Chapter 6. A Fuck
“Yes, Sir!” I keep my military mimicking voice as I kneel on the blanket, pushing the laptop away with a delicate gesture and calling him to approach for a frontal examination.
“Will you stand up, Sir? With all due respect I wish to suck on your cock!”
He takes me by surprise when he lays down near me and describes in detail what he likes and does not like, what he actually expects from me.
“Well, bunny, I don’t like being ‘sir’-ed. Not by you nor by anyone else. But what I wish at the moment is a good ole fashioned sixty-niner… So just spread your legs over my face and go down on me at the other end. Will ya?”
No “Sir”-ing, no cadet romancing, no role playing. Just us! In our usual position. I wish to rant it out loud but I manage (again) to keep my mouth shut and proceed with the cock sucking. Right after I had my pussy easily pushing on his face, I have his tongue twisting my clit upside down. Yes, it feels good. More so when sensing his detached, maybe barely bored, mind wanting to do me on short notice and then return to his higher, more important, business. It gives me the impression that I’m his paid whore. Like a truck driver stopping on the road side, near a scarcely dressed chick, calling her for a short fuck and a suck. All within a moderated urgency because the man has to get his truck to a destination, probably to meet a given deadline. Yes, we’re hasting through the lunch break sex, or the so-called nooner.
But hey, it’s a quarter past four o’clock! Strange. Today we had no sex in the morning. Hm… Indeed, it was that Cron Wishguy who squandered my minds astray. For most of the morning. But, wait a minute, the Platinum Card! Is that for real? Can I buy things with it?
“Hey Doris, can you call your mind into action? Just a bit. My dick feels your absence and won’t raise up. Please resuscitate me with your adorable presence, will ya?”
Don is right. I must be there, actually here, with him. Living, sharing and assisting his excitement. That makes for a faster finish. It’s the most looked-after win-win situation in married sex.
“Can I tell you what I was dreaming about?” I try to introduce my voice into the game. He loves hearing me rambling, even if telling things of “no relevance” to him. Ugh, wait, I must keep my mind straight on the job. So here we go.
“Sure you can.”
“I imagined… By the way, is that thing turned off?”
“The module? Yes, it’s off. And will remain like this much more if we don’t get through with this session in a timely manner.” He repeatedly tells me that he’s in a hurry, that he had enough of hearing my dramas, that he wants this fuck as a sortie. What I need to do now is only one thing: pleasing him!
“I imagined that I’m a hooker, wearing a red mini dress and nothing more. I wait for you on the side of a mountain road as I can see your shiny truck winding up from the valleys. I say to myself that you are my man, that you’re gonna stop in squealing brakes, just few meters from my standing hot naked body. I’ll get naked by myself before you arrive and I’ll make sure to play the hitchhiker finger up!”
As I talk this steamy nonsense to him, I can see his dick thickening and jolting, bit by bit. So I keep talking.
“You are more muscular in my dreams than you actually are in reality…” At these words the dick abruptly fell flat. So I hurry up to correct my story. “…But, in reality you are definitely much more sinewed than any muscle man I could dream about…” And his cock came back to life… Ugh! That was close…
“Fuck me! I’ll scream at you. Hey, you there, truck driver, come down and give me a fuck. Right here in the middle of the road!”
His dick has taken proportions, and an azimuth… Oh my, hope he really turned that thing off. How on earth should I know what an azimuth is? Whatever, back to our business. Now I can’t talk because my mouth is full. Legions of thoughts ring the doorbell of wonders in my head, they all wish to stampede with hordes of questions tearing my mind apart. But I keep them on halt until I’ll have hubby ejaculate. So I continue to lick and mildly suck the head of his arched shaft. Should I go for a deep throat? Nah. I don’t really like it. And it won’t excite him enough to cum. Better skipping over the gagging part of the job. Or maybe should I? Just for once? Okay, you consciousness, I heard you! Only one time, like this, deep inside my mouth, down to the tonsils. Yuck…
“Oh, honey! You’re an angel, the angel of electricity, that is. Don’t stop, don’t stop.”
Hm… Thank you, consciousness! You did it to me… And I have to reiterate this very unpleasant gag for one… for another one… and for…
“Hey, Doris, turn around and put your pussy where your mouth is, will you?”
Thank heavens for hearing me! I turn around, faster than anyone could expect, and start riding his dick. That’s electrifying – for my body this time; and most inspirational – for my lungs and larynx enjoying the fresh air pouring in floods of comfort.
“Miss Hooker, you were saying, how many clients had you had today?”
“You are my first one, Mr. Truck Driver, ever.”
“How that can be? Miss Hooker…”
“It can, believe me. I dressed as a hooker – well, I actually undressed – to catch you, to charm you and to make you take me with you, on your journey.”
“Aha! So you’re not a hooker then?”
“Sure I am. Didn’t I make you hook on me?”
“Yes, you did. Now I’m all hooked up, deep inside your moist vagina.”
I don’t reply. I refrain from talking as he rubs me again over my sweet spot. His dick heats me up, the current spreads around in all directions, wrapping my tummy and waking my breasts and hardening my nipples. I make more rounds and I push myself deeper in him. And I moan of pleasure. He studies me and grabs my hips in his palms. With a firm – but not brutal – gesture, he wags my waist until I feel my head exploding. At that moment I roar and yell of joy. Oh my, I think I peed… Oh my, oh my…
“Did I pee on you, Don? Sorry!”
“Nope, dear, this is not pee. This is your sugary nectar. You just squirted a fair load of juice on me. I love you so much!”
I let me at the mercy of gravity, which gently delivers my body to lay down over Don’s chest. His caressing hands drive inroads throughout my long and unruly hair. He kisses me on the brow and says “Thank you.”
“I should say thank you. Because you finally had me squirting. This is a premier. How many years have we tried, and tried, and I almost gave up on it. Now, here I am, a squirter. Your squirter! Thank you!”
“Allow me to share the joy with you. Making you a femme fontaine was my idea. I feel fulfilled that we made it, together, on this planned, healthy and realistic, fantasy of ours. I love you, bunny, and I’m most grateful to you for squirting on me.”
“It’s time for me to give you a fix, to liberate your mind. How do you wish to cum?”
“In your mouth, if you will allow me.”
Surreptitiously smiling back at him, I lay on my back, inviting him to kneel and wank above my face. Haste or excitement, or most likely both of them, helped his ejaculate come after a short couple of minutes. When hearing his moans and when seeing the tendons raising beneath his skin, then I open my mouth as wide as I can because I need to catch every drop. It’s a shame to waste the fresh, full of vitamins, sperm. He asks me to share it with him but I hurry up to swallow it all. With a smile growing into a silent laughing, I open my empty mouth at him.
“Nothing left for you! I swallowed it all. Yum, yum, yum… Now you are free to return to your science.”
Don did not answer me. He keeps staring at a point, slightly above the fence, where our garden ends. And I hear his voice of ice saying “Good day, Mr. Johansson.”
I freeze. But I can still turn my head around. Yes, Mr. Johansson, our fine octogenarian neighbor, sits on his ladder, about one meter above the fence, with his garden shears in one hand and a freshly cut vine branch in his other hand. He is mute but can return our polite greeting with a nod and that smile that won’t wane out of his wrinkled but robust face. I ask, after covering my legs with the blanket.
“How long have you been up there, Mr. Johansson?”
“Moments before you squirted, Mrs. Dawn.”
“Maybe I disturbed your silence with my noises…”
“Not at all, Mrs. Dawn, I love your noises. Sometimes I come here, near the fence, to jack it off. Hope you won’t mind, Mr. Dawn?”
“No problem, Mr. Johansson. But where’s Mrs. Johansson?”
“In the bedroom, taking an afternoon nap, for her beauty sleep.”
“Aha. It’s almost five o’clock. How about you go and give her a strong and sturdy one? You still do that, do you?”
“I sure do. I’m younger by the inside than I look by the outside. Now please excuse me, guess that Mrs. Johansson just woke up, opened the window and is calling me. Wish you have a blessed evening.”
“To you too. Good evening, Mr. Johansson.” We respond in one voice. Then we laugh a bit, in pressured silence, after holding our breath to give Mr. Johansson enough time to enter his house.