Camille Ch. 04

"Why don't you go back on the meds?" Arlene asked, her fingertips little butterfly legs walking on the crust on my face.

"I like to be 100 percent," I said, not opening my eyes, just enjoying her light touch.

"And you pay this price?" she asked, her finger picking at a wad of dried semen in my hair at my hairline.

I rolled up onto my side, propping my chin in my palm, and capturing her hand with mine.

"Leen," I said, "if you couldn't feel this," I brushed my fingers across her breast, the soft skin right where her pale breast met the slightly darker and different texture of the erectile tissue of her areola, "or this," I brushed the backs of my finger, my fingernails lightly touching skin, down her belly, across her belly button, to her mons, "or this," I kissed her, a very soft kiss.

I pulled away enough to focus on her eyes and when she started to say something I touched her lips, stopping her.

"If it had to be this," and I grabbed her nipple and twisted it making her yell and pull away, "or this," I reached between her legs and shoved a finger inside her, "or this," I kissed her, a hard, almost a brutal, kiss, "which would you prefer."

She grinned.

"Hell, I like both," she said.

"Yeah," I said, "so do I, but here's the thing. When I'm on the meds, it's like I can't feel this, "and I brushed her nipple, "and this," I twisted it again, giggling a little at her yell, "is just, well, barely a sensation."

I touched the tear that formed in the corner of her eye.

"I could kill your father," she said, "you know that, don't you?"

I kissed her, a nice, firm, foreplay kiss.

"Daddy was hurting as much as I was," I said, "it wasn't like mom had cancer or something. She was 29, healthy, and coming home from a fucking Bunko game of all things, well shit, I've told you all of this."

"I think it helps you to tell it," she said.

"God, I'm a cliche," I said.

She giggled, grabbed me behind the head, and kissed me hard.

"Cammie, you are many things, but 'cliche' is not among them," she said, "so tell Aunty Leen."

"How about I just roll you onto your belly and take you like I know you like so much?" I asked.

She brushed an imaginary hair away from my forehead and said, "Afterward, I'll let you do whatever you want."

I brushed an imaginary hair away from her forehead and said, "The things you want."

She giggled and said, "Well, that too."

"But first," she said, entwining her fingers in my hair, "dish."

"Oh, God," I said, kissed her, and pressed against her hoping the non-strapon would distract her.

"Don't try to work your cock magic on me, Mister," she said, giggling and twisting away.

She stretched, luxuriously, looking like a cat the way her eyes closed in her pleasure and, in the process, as she damn well knew, showing off those great tits.

I sighed, drew a breath, and dished.

"Mom was killed by a drunk driver. You know, just one of those things. He was drunk, ran a red light and it was lights out for Mom," I said, almost reciting now. Arlene had heard this before but she thought it was kind of, oh, I guess, therapy for me.

"Dad and I were devastated. I took to crawling in bed with him. You know, we both needed comfort," I hated, and loved, the tear that ran down my cheek as I told it all again.

"I loved him and I could see how hurt he was and, well, I wanted him too," I went on, "but he wouldn't let me take my panties off."

I laughed then.

"But when I squirmed around and got it out and took it into my mouth, well," I giggled, "he found a little moral island he could stand on."

"Did you swallow him?" Arlene asked.

"Every precious drop," I said.

"But now you don't?" she asked.

"I do with my husband," I said, "but not when I'm just satisfying the URGE."

"Tell me of the first time your URGE hit," she said.

"Here," I said, throwing my arms wide, "just rip me open and you can see everything."

She pinched my breast lightly and said, "Tell me and then you can do perverted things to me."

I took a deep breath.

"I had been married for a little over two years and it hit. I don't know why, but there it was," I said, "at first it was just little flashes of images but it kept building until it was all I could think about."

I took another deep breath. This was the hard part.

"I had been absolutely faithful to my husband, okay, to John, there, I said his name," I said and she brushed my face where a tear slowly ran down my cheek, "but all I could think of was sucking a cock that wasn't his."

"So, I called you, Bitch," I said, giggling and grabbing the hand she was using to brush my cheek and kissing it, "and you said okay, like it was some kind of college prank or something and we went out that first night and I hated what I was doing and I hated the guy I felt the click with and then I had him in my mouth and he was Daddy and I was happy."

I stopped for several deep breaths, while Arlene brushed imaginary hairs from my forehead.

"But then, I felt him, you know how men get, that little tension, those uncontrollable thrusts, and I couldn't take it in my mouth but I couldn't leave him unsatisfied," I stopped and drew another deep breath, "so I accepted it on my face and in my hair."

I was crying again, dammit.

"AND I LOVED IT," I yelled, "I FUCKING LOVED IT. There, are you happy?"

"And that's why you go off the meds, isn't it?" she asked, holding my eyes with what can only be called a piercing gaze.

I was bawling now, sobbing, great racking sobs.

"Please, Leeny, don't," I said.

"Say it," she said, no smile now, just relentlessness in her voice and her eyes.

"Please," I said.

"Say it," she said, her voice a monotone.

"Yes," I breathed, "I don't go on the meds because I love doing it, but I hate it too."

"Okay," she said, pulling me into a warm embrace, pillow boobs feeling good against me, strong arms feeling comforting, big strong legs pulling me to her, our bodies touching for our full lengths, "Come to Aunty."

I let her hold me as I bawled, feeling snot and drool and tears making the contact slick.

"Enough therapy," she said, holding me, comforting me like a hurt child.

She held me in one of those timeless times.

When I was down to a gentle weeping she pushed me to arm's length.

"Okay?" she asked.

I smiled and kissed her, a very soft, very slick kiss.

"Thank you," I said, relieved and emotionally spent and, deep in my belly, horny.

"Now, come on, Mister," she said, smiling a sweet, very girlish smile, "you said something about rolling me onto my belly."

I giggled then, and smiled, feeling the dried crusty stuff on my face cracking with my broadest smile of the morning.

"I love you," I said.

"Yeah, yeah," she said, smiling and rolling over, "Now let's do MY therapy."

"Butt up, naughty girl," I said, slapping each of those big soft melons hard enough to draw a yelp.

She settled into almost a "frog-kick" pose, face on the pillow, legs parted and bent at the knees, the entire front of her body pressed to the mattress.

"Nuh-uh," I said again, "get that ass up, Bitch. Dealer's choice."

"Oooooooooooo," she cooed, moving her knees forward and lifting that magnificent ass.

She does have a truly world-class ass until you spread her cheeks.

And she does have a truly gorgeous pussy. It was shiny and slick and as I watched a waterclear drop formed at the bottom of the long slot formed by her full nether lips. It grew and then started stretching until a long, thin, silvery thread connected her to a growing silvery puddle between her knees.

Jesus, and I hadn't even touched her.

I reached up and touched her, my fingertip moving gently down the long slot of her full nether lips until I found the button of her clitoris. She shivered and moaned softly as I pressed.

She was hot and slick and ready as I slipped in a finger and then a second. My thumb found her clitoris and I began squeezing, my fingers putting pressure on her clitoris from the inside while my thumb pressed from the outside.

I took my time. I knew her well. She had been my confidant and, I'll say it again, the ONLY woman I had ever been involved with, sexually, for many years. She knew all about me, things literally no one else in the world knew, and I knew all about her. She told me, repeatedly, that I was the only woman for her and also regaled me with her stories of the men she shared her bed with.

And there were plenty of them.

Unlike me, who seems to only be happy when I'm married, she was a confirmed bachelorette, rarely taking the same man to her bed more than once. She said she preferred the variety pack and often when we were together, she asked how I managed to stand the same sex every time.

But I also knew her little quirks.

She groaned as I slipped the third finger in and started squeezing a little harder,

At the fourth finger, she cried out, "Jesus," and bucked, squirming away, but I chased her with my hand.

She was face down, and groaning as I squeezed now, wanting to hurt her not because I wanted to hurt her, but because I knew she wanted to be hurt.

She has a bit of a masochistic streak but she's afraid to let it out with men. Hell, she's afraid to let it out with anyone but me.

Okay, and I let that little bit of sadist out too.

So, I squeezed and she yelled and I pushed her face into the pillow to muffle it.

Okay, I have quite a bit of sadism in me but Arlene has quite a bit of masochism too.

I released her, suddenly, slapped her big ass, and then took her from behind, wallowing in the sensations the strapless was giving me, and I grabbed a handful of hipfat in each hand and started fucking her. This wasn't making love. This was plain fucking.

And she was liking it as much as I was.

I came first but kept that hard, not quite brutal, rhythm going, thrusting deep into her, my belly making a distinct smacking sound with each contact with her ass, until she came with a cry and a river of her love honey that soaked us both.

When she was satisfied, I pulled out and stretched out beside her, my hand light on her waist, smiling at her across the pillow.

"I still don't understand," she said, still panting, reaching behind my head to pull me for a kiss, "how you turned into the one with the cock."

I giggled and said, "My natural dominance."

She laughed at that.

"You," she kissed me and went on, "my love, are just about the most plain vanilla woman I know, and yet, here we are."

I brushed a few stray hairs away from her sweaty forehead and said, "I've thought about the pathology at work here and I guess it's just my reaction to getting the URGE taken care of."

"Well," she said, laying back and taking another deep breath, finally getting her breathing under control, "I'm certainly not bitching. Now, please, order us breakfast before I starve to death."

I laughed, jiggled the roll of her belly that was the muffin top when she wore the tight jeans she liked, and said, "Because you're wasting away."

"Don't make fun of your Aunty Leeny," she said, laughing, "Now feed me!"

"Okay, old folks," I said, giggling. Arlene is precisely 27 days older than I am.

I rolled over, picked up the house phone, looked at the little list attached to the phone console, and dialed "19" for room service.

The order placed, a double order of biscuits and gravy, sausage, and large orange juice for Arlene, a Denver omelet, white toast, and large orange juice for me, I hung up the phone and she pulled me onto my back.

"Now, my little love muffin," she said, grinning, "my turn."

I laid back, knowing what was coming and anticipating it eagerly.

She patted my thighs and I spread my legs. Then she found the little pump bulb, squeezed, and held it, slowly deflating the anchor balloon in my vagina. She did the same thing with the anal anchor, said, "Stay put," and went into the bathroom where I could hear the water running as she washed the strapless.

Then she was back with her educated mouth, kissing her way up my thighs until she found my pussy, already wet for her.

I tried to hold back but her tongue found my special spots and her fingertips opened me wider so she could probe more deeply.

"Push, Cammie," she said, her voice low and compelling.

God, she could play me.

But I pushed, clamping down on my anal sphincter to avoid an embarrassing accident, and pushing my uterus and cervix forward for her.

I gasped when her tongue touched my cervix and came like a fountain when she covered it with her lips and sucked gently.

I came twice and was down to the short little breaths that meant I was close when Arlene pulled away suddenly.

"LEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeennnnnnnn" I cried.

She was laughing.

"Breakfast is here," she said and I became aware of the light knocking on the door.

"Go on," she said, "pay the man."

I took a deep breath and swung out of bed. I grabbed one of the oversized fluffy robes the hotel provided, shrugged it on, belted it loosely, and padded, barefoot, to the door.

The kid who was wheeling the cart with its two plates covered by those shiny stainless steel domes was young enough that it made me wonder about work permits and things like that. I was blushing, of course, my Scarlet Letter obvious with the crust on my face and I knew the smell of sex was rolling off of me like fog.

I stepped aside and waved him into the room, stifling a little giggle at the way he blushed.

"Mornin'," came Arlene's voice from the other room, and when he looked up, and I looked up, she was laying, stretched out in a pinup pose, chin propped on her palm, the sheet draped over her hips but those big boobs of hers on full display.

"Over here," I said, pulling his eyes away and pointing to a spot on the edge of the room where a couple of chairs sat near the little kitchenette.

He was blushing quite prettily.

I signed the bill, handed him a twenty-dollar bill as a tip, and said, "Thank you."

As the door swung shut I felt Arlene's hands on my waist as she kissed my shoulder.

"You are SUCH a tease," I said.

"HEY!" she said, "I am many things, but 'tease' is NOT among them. Want me to catch him before the elevator gets here and prove it?" She took a step to the door.

I laughed and caught her hand.

"No, you fucking nympho," I said, "Sit and feed me."

We sat there, enjoying the view, and fed each other breakfast, sharing such a sweet intimacy.

After breakfast, we dressed in last night's clothes and went down to the lobby to check out. Arlene was looking like any woman taking her walk of shame, hair a mess, and no makeup or underwear. I wore my badge of shame, the crust on my face and in my hair. I felt every eye that looked at me.

On the way home she pulled into the lot of a Safeway store and told me to get some bread, a package of Meunster cheese, a bunch of grapes, and a six-pack of beer. I know this sounds odd but it was part of our "after-URGE" routine. This shopping list would require me to move all over the store. It felt like Cerci's walk of shame from Game of Thrones. It was humiliating but also, on some level, it was cleansing.

At her house, I finally allowed myself to clean up.

We showered together, washing faces, shampooing hair, and washing bodies, but it wasn't sexual although it was sensual. The time for sex had passed and this was our time to return to normal. Well, to return to what the world perceived as "normal."

We had one more cup of coffee and she walked me to my car.

"You know," she said, "someday your URGE will hit and I won't be around. What will you do then?"

I wonder, sometimes, if she had some sort of a prescient vision or if it was just her subtle way of suggesting I should go back on the meds.

"Don't be silly," I said, "you are Earth Mother, eternal and always there."

She giggled, kissed me, and said, "Go home to David, Cammie."

As she always did, she turned then and walked into the house. She has a bit of a superstition about watching someone leave.

On the way home I could feel the final dregs of the URGE and its aftermath draining away.

When I got home I called out a "Hello," and there was no answer. Then I heard one of David's powersaws running in the basement and knew he was involved in one of his projects.

I went down the stairs and there he was standing in front of that big saw, he calls it a "radial arm saw," and as I watched he tapped on the end of a board and, satisfied, reached up, pulled a trigger, and pulled that big terrifying blade through a piece of wood.

He was intent on looking at the cut he had just made and had on earmuffs. It was easy to sneak up on him.

When I wrapped my arms around him from behind he jumped, startled, and turned quickly, hands up in a defensive posture. Then he saw me and smiled.

He knows what I'm like when I get home from one of our Girl's Nights Out.

"I see you survived," he said.

I said nothing, just pulled him down for a kiss.

"Oh, God, David, I'm so sorry, I wish it didn't hit me anymore," I thought.

I said nothing, just held the kiss, my back arching, pressing myself to him, offering myself.

I broke the kiss and then eased to my knees, my fingers already busy at his belt.

He stroked my hair as I got the belt undone and was working on his zipper when he said, "Someday I'm going to follow you and see just what it is about your Girl's Night Out that gets you going like this," he said softly.

"No, My Love," I thought, "that can never happen," proving that my prescience was as bad as Arlene's was good.

I got his pants down just enough to expose his erection and took him into my mouth, neck bent sharply, looking up at him across the T-shirt he wore, smiling with my eyes.

I'm very VERY good with my mouth, and I made this as good for him as I could, as I always did after coming home from relieving the URGE.

He held my eyes, well, I held his eyes as I got him close, slowed, took him to a new plateau, slowed and took him yet higher.

Oral sex like that is the most loving gift I can offer, and I took him to paradise, slowly, lovingly, tenderly on my knees in the sawdust on the floor of the basement.

I know quite a bit about giving oral sex. There are, basically, three ways for a woman to finish a man. She can swallow hard, defeating her gag reflex, and accept the cock into her throat, allowing her throat to function as a substitute vagina. She can hold him in her mouth, her lips and tongue serving as a substitute hand and masturbating him. Or she can pull off at the penultimate moment, using her hand to guide him, keeping him going by masturbating him as he finishes and accepting his ejaculate on her face and in her hair, what I call getting a facial and hair conditioner.

I've done all three, but I believe the most loving is number two, holding him in my mouth and feeling the flow, tasting his wonderful mangift, accepting it, savoring it, taking it into my body gratefully, and loving it.

That is what I gave him this afternoon. I brought him along slowly until his body was trembling with his need. All the while I held his eyes. When I tasted those first drops of thin precum I used the tip of my tongue to touch his urethra, a gentle touch, making him jump with the intensity of what I was doing. My hands on his ass held him to me though, as the first wave of that wild sensation passed.

I made it last beyond that. Smiling with my eyes, using my tongue to caress his shaft.

When he came I pulled off enough that only his glans remained in my mouth, my lips forming a tight seal so I wouldn't lose any of his mangift. I kept sucking, gently, my hands on his ass prevented him from involuntarily pulling away from the intensity of the sensations I was giving him.

As I felt him cumming, that hot, thick jet of his seed hitting the back of my mouth, the second pump more flowing than squirting, covering my tongue with the taste of heaven, with the wonderful ambrosia that those who achieve heaven or walk in the Elysian fields know, I quit sucking, just held him as the final contractions of his prostate and testicles added the final drops of his completion to my mouth.