Clyde and Margi

“Where’s your son?” He said, coming back to lounge.

“At my parents place – how do you know it’s a boy and not a girl?”

“Toys, colours and my keen, deductive powers confirmed it from the picture on your dresser in your room.” We both laughed.

He settled down into the three-seater, crossing his legs. “Would you like something to drink?” I asked. I enjoyed seeing a man like this; confidently owning the space around him. He was so unlike Derek.

“Sure – beer? You got any? Or wine if you don’t.”

“Beer I got.” Actually it was Derek’s but what the hell. As I poured in the beer into glass in the kitchen, and some wine for myself, I realised that I was enjoying him, enjoying the sense of him being there. I really liked him, like his easy-going, comfortable manner. He did a lot to still my anxiety.

We chatted as we drank, unwinding and becoming really easy with each other. I forgot about trying to be careful with him, trying to keep one step ahead. He refilled his beer, and my wine, not self-conscious at all about going in to the kitchen, opening the fridge. He acted as if he knew me, as if he had been to my place before. I was glad we were there, at my house, because we could both relax.

A track by Earth, Wind & Fire - Reasons – started playing.

He laughed and shook his head.

“This is so weird! Reasons! Forgive me saying this but this is an unusual choice for a white woman. How did you come on to this stuff? Have you got coloured friends?”

“No, I don’t, not social friends but I have some work colleagues. I first heard soul – The Delfonics - on the soundtrack from the Jackie Brown, that Tarantino movie. Been hooked ever since. I have a fairly decent collection. Anyway, what’s coloured got to do with it?”

“This kind of music is only heard in coloured homes. That’s why. Why do you like it?” He leaned forward, his curiosity clear.

“Simple: I like the singing, the harmonising and the sugary romance. Why do you like it?” I was feeling a bit defensive now, not sure where this was headed.

“I grew up with this stuff.” He shrugged. “Its no big thing, really, like I said, it’s just so unusual. Don’t your friends raise their eyebrows when you play this stuff?”

“Yes, they do. They don’t get it.”

“Exactly. Anyway, I must compliment you on your collection,” He nodded towards my tower racks of CDs. “Comprehensive. Brilliant – I must say that it’s the best I’ve seen. Some of the stuff is collector’s items, not easily available. Where do you get your rare stuff from?”

I was impressed that he recognised the collector’s items and I was really very, very proud of my sources. It had taken me a long time to establish them and I had a collection of note. He chuckled when I told as my sources included a tailor in Jeppe, a cycle shop in Westdene and my own direct importing.

We spoke for another half an hour, sex being absent. Suddenly, when Billy Paul started singing Me & Mrs Jones he got up.

“This we have to dance to!” He held out hand, formally, asking for to dance. I took his hand, feeling shy.

As we danced to romantic slow song, he drew me closer to him until I could feel his warm breath on my neck. We moved together, no jerking, smoothly as if we had danced before. “I like this,” his voice was muffled, “A lot”. He moved his hand around my back in slow circles, in time to the music. I pulled him closer to me, smelling him. He smelled of man. Plain and simple, man. Perhaps I was fooling myself that I could detect a man smell but that’s how he smelled. Not sweaty, not stale but good and primeval, like a man. He nibbled on my neck, not too lightly. His one hand was rubbing the small of my back and the other caressed my shoulder.

I pressed my breasts against his chest and I could feel him growing, could actually feel his cock swell. It felt sexy. I’d never really felt a guy get excited while dancing before but maybe that’s because we were really holding each tightly. I felt him jiggle the zip at the back my dress and heard it slide open. He put his hand into the back of my dress and his hand felt warm and dry. I pressed more firmly against him, liking the way my nipples felt, hard and sensitive. I pulled the shirt out of the back of his pants and felt his hard back muscles, felt them move as he moved. He felt good, hard and strong.

He was still kissing my neck and I could feel that old familiar warmth stir in my loins, feel the heat within.

He pushed his hand down passed the small of my back, reaching the top of my butt, his fingers stroking the beginning of my butt groove. He drew me even closer, pressing my mound against his now rock-hard cock. If felt even huger than I remembered. We were both breathing hard now, still dancing and getting hornier and hornier.

With his one hand on the inside of my dress and the other on the outside, he squeezed both my butt cheeks. He squeezed me firmly and moved his hips around, rubbing his hard python of a dick against me. As I danced I could feel how wet I was, how my clit was aching. If he only knew how often I had fingered myself since Monday, thinking about him. I had even done it in traffic, slipping my hand up my dress and expressionlessly fucking myself. Since that lunch I had developed a thing for cars and playing with myself. I could feel his tongue on my neck and I lifted my head, letting him lick me under my chin.

By now he had pulled up my dress and he had both his hands in the back of my panties, kneading my bum, pulling the cheeks apart. I could feel his fingers reach for my puss from the back, feel the slipperiness of drenched cunt. “Unzip me,” he mouthed, as he licked my neck. I’d been wanting to do this from the start, in fact, I’d been wanting to hold his dick since Monday but I had wavered while we danced, not sure if I was prepared for his thick dick.

I fiddled with his zip, feeling his swollen dong in his pants. I put my hand in and I could feel his cock reaching out over the top of his underpants. I slid my hand in, drawing my breath as I felt how hard he was, how big. I tried to touch fingers as I circled it and couldn’t. Dear God, I thought, how will I fuck a cock as thick as this?

The thought of it excited me and I stroked his dick, feeling its strength and hardness. My puss juices were literally flowing and the inside of my cunt felt like a furnace. I heard moaning and was about to congratulate myself on being able to turn him on like that when I realised it was me that was moaning! In the meanwhile he was pulling at my panties, sliding his fingers into my wet puss, massaging my swollen clit urgently. Eerily, we were still dancing in time to the music.

I felt him push me down onto the couch and he raised my legs and pulled my sodden panties off. He struggled briefly with his zip and let his big fuck stick out. It stood out rigidly, the head brown and throbbing. I didn’t plan it like this, I thought we would take it slowly but I couldn’t wait for him to enter me, to split me open, to ride me rough. There was a wild look in his eyes and he was panting as if he had run a mile.

With his pants around his knees and underpants barely lowered, he prised my legs apart. As he guided his cock towards my puss he looked into my eyes. “I want you, now, I can’t wait.” He was hoarse.

“Take me, fuck me, use me now – don’t wait.” I was breathing hard too and I opened my legs wide.

I felt his cock-head press against my dripping puss lips. He leaned forward and I gasped as his thick dick entered me, prising me open like an oyster. I felt his head first and then his shaft. He rocked back-and-forth slowly, each time penetrating me a little further. It didn’t hurt at all, like I thought it would, instead I could feel my cunt opening to take him. I started thrusting back, in time to his pushing, and I groaned with pleasure. At last, I thought, at last - I’m being fucked by a real man sized dick.

“God, you are so tight!” His voice was rough, low and rasping.

“Fuck me,” I urged him, “Please fuck me deep and hard!” Now that had him half in me I suddenly panicked that I wouldn’t be able to take all of him, that, somehow, I wouldn’t be woman enough – and there was no way that Margi could do something I couldn’t. “Put it all in my pussy, shove your whole fucking cock into me, all the way.” He grunted.

“Sure thing,” he leaned on his dick again and I felt him go deeper, “I’m going to fuck you so deep you won’t walk tomorrow.”

“Yes,” I said, “Fuck me like that – make me take you all the way.” He thrust even harder now, settling into rhythm, penetrating me deeper with each cock-thrust. “Tight,” he mumbled, “Tight like a wet, hot glove.”

We rocked each other, me eager to accommodate his pole, he wanting shove his cock in up all the way to his balls. We had a beautiful rhythm now, fucking with our hips moving towards each other.

“How far are you,” He was strained, breathing rapidly, “How are you doing?”

“Almost there – fuck me faster and harder. Yes, like that, cock-fuck me, stick that brute of a dick all the way! Make me your bitch, fuck me!”

His hips were slapping my thighs and he raised himself to watch as his cock slid smoothly in and out of me. I lifted my head too, so that I could watch with him shaft me. His cock was shiny, wet with my puss juice and he pounded me, my cunt wrapped tightly around his shaft. As he pulled it out, my cunt folded around it. Suddenly he was moving very fast, stroking me rapidly and my orgasm started deep, down. Great big spasms wracked me and I came with him.

“Oh bitch! You are soooo good!” He had it in all the way, I could feel his cock contract almost in time to my own orgasm, I could feel his hot come spurting into me, burning me with divine fire. He jerked rapidly, pressing his throbbing and shooting cock up against the top of my inner cunt. He was grunting unintelligibly. He collapsed on top of me; sweat beading his forehead. “Oh, Aimee, oh Aimee, tight deep Aimee.”

We lay like that, our chests heaving, his pulsing dick filling my cunt. He slid away after a while and his cock made a little sucking noise as it left my pussy. I lifted my head to look at it. My pussy was sodden, come dribbling out of the bottom; fuck juice bedewing my lips. I was swollen and aching, deliciously aching with the feel of him.

Our clothes were wrinkled, uncomfortable now that we had finished. I was bemused, thunderstruck, now thoroughly convinced that size matters. I had had my share of cock before, not all of it small, but, oh brother, none so magnificent!

He was sitting on the floor, taking his pants off and getting it tangeld with his shoes. His cock was still hard. I marvelled at that – how did he do it?

I slid onto the floor next to him. “This is some cock, so wonderful. How do you keep it up?” I reached for it, sliding my hand up and down his slick shaft.

“A hard man is good to find, right?” We both chuckled at the old joke. “Come here, let me kiss you”. He pulled me towards him and I realised that for the first time I had had sex without exchanging one kiss. He kissed me hard, sucking my tongue and probing my mouth with his rather muscular-feeling tongue. He squeezed my tits, rolling my nips between his fingers. “Suck me,” he commanded, his voice thick, “go down and suck that cock.” He pushed me down, and I obeyed eagerly.

Since watching Margi suck him off I had fantasised what it would be like to do him with my mouth. If he felt big in my cunt, it felt twice the size in mouth. I could hardly get my lips around him.

“Wait,” he said, heaving himself up on the couch. “this will help – I’ll sit on the couch and you kneel and suck me. You’ll manage better.”

And I did. His dick was slightly oval rather than perfectly round and facing him it was indeed easier to take his cock into my mouth. I was able to put both my hands around his shaft (my hands are small) and I licked his head. He was hard, cock-rock-hard. There was still a little come dribbling out of his cock eye and I licked it, emboldened by Margi’s bravura effort in the car. I didn’t know what to expect, never having tasted come before. All the times I had given head I had always bailed out at the last minute, not being keen on eating sperm. He tasted odd; slightly bitter and slightly salty. I liked it; it was sexy.

As I sucked him, taking him a little at a time, stretching my mouth wide and licking the underside of his head, he sighed and leaned back into the couch. This made him thrust his hips forward and his cock deeper into my mouth. I found that if I co-ordinated my breathing with his thrusts I could take him quite deep. I loved his cock, jerking his shaft with both my hands and sucking on his head. Being on my haunches, I could feel his come dripping out of my puss and onto my ankles, puddling on the carpet.

He had his hands on the top of my head, ruffling my hair. “Oh Aimee, suck my cock, lick my dick. Yes, that’s it, take me I deep. Oh, your mouth so hot and wet!” I doubled my efforts at his encouragement and I was surprised that I was making little mewing sounds.

Peaches & Herb started singing Close Your Eyes. Maybe baby, but I was getting into this with my eyes wide open! Yes, Oh, yes!

I took my one hand and stroked my pussy while I ate him. I had a genuine fantasy come true here, right now, I had fingered myself to this image of me sucking King Cock all along.

We rocked together, he was thrusting steadily into my mouth and I slurped and sucked as he entered me, reaching the back of my mouth. I felt so pleased; Deep Throat Aimee, Queen of Cock Suckers. My own orgasm built in time to his thrusts. I gently squeezed his balls and sucked hard on his head, carefully keeping my teeth off him. The more urgent he became, the more rapidly I stroked my own cunt, spreading his come all over me. All of a sudden, with no warning, he started shooting. I greedily ate him, swallowing his come and reached orgasm myself. I struggled to keep sucking as I came but I loved the rhythm of his shooting, my puss clamping on itself in time to his squirting. He was jerking spasmodically, mussing my hair, mumbling my name.

Eventually, we stopped, my head on the couch between his legs, his cock finally coming down and resting on my cheek. My puss was still pulsing, pushing out come onto the growing puddle on the carpet.

He sighed. “You are something else, you know that?” I lifted my head, pleased.

“Oh, I don’t know – you’re the one with the magic wand.”

“Oh no, you won’t believe me but I never get this hard, this out-of-control, except when you’re around. Honestly – there’s something about you, something that talks to the deeps within me.”

I laughed. “I know what you mean. I feel the same. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since Monday.” I fell silent, a little warning bell sounding in my head. I was on dangerous ground here, risky ground. I decided to change the subject. I stood up, fixing my clothes.

“Want a beer? A nice cold beer?”

“Yeah, that would be great. Would you like us to get something to eat later?”

“No, I’m not hungry – I ate earlier.” Strange, I thought, this had happened with Andrea. Sex builds appetites it seemed. ‘Would you like a bite? I’ve got something I can give you.”

“No thanks, not really. I didn’t know if you had eaten or not.” As I got his beer I was pleased with his consideration. I poured some wine for myself.

“Listen,” He said, after taking a big slug of his beer, “I have to discuss something with you.” My blood froze. This sounded ominous. We didn’t know each other – what was there to discuss? I raised my eyebrows.

“Yes?”

“I didn’t expect that – you know, the sex – to happen so suddenly. I lost my head – I wanted to wear a condom.” My heart raced – I’d forgotten about that! I mean, you know, Aids and all that!

“God, you’re right! You’re clear aren’t you? Please say you are clear!”

He nodded. “Hell, yes, of course I am – and you? What about you?”

“Sure, of course, I mean I don’t really sleep around – I know that sounds weak given the circs but I don’t. I must be clear.” He paused before answering.

“I had a blood test last week – for sugar and thyroid problems. I haven’t been feeling so great recently, sleepy, tired and listless so my doc had these tests done. I asked him to do an Aids one as well. It came back clean – everything. I’m fit as the proverbial fiddle. It seems as if I simply have stress, work bullshit. When last did you test?”

“During my divorce. I caught him screwing a skinny little blond and I had a test, twice in fact, six months apart, and it was clear both times. I’ve only slept with Derek, the guy I’m seeing, since then. We used condoms at first but, well, you know how it is and now we don’t.” I thought about this for a while. I mean Derek was a guy and he certainly had other women before me. Funny but I didn’t think about this with him. In fact, as I thought about it, I didn’t even know if he was faithful right now. I bit my lip. “You know, I’m worried; I’ll have a test tomorrow. I’m sure everything’s okay but I’ll make sure.”

Clyde nodded. “I think that’s wise – actually I’ll appreciate it. For the record, I use condoms with Margi all the time. I’ve slept with one other woman recently – Belinda is her name – we met at the airport. We had a couple in the business lounge together, a few more on the flight to Cape Town, some more in the pub there and ended up at my hotel. Drinking sex, really, but this was before the test. I didn’t use a condom either – that’s why I had the doc do the aids test.” He looked a bit sheepish. “I’m only telling you this so that you know where I’ve been.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” Inside I was seething with jealousy at this Belinda bitch. “I’ll go for a test tomorrow and let you know. This travelling thing – you do it often?” I was curious because I have a holiday home in Mosselbaai. I had a good job that paid well and I invested some of my spare cash in a property there. I have an agent let its for me but I regularly go down for week-ends. Derek loves it.

“Yeah,’ He said, “Often. Once a month at least. It’s a bore really – the glamour wears off rapidly and I’ve begun to loathe hotels. But its part of my job so I do it. Why?”

“Well, I have a holiday home in Mosselbaai and I go down often. I fly to George and drive from there.” An idea had begun to form in my head but I decided to let it go for now.

“A holiday home? Well, well, aren’t you the lucky one. Are you rich?” He asked with genuine interest.

I laughed.

“No, not really but I had a great divorce and I earn a decent salary and I invest well. Its paid dividends.”

“Good for you – keep it going. Mind if I looked at your CD collection in more detail?”

“Uh-uh – go ahead.” Actually I was enjoying this. For the first time I was able to show my collection off to someone that understood my taste. Most people were simply impressed with its size and when they look at the CDs I get the impression they think its rubbish. “Play anything that tickles your fancy.”

“Done deal – I’ll play you first.” He smiled at me. I was really pleased with that and I giggled like a little girl. I sipped my wine as I watch him. He was going “Hmm, Oh wow, hot stuff.” He selected a couple and put them aside.

“How do know you know where to find something you need? This is massive!”

“I’ve got it computerised. I simply type in the artist or track and my PC tells me which number its on. Look carefully at the empty spaces – you’ll see its numbered at the back.”

He nodded. “Pretty damn good, very clever. So, if a track is one more than one CD it will tell you?”

“Yep - every time. Happens a lot because I have a lot of compilation stuff.”

“Yeah, I see that. Could I stick these in?”

I was about to offer him some help but I thought he would work out how the system operated. He did. I was curious about his choices.