Friday. She looked forward to this night all week, every week. Seven days since he had been here. Soon he would be back.
Her job allowed her Friday off and she always used it to prepare. A long relaxing bath, shaving her legs, armpits, reshaping the soft bush on her mons into a narrow heart shape. Then she pushed the vibrating egg into her sex and turned it to a low buzz -- just a warm-up, she always smiled to herself, as it pushed in, first spreading her lips wide and then nearly filling the moist cave inside her. She took a few moments to savor the low buzz that permeated her sex. Then a nap -- a near nap, at any rate, slowly stroking her clit, her thoughts running ahead to the night before her.
5.pm. She rose, dressed in the lacy thong that turned him on. A little touch of rouge on the nipples. When his hand rattled the doorknob, she rushed to the door. Falling to her knees beside the door, she became wet from anticipation. She licked her lips. And waited. The few moments seemed to stretch interminably.
The door opened and he stepped into the room; he closed it behind him and turned silently toward her. Both knew what would happen in this familiar ritual of greeting.
Her fingers were already busy at the zipper in his trousers. zzzzip. It opened and his hardcock slapped at the side of her face as it jutted out of the suitpants -- she smiled inwardly: he had obviously stopped after work to remove his underpants. She immediately slurped it into her mouth and pushed her face forward. Her tongue became frantic as he closed his eyes to savor the first contact. She did not pump her face forward and back but simply swallowed his hardness, her nose bumping into the hair peeking out of the opening in his pants. Her tongue lashed against the soft sensitivity of the underside of his cock as she sucked -- seemingly desperate to have his first release.
Her hands clutched at the backs of his thighs when his cock pulsed, swelled and then exploded in three thick jets of hot cum that splashed against her gulping throat.
She did not release him, even as he began to soften in her mouth. Her hands undid the belt, undid the clasp of his pants and slid them softly down his legs, letting them puddle at his feet. Only when he began to harden again did she break contact, standing and -- with deft, practiced motions -- untied necktie, unbuttoned dress shirt, slipped off wing-tip shoes. He was more naked than she now. And still neither had said a word.
Holding him by his hardness, she led him to the dining table where a crisp salad waited. As he ate, she slipped below the table, nuzzling between his legs and once again her mouth found him.
Her attack was different, now that the urgency of his initial release was past. This time she used her hands as well, pushing the foreskin down the shaft as far as it would go, inducing a gasp of almost-pain, before she took him into her mouth again. Her hand clasped tightly around the base of him, but her mouth worked only on the extreme tip of the hardcock. She sucked --HARD-- and knew that he would have a hickey there tomorrow. The tip of her tongue pushed into the tiny slit and worked hard, lashing in, out, as if fucking this little opening.
Throughout his dinner she worked between his knees, mouth focused on just the head of his member. She scratched it lightly with her teeth, painted it with the broad softness of her tongue, left sucky little kisses on the helmet. And all the while, her thumb and forefinger formed a hard 'O' around the base of his shaft. As she felt him begin to push his hips up, she paused, changed attack, tightened the controlling 'O' briefly. When the immediate tension of his need seemed to relax, she would intensify her attentions.
The entire consciousness of the woman kneeling between his knees was focused on the tube of soft-hard maleness in her hand and mouth. She moaned as she herself became aroused. The trickle of precum leaked onto her tongue: slightly salty, tangy -- he'd had a spicy lunch, she judged.
He tried to eat, but the constant interruption of his building desire made his progress through the salad slow going. He longed to grasp her head in his hands and pump himself down her throat, but that would change their protocol; so he strove above all to maintain control of himself.
10 minutes... 20 minutes... 30 minutes ... a groan escaped him, and he pushed back from the table slightly ... a signal. She suddenly engulfed him fully again; his long hardness swallowed by the nearly naked female. The finger-clamp around the base of his cock released and was replaced by her slashing tongue. She suctioned him immediately, and immediately was rewarded by a lift of his hips as the cock captured in her mouth and throat pulsed, throbbed and shot again into her throat.
She swallowed, increasing the sensation on him, and he pushed against her face again. She swallowed, licked, and sucked as he shrank to softness. Once again, she refused to release him from her mouth. This time it required her finger probing into the dark hole between his asscheeks combined with the velvet wetness of her mouth before he began to harden again -- it took nearly 10 minutes, but her mouth was insistent. For nearly an hour now, he had been in her mouth, and not one word had been exchanged.
Again she arose, and leading him by the hardcock, took him into her bathroom, where she washed the day's body odor from him. She used only her tongue: throat, neck, armpit, chest, anus, crotch, feet. She dried him carefully with her hair as he stood. When he needed to pee, he stood before the toilet and she held the cock, expertly aiming it into the bowl, foreskin held back in her hand. She wiped it clean with a single swipe of her tongue.
Her hand still on his now-soft cock, she led him to the large bed. He sat then lay down on his back. She bent over him, closing each eye with a soft kiss. Then she crouched on her knees between his legs, and her vacuum-mouth sucked his shriveled member in between her lips.
She knew it would take more than a few minutes, now, to reharden him, but there was no rush now: she had all night.
The room temperature was just right ... neither Dominant nor submissive felt cool or hot. A gentle, soft, lazy jazz CD came on as the evening worn on. Still he lay, eyes closed, mind focused on the 8 inches of cock inside her mouth. Still she was, her nose buried against his pubic fur, all motion confined to the tongue slashing against his building need inside her mouth.
When he began to doze, she felt the relaxation in his legs and softly, slowly, she moved his legs to give her easier access to his sex. Her soft index finger slithered into his ass again, finding the smooth small egg that was his prostate. She stroked it slowly and gently as she slid her mouth back to the purple crown of the cock that was her focus. Her teeth tightened a fraction of an inch behind the ridge where the cap flared and she turned her head - first clockwise then counterclockwise. Her teeth scraped lightly at that most sensitive place, and he began to swell in his sleep.
Time passed: after midnight now. His dreams full of pure sex, her wakefulness full of the tender attention given to his cock. Gently, slowly, carefully, she stretched her own body on the bed, her mouth never leaving his cockhead. She extended a hand and found the remote control of the egg -- still lodged in her cunt, still buzzing at low intensity. She turned it up a notch and her body convulsed almost immediately as she came, her finger grinding against the hard little clithead that was so like his cockhead.
He hardened and softened as the night passed. She knew the rem periods that signaled his more active dreams: he hardened and his cock filled her throat. She had to relax in that special, almost-Zen way to be able to breathe. But soon after, he softened. The deep hours of the night were her favorite time. He was so small that she easily slurped his balls into her mouth. She had all of him, resting on her tongue: shriveled cock, two soft eggs. She swished them around in her mouth, filling her cheeks. She played with his foreskin with her tongue and -gently- with her teeth.