cylinder, dotted with tiny holes like a saltshaker — turn it on, and drizzle the stream on my breasts.
The nozzle’s my foreplay. I spray my breasts then my body. My pussy i
s pulsing. I sink into the water, pressing my back to the porcelain as my pink pussy twitches. I lower the stream to my cunt, run the water high to low. I feel myself wanting my fingers inside me, but refrain.
I look down and see white cum, juiced from my hole and floating in the water, drifting at the apex between my legs, getting frothed from the water above.
I reach down, spread my lips, and spray the stream into my center.
I shudder, moan, and squirm.
I spray water on my clit, softly moaning. The water is warm and wonderful against my skin. I’ll miss this tub, but mostly I’ll miss being upstairs while Richard’s below.
I spread my legs as far as I’m able, like a butterfly in the bathtub, and rub my fingers in circles, raining water onto my hot cunt as I turn my digits in harder, longer circles.
I slip my middle finger inside my hole. My pussy clenches around it.
I gasp, moan, and shudder. I slide my finger in and out several times, but don’t cum. I’m distracted.
Part of me wants to get out of the bath and march through the house until I find Richard, then drag him back to the bedroom, and make him fuck me. The rest of me wants to finish here in the bathroom.
I won’t have him tomorrow, I should get used to his absence.
I take the skinny, silver nozzle, and slip it lengthwise between my lips. I start sliding it up and down, stirring juices and making myself hotter. I slide back against the tub, lifting my ass up from the bottom. I add a second hand to the cylinder and get aggressive, rubbing it harder around my pussy. I think about slipping it inside me, but don’t.
I keep stirring until I cum, softly, nothing like Richard that morning. After I fall, I reach around the tub’s edge and grab my favorite glass dildo from the faux stone floor, and bring it into the tub.
My dildo is beautiful: the width and length of Richard’s cock. All glass, with a maroon braid wrapping the shaft. He bought it for me.
This is for the bathtub when I’m not with you, so you don’t have to always use your fingers, and can think of me while you’re not.
I’m using it, imagining him.
Engaged (The ABCs of Erotica) Page 2
