She leaned back on the comfy chair; body covered in a hotel bathrobe, hair wrapped up in a towel. It was still a little chilly, what with us just stepping out of the shower together.
She was telling me a story about her officemates, about how some some bitch messed up her sales leads or somesuch. I listened attentively while reaching for her cigarettes, lighting one up and taking the first drag to make sure it was properly lit.
“She said that, really?” I responded, turning the cigarette around and placing it between her lips.
“Smoke”, I instructed calmly.
As she kept talking, the sound of her voice got a little bit muffled when my face pushed its way forward to part her thighs like the fucking sea, my hands following not far behind to push her knees as far as they could go.
From down there, she heard me say “Keep talking.”
I was hungry, but I also wanted to take my time and savour her.
This was the third time we rendezvoused for a staycation, though it was the second time I flew into her city.
At this stage in our love affair, I realised that I couldn’t continue doing this for much longer unless she chose to leave her boyfriend and pursue something legitimate with me. Even before I touched down, I made up my mind that I would not be returning to this city again as her secretive side-piece. If I ever came back, I would be doing so in the capacity of a boyfriend / partner.
There was no telling if I was going to ever see her again after this, so I wanted to make it count. I wanted to relish in the taste of this wonderful woman I was head over heels in love with and make sure that we both remember every bit of it.
My tongue was doing its job but my lips broke out into a smirk as I realised that her narration of the story she was telling me earlier was starting to trail off. She stuttered. She couldn’t maintain a steady tone of voice. It was happening: I was breaking down her inhibitions.
A sick, sadistic side of me loves it when I get anyone in that position; when I insist on them maintaining their composure but I work relentlessly to deliberately compromise it. And in her case it didn’t take long before that bathrobe was wide open and her legs were mounted over my shoulders; devouring her with my mouth like an animal that hadn’t eaten for days, the lower half of my face glistening with whatever the hell came out of her.
The first orgasm came. Then I added a few fingers.
Then the second orgasm came. And I flipped her tiny body onto the bed next to us; face down, ass up.
It was almost hilarious how quickly she went from deep moaning to a high pitched squeal as my tongue went from her pussy and dragged itself all the way up to her asshole.
I no longer felt like being tasteful about things. “He’s never eaten your ass before has he?”
She shook her head.
“Ridiculous”, I thought to myself. How could a girl who took such good care of herself and looked like a snack under all her clothes, never be eaten out like one? Doesn’t matter; a lower bar set by her bum of a boyfriend makes my job of blowing her mind much easier.
The thing I love about her ease of cumming is that with every passing orgasm, her mind crumbles even more until she’s deep in subspace, mindless, stuttering; seeing her like that made me fall in love with her even more. Seeing her completely lost and drowning in whatever feelgood chemicals her body was producing, while I took care of her….
….was an indescribable feeling. It made me happy.
Whenever she was in that ‘zone’, I always turned up the heat by slipping a thumb or a finger up her ass. She loved it, though taking my cock up her ass proved to be too much of a challenge. I didn’t mind. I understood. I was more than happy just having a finger in her ass while I fucked her, feeling my own cock inside her with my own fingers.
“Do you trust me?” I asked her, quite bluntly.
“Yes, I do.” was the sweetest answer I had ever heard in my life.
To have a woman I was fond of, explicitly stating that she trusted me with her body, to do as I pleased, because she understood that I would always protect her and have her wellbeing in mind?
You know those silly articles that discuss if its important that men feel desired?
Yes. Yes its fucking important. Don’t ask stupid questions like that.
With her giving me carte blanche on her little 5ft something body, I had my way with her. I wanted to make her feel a bit of the power that I loved having over her. I wanted her to know just how much I wanted her to be my queen, and not just someone I fucked in secret.
So during our ‘tea time’ when we came back to the room with a cheese platter and snacks, I told her to sit in one of the chairs by the window, facing the bed this time.
In her bathrobe she sat, snacking on cheese, sipping on her wine, while smoking cigarettes like you’d imagine a French woman would, she looked at me with just a little bit of curiosity; she knew something was up (again), and she wanted to see what I was going to do.
I loved the undivided attention.
I leaned back into the bed and decided to call upon my exhibitionist instincts this time. I opened up my own bathrobe, lubed my hand, and worked on myself.
Slowly, at first, but then I embraced the fact that I was putting on a show for an audience of one and started to really put my heart into it.
At times, I was just rolling my eyes to the back of my head, moaning and groaning loudly as I jacked myself off, acting as if she wasn’t there. Sometimes, I’d lock eyes with her and refuse to break it, I wanted her to see this animal who was jacking off to NOTHING, no porn, no imagination, no nothing; nothing but the sight of HER to get me off. She was watching me closely from her chair wearing an unimpressed expression on her face, looking at me like I was just a piece of meat.
…and I loved it.
It was a welcome break from constantly being the dominant one in these scenarios so I embraced it, just as I embraced my cock and exploded all over myself in a way that was only possible with her around.
When I was finished, panting, she walked to the bed and sat next to me. Looking down at me lovingly; her unimpressed expression slowly changed into a caring, loving gaze; her sweet smile shining on me as she caressed my face.
We only ever left the room for meals. Romantic dinners, walks by the river, but we never went too far. I wanted to enjoy the personal time we had behind closed doors, but I’ll openly admit that it was also because I was physically exhausted. Not only was my stamina drained beyond imagination, I later learned that a side effect of Catuaba was the fact that it tires out your nervous system making you feel week.
In retrospect, that explains a lot.
The end of that trip saw us at the same airport, facing the same scenario again. We maintained our composure while we were still together, I pressed my lips against hers despite us being surrounded by aunties and uncles all over the airport.
We said our goodbyes and texted each other while she was in the parking lot regaining her composure, and while I was in line for my flight trying to hide the fact that I had tears rolling down my cheeks.
I had made my soft ultimatum clear: I would not return to her city unless things changed between us. I felt that I had played every card I had, made every intention clear, and proven to her how much I loved her over that two-year period.
The decision was hers to make.
What I did not realise, however, was that those tender moments we shared at the airport in her city would turn out to be the last time I’d ever see her with my own two eyes.