Only The Good Die Young Ch. 3

Here goes nothing, or everything, depending upon how you perceive it...

"I want it. I want it now, please."

"Good girl. Very good.

He reaches for my hair, caresses gently, runs his fingers through it, grabs a handful, squeezes and jams his rock hard prick into my hot wet cunt, pulling on my hair as he fucks me. Damn! For a beginner, he's sure caught on quickly!

He's like a kid in a candy store, his hands are everywhere. Reaching around to squeeze my breasts, my shoulders, my ass, my thighs, fingering my clit clumsily, but effectively, and I begin to feel it build.

It feels as though there are ten pairs of hands on my body at once. My hair swings as he, quite simply, fucks my brains out for a full ten minutes, hard. Pounding me from behind, I hear his raspy breath and I know it's taking everything he's got to hold back his climax, but hold back he does and he lets me cum.

My legs stiffen almost to the point that they're straight out behind me at an angle, my toes gripping the Persian rug as I ram my pussy back onto his cock, quivering and spasming around it, my breath coming in short pants and animalistic grunts.

He's got hold of my hips, but in his effort to prolong his own orgasm, he lets go of one and yanks on my hair and the effect is such that it prolongs my own orgasm, offering me renewed waves of pleasure. He has to let go to grab my hips again as I grind myself onto his cock to keep his balance.

After my breathing slows a bit, he pulls out slowly, lets go and sinks to the floor, sitting with his back to the sofa. Still on my hands and knees, I crumple into a ball, drawing into myself until my forehead is resting on my knees, and my arms are curled around my legs, jerking occasionally from the aftershocks of my powerful orgasm. Staring through the crack between my knees at the Persian rug, I wonder if it's handmade, and if the dye used was natural or manufactured, anything to distract myself from the way I just behaved.

Ashamed and confused, my mind still spinning, I raise my head a bit and peek at him over my arm. He's breathing hard, sweating, trembling, watching me closely as if trying to read my thoughts and body language, and when his eyes meet mine, he smiles, eyelids heavy, cock ramrod straight.

Tentatively, I straightened so that now I'm sitting on my knees, hands flat on the floor propping myself up, looking back over my shoulder at him. I know there's more to come and I know he's pleased thus far. This is a novel sense of awareness, this sense of approval, this sense of acceptance, it feels good.

A thought pops unbidden into my head: I could help him. Wait. Help him do what? Well....help him learn to give me what I need. But what is it I need? What's wrong with me? Despite my confusion, I have a deep feeling it's something we both need, we just don't know the words yet. So, I could help him, teach him. No, he knows. He doesn't need help, I do. Christ!

Even though he was a virtual virgin until two months ago when we made love on top of his desk, he knew what to do and how to do it. He took charge. He's definitely authoritative. His instincts are right, most definitely.

I smile to myself. Need to ride this out, see where it takes us. Maybe we can learn from each other. Teach other. What exactly that would be, I don't know yet.

These jumbled thoughts swirling around in my head confuse me. I am unable to fully comprehend them. It's as if Nature has taken us and molded us to Her hand. It's as if She has intervened, allowing us to be who we are, not who society dictates we should be.

We smile at the same time as if our thoughts are intermingled and move in tandem toward each other in one fluid motion, kneeling, facing each other.

My hands reach for him and he takes each one and puts it behind my back, indicating they are to remain there. My eyes close as I feel what can only be satisfaction, anticipation, balm to my aching soul.

He puts a hand to either side of my face, looking deeply into my eyes. Slowly he slides them down the front of each shoulder to my breasts, where he places a hand under each, weighing them lightly. His fingers move to my nipples and he pinches each one, watching my eyes widen, listening to my sharp intake of breath.

He twists. Pinches harder. Rolls them between his thumbs and forefingers watching my reaction. My eyes close and I throw my head back in ecstasy as a little jolt of electricity travels from each nipple in a V straight to my pussy.

O God. I need...I need to show him. I need...something. Opening my eyes I stare at him, trying to make him understand what I don't.

His eyes harden, a flicker of fire flashes in them and he stands, giving me what I need. What we both need.

Eye level with his fully erect cock, my hands reach for it haltingly and I rest my cheek against it, preparing myself for what it is I am about to do.

I know this is a normal activity for most, but it isn't for me.

Before, when I would do this for my husband, I did it out of what I thought was love and I did it because I thought it was my duty, and every single time I hated it.

He invariably made sure that he held back for close to two hours and by the time he finished, I could hardly move my aching neck and the inside of my mouth would be scraped raw by my teeth. On more than one occasion, I would look up at him during this and he would be just lighting a cigarette, or flipping through channels on the TV with the remote...or both.

In retrospect, it was a form of obedience, yes, but there was a vile malevolent energy present always. And after, I felt unspeakably violated, akin to the lowest of the low.

Needless to say, I was apprehensive at best. Mike saw this, he SAW it somehow, and so he placed a gentle finger under my chin lifting my face to his and said. "Try. For me." And I did.

I slowly slid a single finger from the base of his cock to the tip, reveling in the velvety softness of his flesh, tracing the veins standing out on the sides. At the tip I catch a drop of precum with my finger and trace small circles over the eye with his slippery wetness. He shivers visibly and I smile at his obvious enjoyment of this simple act.

As he watches from above, I bring my finger to my mouth and lick it. It doesn't taste like my husbands, it tastes of ocean breezes and sunshine and as I suck my finger into my mouth my eyes close of their own accord while his hands slide down over my hair touching lovingly, reverently, admirably.

Next I try a small lick around the rim of the head and he inhales audibly at this, tightening his fists in my hair.

Wanting more, I stick out the tip of my tongue and lick all the way up from base to tip, then another slow firm circle around the rim of the head, grasping it with one hand. My tongue dips into the eye and tastes his spirit as he moans quietly through his teeth. "Ohhh...Godddd."

Looking up at this, I see his head is bent back, his throat working as if in silent prayer, thanking God for this. I can't believe the difference in the reactions between he and my husband. I LIKE this. I WANT to do this. Pleasing him in this way fills an empty place deep within me. It's unexplainable, it just does.

Bolder now, I inhale deeply and press my lips tightly to the head, opening bit by bit as I push my mouth onto his cock, inch by inch, my tongue flicking under the rim as it slides deeper and deeper until it hits the back of my throat. Two inches remain, and I am as yet unable to take it all in so I grip the base and tighten my fingers around the excess.

On the outtake, I suck lightly and he gasps in pleasure. His first blow job. O yes...I DO like this.

Confidence building, I take him in and out, going deeper each time, relaxing the back of my throat, sucking a little harder on each stroke. His hips are moving in rhythm with my bobbing head, his hands gripping my hair tighter and tighter. Deeper and deeper each time it goes into my mouth until there is no need to grip it with my hand so I reach around behind him and lightly scrape my nails vertically across his ass, then trace his crack with a fingertip from the top to the bottom barely touching, feeling his muscles tighten and twitch.

I want all of him. I want to taste him, feel him and hear him. I want to watch his reactions to my actions. I raise my eyes to his face and see that he's staring at me, watching my lips circle his throbbing cock. I see him swallow deeply, his Adam's apple moving up and down. I blink at him heavily and he blinks back, our only form of communication.

Following Mother Nature's silent instructions, my hands move slowly from his ass sideways, around his hips and my left hand grasps the base of his cock again while my right hand reaches under to cup his balls lightly, balancing them, rolling them over my fingers.

"Ahh...h..h..h.." He groans, gripping harder now, his hips almost twitching as if trying to behave themselves, as if trying not to ram his cock all the way down my throat.

Inside my mouth, his cock gets harder, and a bit larger. Each time I pull back, my tongue circles the rim of the swollen head, and I suck, circle and suck while pumping the shaft with my hand until he firmly places his hands on the back of my head and takes over, pumping my face. Instinctively, I relax my muscles, letting him hit the back of my throat and beyond. I gag a little and place the palms of my hands against the front of his hips and he presses harder, fucking my face with vigor, in and out and in over and over until his thigh muscles turn hard as rocks and he stiffens. His hands practically rip my hair out as he squirts once, twice, three times and more until I hear a loud "AAhhhhh..nnnnn...."

I swallow each spurt quickly and the tightening of my throat on each swallow brings forth one more squirt, until he pulls me by the hair away from his ultra sensitive cock, unable to tolerate one more lick or suck.

He takes a wobbly step back bending forward a bit as if to protect himself from more tongue lashing and I sit back on my knees, palms open and up on the tops of my thighs. my head lowered in satisfaction and regret, secretly wishing I could have sucked him longer...and the realization of this thought stuns me. I liked it. I loved it. He didn't smoke during it. He enjoyed it...the difference is amazing.

Peering up through my lashes to smile at him, he's nowhere to be seen, but a moment later, he strides into the den nude, proud, with a look of determination on his face. A goblet of Chablis in each hand, he walks to the sofa, sits each glass down on a side table and sits on the floor, back against the sofa again, crooking a finger at me, becoming.

Instead of rising and walking to him, I decadently crawl on my hands and knees slowly toward him, watching through sleepy eyes as his cock renews itself at this sight, growing larger and harder right before my eyes. He opens his legs wide and pulls me to sit between them, my back to him. He is a furnace, body heat radiating over my back, warming me, surrounding me.

Handing me a glass, we sip silently, our thoughts our own. My sense of relief and satisfaction overrides the guilt. I don't know how or why, but this was not wrong. Legally, it was. Even morally, it was. But whatever is happening here is much more profound than man-made laws. What we followed were the laws of the universe, as old as time itself and it feels damn good. It feels right. It feels like coming home.

Leaning against him, his cock pressing into my back, I can feel him breathe. I can feel his heartbeat. I want more and so does he.

Somehow, from deep within, I know there's a lot more to this than the type of sex I had with my husband, even more than with my first.

I want him in me, on me, over me, above me. I want...no, i need...what? What is this deep seated need? My body tenses with it, silently begging for some unnamed necessity, some unnamed requirement in order to stay alive, in order for the world to continue to turn.

And I know, somehow I know that there's so very much more to this than sex. It's almost as if my soul is going way back in time, back to the time when men ruled, women followed. Back to the way things were centuries ago, the way things should still be. And, I know that that's how it could be with us.

Mike feels it, too. His presence behind me circles me. It overpowers me.

His cock is urgently prodding my backside, demanding from me what it is I cannot name. I only know it is up to him to provide me with the answers to my unknown questions, and I know he has them.

Silently, simultaneously, I hand him the goblet as he reaches for it and sets them back down on the table. His calloused hands push forward on my shoulders, walking them down my back until I am on my hands and knees again, ass presented to him as if for approval.

Still seated behind me, his hands rub my cheeks in circular motions, massaging my flesh, squeezing, making it his own.

A single finger slides downward from the top of my crack and lingers on my rosebud, causing me to pull away in alarm a bit. A sharp pinch on my ass stills me. The finger insistently circles my asshole, slides into my slick slit catching the wetness and back, prodding slowly and carefully until the very tip slides inside my ass. I gasp loudly, tensing around his fingertip, afraid.

His other hand reaches up and cups my mound from behind, and he pulls my soft curly fleece, commanding me to be still for him. I don't move as the hand holding my hair releases, then inserts another finger into my dripping wet cunt, sliding in and out slowly. Another finger joins this one as the fingertip in my ass is removed.

He turns and twists his wrist, the two fingers deep inside me, sliding in and out rubbing the walls until he finds my small circular spongy spot on the topside, and, upon hearing my gasp of pleasure, rubs it in small circles until my ass begins to back up toward him, imploring him to...to do something. What is it I need? What is this craving, this hunger? This seemingly unquenchable thirst?

SMACK! My head flies up. O my God! He hit me!

SMACK! And before I can even think to respond, not sure how to anyway, his warm hands are instantly massaging my ass where he'd just slapped it.

I don't even think to crawl away, I follow my heart and I still completely, my head hanging down, my breath shallow as I try to absorb what just happened.

It HAS to be wrong, he just HIT me! But slowly, as his warm hands massage away the sting, something happens inside me. I begin to breathe deeply, and the combination of pain and pleasure roil through my senses, all my muscles twist and tighten and I bear down, almost in a soul searching attempt to control this deep deep passion building inside me. It's alien. It's familiar.

SMACK! O God! My pussy twitches, I know he can see it. SMACK! My back arches, my ass raises, begging for more. My abdomen tightens, the muscles circling my waist clench and contort until it almost tickles.

SMACK! "Uuunnhhh." My God! He's moaning!

SMACK! "Uunnhh!" It erupts from some untapped place deep inside my belly. O dear Lord! It's not him, it's me!

It has to be me because his tongue is now deep inside my cunt flicking my slippery tender flesh, his face hot against my ass.

A desperate guttural sound escapes my mouth as I back into his face, wiggling my ass in an attempt to get his tongue deeper inside me.

My ass cheeks stinging for more, my flesh fairly steaming, his hands reach up and open me wide for his assault. My pussy lips are stretched deliciously wide by his fingers, pulled painfully apart as he tongues my sopping cunt, licks my swollen lips, saliva mingling with my juices.

A hand smacks my ass once more and teeth clamp down on my pussy lip, gnashing together, almost too hard.

My entire body is quivering. The strength in my legs fail, I fall to the floor on my stomach and he smoothly follows, ramming his granite cock into me.

Body flat against body, back to stomach, he fucks me hard and deep, pushing me across the floor with each stroke, hands under my pussy, fingering and rubbing my clit slick with juice.

"Unh.." "Unhh.." "Unhhh.."

Each thrust produces another crude grunt from my mouth until it becomes background music, much like drums echoing in the air from a distant fantasy land.

But this is no fantasy. It's all too real this time. The drumming becomes my head banging against the heavy leather of the recliner across the room from where we started.

In an effort to meet his relentless pounding, I climb the chair by my hands, knees on the floor, resting my hands flat against the lower back of the seat, Mike not missing a single thrust.

Still fucking me, his hands reach around and roughly pinch my nipples, pulling and twisting sending little sparks of fire throughout my nerve endings.

A deep swell builds from within, a rush of blood twists through my veins, and with every stroke, with every twist of my nipples, it amplifies, coming stronger and stronger until my mouth opens wide and a bloodcurdling scream erupts, vibrating the very foundation of this holy house.

My body stiffens and strains against the onslaught of his cock, the chair now wedged tightly against the wall as I try to escape this terrible exquisite too good to be true pinnacle of truth.

"Un! Unh! Unhh!"

He won't stop, he's fucking me harder and harder, and my pussy twitches, tightens, clamps as another orgasm washes over me. When he hears my breath quicken again, he clamps a hard hand over my mouth just in time to muffle the second scream as my hips buck hard against him. I can't think, I don't even try, all I know is that something is near another of my openings, so I bite it, trying to draw it into me, trying to absorb all he has to offer.

A grunt of pain escapes his mouth and the hand is yanked away to grab my hair, pulling hard on it as hot lava pumps into my pulsating pussy,

shooting into me like a drug, offsetting yet another climax or extending the same one, I don't know anymore. I don't care. We move together violently, creating a tropical storm of sweat and cum, the scent of raw sex filling the air like the cloying odor of sulfur that appears before a tornado hits.

As my senses return, the only sound in the room is ragged breathing, slowing now. Still on my knees, my upper torso resting across the seat of the recliner, Mike's cock is slowly sliding out of my sore, beautifully used pussy. His body collapses over mine and we lie together for several minutes until he stands, pulls me up, takes me by the hand and leads my out of the door down the hall to the stairs. There he gently pushes me in front of him and we ascend, Mike following me this time.

Upon reaching the top, hands on my shoulders, he guides me down the left hallway through a door on the right, which leads to his private quarters.

Padding silently across the plush carpet straight to the bathroom, he urinates while I watch, then lowers the seat for me, places a hand on my shoulder pushing me down.

Sitting on the commode in front of him is a little intimidating and it's hard to let go at first, but when I look up he's occupied retrieving fat fluffy towels from the little linen closet, paying no attention to me, so I am able to let loose, pee, and pat myself dry.

Mike pulls back the shower curtain and leans over the edge of the tub to turn on the tap.

Meanwhile, I'm brushing my hair in front of the mirror with his brush I found sitting on the vanity next to the sink.

"Get in, Lori."

"Ok, just let me finish..."

"NOW."

His tone startles me and I stop, brush in midair, staring at him in the mirror. Previous thoughts rush back to me, mixed with new ones. I'm scared, but I like this. I wonder if my husband hadn't been such a complete jerk if I would have been able to adapt to this easier, even though I still don't know what "this" is. I do know it makes me feel safe and protected. I know that it scares the living daylight out of me. I know that it's not only a want, it's an inherent need inside me, and I think it's in Mike, too.