Tuesday, September 27, 2005


I can’t for the life of me stop thinking about … It.
Him. It. On me. In me. In my mouth, on my skin. I’m becoming obsessed, an animal craving, hungry, crazed. It’s like a fever.
More than love, more than lust, more than desire, I want to meet him at the door naked, on my knees.
(Of course I won’t, since the boys are awake when he comes home. I’m not even sure how he’d react to that.)
I’ve never, never ever, felt this way for anyone. I’ve always been my own woman, even in high school when I thought I was so immature and so easily pushed around by my boyfriend, I knew where my boundaries were.
Right now I’d do anything to see that look of satisfaction on his face.
Last night, after everyone was asleep, my mouth was hungry for him. Monsieur was reading something or another, work-related, and sitting there at the dining room table. I came to him and put my hands on his shoulders, and he looked up at me and smiled.
I knelt, took off my shirt and my bra, and reached for his waistband.
“You are in need of it again?” he asked.
“This time I need this,” was my reply.
I tugged his pajamas down, and took his fabulous length into my hands, running my tongue over It. It was still soft, but It moved, like a drowsy animal.
My tongue circled the head and then I opened my mouth and sucked on It. I love the spongy feel of a semi-hard one, and my eyes closed. I was deliriously happy.
His hands were on my shoulders and he breathed softly. I took his hands and put them on my head.
He began to fill my mouth and I could sense the heat in my body, rising. I open my eyes, looked up at him and closed them again.
He was beginning to fill my mouth more than I could take, so I pulled off of It and began to lick it from below, getting It wet and cupping his huge sack in one hand. I could feel his pulse in It as my hand circled the base, and I started to feel so randy I needed to lay down.
“Let’s go to the couch,” I said. He nodded, his eyes burning into mine.
He sat and I lay down perpendicular to him and took It into my mouth again.
“He sat and I lay down perpendicular to him and took It into my mouth again.”
He sat and I lay down perpendicular to him and took It into my mouth again. Stroking, sucking, licking … touching myself, my hair cascading over It and blocking his view. He moved my hair to one side, and I loved that.
It was too much for me to take at one time. My eyes began to water and my mouth, forced open wide just to get the head in, began to tire. My jaws cramped and I knew I couldn’t keep my teeth off of It no matter what I did.
He gently pulled me up to a sitting position. Drool ran down my chin and I wiped my lips, which were puffy and sore. He kissed my lips, and then he picked me up by me waist, and sat me down on his lap. He looked up at me, his dark eyes smoldering.
“You make me feel so … alive,” he whispered.
I blushed. Then, I sneezed.
That’s so embarrassing. I don’t know why I do that. Whenever I get embarrassed, I sneeze. It’s so weird, and then I get more embarrassed and I giggle and sneeze again – which I did, then. He handed me a handkerchief.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m such a lady.”
“Yes,” he whispered. “You are – such – a lady.”
He lifted me up to my knees, and held It in his hand. I looked down at It – purple and red, almost menacing and yet so beautiful. I felt myself gush.
Placing my knees on either side of my waist, I lowered my hips to meet It with my tiny sex.
He rubbed It over my labia. I moaned. He simply held it there, and I realized, since he knew how big It was, I would have to make the commitment to have It enter me. I gathered my courage and lowered my hips more.
I could feel It flex, so I reached down to open myself. It lodged in my labia, knocking at my door.
I took a deep breath.
Then I lowered myself onto It.
It hurt but not as bad as before. It felt like I was being impaled on a steel fence post. His finger, soft yet rough, found my clit, rubbed it, and his mouth went to my throat and kissed my. He held my hair out of the way and he gasped. I felt another gush, and I felt my wetness running out of me, all over him. I pushed then relaxed. It popped in.
Then it was my turn to gasp.
It’s hard to imagine, I’m sure, how I react when I can actually hear my muscles and tender tissues stretch, but I could hear that. I was scared by it for a second but Monsieur sensed it and I heard him, as if from a great distance, whisper in my ear. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“Oh, oh yes, Monsieur,” I cried.
“You are certain, chère?”
“Oh, oui, oui, oh mon amour … donne-moi le … le…” but my pathetic high school French failed me then and I simply squatted down on It.
Oh … my … god.
The pain was tremendous, but … I could sense something else. She was here, I could feel it. “Maggie”. She was somewhere behind me, and I could feel her, like a warm breeze. I smelled the almond oil that she would put on her skin after bathing and the honey and balsam shampoo that she would use on her hair. There was a certain… lightness to the atmosphere, that would only occur when she entered the room.
I remembered what she told me about opening myself up, and I imagined that, like a flower, my sex was changing from a tightly packed little orchid bud to a flourishing, mature blossom. It was intense, the feeling, but the pain went to another place, and I felt it become bearable.
“Are you all right, my dear?” Monsieur whispered to me. It was as though he was a mile away, instead of right there, his mouth in my ear, his cock stretching me.
I nodded, my eyes closed.
“Don’t allow me to hurt you,” he said, “I only want you to feel good.”
I smiled gently, in spite of the intensity. I looked down and then I realized that he hadn’t moved since he first entered me.
I rocked forward. The pain seemed to ebb, or at least go to a place where it wouldn’t bother me, and it transformed into a feeling of intense joy.
My eyes opened and I could see the concern on his face. I must have looked like I was in agony and to reassure him, I smiled, then I leaned forward and I kissed him.
“Feels. So. Good, ” I whispered.
He made a noise in his throat. I placed my hands on his shoulders for balance, my face alongside of his.
I balanced on my knees and held my sex just over his lap, and he began thrusting up, slowly.
My sex is the red orchid, I kept thinking. I am blooming. I am the result of generations of women who can push babies out of their vaginas. I am strong, powerful; I am the essence of femininity. I am opening up. I am what he wants. I am a woman of pleasure. I give pleasure … “unnnnhhh…”
“Are you all right?” he whispered.
“Yesss … big … thick … cock … fuck … me … Monsieur….”
He gripped my ass, pulling me up and down on it. The blood went straight down to my tender, swollen clit, swelling it further and forcing it to scrape along his shaft with each thrust. I tried so hard to hold off and wait for him….
I couldn’t.
I came.
He wasn’t even in all the way.
There was like a snag, something catching inside of me, and I rocked, moving my hips up and down trying desperately to keep up with his timing.
Try as I might, I couldn’t take him all. I was getting desperate. I wanted it, in One Smooth Stroke, but I wasn’t going to get it this time. I felt his hands on me, on my hips moving up to my breasts. When they closed on my breasts I gushed yet again, then I leaned back and whatever caught, was now clear. There was an unobstructed passage, and I lowered slowly onto his lap and I looked up into his eyes.
“I love you,” I whispered, “…Monsieur.”
He began to move earnestly with deliberateness to his strokes.
I took his hands and put them in my hair. “Pull it,” I whispered, pleading.
He gave a slight tug, but I begged in a slightly higher voice, “No, PULL it, give it a yank for me.”
He grabbed it in his fist and pulled down.
I came again and when my eyes stopped swimming and I could see again, I was full of him, my sex yawning open around the base of It.
He wasn’t moving
“Please, don’t stop,” I begged, and he gathered me up in his arms and lifted me up and down on It. I could sense he was getting close and I wrapped my legs around his back ad pressed my body into his, and whispered naughty things right in his ear. “Is that how you like it? Is this pussy yours? Do you like this pussy? Am I your girl? Oh you naught man, you … delicious … mm … sweet … thick … hunk of … mmm … man-flesh.” I cried out and came again and he leaned back, arched, and filled me with his seed.
Sated. For a time. For now. Until I could hear It cry for me once again.
I could feel him, pulsing into me, his heart beating against mine, hugging me so tightly, so warm, so sweet. I felt a fluttering behind me, sensing “Maggie”, watching us and I almost felt self-conscious in front of her like this, on her husband’s lap. Then I knew it was where she wanted me to be. The last thing she said to me, before she went in to the hospital, the day she died: “Take care for them,” she said to me, the last thing she said, before she passed away.
I will. I will, “Maggie”. If that’s all I will be able to do, I will take care of them, as best as I can.

1 comment:

amber said...

'I want to meet him at the door naked, on my knees.'

i dream about meeting my man at the door, and on my knees, but wearing high heels and my nipples clamped with a little chain between them, so he can drag me around by it.

But not just on my knees... on my knees with my legs spread... into a split... wide enough to be uncomfortable and slightly painful... totally open and accessible to him....

(so many things to say to you... more replies to come...)