Speak to Me Ch. 01

"Like that!" she cried suddenly. I couldn't have said what I was doing any different at that moment, but I kept going as I was, my face pressed to hers, our bodies sliding like a single unit up and down the bed. Her mouth opened wide and suddenly vacuumed itself to my shoulder in a big, wet ring, each gasp of her breath blasting through the seal of her lips on my skin. Her teeth started to dig, her nails continued to sink, and she whisper-screamed again: "Just like that! Oh fuck- fuck me! Fuck me like that!"

I rocked her as hard as I could, trying to balance the fact that I was going to blow if I didn't slow down soon with the fact that she was going out of her mind and I wanted to keep her that way until she got the explosive orgasm she was clearly about to get. I would go deep and hard for several penetrations, and then counter the building urge in myself with two quick and shallow thrusts. I held my breath and tried not to feel the exquisite oil that my cock was swimming through.

"Keep it- honey- go... GO HARD!" she begged me in a frenzy -- but before I could even respond, she was raking my back and her lungs let out a gust of air in my ear. She made a loud noise that sounded like, "Gahhhh!" and then followed it with, "FUCK! FUCK! COMING- OH FUCK!" Underneath me her body froze in place and simply convulsed.

I love to let her come. I love it more than any other part -- including my own. I lay still and felt her shuddering, listened to her incoherent sobs; I felt the length of her against the length of me -- the sharp, stabbing pain of her fingernails in my back; I felt my cock get harder inside her; I felt her getting smaller around it. It's never long enough -- I wish I could make her come for ten full minutes.

"Whoa. Oh my God," she whispered, returning to her senses and opening her eyes to stare at me with the most profound love I've ever seen. "Yeah. That was a good one." She laughed a little, and her eyes asked me if I thought she had done anything stupid. I kissed her, my hips already starting to pump lightly into her again.

"I wish they were always like that," I said, smiling.

"I couldn't handle them like that very often," she said, beaming. "But oh my God, thank you for that one."

"Any reason you were so ready?"

"Just in the right mood, I guess."

I answered her with a silent smile, wondering if that were all, but too preoccupied with my own need to dwell much on it at that time. I was moving slowly, trying to let some of it fade so that I could bring it back, but I could not keep still with my cock floating in the warm depths of her wet pussy. There was not going to be much delaying.

"Did I scratch you too hard?" she wondered, and I could see a trace of real agony in her eyes at the thought that I might say she got carried away.

"It left marks," I said, still quite aware of the burning trails she had left in my skin, "but it felt right. I wouldn't say do it every time, but that time I liked it."

"I feel like I went a little crazy on you there."

"You did. I'd love to know what made you that way. It was incredible."

"I was in the right mood," she said again, smiling happily. "But you might have helped it a little..."

"How so?"

"With your stories at the beginning. But we're not talking about it right now."

"That's okay. I'm glad you liked them -- I was pretty sure you weren't getting into it."

"I don't... think I was, the way you meant for me to. We'll talk. Don't you want to see my butt in these underwear? It's pretty sexy."

"How do you know -- did Jamie tell you?" I laughed at the thought, but I must say I was very genuinely curious. I did get a bit of a mental image of a hot, skinny woman squeezing my wife's ass in the mall, as well.

"You aren't supposed to try on underwear, hon," she told me, patting my shoulder. "I know because I stood in front of a mirror and looked at it. It looked good to me -- I'd do me."

She was making a funny, but her eyes suddenly said that she was worried about the way I might have taken it; she might have got me curious about her masturbation habits again.

"I probably would, too," I said.

"Want to try?" she asked me, touching my face with the backs of her knuckles in a light caress. "I'll let you do me right now."

"Seriously? I can't pass that up -- you're beautiful."

I was sliding out of her as we tossed these little quips back and forth -- we had, in our way, agreed between the lines of this conversation that I would like to have her from behind. I think the sheer stupidity of the term "doggy style" and the lack of any more appropriate term are what prevent us from wanting to discuss it explicitly. The deal had already been made -- we just had to give each other the proper signals for it to begin.

I'll be honest here: fucking my wife from behind is almost guaranteed to get me off in fewer than five strokes, unless I move extremely slowly. We've discussed this exactly once, and for my pride's sake we both understand that it's something to remember without ever mentioning it again; we never begin that way, and we always make sure that Amanda has had her orgasm before we do it. There's something about the way it makes her feel around me; the opening of her vagina grips my cock like a tight ring, and simply does its job too well. I don't know how the hell the men in all the videos do it for so long... but I do know that I would, too, if I could.

I like our system, though. I like to be close with her while we work on making her come. I like to have my face near hers; I like the feeling of her breasts (or 'breast' as it were) pressed flat against me; I like to feel her cling to me and want me harder. I like to be as intimate as possible, and I like to think that her orgasms give her a moment of understanding beyond words how much I love her -- how happy I want to make her. When it's done, and her moment of bliss is accomplished, sex becomes an entirely less lofty act. It's hard for me to take my own orgasm with anywhere near the seriousness that I take hers. I think the spell is broken altogether once when we are no longer both overwhelmed with want, and the rest of the act makes me feel more that I'm burdening her than bonding with her.

Only just beginning to catch her breath, Amanda pulled herself up to a sitting position by hanging from my neck. "You want to take my bra off for this, I assume?" She jiggled her one naked tit in the palm of her hand and watched my reaction with the ghost of a smile on her lips. "Of course you do," she answered herself right away. "Got to have the swaying boobs -- it's part of the effect."

I laughed, but I nodded. She was absolutely right.

I was giving my cock a few light strokes, watching her twist her arms behind herself to unhook the bra. When she did, I felt a surge of elation that was physical; her big breasts spilled out of the lacy bra and hung in all their natural beauty on her chest: large and oval and beautiful. She tossed the bra aside with no reverence at all, and then simply leaned back on her arms and thrust her boobs out at me with a playful smile.

"I love the look on your face when I show you boobs," she joked, shaking herself to get them bouncing a little.

"I think part of what you're seeing is the look on my face when there's a hand on my dick," I confessed, suddenly not so comfortable with the word "cock".

"Probably true. But I do have pretty good boobs, don't I?"

"You have good everything, babe. I tell you that all the time."

"I'm asking about my boobs right now," she said. "Can't you just compliment them and we'll get on with the night?"

"You have the most incredible boobs I've ever seen, for sure." For good measure, I took both of them in my hands and gave them a few shakes. "But you didn't let me make you wait, so why are you making me?"

"Just wanted them to get a little face-to-face attention before you start bouncing them all over the place," she answered. Her eyes glittered mischievously. "But it is kind of rude, isn't it? You've earned better than that."

She flipped over, let her whole upper body lay flat on the bed, and raised her ass in front of me with a slow, tantalizing wave, wagging her tail like a happy kitten. Beside the displaced crotch of her panties, I could see the fleshy slot of her vagina centered between the bare expanse of her white thighs, and I could see the bright pink skin deep inside it. Her hands stretched out to clutch the headboard, and she purred, "How do you like the underwear from back there?"

Her ass had been molded into a pair of such exquisite curves I couldn't keep my hands away. The charcoal lace and the hot pink stripes that ran between the curves and down the ramp of her back was gorgeous; something about the color pink has always spoken of beautiful things to me. Staring down her naked back, seeing her breasts bulge out from the sides of her chest, seeing her long, slender arms reaching out to grip the headboard, I felt like the luckiest man who had ever fucked a woman. I slipped into her and let a low moan rumble out of my throat; the mouth of her vagina gripped me, its depths caressed me like silk, and I filled my hands with her tightened buttocks.

Every stroke was slow and deliberate -- it was not possible to get enough out of one. I wanted to disappear into her body; I wanted her ass against my pelvis until they melted together. She let a few girly moans fill the space between us for my benefit -- I love the sound, and she does it well.

"God yes," I murmured, feeling approximately four seconds away from ejaculation.

"Does it feel good?" she asked me, turning on her amazingly sexy seductress voice. "Do you just want to take it as hard as you can?"

"Yes."

"You don't have to hurry," she said, knowing that I felt I should hurry. "If it feels good, I want you to keep going as long as you want to."

She put a slight gyration in her hips and rubbed her ass against my abdomen every time our bodies pressed together. My cock wanted to burst inside her, but I fought it off and savored her as slowly as I could stand to move. Watching her squirm, watching the length of her back coil up and then uncoil like an inchworm, suddenly she looked like the most seductive creature ever to give pleasure to a man.

"I can feel you loving it," she continued to purr. "It feels so good you can't stand it."

"Amanda..." I murmured, almost completely insane. "I don't know where you picked up the talk, but oh my fucking God you do it so right."

"You like to hear me talk?"

She was doing most of the moving now, her face buried in her pillow, her hands clutching the headboard, her hips making maddening circles around the shaft of my cock.

I couldn't think of any word that meant "yes" enough, but it didn't matter -- I couldn't speak. I froze, and she knew it was almost over. She stopped as well.

"You want to finish, don't you?" she asked me in her seductive whisper.

"Yeah..." I mumbled, fighting it.

"Don't hold back anymore," she said. "Just grab my hips and fuck me as hard as you can right now."

There was nothing I could do except follow her advice; I fell forward over the slope of her back, burrowed my hands under her breasts until my hands were full of them (thinking, crazily, that I hadn't gotten the chance to see them bouncing, and I would have to make up for that next time), and simply started plowing. Curled around the beautiful mountain of her raised ass, squeezing her tits for all I was worth, I fucked her with a passion and for a few seconds wanted it to last forever; I hauled her up to me by her breasts and dug as deeply into her pussy as I could go, hovered there, pumped my hips without backing out of her, and the pleasure in my cock poured out of it in a sudden explosion that flooded her vagina with my seed.

Grunting, freezing, shuddering, I held her against me as hard as I could, and she pressed with her ass to give as much of her as would fit inside the hollow of my curled abdomen. For several seconds I couldn't move, but she continued to grind my cock with her gyrations, and it felt so good it was almost unpleasant. Then the spasms calmed, dropping below the threshold of mindlessness, and I started spreading kisses all over her naked back.

"Wow," I said.

6.

The sex was so good it was hard to let our failed conversation bother me very much right away. It was there in the back of my mind while we cuddled together under the sheets, but it didn't yet sting the way it would over the next few days. I was actually trying, out of spite, to convince myself that it could have been better if only she had been willing to open up to me, but in the glow we were sharing, in the appreciative remarks we were tossing back and forth, even I understood that I was being ridiculous. For an old-fashioned married couple, we had done pretty damn good. I'm not sure sex comes much better than what we'd just had; it's only too bad that it took me more than a week to admit it to myself.

We tend to be talkative for half an hour or so when we're done, and I'd say we were pretty much on target that night. I asked her several times to explain why she was so worked up; with the suppressed resentment I was feeling about her refusal to talk to me earlier, I was unpleasantly suspicious for no good reason. She told me each time that she didn't know, it was just the mood she was in that day, and I sensed that she was keeping something from me. I told her this outright, and she sighed and turned away from me unhappily.

"What about you?" she demanded as I stared in the near-darkness at the back of her head.

"What about me?"

"Why do you have all these questions and confessions all of a sudden? Do you think I have something to hide?"

"I don't think you've done anything wrong, if that's what you're asking."

"Then where is all this coming from? Why are you all of a sudden rocking the boat after ten years of being happy with me? Why are you trying to change things?"

"...I'm not," I said cautiously, suddenly realizing that it sounded very much like I was. "I don't think I did this right, honey. Let's not worry about it right now."

She would normally have resisted an appeal like that and stayed angry for at least the rest of the night, but something must have been in the stars. She simply rolled over to face me again, clutched my hand and placed it intimately against her breast, and said, "I wanted you tonight. I don't know why you're so sure it doesn't ever happen. I have my moods too, you know."

"It just doesn't usually... show as clearly, I guess. But you'd think I would appreciate it, not question it."

We didn't make much of a breakthrough, but we kept the peace when deep inside I felt an irrational urge to pick a fight, and that was a fair achievement. We continued to murmur personal things with each other, and slowly talked ourselves into a dreamy fog of whispered words, soft kisses, and drowsiness together. By the time I fell asleep, I could feel her breathing deeply in my arms, and I suppose I was calm. However, I was uneasy -- it was beginning to sink in not only that I had failed to spark the intimate conversation full of secret-sharing and dream-chasing I had intended, but also that I might have embarrassed myself in the process, by sharing secrets she may not have been even the least curious about.

These reservations were going to gnaw at me slowly over the next few days, but the gnawing did not begin immediately. Sunday morning dawned; my eyes opened to a silent morning and the whispers of my wife in my ear: "Are you even awake? Honey?"

Coming somewhat to my senses, I felt her hand gripping my cock, and it was hard. "I am now," I told her, wrapping her in my arms with a sudden tingle of eagerness.

She laughed and gave my face a playful but aimless lick up the side of my nose. "You didn't do anything to me?"

"What? What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about... this. Did you start something? You didn't, did you?"

"Touch you? No. I just woke up and you were grabbing me."

There wasn't much ceremony. We lay on our sides, facing each other, and she pressed my cock down between her thighs, dipped it into her slit, and I went happily in.

"Oh my God, I just woke up like this," she moaned. "I thought you had been touching me. I could feel you all hard against my back."

We clung together and started making love, neither of us quite sure why. My cock was almost raw with pleasure. She was not nearly as wet as she had been the previous night, and the slight friction I felt inside her stroked me within an inch of the end after only a few thrusts. Less overwhelmed with need, I was able to fend it off, but it was ready for me whenever I was ready for it.

Amanda moaned -- more consciously, I think, than usual -- and simply hung on to my neck. There was no real urgency, but I think, like myself, she was quickly there; I imagine it was equally raw and powerful for her as well. I was not even fully awake. The sound of her, over and over saying, "Mmmm. Mmmm. Mmmm," put me in a pleasurable trance. I think we actually made love for as long as half an hour, though we were both as good as done after the first thirty seconds; we fought to keep it going, and both succeeded. When I finally could not hold back, she felt me grip the back of her neck, and sweetly moaned, "Now?"

We came together. That doesn't happen often. We held onto each other and froze together, shaking, smiling, giggling like teenagers about it, and just coming.

"Mother of God," she laughed when we were done, "now I'm just waking up horny."

"I don't think you've ever used that word before," I observed.

"It's a stupid word... but that's pretty much what it feels like."

"Did you like it?"

"Of course. Oh my God, yes. But now I feel all weak and shaky."

"Me too, a little bit."

Silence -- the perfect silence of the early morning -- hovered comfortably over us. It lasted for several minutes.

Amanda broke it. She said, "You should write a story."

"I should what?"

"You know. A sexy story. I'd like that."

"What's this?"

She twisted herself to lay flat on her back, drawing my arm across her body. "You're just good at telling that kind of story. You made me tingly last night."

"Really?"

"Yeah. You know, 'tingly'. In a certain area."

"Is that what all this is?"

"No. I was hot and bothered anyway- but you made it better."

"I don't know how to write that kind of thing."

"You'll figure it out. It will get you hot sex."

"Amanda, that's not what I was trying to do..."

"It's what you did. Are you not able to enjoy that fact for what it is? I'm not saying you have to, I'm just saying that you made me feel some 'feelings', so if you were ever interested in making me feel that way, that's how you could do it. That's the kind of thing that does it for me."

"Read a lot of erotic writing, do you?"

"Maybe sometimes."

"Really?"

"Maybe."

The sound of Seth's voice from across the hall put an end to whatever little bit of her secret life she might have been about to share: "Mom? Dad? Can I get up?"

She gave me a little pat on the arm, and we hopped out of bed. It was a few days after this before I ceased to feel that she was missing my point, not taking me seriously at all, and thinking in her own mind that she was doing me some great favor. I was irritated beyond all right at something I couldn't quite put my finger on, but that seemed to feel like jealousy or loneliness. The connection I wanted with her was not being formed -- it even felt that it was growing frayed.

I thought -- because I was still not listening to her -- that my wife was simply trying to be dirty enough for me to satisfy some fetish stage she believed I was going through, and all consideration of sex aside, I felt intellectually insulted. In truth, neither of us was understanding the position of the other -- neither of us realized we were missing an important piece of the other's puzzle -- neither of us realized that we had, in one passionate night, failed to see that we both wanted something in particular, and now we were annoyed with each other for the stupid reason that we had had a great night despite our ruined plans.