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The Story of K
K was one of those perfect, Frisian blondes one sees in skin cream commercials. We met while I was browsing in a large bookstore. As so often happened in these Spring/Summer situations, she had noticed me and maneuvered slowly closer. Like a hunter on its prey, she closed in slowly but surely.
Women generally don't admit such a thing, because it sounds too much like something they think a man would do. In nature, however, females need to be aggressive hunters, and in bookstores it is not much different. When I finished in the Philosophy aisle, and turned the corner into the Eastern Religions aisle, she was waiting. At first, she made a pretense of stretching up high for a book she couldn't reach. Wearing jeans and a tight sweater, both of which emphasized her good figure, she turned her milky face toward me. Her long, straight blonde hair gave a toss, and she gave me an inquiring look. Her eyes were cornflower blue, her lips wide and pink. The faint shadows around her eyes and mouth gave away that she was at least 30, not to mention a stray gray hair or two.
"Which one?" I asked, and she said: "That big one about Tantric Yoga."
As I reached up for her (she was tall, but I was taller) she asked: "Have you ever tried it?"
I had to admit that I had not, as I handed her the book. "Looks interesting," I said. I was interested in it, and in her, and she was interested in me, and it.
We wound up having a close, animated conversation at the bookstore coffee shop. We made a date to attend a yoga lecture at the university, and from the lecture that evening she drove me to her apartment. She was divorced, had been an engineering professor's wife, and had one toddler child who spent Tuesday and Thursday evenings at his grandmother's. K was a good mother, but needed a lot of space. The little boy spent much quality time with his two grandmothers, and in fact I gathered that the paternal grandmother thought K was taking a class Tuesday and Thursday evenings, which was a fib. K still had a lot of youth and mayhem in her. She drove her old Volvo stick shift too fast, and at least once in each journey gave someone the finger. I liked the way her fine, corn silk hair swung back and forth under a well-shaped face as she bent over the stick shift. She was one of those women with a long torso, which made her hunch a little in the car. She had probably intimidated the boys of her age group in high school, and probably would have ignored me in favor of some jock. That was then, this was now, and she was the needier one in this different world of her 30s. I could not tame her, but let her vulnerability, as she perceived it, keep her humble—it is the best way I can find to speak of a woman who has been used to being adored all her life, and now is becoming 'one of us.' Of all the Summers and Julys I dated, I probably had more spats with this one than any several others combined. One day we were in the steamy bathroom, where we had just showered. We had bickered about some nonsensical thing, and then made up, had sex, and she was contrite as we toweled, I confronted her at a vulnerable and appropriate moment and showed her her face in the mirror. "You see yourself?" She started to become tearful, and bit her lip in remorse. "You see this gorgeous face?" She nodded. I pointed to the vertical lines on either side. "If you continue being mean and pouting, these will become age wrinkles. Now let me rub some cream on there to soften them up." You never saw a humbler person as She waited like a child for me to get the white European clinical cream, with its clean, orangey under-essence, which I applied liberally to each cheek.
K was temperamental, which made her good in bed. She could bicker one minute, and then fuck the next. At first I was put off by the roller coaster, but then I learned to step back and let her thunder and lightning. It was harmless, and in fact most of the time she was right—I was a slob, I didn't pick up my sweater, I didn't take my fork to the sink, I didn't see that the trash was overflowing, etc. She maintained that, since I ended up sleeping at her house most nights, and we fucked through the night, as if she were my whore, I could help out. I
assured her she was not my whore, and I promised to pick up. I was intrigued by this fantasy, though, and I think she was too. She wasn't terribly imaginative, but she was very adventurous. She loved it when I created a fantasy, and she would follow me anywhere in it. The whore thing gave us a frequent play topic. It wasn't about the nasty, violent real world. It was more about the Game. That is, the Game of pursue, elude, catch. It was about all those coy exchanges that happen when two people play. I'm not sure that the same Game plays in both people's heads, but pillow talk amid the shadowy pleasure world of the bedroom can reveal some things.
K and I had come home, showered, and relaxed in our robes and underwear for a while. We were watching a sitcom with attractive young people in it, and I noticed that she was rubbing the inside of her thigh with one hand. Leaning a little closer, I noticed that her robe was slightly open. I could see the pink of her thigh and the black of her silk panties.
She was almost absently stroking herself. I noticed that, with her hand lightly curved, she had her middle finger in her panties. She didn't notice me looking, and I didn't let her know how interested I was. Maybe she wasn't even aware of doing it—I have known several women who casually diddle themselves in the privacy of their homes without necessarily masturbating. I think watching handsome men—and possibly women—arouses them to some low-energy state of interest, and rubbing a damp labia or gently pressuring a slumbering bud under its clitoral hood, without actually bringing it fully erect, offers a pleasant background buzz.
I was trying to guess which of the men she was most interested in, and if any of the women added to her pleasure. There was one scene where two young women were having one of those conversations where they say funny things with a straight face, gesturing and grimacing, and the audience laughs every ten seconds or so. I watched her hand, and it may have slowed a bit, but that long finger stayed hooked in her undies. She turned her hand so the knuckles were up, and the finger straight, and began rubbing with more energy. But she did that in fits and starts, no matter who was on. During commercials, she removed her hand and used it to hoist her steaming tea mug, or to stir sugar in.
She picked up the TV schedule and read with serious, innocent mien. "Nothing but junk," she said to me. I pretended to be lost in thought, and shrugged, raising an eyebrow to signal I had heard her comment. She put the paper down and resumed stirring her tea. The show came back on and she sipped her tea. Two young men were having a dumb conversation in the living room.
One left, and in came a vivacious young brunette. Her little breasts jiggled as she strode back and forth, and her dress flounced under a pert behind. She sat down, sulking, and the young man sat down close beside her to console her. As she sat thus, her dress rode up, revealing the dimpled insides of her knees and the beginning of one lush thigh. K's hand moved back into her robe, and her finger went back under the panties. First she did the knuckles up diddle, with the fuck finger out straight, rubbing rapidly, as if she had to catch up on her erection. Then, having lubricated and swollen herself just enough, the hand relaxed, went knuckles forward, fingers curled, and her fuck finger sort of absently brushed up and down along one dewy lip.
"Which one turns you on the most?" I asked, breaking our silence.
She was startled, embarrassed, and flicked her robe shut and folded her hands together in her lap while squeezing her knees protectively together.
"I think you have cute knees like that woman," I said, looking at the actress on the couch.
"She is really cute," K said.
"Does she turn you on?"
K pulled her head in as she coyly raised her shoulders. I put my arm around her shoulder and rested my head against hers. "It's okay if you tell me."
"I'm not lesbian, if that's what you're asking," she said without any rancor. It was a casual statement, like "I am not one of those who put bananas in my peanut butter and jelly sandwich."
"That's fair," I said. I knew that all her rubbing must have stimulated her, and I wanted to see how long she could delay getting really turned on—by the actors, rather than by me. "I didn't think you were."
"Oh? What did you think?" She laid her head back against my shoulder. We were on the verge of another fantasy game.
"I was watching you, seeing that you were getting a little turned on, and I thought you were turned on for me."
She laughed. "For you? How's that?"
"I'm serious. You were turned on by those handsome guys, and I was turned on by those gorgeous women. I think telepathically, in your mind, you sensed that I was turned on, and you tuned into that."
She kissed my earlobe. "You know what? You're nuts." I noticed that her hand had sneaked back into her robe. I could see the outline of her knuckles slowly moving back and forth. I pretended not to notice. I had a huge hard-on by now, but didn't let on yet. "Tell me more," she said.
"Well, not much to tell. Just watch. Look." I pointed to two women in the show, whose titties jiggled in their light sweaters as they circled each other in the living room saying funny stuff that goosed the laugh track. "See how their titties jiggle? The show's producers do all that on purpose. They can't show naked people, so they have women with jiggly breasts and men with huge codwallops." "Cod whats?"
"Codwallops. I made it up, from codpiece, which used to be an item of fashion in the 1500s. Men wore these outer sacs over their pants to emphasize that they had dicks inside."
"You mean like a cod, or halibut, or a fish?"
"I think cod was Middle English for scrotum."
"How weird. That's almost like those Stone Age people in New Guinea who wear gourds on their dicks."
"Same thing."
"What do women wear?"
"Little black miniskirts. Open blouses. Lots of things to turn other people on." We watched the rest of the program. It segued into another rerun of the same show. K yawned a bit, rubbing her eyes with her left hand while her right hand stayed in diddle mode under her robe. She honestly did it without thinking. I could almost read the sensuous thoughts that crossed her mind by watching the polygraph of that finger. As a seismometer needle traces the strength of earth tremors, so her knuckles moved slowly back and forth under the robe.
I distinctly saw the hand flip into knuckles up position each time this one dark-haired young man was visible—but it also happened when this very pert young brunette was visible; especially when the brunette's blouse was open at the top, or she wore a fine sweater that showed the unrestrained jiggle of her little boobies when she walked in rapid steps on her high heels. Once in a while, K would emit a heavy sigh, or even a tiny cry like some micro-climax. I gave her space, and hung back watching with my own bulge becoming painful from arousal.
K yawned. "It's getting late. Want to go to bed?"
"Sure." As she flicked off the TV with the remote, I rubbed her fanny. She yawned again. She didn't push me away, but said: "I'm very tired, Peter. Maybe we can make love in the morning."
I accompanied her down the hall. We hung our robes on a chair together (the robe had been left by her ex, a highly intelligent looking balding man still gracing her bedroom along with a photograph of their son at age one and a happily smiling K. Sometimes she tossed her panties over the portrait as if to shield their innocent gaze. Or maybe it was to insult her ex.
K kissed me goodnight and turned away. "Night, honey," she said, yawning again. She set her alarm for work the next morning, and turned out the light. I lay behind her, in a netherworld, inhaling her scent and enjoying her warmth. I pressed my groin against her buttocks and was pleased by the way her waist curved up into the mandolin-curve of her hip and thigh.
She laughed throatily. "I feel someone." Normally, on the rare occasions when she was really too tired, she would say "not tonight, honey" and kiss me lavishly to make up for the denial. I knew on those occasions I should fall rapidly asleep, for I could take her in the morning. We made love often in the morning—a short, puppy thing, in which one woke first and started humping the other.
More than once, I woke up to find my erection inside a wet cunt, and K's face straining above me as she fucked herself with my dick. Or I would waken, roll half onto her, push her knee away with mine so I could get between her thighs—she still sleeping, mumbling in some dream, maybe flickering a smile or licking her lips in dazed confusion, while I slid the ram of my sex into her. If she was dry, she rapidly got wet. Sometimes I had to rub my spit on my cock to moisten it for the initial penetration, but once it was in, it was really pleasurable. A morning fuck. The cock crows. But now it was night, and she actually felt my erection before I knew I had one. She laughed again. "You can do a quickie if I don't have to do anything."
I kissed her behind the ear. Sincerely, I said: "Thank you, baby. I love you for that." I never told any of the Summers and Julys that I loved them. The words could not cross over my lips, so frightened was I of commitment. But I could condition it like that. "I love you for letting me put my rod into your sweet little sleepy pussy." She liked that, and made a long hum of satisfaction as she lifted her upper thigh to let me in, doggie style. My cock had been hard for at least an hour watching her diddle herself, and I must have been dribbling sperm all over the place. Now, as the head slid between her legs, looking for her moist hole, I was lubricating my way by dribbling ahead. She did one thing: she reached down and diddled her finger under the head of my cock, where that little thin blue triangle of dorsal skin extends from the chin of the head down to the shaft.
I put my hand on her buttock and pushed her an inch or so forward, rolling her hip away to open the space between her legs a little more. As I did this, she lost touch with my dick and I did all the rest from there. I think she was so tired that she fell asleep right then, as her hand flopped onto the bed.
I pulled the sheet and blanket up over us so that we were enveloped in a sheath of comforting darkness and warmth. She sighed happily in her sleep and spooned snuggling back against me. I wanted to see if my cock (my 'little man') could find his own way, and he did. I stretched one arm up above my head as I lay with my face against her spine. I rested the other hand on her thigh.
My little man got into the crack of her ass, pressed against her pink butt flower (she murmured 'no no' in her sleep) but then, moving just an inch further, he slid into that comforting slippery hot hole. Her butt cheeks wiggled in her sleep as if they were happy. I think they were happy buttocks, with that hard meat between them. I waited a minute for my cock to grow to its full erect size.
She murmured snoozily as she felt her cunt expand with the pressure. Cunt juice swirled around my shaft as she got turned on. After all, she'd been watching those gorgeous women and those handsome men for over an hour and playing with herself, without getting near the relief afforded by a great climax.
Or maybe she'd had several tiny mouse-sized climaxes characterized by a sigh or a tiny shriek. Getting fucked in her sleep was, for K, a bit like letting sleep itself overwhelm her. It became part of slipping away into a deep, wondrous sleep in which her insides had a sexual implosion—a nearly silent arousal and climax. When I was hard, I started pumping. She was so wet that it caused her little friction and no discomfort. Even her thighs were slippery so that they felt girlishly smooth.
For both of us, the pleasure came not so much from friction but from pressure. My hard cock in her tight cunt—and her ass spread across my groin and my free arm over that voluptuous thigh—I came in shudders and she squirmed with her butt in my groin so that she wiggled as if she were peeing and shaking out the last few drops. It was over in a minute or two, that quickie, and we both fell fast asleep.
In the morning, I woke first. I lay on my side, pretty much as I had fallen asleep. She lay on her back with an angelic look on her face. The lines beside her mouth had softened and almost disappeared, and her eyes were a little shadowed, but she looked relaxed and rested. I liked doing these quickies with her with as little prolog as possible—the very fact that I would take her so quickly and hungrily added its own little frisson. It telescoped foreplay into the play itself. It was almost naughty in a way, because it wasn't supposed to be done this way.
So I got on my knees between her legs. I put my hands under her knees and lifted so that I pushed her thighs back and opened the entire vista of her pink domain. She kept on sleeping, though I'm sure she was partially conscious and enjoying it. She had a pleasant, almost-smile, and she did reach down with one hand, first to scratch the hair on her Venus mound, then to brush her labia to see how open and wet they were. From the smacking sound as she dragged her fingers through the gap between her labia, and from the way her pussy parted limply showing her pee hole and the round opening of her cunt, I knew she was wet for me.
I slipped into her and pounded away. She started to awaken, and held her thighs up for me so that I could rest my knuckles gorilla-style on both sides of her while my entire body turned into a battering ram that made flesh slap noisily and splash with stray secretions. She rested her calves on my shoulders and put her hands on my ribs, as if trying to help. We came together in a chorus of groans, and then laughed as we rolled and tumbled on the bed.
I pressed her down so she lay on her stomach. I made big playful sucking sounds with my lips on her buttocks, and she squealed as it tickled. I licked her crack and diddled the flower of her anus, but that was her limit. She turned onto her back, and I turned my mouth loose on the fine connective structure between her cunt and her thighs, where I found more loose flesh to suck on. "You're giving my hickeys all over!" she cried as she pushed at my head, though not hard enough to end my contact.
"Who cares?" I said. "Nobody is going to see."
We lay beside each other resting, during a 15 minute interval before she had to get up for work. "I think about you at work," she said.
"Do you get horny?"
"Yes."
"Do you walk over to the copy machine and let it jiggle between your thighs while it makes copies?"
She laughed. "No. I think there is one secretary downstairs who does that, but she is so subtle that you'd never know."
"So what do you do?"
"You really want to know?" She looked at me shamefaced yet eager to tell. It was a 'show me yours and I'll show you mine' moment.
"Yes. I want to think about you while you're at work." I was unemployed at the time, and spent my days looking for a part-time job at a library, which made her feel good.
"Do you ever masturbate thinking about me while I'm at work?" she asked.
"I think about it, but I don't." She looked a little disappointed, and I added: "...because I save it all up for you."
"Aw, that's nice."
"So what do you do?"
"When I'm horny, thinking about you, I have this electric pencil sharpener by my side. I pretend to sharpen a pencil, and I hold it against my bush, and it sends just the right vibes, right through the hood of my clit, so that I get one of these silent, gooshey orgasms."
"And if someone walks in?"
"I pretend that I have hiccups. I put my fist to my mouth and make a face as I recover from my sex. I can fake it really well. People have walked in once or twice, and gotten all concerned that maybe I was choking. I put a few peanuts on the desk to let them think that. I can almost picture my boss lady walk in and give me a lecture about eating while I sharpen pencils." We laughed together. K was very inventive that way.
The whore thing was one of our fantasies. It wasn't really a whore thing, but a sort of verbal foreplay fantasy. The whore thing might go like this, as we lay entwined on the couch in our robes, with the TV on mute and K absently diddling herself.
"You have no shame."
"I don't want to have any shame."
"I am here to remind you of your chastity."
"Fuck my chastity."
"Okay."
"You're not supposed to make it funny."
"I couldn't help it. You walked right into that one."
"Tell me you like my ass."
"I can watch you walk down the street and wonder how much it would cost to touch your ass."
"Not much. I'm pretty cheap." (She laughed: "But you don't have any money.")
"Now now, in insulting the john."
"Sorry. I'll give you a free blow job to show you that I'm sorry."
"Will you do it on your knees while I stand over you?"
"Uh-huh."
"Want to do it now?"
"Come on, whore."
"No."
"Come on, whore cunt pussy."
"I won't unless you pay me."
"I don't have any money."
"Then you have to lick my knees."
"I think the whore should lick my knees." "The whore will lick anything you want, but you have to lick her knees and her ass cheeks first."
"I want to lick the whore's ass cheeks." "You don't touch the whore's asshole though."
"I like the whore's asshole."
"Do you?" (she softens, as if considering...)
I say: "Yes. The whore has a nice ass, just the right size, without too much or too little, just right." I see that her hand turns knuckles-up under the robe, and the stiff fuck-finger goes into the slot.
"Tell the whore more about her ass. Her whore ass." With her other hand, she reaches under my robe and finds my stiff cock. My cock is near her ear. "Ooh," she says, "what is this, a telephone?"
"Call me, whore."
"Okay." Diddling herself, she caresses my cock with her cheek. She bubbles with laughter. "Busy signal."
"You have to hang up and dial again."
"Maybe I'll push this button," she says, and punches my nuts gently with her diddlefinger hand. I didn't see that coming, and roll off the couch in pain.
"Oh my God," I hear her cry out through the clouds of olive drab, bilious blue, mustard yellow, and ketchup-garbage pain that float like huge bubble bladders in my blinded vision.
"Are you kidding around, Peter?"
I lie in a fetal position gasping for breath, as the pain starts to ease. "Please don't do that ever again, okay?"
She was on her knees hovering over me as if I were a deer she'd hit on the road. Her arms were outstretched as if she wanted to heal me but was afraid to touch me.
"It will pass," I said in a broken whisper. I wasn't kidding.
"Oh sweetie," she said, breaking into tears as she hugged me and kissed my face. "I'm so sorry."
"It's okay. It was an accident, sort of." I felt her tears on my face like lukewarm rain that cools as it falls through the atmosphere.
"I'm so sorry," she said. "Honey, I will make it up to you. I will kiss you anywhere you like, and you can lick anything, even my asshole." She pressed her breasts against me. I felt their fullness, and turned to put my arm around her as we lay on the thick carpeting. I held my hand over my still-aching nuts. My gut felt as though I'd been football-tackled in the stomach. My solar plexus thought it was time to heave, and I almost did. She nursed me back with a concerned face and more tears. I kept reassuring her: "It's okay. It's just a thing in the nuts. I'll get over it." I ended up stroking her hair and consoling her. She hovered over me as I lay on my back. She said: "I'm serious, sweetie. You can kiss anything on me. It's all yours. Want to touch my asshole?" I had to admit that the prospect of playing with her asshole intrigued me. I was still learning from my Summers, and they were educating themselves with me. Older women know more, usually, and the more adventurous ones are more skilful. K had shied away from anal play, and I had almost no experience with it, so I was interested in exploring. "I'd like to play with it a little," I said. "If it hurts, tell me and I'll stop."
She pushed my shoulders down. "You rest, honey, and I'll get in position." She rose so that she stood straddling me. "Which way do you want me?"
"I'm not sure. The view from here is great."
She smiled and pushed her thighs apart while opening her labia. "Like that?" I saw the little dot of her pee hole in its swollen button, and the ready hole of her cunt. I nodded. "How about this?" She turned and pulled her ass cheeks apart. I looked at the shadows between them and said: "Closer." She bent over and lowered her rear so that I saw the little pinkish brown star of her sphincter behind the glory of her cunt. "Closer," I said, and she crouched down in a squatting position. "Go easy," she said. "I wonder if I can come when you touch me there."
"I've heard it can arouse a woman." I slapped her buttocks lightly, first one, then the other.
"Am I bad?" she fantasy-asked. I knew the tone of voice.
"I am going to check," I said. I wasn't sure I wanted to play the whore game anymore for the moment. "I think this calls for the doctor game," I said.
She laughed as she squatted over my face with her arms folded on her knees: "Want to play doctor?"
"Yes. I'll be the doctor, and you are the patient." I ran the tip of my index finger up and down her ass crack. She had fine golden hairs all up and down. "You suffer from goose bumps," I said. "Are you cold?"
"No, I'm a little scared. I've never let anyone play with my asshole before."
"You think that's because it is wrong, or because it hurts your sphincter?"
"Well, if I am being bad, then it doesn't matter if it's wrong. I just don't want to tear or hurt my sphincter muscle."
"What if I just put my fingertip in gently, like this?" I licked my fingertip to wet it and then pressed against the little flower. Her sphincter was tighter than a virgin's cunt. "You want me to play with anything I want, because you want to show me that you are really a very nice, sweet girl who didn't mean to almost knock me unconscious by busting me on the balls." "Yes, you can play with anything you want."
"Then how about being a good little girl and going to the bathroom and getting some petroleum jelly or something that we can put in there so it's not dry as the Gobi Desert?"
"I have some cream," she said and swayed off. An underlying little bonus was calling the older woman in my life a little girl. I think it thrilled her, and it thrilled me that it pleased her. She brought a tube of some kind of Swedish sex paste. "I bought that on impulse last year because I get dry lips sometimes. It tastes like peaches and is okay to get in your mouth."
"I understand about the dry lips," I said. "You put this on while you watch TV?" She blushed, and I pulled her close. I whispered in her ear: "I watch you sometimes. You rub your cunt when you see a nice looking man or woman on TV."
"Not woman."
"Oh yes." I continued holding her prisoner in my arms and whispering the shameful truth in her ear. "You like seeing gorgeous women."
"No I don't."
"Then why do you rub yourself harder when those young girls in the sitcom are stalking around on high heels with their titties jiggling?" She couldn't answer. I had no idea what I was saying, only that it turned me on to say it, and I used my fantasy voice to let her know it was okay, it wasn't an accusation, it was maybe just another fantasy game even if maybe it was sort of true. I said: "You're not a lesbian, honey sweetheart, but I think many people have a little tinge of something inbetween."
"You mean bisexual?" she said.
"I'm not putting labels on anything."
"I have never made love to a woman."
"Have you thought about it?" I asked in my fantasy voice. As I did so, I let go and put a dab of cream on my fingertip. "Show me your cunt, baby." She sat on me, leaning backward and propping herself by her elbows against my raised knees. "I am a good chair for you," I said. She answered my question thoughtfully: "I used to get crushes on girls in high school."
"Did you take your electric pencil sharpener to school with you?"
She laughed and whacked me softly on the head. "I used to wait until I got home and then I'd masturbate in my bed. My mother would come in right during my orgasm and be all worried that I was sick or something. So after I was done masturbating I'd go out and she would have some steaming hot tea and cold remedies waiting for me. Being a girl, you can always get away with things like that by letting them think it's your hormones. Which, come to think of it, it was." While she spoke, I rubbed cream into her labia. I did her whole pussy so it was slick and had a whitish coating. Then I put my knees down and had her straddle me with her ass toward me. I started applying the cream to her asshole while we continued our little fantasy talk. "So when you were in bed masturbating, did you think about being with those girls?"
"I think it I had a muddle of boys' and girls' pretty faces and bodies in my head. Like the sitcom."
"Ah, I get it. It's a just a general sort of horny muddle."
"I think that's right. I mean—I've never actually thought about making it with a woman. I'm too traditional, I guess. It was hard being in school all day with the hormones and all those nice looking people around me."
I worked cream into her asshole and watched it slowly relax. She pulled away. "You're making me want to go poo." She rose. "I'll be back in ten minutes." She disappeared into the bathroom, and I sat watching a lingerie show with beautiful women and soft music as they modeled various skimpy outfits. K returned in 15 minutes. "I took care of it and then did an enema and washed myself inside and out. I think I'm squeaky clean for you. Let's go to bed." She extended a hand, and led me to the bedroom. She giggled as we crawled up on to the sheets: "I've never done this before."
I put on my fantasy voice (which was low, and mysterious, and sensuous): "You promised I could touch or lick any part of you because you were sorry for what you did."
Her fantasy voice was also lower and slower and sensuous. "Yes. I am very sorry that I whacked your nuts, and I want to make up for it by giving you an extra special treat. I was bad, and I want to be good."
I made her sit on all fours and wait submissively as I crawled up to her rear. "I will show you how to be good. You will stop being bad and be very good."
She sighed. "I hope I like being good."
"I will prove to you, my sweet little darling doll, that while you may enjoy being bad, you will really enjoy being good."
"What do I have to do?"
I lay under her looking up at her pussy. "You have to squat over me like you did before." She squatted again with her elbows on her knees, in a position that naturally spread her asshole for me. I first pulled her down close and sucked the irresistable little pink labia into my mouth. Tasting her pussy juice, and I had to force myself to stop. "I could go on sucking your pussy all day, but I am interested in playing with your asshole right now."
"I hope you will show me how to be good," she said.
I pulled her butt down and started licking the odorless, tasteless bloom of her super-clean asshole. I could feel her sphincter squirm as it grew wet from my spit. "Now you cleaned it really well?" I asked.
"If you smell anything, get away."
"That's a fair test." I had read that rimming is a fun thing, and many people discover it. It's called rimming because you run your tongue around and around the rim of your partner's anus, either on the outside, or on the inside edge. "Am I being good?" she asked.
"You are trying very hard, and I think you are on your way to becoming good." I continued rimming her, and felt her asshole loosen as she stopped being afraid and relaxed. Pressing my tongue like a little dick, I got the tip inside and pulled it in and out.
"Am I being good?"
"You are being good." I substituted my finger and finger-fucked her asshole. She smeared cream on her finger and worked that in. "Put your finger in next to mine," I said. Now we had two fingers in her asshole. She seemed to be enjoying it, for her eyes closed, and she did that swimming-the-head-around thing women do when they are feeling intense sexual gratification. "It makes me feel weak," she said. I helped her by pushing gently, so that she fell onto her side with one thigh cocked way up. We still had our fingers in her anus, and I crawled up close to lick around it.
These were the games we played during those rainy months when it wasn't much fun going outside, and there was so much to do by the fireplace or in the bathtub or in bed. Neither of us realized that there would be at least one visitor to our little fantasy world in the months ahead.
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