Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 04

I grabbed her and spun her around, til she was bent double, with her legs over my shoulder. I held her for a long French kiss. Then I started to kiss my way down her neck, to her wonderful breasts. Sheila has the most incredible, gravity-defying tits. I licked off the drops of sweat and nibbled around the base. Her hands were pulling at my hair, which normally would have hurt, but right then it added to the moment.

After circling each breast a couple of times, I sucked toothily on each nipple, before I moved down to the top of her belly. Sheila's hands reached for her cunt. I swatted them. "Ah. Ah. Ah. Mine."

"Well get on with it."

"As you say." I let her lie back, then grabbed her hips and lifted. This placed her head on the floor, her shoulders on the car seat, her waist between my knees, locked tight, and her pussy in perfect position to eat, and eat I did. At first she struggled, then squirmed, then shuddered once, twice, three times as I sucked and nibbled on her clit. After an orgasm or two, she calmed a bit, but I kept eating. Then, just as her squirming got serious again, I pulled out the beads, making sure each one hit her clit on the way past. Sheila shrieked and jerked, while I shot a wad into my borrowed pants. George kept the car on the road, barely.

Then, I was holding her in my arms. I stroked her beautiful brown hair and told her how special she was. Whatever had driven Sheila to her manic state, had been released. We went for ice cream. The Braum's boy, serving at the drive through window, gave us some comic relief. Sheila flashed him. He went wide eyed and dropped the sundae.

By then, Sheila was almost done in. Even making a teenager freak out only drew a small smile. Once we reached Sheila's complex, I again needed to help, almost carry, her to her apartment, and then to her bed.

One of these days I am going to have to let Sheila get into my pants. This Master bit had its moments, but the sub gets all the action.

Sheila:

Sean paid the bill and had someone carry the boxed food. At some point, he had palmed the string to the other set of beads. That was OK. I had fun playing with it. I found I could generate some real tension on his pinky, by using a little vaginal muscle control. That poor pinky would be black and blue in the morning. When I misjudged, allowing one of the beads to pop out, oh my. It was almost a win/win kind of game, but it was not what I needed. I was far past the point of being ready. I needed relief, and I needed it right away.

We piled into Sean's huge limousine. The dress came off before George was back in the front seat. George's eyes are always big, but right then, they were huge. Sean flipped me over, then folded me double for a long, sloppy kiss. Then, he started kissing his way down my neck to my breasts. Sean seemed to like them, and they were letting me know that they liked his attention. The attention was nice, but when I tried to put my hands on the source of my problem, but Sean swatted them away. "Ah. Ah. Ah. Mine."

I had an answer for that. "Well get on with it." Fuck me, Asshole. Hell, fuck me in the asshole. Just do it.

"As you say." I was sitting in his lap, with legs on both sides of his head. He laid me back, lifted me so my heels were on the ceiling and my head was on the floor between his feet. It was a very exposed position, and I would have been upset, except that he started eating my pussy like it was ice cream, using long slow licks. I struggled for a moment and then let it come. I did cum, and cum, and cum some more.

Wave after wave of orgasms rolled over me. I finally started to recover, but Sean was still at it. He had continued his long slow licks, with occasional attention to my clit. Just as I began to get excited again, he stuck his tongue in deep and pulled out the rest of the beads. My whole world exploded and I passed out.

When I came to, Sean was holding me in his lap, like a little girl. He stroked my hair and told me I was beautiful. He took me for Braum's for ice cream. Some high school age kid got an eye full, but it did not matter to me. I was cruising. After that, things begin to blur. Eventually, I was in bed and he was standing beside me, with a big wet stain on his pants.

Mamma, he followed me home. Can I keep him?

Sean:

I stood in Sheila's bedroom, looking down on her, and feeling as out of control as I could recall. Finally, though it was still early, what seemed like an endless evening was over, and I had time to think. Sheila is a complex woman: intelligent, resourceful, decisive, capable. Yet, when I looked at her, asleep in her bed, she was like a little girl, my little girl. I felt protective as hell.

Just seeing her there, alone and ...

My thoughts ground to a halt, and I slapped my forehead. All week, I had been amazed at how much she had accomplished, by herself. She needed incredible focus and drive, because she had no one else to help. She was totally alone.

I supposed that part of it was her persona. Sheila dressed in vintage, layered clothing, with difficult fastenings. Metaphorically, things do not get more clear. Every day, she wore a tight foundation garment under her public clothes. She said, repeatedly, said she needed the support. No wonder her breasts rode so high. She never let them feel gravity. But, support is a word with more than one meaning. Her clothes also supported her emotionally. I had to ask myself, was that was the way she wanted it?

Almost before the question formed in my mind, I had my answer. I only needed to look at what Sheila had been wearing. First it was a fancy corset. Then it was a high-necked blouse, with tiny little buttons. Then it was a short cocktail dress, with nothing under it. Finally, she wore nothing at all. Sheila had practically begged me to take off her clothes. Compare that with the day after. Sheila wore a full fledged corset, not just a foundation. After her session with Jason, she had the corset tightly laced.

If you want symbolism, it does not get any more obvious. Sheila was tightly held, firmly controlled, of necessity. When she went about her business, her clothes reflected it: old, tight, structured. With me, the clothes came off. Moreover, it was specific to me, Clarence Sean Richards. I had said it last night; she needed to breathe.

Sheila wanted me to release her. No, that was not quite it. She trusted me to release her. Maybe, that was why I felt so protective. Sheila felt like one of my people, and I protect my people. There was more. Sheila had trusted me first. That first day, in her studio, she had placed herself in my hands. She recognized me, from the beginning. God, I loved this woman.

That though stopped me cold. I had been saying it to myself all week. Sheila would do something remarkable or recognize something obscure, and each time I would say it to myself. I had not, it seems, been listening. I loved this woman.

So, what the fuck would I do about it?