the hardest part

We were watching something on TV. No, he wasn’t. I was watching something. A pretty awful yet funny movie.

About ¾ of the way through, Monsieur’s arm was around my shoulder, and I’m thinking, just do it. Just take it. Don’t make me ask for it. Don’t ask if it’s okay. Just take it. Did he just take it? He did not.

Monsieur was on my left side. His arm was around me, his hand resting on my right shoulder. I took his hand from my shoulder and moved it to my right breast.

I held it there. His hand didn’t move. I pressed his hand into the firm flesh of my breast. He held it there, and it didn’t move. The movie ended. Just before I got pu to turn off the TV and give up on him, Monsieur flicked my nipple ever so slightly. I froze. I stayed put.

His hand didn’t move. Was that flick an accident? A test? No. It was him, torturing me again. I sighed.

His thumb flicked over my nipple again. I sighed and arched my back. He took his hand away.

Put it back! I screamed in my mind, Put it somewhere!

A few minutes later, he reached across me, in front of me, with his left hand, and gripped my right nipple between his thumb and middle finger. His right hand went around the breast, holding it firmly. He pulled my nipple through my nightshirt. He really pulled on it, stretching it out. I closed my eyes, and just as I was about to tell him to stop, he let it go. Someone on television was singing in some language I didn't recognize.

“What language is that?” I gasped.

“Portuguese,” he replied. “I believe he’s Brazilian, by the accent.”

He twisted my nipple. I gasped, wincing from the pain.

“Did that hurt?” he asked, concerned.

I nodded. “Yes, well, but... “

He took his hand away, apologizing. I put it back. My nipple was throbbing.

He lifted my nightshirt, looked at it a second, then leaned over and licked a circle around it. The tender, light, gentle touch of his tongue burned into me, after the rough treatment he had given in only a minute before. I squeezed my thighs together, and felt how aroused I was.

He licked circles around the nipple, not touching it directly with his tongue or lips, but sucked the areola into his mouth gently. My hands went to his head and pushed his face into my breast. I wanted to scream, but I knew if I had, one of the children upstairs might have awakened. I knew that he wouldn’t do anything if any of the children are awake, so I bit my finger to keep myself from screaming.

He’s going to take me, I thought. Then prayed. Please, please, let it happen.

He continued to suck, then stop, then bite, then stop. Over and over again; just on the one breast. The other one, untouched, was so hard that it looked purple.

“So,” I managed to say, “you like the right one okay, then?”

“Indeed,” he said, looking at me, his eyes a-twinkle.

“There’s the other one,” I said, looking at it, then looking at him.

“Well,” he said, “of course there is.”

“Hint hint,” I suggested.

He did not take that as a hint. Instead he grabbed the crotch of my panties and pulled them off, down to my ankles. My legs opened.

He looked at me, and smiled. He has dimples, and I wanted to lick them. He looked directly at me and licked his fingers, then slid three of them into me at once.

My eyes fluttered and my cheeks flushed. I sneezed.

“Bless you,” he said, and curled his fingers inside me.

“Ohhhh,” I said, trying to keep quiet on the couch. I bit my thumb, then sucked it.

His fingers were inside me, curling and wiggling and I don’t know what he was doing. I came gently. It was a soft, sudden, bubbling sort of orgasm and it made me contract on his hand. He leaned over and sucked just the nipple of my hitherto ignored left breast. It hit me harder, and I came suddenly, my thighs locked on his arm.

“You’re going to take me, aren’t you?” I asked.

“I am taking you,” he said, evenly.

Damn him. I reached for his pants but he pushed my hands away. I know his ways by now, and expected that.

He sucked the left nipple into his mouth, then as it stretched from the suction he began to bite it. Hard. It hurt, at first unbearably, then this warmth spread from my crotch to my chest.

He tortured me like that, for about twenty minutes. I wouldn’t have known except by the digital clock on the video recorder. My shirt was off and my panties were in a wad on the floor. He was still fully clothed, in a shirt and tie. Even his shoes were still on. Every once in a while I would attempt to undress him, and every time I tried he would push my hands away and torture me some more.

Finally he stopped. “You’re being too loud,” he said. “You might wake the boys.”

“I’m being loud?” I asked. He nodded. I realized I’d been begging him to take me, to fuck me, to let me get him naked.

“Sorry,” I said.

“You’ve got to learn control, dear,” he said, kindly.

“I’m trying,” I said.

He took me in his arms and picked me up, putting me over his shoulder and carrying me to the bedroom.

And tarnation!, now I have to stop, as he and the boys are back from the park.

To Be Continued… here.