I was standing with my drink tipped, taking a healthy swallow when I felt him behind me, his hands nudging off my robe.
“Are you sure we’re alone?”
“My staff knows you’re here, they know why I wanted you here, and most likely some of the things I planned on doing with you while you’re here. They will give us a wide berth as no one wants to be fired. This is my home . . . our home now, and they have orders to be unobtrusive, discreet, and nowhere near wherever the hell we are. When we close a door, no one will dream of intruding. It’s as if we’re here alone. Any mess we make is cleaned when we leave the house or while we’re sleeping. Unless I summon someone, we are alone. Trust me. I have a very well paid and very loyal staff.
“Besides, I locked us in. There was a day when I didn’t mind people watching a beautiful woman giving me head, but I don’t want that kind of life anymore. I’m in love with you, and everything we do together is private.”
My robe fell to the tiled apron. His must have been dispatched with before mine because I felt his erection prodding my buttocks almost immediately.
“Where do you want me?” he murmured in my ear.
I looked around. “There to the right of those steps. I can stand while you sit. Now balance your butt on the very edge, I want access to everything, and I mean everything.”
“Mmmm, perfect,” he said as he stroked my breasts then pulled on my nipples. I moaned.
He took my hand and led me over to the steps. I sat my drink in its monogrammed Tervis Tumbler on the ledge and walked into the pool until I was waist deep.
“Your tits will be close at hand—or should I say hands— this way,” he said as he settled himself to the right of the top step. He spread his legs wide and I had my first really good look at his erection, the bush of thick dark hair that it grew out of, and his balls. Everything was at eye level and I must say, I was quite impressed. His feet were in the pool, his hairy legs covered by water almost to his knees.
I held my hand to my upper chest to warm it. I had been holding my vodka tonic, but as it was in an insulated tumbler, it wasn’t that cold. Still, I wasn’t about to put my hands on him there, until they were warm. I’d already done that scenario last night and had had to bring him back to life so to speak.
I used my thumb to stroke the underside of his penis from the base to the frenulum, and then back again. He groaned and it did my heart good. I looked up at him and saw he had tipped his head back and closed his eyes. I was going to drag this out as long as I possibly could. He was going to scream his release before I was done with him. I was an enlightened woman and had been to a few “toy parties” in my time. I had an arsenal of how-to books in my nightstand and I’d given myself a refresher course during the last few weeks. This wasn’t going to be over in a few minutes like it was last night. I was going to show him that I could “handle” him.
As my thumb circled his corona, the ultra sensitive ridge at the top, I watched his penis jump for me, then I slid my thumb to the meatus, the two tiny lips at the head where the silky pre-cum was oozing out. It felt slick and wonderful as I coated the head with it. He groaned and I smiled. Then I let my thumb caress down the length of him again until I got to his ball seam where my other hand joined the action by cupping each ball separately and gently squeezing it in my palm. I allowed my forefinger to smooth the area under his ball sac until I got to the perineum, which I lavishly stroked. I watched as more pre-cum oozed from the tip. “Viv . . .” he whispered gruffly as if warning of some impending doom.
“Yes?” I asked, all innocent.
“Uh . . .”
I didn’t let him finish; I leaned in and took the whole tip, the glans, into my mouth. His loud gasp almost caused me to laugh. I was enjoying torturing him, and I’d only just begun.
With slow and deliberate strokes I softly pumped his velvety shaft, my hand wrapped loosely around it while my mouth sucked more and more of him in. I managed to stand off to the left, on one of the low steps leading out of the pool so I could be above him, leaning down, taking him farther and farther into my mouth with each consecutive swallow. My hand gripped tighter, my mouth sucked gradually harder, and my tongue licked every crevice, ridge and protruding vein. He cried out and sobbed and I felt myself flooding my labial lips with my own creamy essence. But this was not about me. I was determined to show him I could give as good as I got. On this playing field, I was not going to disappoint. No way.
I did something called the flea flicker under the corona, and then did the pretend-he’s-a-lollipop up the shaft, ending with swirling-the-ice-cream-cone with the flat of my tongue as I came up from each swallow while my fingers gently cupped his balls. He was breathing like an overweight band member carrying a tuba for the tenth lap around the stadium and I marveled at what I had wrought.
I went in for the kill and swallowed him whole while sucking, sucking, sucking. I felt his thighs tense against my hand and his penis jerk hard against the roof of my mouth. This was the moment of truth. I knew I had to keep my mouth soft and my throat open but I had no idea that he was going to shove my head down even farther. Do not gag. Do not gag. Do not gag. It became my own personal running mantra as I heard his anguished curse, hoarse shout, and then a low, feral growl escaped his lips. I felt his balls draw up tight, and his penis throb before spastically jerking and pumping into my mouth.
I had no choice but to swallow. But I had to have some relief before I retched. I slid my mouth up to the tip and sucked him dry, then popped him out and sank slowly and completely below the water.
I was swimming laps and rinsing my mouth with each turn of my head when I heard him slip off the side and into the water. I saw him out of the corner of my eye, standing there, in the pool, watching me before he dove and swam under me, turning and cupping my breasts while I swam above him. When I made it to the edge, I stood and he did, too.
“You’re amazing, but I suspect you already know that, don’t you?”
I smiled and raised my eyebrows, but said nothing.
“Where did you learn to give head like that?”
“Books.”
“Nah!”
‘Okay, some porn, too.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “It would be fitting justice if it was one of my films.”
“Dale had some very old stuff. I think it predated your pornos. But things haven’t changed all that much since Linda Lovelace have they?”
He shook his head and stole a hand around my neck. Standing barefoot in the pool, I realized how much taller he was than I. His mouth descended and took mine and I reveled in his kiss, enjoying the feel of his tongue snaking along mine and his lips opening me further. When he had kissed me so thoroughly I could hardly stand, he released me and kissed the tip of my nose. “I love you, Vivienne. We are so right for each other, it’s scary.”
“Well you chose me over the others.”
“There was no contest.”
“Why did you choose me over the others?”
“I’m not sure I can answer that. At least not completely.”
“Oh no! Please don’t tell me my mother had a hand in this!”
“No, at least I don’t think so.” He thought for a moment. “Did she know you’d been a topless waitress once upon a time? Because I think I was really drawn to that one fact.”
“No. That wasn’t something I ever shared with her. Not a mother’s proudest moment.”
“No, I can’t imagine it would be.”
“So that’s it, huh? You liked the idea that I went topless in front of many men?”
“No, I liked the idea that you were adventurous enough to try it, and that someone must have thought your tits were good enough to display or they wouldn’t have hired you in the first place.”
“That was almost forty years ago.”
“And they’re still good enough to display.”
His head bent and he took one nipple deep into his mouth and suckled it. The other was rewarded the same tre
atment, then I was taken over to the steps and lifted to the edge of the pool. My legs were spread and his head ducked between them. And I can tell you that as paybacks go, he was brutal. He brought me to the edge and backed off so many times I lost count, but then I remembered to ask for permission to come and within seconds I was screaming into the cavernous room and listening to the echo of my own voice drifting back to me as I streaked up through the universe, soared to the pinnacle, and slowly found my way back.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Primo We took a long nap together on an oversized lounger in the sunroom, facing a walled garden. It was wonderful to fall asleep in the cradle of his arms and equally delightful to wake in them.
He took a shower while I soaked in a froth of bubbles in the Jacuzzi tub, then I admired his physique as he shaved, in a perfect position to see both his backside and his front reflected in the mirror. Unfortunately, the really good parts were below the countertop on the front side. But still, I got to stare at his great butt and even watch it clench a few times as he bent to retrieve things from the under sink cabinets. He had a fine torso, muscular for any man, but very impressive for one his age. His chest was broad and covered almost completely with silvering gray hair. It was a fine mat that I loved to run my hands through when my cheek was on his shoulder.
He looked in the mirror and saw me staring once and gave me a devastating wink that threatened to melt my bones and send me under the water. I wondered how I had been fortunate enough to snag a widower of this caliber so late in life. He was handsome, rugged, athletic, smart, rich, and sexy as all get out. And he wanted me. Clearly this man could be marrying a woman less than half his age, and finally I built up the courage to ask him about that.
“Well, if I did that, I’d be talking about things she’d have no clue about, we’d have conversations that neither of us were listening to, I’d spend most of my time apologizing for not being able to keep up, and I’d be worried every single time she looked at a younger man, wondering if they were trying to figure out how they could spend my money when I was gone. I knew from the moment I decided I wanted to marry again, what kind of woman I was looking for, and young never factored into it. Not once.”
“So what exactly was your criterion?”
“Similar interests, a youthful body that was in greatshape for a woman over the half century mark, independent with a comfortable lifestyle so I wouldn’t be worried this was all about the money for her, someone who had good friends, because that’s the mark of a caring and committed person, a great sense of humor, because I tend to be too serious most times and need someone to show me how hilarious life can be if you don’t focus on the tragedies, someone reasonably attractive because I dearly love to kiss . . . someone with an eagerness to please, and an adventurous heart.”
“Wow, what a challenging shopping list.”
“Not so tough really, you seem to fit the bill quite nicely. And there were bonuses.”
“Such as?”
“Well, not every woman I interviewed had the luxury of being so free with her breasts, capable and willing to put them front and center and in my hand within mere seconds of meeting. And most no longer had mothers living, whereas you have a mother who claims to be a witch, but in essence is really a Keebler elf on overdrive—you must thank her for those brownies by the way—so as a mother-in-law, she’s tops with me. And while you are captivating in your own right, you are one of the best listeners I have ever met. I am constantly amazed by all the witty observations you make, seeing things I would never see if you didn’t call my attention to them. And you are one helluva sexy woman. I feel I can say anything, ask for anything and try anything and you’ll be game.”
“That’s quite impressive. You make me sound like a miracle woman. So what don’t you like about me?”
“Ah, let’s see . . . that you let your husband’s family walk all over you, you can’t reciteThe Charge of the Light Brigade, that you’ve little to no training in being a submissive, and that you’re that turning into a prune.”
“Regarding my husband’s family, I suppose it’s time to confess my most grievous sin.”
“And what might that be?”
“I peed on their spoons. And on their knives and forks.”
When he gave me a quizzing look, I continued, “When they cleaned me out during Dale’s funeral, they missed a lot of the silverware because it was in the dishwasher, a place they’d apparently forgotten to check. So when they sent a note requesting that the rest of the silverware be sent to them, I lined it all up in the shower and peed on it. Then I let it dry before packing it up and shipping it to them.”
“Wouldn’t they have washed them before using them, that would be the customary thing to do, wouldn’t it?”
“I specifically addressed them to Steven, all brawn, no brain; I knew he would just dump them in the drawer with the rest. I know it doesn’t count for revenge unless you tell them, but that was all the venting I needed. I still laugh about it whenever I think about them eating cereal or soup, or forking up some pasta.” I laughed thinking about that silverware in the drawer and everyone using it, and he laughed too.
“When I told my mother about it, she cackled, I mean really cackled. Seems during the 17thcentury in England, witches made a spell device called a witch bottle which usually included their urine as well as nail clippings, hair, and a cloth pierced with eight brass pins. It was meant to trap negative energy. She said by my pissing outside the bottle, so to speak, that I was releasing negative energy. And you know, on this one outrageous oddity, I think she was absolutely right.”
Then I continued on my tirade, “And how do you know I can’t recite The Charge of the Light Brigade?
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
‘Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!’ he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred. .. and what do you mean little to no training? I’m a good cocksucker and I let you do all manner of things on that bike, I wore all that revealing leather, and I’m willing to be tied up and blindfolded. And did any of the other ladies have any training in being a submissive?”
He shot me a sideways smile, “No. I don’t believe so. We didn’t get far enough into the dating process for me to ascertain that. I am very impressed that you know Tennyson so well. Very impressed indeed.”
That mollified me. I harrumphed. “So give me a lesson.” I stood from the tub and he watched as water sluiced from my pruney body.
“As you say, you’ve already had a lesson or two, and I agree.”
“Really? I have?”
“Mmmm hmmm,” he said, then he raised his hand and enumerated them on his fingers. “You displayed yourself for me, following my every direction, and you allowed me to shave your pussy bald—again, obeying my every word; you are becoming accustomed to being naked in my presence whenever we’re alone; and you are beginning to trust me, which is lesson one in any dominant/submissive relationship. Now, would you stand and strip naked for me in the middle of a crowded restaurant if I asked you to? No, I think not. So we have a long way to go with your training.”
He had turned at the point, but I thought I saw a hint of a smile on his sexy lips. So I couldn’t resist. “Well, let’s try it tonight shall we? This place you’re takin’me is it supposed to be real swanky?”
He spun around and stared, his eyes wide until he noticed the telltale quirk to my own lips. He threw his head back for a laugh that reverberated off every surface. I smiled as I watched him enjoy himself immensely at my jest. And with just the towel I was drying myself off with between us, he lifted me from the tub and carried me to the bed.
Covering me with his body he braced himself on his elbows and looked down into my eyes. “I am so gone on you. I cannot believe how quickly you have captured my heart. If anything, I am the submissiv
e in our relationship, because I would do anything to make you happy. I love every sweet inch of you.” His lips took mine over and over again as he licked first under my upper lip, then my under lower lip, behind my teeth, in front of my teeth, suctioning one lip between his teeth, then the other, biting the corners, chasing my tongue, and then following my jaw line to my throat, to my collarbone, my breasts, my abdomen, my navel, my hips, my thighs, my knees, my calves, my feet and then rerouting himself back up my body, this time tracing the inside of my legs, ending at my juncture and nibbling me senseless. He murmured between tongue lashings that he would never tire of this, never get enough of this, never do it often enough to satisfy either one of us. And then I keened, staring up into the mirror watching his thick head of silver grey hair move between my legs like an over eager buzz saw on steroids.
The restaurant was called Luce Ristorante e bar, and it was in a huge office building on N. Tryon. We were received with much fanfare so I knew he frequented this lovely place hidden in Suite J.
There was a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket tableside. And when he heard my soto voce groan, he whispered in my ear, “Just one bottle between the two of us—a 1996 Gosset Brut, quite rare these days. We’ll be good, because I want us both to be capable of being very bad later.”
The menu was in authentic Italian and while I knew I could request explanations or an English version, I deferred to him and asked him to order for us both.
For the antipasti he ordered Carpaccio, a seared beef concoction with arugula, shaved parmgiano with truffle aioli, which he said meant truffle oil, one of the most expensive cooking ingredients in the world. I was impressed. And it was good. Very, very good.
The entrée, which everyone kept referring to as Le Paste, was something called Agnolotti—veal and Swiss chard ravioli served with Parmesan and sage veal jus. It was excellent and I would have easily foregone dessert for another dish of it.
The wine served during dinner was a 2001 Collemalton of Brunnello di Montalcino Riserva, one of the “Grandi Vini d’Italia,” per the sommelier. I had seen the little sticker attached to the bottle as the man had uncorked it to let it breathe and saw it went for $200 a bottle. This man I was with, knew fine things, liked fine things and didn’t mind paying what they cost. I felt extremely classy and was honored that he had chosen me to be the woman he wanted to share all this with. I was humbled by him, because he obviously knew better, yet still wanted me.
The Widows of Sea Trail-Vivienne of Sugar Sands Page 29