Salome and Ishmael

She wondered, through the haze of sensations, how the devil he could breathe, and decided to ask him later. Or maybe never. So long as he was happy, so long as he didn't stop anytime soon, so long as he lived to perhaps do this again another day, no problem. And not just 'another day, someday' –- better 'repeatedly' if at all possible! And NO GUILT over her own inactivity on his behalf... after all, he HAD insisted that this was to be her own special occasion!

Then, beneath his chin, his two long fingers slid deeply inside, curled forward, found the secret spot that none of her men had ever even dreamt about, that she knew was there but which was so forever elusive even to her own fingers, found it so effortlessly that even through her panting and non-stop climaxing she was puzzled how he did it. Puzzled and very, very pleased! He wriggled deep inside her and the breath gusted from her and all she could manage to say was "Holy Jesus Joseph and Mary oh my God!"

Ishmael kept her on a non-stop climactic roll until she couldn't breathe, until the sweat was puddling in her deep navel, until his entire face was drenched with her delicate, slippery, gently-perfumed juices. When she began to hiccup from lack of air, he finally raised his face from her pussy and grinned across her stomach into her half-closed eyes.

"Believe me now, about liking what I do down here?"

She nodded, gasped and finally whispered "Oh, my god, White Boy. There's a joke, you know, lots of jokes really, about how black men don't eat pussy. Well, they DON'T! Not much, not willingly, and not well. At least, not my sample. And all of my dark girlfriends agree with me. You are incredible! Nobody has ever made me come that way. Never ever, believe me! Wow!"

He practically giggled at her, obviously intensely pleased with himself and with her reactions. He managed to say, through his own shortness of breath, "Not unique to black men, lover... I bet the same percentages apply to white ones. I guess I'm just different. Got properly taught way back when I was about twelve or so. In case you can't tell, I'm addicted, so you can have all of this that you want. And if you think it doesn't arouse me... well, look at this!" He raised up on his knees for a moment, waggled his rock-hard erection at her.

She reached for it, tugged him forward, and whispered "Time to come to Momma?"

He stopped her: "In a moment, madam. I suspect the lady might just do with a little more of what she's just been enjoying... maybe I could slip into you while you're in the middle of a nice string of climaxes? Would you mind starting that way?"

She indicated her lack of displeasure, smiled, and muttered, "Oh, hell's bells, White Boy, I suppose if you insist, then I should support your addiction..."

He knelt again between her widespread legs, folded them upwards, knees onto her chest, then opened her like a book and dropped his shiny, wet face to her pussy again. The previous encounter seemed only to have been a gentle prelude. Amidst her gaspings, his strong hands spread her bottom wide, and he lapped hard and solidly up the entire length of her buttcrack. As his tongue slid over her anus he paused to drive it inside the puckered muscle. She gasped and flinched strongly away from that touch, shivering, obviously upset.

He stopped, slid forward, held her tightly. When she stopped shaking, he asked her "Something's wrong, Salome. What is it?"

She buried her head in his shoulder and whispered "Sorry! Instinctive reaction. Your tongue felt awfully, well... 'interesting' ... More than that, really, it felt ... Well, if I can be truthful to myself, Ishmael... It did feel awfully good, down there. Which surprises me, Mr Ishmael... very much! And it's nice, very nice, very very special actually, that you like that part of my anatomy too. You're quite unusual, Sir! But..."

She paused, took a deep breath. "It's not you... there's a problem, but it isn't YOU! True confessions time, I guess. Way back in my life, when I was MUCH younger, my uncle Gerald raped me. There, in my bottom. He didn't seem to want my pussy. He didn't really hurt me, I mean, no hitting, no injuries or bleeding or any of that. I was already big physically, but he wasn't very gentle or nice about it."

She sighed deeply: "Actually, I liked him a lot or he wouldn't have gotten me alone, he was only about 25, a really big man, and very good-looking: if he'd gone slow and easy he probably could have persuaded me to try sex with him anyhow, but he had no couth whatever. I really do think I was interested and could have been persuaded. At least, I could have been made to be interested in real honest-to-God fucking, if not in my bottom. But... being forced really scared the hell out of me. Anyhow, I've never been able to let anyone play with me there. Although I'd kind of like to. If I could. Some of my men have wanted to, but..." S

he looked at him, embarrassed. "It's not YOU, White Boy! It's just me. Me and my history. Damn that man!"

He kissed her, made it clear that he really DID understand, and then offered her his tongue to play with: it was a fine re-igniter of the flames. Her lips made a funnel, and for minutes they were practically fucking orally.

When they broke, he said "I understand. Especially if you've been hurt in your bottom - emotionally if not physically. Physically might have been better – it would probably heal faster and easier. The whole concept of anal games must be pretty scary for an inexperienced woman -or girl- to contemplate. But believe me, you're not unique in that uneasiness, if that makes you feel any better."

"A short tale from MY history, now. I had a long-time lover who had a nasty anal operation when she was about ten or twelve years old, and it hurt her one hell of a lot and made her horribly embarrassed and scared about her bottom. So afraid, in fact, that it almost kept her from enjoying ordinary sex, just because the parts are so close together that it was hard for her to differentiate them mentally. But over time, with us working together, she discovered that she really was sensitive there, in her bottom, sexually sensitive, and that touches didn't have to be scary or painful."

"Eventually we wound up making full-tilt anal fucking a regular part of our repertoire, which was fun because it provides about as strong a set of sensations for both parties as you can get in this universe. We would take her little vibrator and between that going on her clit and me being up inside her bottom, she would have the most intense climaxes I've ever seen. It was wonderful to watch and to be a part of the discovery. It involved a very intense and unusual level of trust, too, that made me feel pretty special. But it did take some time and care getting there."

Her mind whirled. Buttfucking? For fun, MUTUAL fun, not rape? THAT idea had been suggested many times, and she had always refused with a shudder.

But then there was the added business of vibrators – this odd man also played with vibrators with his women? Incredible. She had owned one for a decade, it was her constant traveling companion now, but the single time, years ago, that she'd suggested to her partner that using it together might be fun, well, he had gone ballistic in a way she really couldn't fathom, apparently he felt it threatened his manhood and impugned his sexual skills, and she'd never ever brought up the idea again, not with him, not with any man. Her friends had confirmed the reaction from their own experiences. It didn't sound like the idea threatened this man, though. This White Boy was truly unusual, in so many ways!

Then Ishmael said "I do love that bottom of yours, Woman. It's a beauty! I'd love to play a little down there, if I could persuade you to indulge me. Could a tongue hurt you? This tongue, I mean? You jumped, but you already told me it wasn't because I hurt you. Would you care to get a stranglehold on that inhibition of yours and see? After all, this thing..." He waggled his protruding tongue. "Well, it's hardly a cock, you know. Certainly not hard. But there are LOTS of nerves down there in that beautiful butt–- far more there than in your vagina..., and you could control everything that happens. You would be in charge. Honestly. If you'd like to try? You have the most gorgeous ass, woman, and I'd LOVE to get back down there and show you how much fun it can provide. With my tongue ONLY, I mean. But only if it's not too scary."

A nicely developed argument - very enticing. Her belly warmed in a way she didn't expect, given the topic. She tried her best to acquiesce, but simply couldn't bring herself to do so. The curiosity and perhaps even the desire were there, right near the surface, but the crust of old experiences kept her from trying. She was deeply embarrassed to have to explain, but found that she didn't need to do so ... he understood at once, and made her feel comfortable in her decision. And on top of that, he went right back to her pussy. She lost the last vestiges of embarrassment in a purple haze of delight at what his mouth could do for her.

After coming several times, Salome sighed and spread her legs as wide apart as she could, took hold of Ishmael's ears, and pulled him slowly up towards her. "Time to come on home, White Boy. Enough of this external stuff, no matter how nicely you do it. And BELIEVE ME, you do it nicely! Come here and park that thing of yours - of OURS! – inside my personal garage, out of the weather. Do it now!"

He knelt over her, settled the tip of his cock into the slipperiness of her slit, pressed slightly forward. She watched his face: he resembled a connoisseur tasting fine wine. Slowly, slowly, gently, he pressed forward. She wanted him inside, preferably immediately – this newfangled teasing, wonderful, slow-motion entry was certainly addictive, but the pace was a bit un-nerving.

"Carpe!" she thought, and held her wants under control. She didn't press her case, but instead let him direct things. It turned out that he understood her even better than she did herself. He slid, rotated, felt her relaxing about him as he smoothed and explored every minute inner wrinkle. In and out literally a hundred times, no more than helmet-deep. She was shivering as his thumbs played with her nipples in perfect time with his little thrustings.

"God, but you're HARD. And gentle. So gentle! You're really an oddball, White Boy! Every man I've ever been with would just have dived in full-length, BANG, like an Olympic racer into a pool. I'm not complaining, you understand, just observing!"

He smiled at her, nodded, and told her "Hey, we can do that, too, when it's the right time and the right technique for that particular moment. But just now, I want to get to know this nifty body of yours. I'm enjoying myself immensely, if you can't tell!"

She could. He was obviously having a great deal of FUN! She was again surprised: more firsts. The first man who wasn't deep into urgency and high-intensity NEED from the opening touch of cock against pussy. First ever to look as if he were savoring things, savoring HER and THEM, enjoying himself instead of being desperate to pound his way through to orgasm, usually alone. The only one who had ever, ever talked about what he (and she! – and THEM together!) was feeling. Much less grinned at her and made her laugh in the middle of fucking! She told him all this. He just smiled at her and kept on exploring.

She wondered if he would come with his eyes open and looking at her, instead of disappearing far down within himself the way her other men always did – it was unnerving and almost insulting, the way they retreated from sharing at that special moment and took their final pleasure entirely on their own, in private. She would shortly see: she already expected a great deal more from THIS man!

Finally, he slid forward until they were fully joined. His cock bumped her cervix, wobbled her womb, fanned her flames. They kissed nonstop as he stroked, breaking only when he lifted up to get a view of where they joined. She watched his face as he watched the cycle.

"What are you looking at down there, Sir White Boy?"

He told her: the contrast between their colors and textures. It was stunning, this white into black: stark, artistic. Beautiful. She said she wished she could see it.

He nodded, slipped slowly from her. The emptiness in her groin was profound - an ache. He stood up smiling, saying "Wait a second, no hurry..." He stepped into the bathroom and returned with her hand mirror and vibrator. She stared at him. "M'Lady should share the view. And I happen to LOVE vibrators. Keeps my tongue from getting cramps, adds a whole new dimension to things. We'll play with it after a while. If you'd like?"

She was speechless. He really, truly LIKED vibrators? His talk about them hadn't just been idle!

He knelt between her legs again, handed her the mirror, and said "Look! Let me show you my pet butterfly..." She studied the way her inner lips splayed under his fingers, the pink streak between them, the pink bulb of her clit as the butterfly's head. She giggled, then watched closely in the mirror as he re-entered her with his hard-on, a sight just as spectacular and beautiful as he had said.

Then he set the mirror aside and hugged her, nursed for a moment, rolled sideways.

"What?" she asked.

"Your turn to be up on top. Time to ride your cock horse, Salome. Sit up there where I can see everything, and handle your tits and pits, and RIDE me! Now!"

She was enthralled: no man of hers had EVER wanted her on top. None. Never. She had suggested it a couple of times and been refused, not particularly politely either. The idea seemed to insult their sense of being in charge, to infringe on their "rightful" power. And Ishmael, rather than shying away from the concept, was practically ORDERING her to do it!

She complied. It was immensely sexy and comfortable this way: it let them see one another perfectly, and freed his hands to roam. JeezusGodInHeaven, but he was deep inside now, with her whole weight pressing him into her pussy.

His hands on her hips, tilting her pelvis until her clit contacted his pubes, helped set an initial rhythm. Then, abruptly, she was in full cry: he held one breast tightly in his left hand, and strummed her clit with his other fingers. She came until she collapsed atop him, sucked his mouth against hers, and nursed on his tongue as if it were a cock, gasping and huffing. He wrapped her in his arms and held her as she descended.

"Jeezus, Ishmael, you're still HARD. Don't you ever COME?"

He laughed gently: "Salome, coming too soon spoils my fun. Spoils OUR fun, really! I told you, and I meant it... it's the stuff we do together getting there that is most of the fun. That and helping you enjoy yourself. I come hard and often. And easily. Do NOT worry about ME!"

He rolled her onto her back and said "Maybe pretty soon? Here... you're not done yet, not by a damn sight!" He handed her the vibrator, set it going. She watched his face as he drove into her: his color was rising, she could feel his sudden surge of urgency. Higher, tighter. He began to shake, and her legs went around his hips, encouraged long, deep strokes ... such power, so carefully controlled!

As he gasped and started to come, her next climax arrived with a vengeance. She managed to keep her eyes open, stared into him - waiting, hoping. And then, wonder of wonders, gasping open-mouthed and wide-eyed, he came for her, all the while staring straight into her innermost being, eye-locked tightly through their entire finale. Another first! Instead of shutting himself tightly away behind his eyelids, he had shared his blissful agony with her, included her in it profoundly. What a gorgeous difference this time, to be invited inside, to share the pleasure she was giving to him.

They lay wrapped tightly in one another's' arms for a long time before either spoke. Salome looked at Ishmael's smiling face, still glistening damply with her secretions. She was momentarily nearly exhausted from coming so hard. The whole scenario was simply wonderful! Plus, the evening was just getting started. She sat up and pushed him down onto his back: he was hard as a rock, still, and showed no signs of fatigue or retreat. Double wonderfulness.

Silently, she engulfed his cock with her mouth, letting him slide slowly, gently, exquisitely all the way in. She savored the interesting mix of their personal flavors on his cock as it slid over her tongue, studied the textures and massaged the big vein as she slid the entire assembly gently down her gullet. He sighed: she felt him twitch far down inside her throat.

She cycled through a couple of full-depth slow strokes, then released him and came up for air. She grinned: "Damn, White Boy, but you surely do have a pretty cock! And it's such a nice size. And purely ridiculous for hard! You're a goddamned teenager at heart, with a master's control, aren't you? Perfect size and shape for this throating business!"

She eyed him, he said nothing, just waited. A thought occurred to her. "Can I trust you? The way you were talking about, when we covered erotic versus sensual? I mean, really trust you, to do what I ask and not get carried away? If I suggest trying something that's been a fantasy of mine for years and years?"

He nodded, and said "Absolutely. I'd be honored to play! Just name it."

She shook her head and grinned at herself, muttered silently to herself, "Jeezus! I've known you for only how long, under two hours, and I think, no I'm sure, I can trust you! How odd is that?"

Salome lay on her back and scooted over so that her body bisected one corner of the foot of the bed, and her head hung down fully backwards over the point of the corner of the mattress. She set him with one leg along each side of the corner, astraddle her face, palmed his buttocks, and said in a sibilant whisper, "Ishmael, I want you to fuck my throat. Having a cock slide into me that way is just about the sexiest, most sensual thing I can imagine, but most men get way too carried away to let me really enjoy it. You have to be slow and considerate – we have to start slow so we can get a bit of practice, become a twosome, a team! And so that I can breathe! Take your time, and pull all the way out with each stroke, so I can get air. Don't you ever start back in until I pat your butt, either! And for damn sure, if I need you to pull out I'll push on your hips, and you'd better exit right NOW! Okay?"

Ishmael grinned and said "Instructions loaded, your wish is my command. I think I'm also going to enjoy this!"

Once again she swallowed him effortlessly: he held himself in a partial squat, leaning forward, and tried a couple of long, slow strokes. Her throat muscles squirmed delightfully about his cock, very different from either a pussy or a rectum, spectacularly sensuous, and very strong. They moved in perfect timing from stroke one. Out, breathe, pat, slither back in. His balls were slapping gently against her nose with each penetration. Her senses were going overtime, and then he slipped one hand down her belly to up two strong fingers deep into her pussy, pressing her clit into his palm. He squeezed in perfect synchrony with their stroking. She pushed, he extracted himself, looked down at her. She said "I want you to come that way. Can you? Are you ready yet? Come as far down inside as you can get, but let me KNOW just before, if you possibly can. Okay?"

He nodded, said "I'll tell you out loud when it's time."

They resumed: he was much readier than he'd thought. Five, six, seven deep strokes and the muscles behind his perineum were bunching, the inevitable was upon him. One more stroke would do it. He said "NOW!" and she swallowed him full-length, plastering her nose against the back of his scrotum. Far, far inside her throat his cum began to stream out in thick, warm jets, incredibly slow-motion, one long pulse per stroke, coating the entire length of her throat as he slid in and out through four, five spurts.