Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Last night: Halloween. I dressed as a flapper: teeny-tiny skirt, sequin top, headband. Monsieur dressed as a cavalier. Everyone thought he was a pirate. (He’s used to that. Most people seem to think anyone in a big cocked hat and breeches is a pirate; most people don’t seem to know that pirates didn’t dress all that well.) We dressed Littlest Boy up as a cowboy and Middlest Boy was the Green Lantern, complete with LED light. There was one ranch house in the neighborhood where all the kids gathered, and we set up tables and trick-or-treated each other. Bigglest Boy just wore black and hid in the trees, shining a flashlight occasionally and not wanting to get involved.
I flirted shamelessly with Monsieur, and a few of the neighbors. It was pure fun. The bigger boys had a little candy, a couple of chocolate bars each.
Afterwards, at home, the boys were bouncing off the walls with energy. They wound down pretty quickly, though, and we put them all to bed early. They didn’t mind once the effects of the candy wore off. They were exhausted.
Monsieur and I were staying up, watching some show about astronomer geeks, me snuggling against him. I took his arm and put it around my shoulder I looked at him, trying not to look like the yearning heart that I am.
He looked down at me, smiling gently; I stretched up and kissed him and he returned it. Good sign.
“Are you watching this?” I asked him softly.
“Hmm, well, do you need to talk?” he replied.
“No, I need … something else,” I asked. I took his hand from my shoulder, and placed it on my breast, through my nightshirt.
“Oh,” was his only reply.
My nipple stiffened against his and I arched my back lazily. He squeezed it OH so gently, then rubbed his palm in slow circles against my nipple, then he just touched it softly. I tried to not act like the desperately horny girl that I am but I was so deprived. I craned my neck up and kissed his ear, then whispered, “Please. Please, Monsieur.”
“Please, what?” he whispered back.
“I need it,” I replied, “so … badly.”
“Ma chère, I don’t think I can give you quite what you need tonight,” he began. I know I looked disappointed. “I can give you something, though,” he continued. His fingers began to toy with my nipple, and then his hand slipped inside my nightshirt.
My arms were around him. “What?” I asked softly. “What can you give me?” I tried to keep the begging tone out of my voice.
“What I can,” he replied. His fingers pulled on my nipple, pinching it gently, tugging it out to its full length, letting it go, and repeating the movement lazily. It was swollen, hard, and I could feel my pulse in it.
“Unnnh,” I gasped, my eyes closing as I writhed on the couch. I opened my eyes to see his eyes, burning into mine as he watched me.
“I can’t give you what you want,” he said, “but I can give you this.”
“This … is … pretty … good.” I managed to say. My cheeks were hot. My legs opened and closed almost involuntarily.
“Pretty good?” he smiled. “Are you sure?”
“Aaagh,” I gurgled and bit his shoulder, trying to keep from screaming.
The whole essence of my desire seemed to concentrate in my right nipple. He didn’t hurt it; he just teased it, toyed with it, stretched it, released it, made it throb, and flicked it with his thumb. All the time his eyes were locked on my face. I was in ecstasy and he hadn’t even touched me anywhere else. He must have been doing that for twenty minutes as I wiggled and purred, trying to get my body against his.
“Can you reach climax this way?” he whispered.
“I … I … don’t know,” I admitted. “I never have, really.”
He twisted it, not too hard, then leaned forward, and kissed it through the fabric. I melted a little more.
“Oh … oh … Monsieur,” I cooed.
His hands went up my nightshirt, cupping my right breast in both hands and squeezing it. He sucked the nipple in between his lips. My head went back, my legs opened. My panties were like a used dishrag. I could feel the wetness as it ran down my thighs. I could feel the heat from my breast spreading over my chest. I could feel myself turning pink all over.
Then came his tongue over that nipple. Flick, flick, flick. Suck and flick.
My mouth got dry. I licked my lips, I could feel my lips pursing on their own. I needed to suck him.
I tried to undo his pants, to turn around to get to him, but he held me and kept flicking that maddening tongue over and over again. My nipple felt like it had been stung by a wasp; it was swollen and sore, and I started to feel like I would cry if I didn’t get him inside me.
“Please, Monsieur? Please? Please…” I begged.
“Please, what, ma chère?” he said, looking up from his work on my poor nipple.
“I am aching for it,” I replied, “please fuck me.”
“Oh, no, no,” he said, almost admonishing me. “That is not what you will get tonight.”
“But why not? Don’t you want me?”
“I’m afraid I can’t for you tonight. Besides, do you not enjoy the surrender?” Monsieur lowered his mouth again, pulling my nipple with his teeth, licking its length, subjecting me to the worst, the most agonizing, most delicious torture.
I could feel something building inside me, spreading quickly from my nipple across my body, to my lips and down to my clitoris.
I was so close but still couldn’t … quite … get there….
He pulled his mouth away, reached up under my nightshirt, grabbed the crotch of my soaked panties and pulled them down my legs. The cool air hit my open vulva and the wetness seemed to freeze on my skin.
“Aahhhh … oh god, oh…” I bit my lip, lifting my hips trying to entice him to take me.
Monsieur pulled my ankles up, placed them on his shoulders and spread me wide. My eyes closed. His one hand held my bottom and lifted, and the other traced a finger along my aching, yearning vulva. I opened my eyes and saw that he was licking his fingers, then he slid some in me. (Don’t ask me how many, since my eyes were closed again. It was marvelously good.) Filling me with his fingers, he held them there firmly and then lowered his lips to my clitty. He breathed on it gently, then expertly sucked the tender hood of my clitoris back, then flicked once, twice, again, as his hand inside my turned palm up.
I moaned, then I turned to one side and bit the sofa cushion.
“Oh, yes,” he said, half to himself. I could feel his fingers move in and out of me. My hips lifted up and my hands went to my breasts. I squeezed, coaxing my body along. I felt a surge, my blood turning to melted butter, my pulse racing ….
He sucked, then licked along the length of my clitty.
I gushed, squirting down his hand. My head flew back, back; my teeth clenched and my breath came out raggedly. “Yessss,” I cried out hoarsely and then pulled his head into my crotch.
I don’t remember what happened next. I blacked out. The next thing I knew, he was holding me in his arms. My mind was foggy, my crotch pulsing, and my eyes could not stay open.
“Do you feel better, ma chère?” he asked.
“Oh, yes. Yes, Monsieur,” I said, nodding. “Thank you, so much.”
“I regret very much having to deny you this, and anything that you need,” he said. “I am not capable of being much more intimate for you, right now.”
“Oh, Monsieur,” I gasped, throwing my arms around him. “I’m so sorry I am so much trouble.”
“Please, do not worry about yourself, and do not worry about me,” he said, holding me tighter. “I promise you, I will come around once this grieving is past me. I promise you I will keep working on it. There is none better able to help me, than you, and I thank my fortune that you are here with me. I promise you this, as well.”
He helped me stagger to his bed, where I fell asleep, feeling so grateful, and so much better.