“Look at this!” I walked into the bathroom. Poor man can’t even pee in peace without me popping in. “My cleavage looks amazing today!”
He nodded in appreciation and agreement.
I walked straighter and taller all day long. I laughed easier and breathed deeper.
By the end of the day, I still hadn’t taken off my bra. It never entered my mind, even when I wasn’t consciously thinking, “I have perfect cleavage today.” (Note: A real thought I had.)
What was on my mind was how long it had been since I’d been properly fucked. How many weeks (months?) we’d gone without passionate, untamed sex.
That night, after the kids were in bed, and the work was done, John Brownstone seemed content to read on the couch. I thought I might join him until I changed for bed and was reminded of my perfect cleavage and matching panties! (Score one for feeling feminine and like an adult at the same time.) I admired myself in the mirror before walking into the living and grabbing his book out of his hands.
Aren’t I supposed to be the submissive? Is he gonna be angry?
He lifted his eyebrows in a silent question.
“I have perfect cleavage today, Daddy.”
“Yes, you do.”
“So when are you gonna fuck me?” I turned toward the bedroom and tossed over my shoulder, “Unless you’d rather read.”
Hot on my heels, he followed me. I laughed to see his eagerness. We stood by the bed and hugged.
“You know that’s the extent of my powers of seduction. Show cleavage, ask about sex, and let you do the rest.”
That must have been all right with him. He leaned into kiss me. Not the chaste pecks of the past several weeks (months?). He devoured my lips, tasted my tongue, and claimed my mouth with his.
Stroking my cunt through my panties, he teased me until I rocked my hips back and forth over his hand, whimpering. He slid his hand in and caressed bare skin. Ohhhhh fuuuuuuuuck. He moved his fingers faster as I whined against his mouth. I pulled away and buried my face in his shoulder.
“Go ahead, babygirl.”
I shuddered and quivered as the orgasm rippled through my body.
I could have done that all night. Except he had other ideas. The panties had to come off. He pulled them down as I wiggled them down my legs and kicked them away.
He placed his hands on my waist, and walked me backwards to the bed. I pretended not to know what he had in mind. But I couldn’t wait to fall onto my back, legs splayed wide, his tongue exactly where it should have been weeks (months?) ago.
What did he do with his tongue? Fuck if I know. Perform magic? Direct a symphony? Recite a sonnet? All of the above. The last time he sucked and slurped, dining at the apex of my thighs, I’d pulled away, unable to handle the sensations.
This time? I pulled him closer, grinding my vulva against his face, both pleading for and demanding more. And he provided.
I needed more. More! When he sat back and stroked my labia, it wasn’t enough. More!
“Finger me!” is what I tried to demand. It came out more like, “In…please…fu….” He speaks my language, though.
He began with one digit. It felt good, but it wasn’t enough.
Where had this assertive woman come from? Fuck all if I know, but she was getting what she wanted, come hell or high water.
He obliged, stretching my cunt with two thick fingers. Then three. He tapped my g-spot and licked my clit, then he banged my g-spot with his thumb on my clit. There was no holding back the orgasms. I clenched around his fingers, sucking them in deeper.
Another moment I could have savored all night. But he had other plans. First…
“Clean your fingers, girl.” It was my turn to suck and slurp. Greedy girl that I am, I wanted more than his fingers in my mouth.
He flipped me onto my side, pulling my hips into his pelvis. I felt his cock slide across my slit before he sank in deep. Unnnnnf, yaaaaaas.
He clearly grew more hands. One yanked my breast out of my bra. The other was in my hair. Pinched nipples, a pull on my scalp. Delicious! Then, he grabbed my mouth, sticking a finger between my lips. I turned my head, falling on it like the thickest, sweetest cock.
As he thrust in and out, he kept his fingers hooked in my mouth.
“Suck it, girl.”
And I did.
He got down to the business of fucking, something that would not be denied or shortened by pent-up need. Each thrust might be fast and hard, but he took his time. I became his fuck toy, and it was glorious.
I felt the drool flowing down my cheek. I’d lost control over the most basic functions, like closing my mouth. It was exactly what I needed.
I’m his good girl as long as I’m sucking, and I’m his dirty girl as long as I’m drooling.
It was the perfect paradox and explanation of our kinky fuckery. I may have started the day with the perfect cleavage, but I ended it debauched and slick with sex, sweat, and spit.
I love that fucking bra.