14th Day: A Steak & A Blowjob For U

My girlfriend laughed happily. "I'll take a shower but I promise I won't get dressed afterwards!"

Of course. When I think of all the hours wasted in the ritual of dating, drinks, dinner, and movies, only to have a stolen kiss at the end of the night...

There was no television, but I had my cell phone, and I had several stories to read from my favorite website.

Other women spend hours in the bathroom, specifically not to be with their boyfriends. Or to test his patience. Bitches.

Mine had been in the shower for less than ten minutes. She had already returned and was preparing to cook steaks.

But not like some women, who under the guise of cooking, stayed hours locked in another room and kept coming to me on the couch, kissing me, telling me how much she loved me, caressing me.

I could smell the good smell of steak. Something simple, easy. There weren't even any vegetables on the side (how many vegetables must have been swallowed by poor men forced into fancy dinners?).

For herself, she had prepared a plate of shredded meat, and for me a giant rare steak, accompanied by my favorite drink.

If this were a detective novel, I would have to write a detailed list of all the ingredients and narratives related to that famous recipe--almost as if detective novels were all written only for single women, or for gourmets.

Instead, it's not a detective novel. I just had a simple steak in a simple room, and that was it.

At that point, I would have wanted one more blowjob before going to sleep.

Other women, educated, educated, emancipated, would have demanded to see the Ballet or read Poems, but my Wilma was prim.

"What would you like me to do for you, Master?"

"I would like you to turn around and hand me your wrists, honey. I've done some research on the daily life of prehistoric peoples, and it turns out without a shadow of a doubt that very often hunters would capture a captive and not release her until she gave them a good blowjob. You didn't bring any luggage, but I brought a pair of soft leather handcuffs, joined with this long leather strap. I don't think it would be hard to undo you, but I wish you wouldn't. If you happen to feel pain, your safeword will be 'Spaceship,' will you remember it?"

"I don't know what those strange future syllables you uttered mean, but if there's a need, I promise I'll repeat them -- but there will never be a need!"

My extraordinary girl prances happily as she exposes her wrists to my handcuffs.

It occurs to me that I might add something.

"Wilma...I would also like to tighten your elbows, with my leather belt. Just for a few minutes...but it's so nice to see your boobs exposed and pushed up, from the unnatural position of your shoulders and back..."

"Is that all? Of course, master, every good cavewoman does!"

I stood up and took from my pants the leather belt. It was not elegant: quite the contrary. It was clearly an improvised solution. But for that very reason, it was primitive, primordial, prehistoric.

I asked her to stand up and walk for me.

I wanted to watch her gait as my belt forced her elbows into that position.

Naked, wearing only a necklace of irregular beads, two manacles and a belt around her elbows.

Her nipples were so stiff, she could have cut a diamond.

She smiled at me with complicity.

"I'm just a poor, uneducated cavewoman, Mr. Hunter, but if you order me, I can try to wear those things they call shoes-if you want!"

"No! No elegance, no romance, no late 19th-century swooning for us, my dear Wilma. Are your lovely feet cold?"

"No, Hunter, your hut is very warm. And I am very hot too [she said, jerking her tits] would you like to try to put your cock in my mouth, to see if my mouth is hot enough for you?"

"Yes: come."

She walked slowly toward me: not out of fear, but to give me time to enjoy the view.

She whispered, "spank my nipples!"

Without thinking I hit a boob. The nipple jerked, stiff and proud.

"Again! - She asked - make me cry."

"Open your thighs. Stay still." With one hooked finger I held her still, anchoring her pussy to my arm, while with my other hand I spanked her nipples.

"Thank you! That feels so good! Harder! More!"

I as if hypnotized continued spanking her tits. I saw big tears running down her red cheeks. Was Wilma crying with pain, but also with joy? Surely she wanted me to believe that she liked to be taken hard. Besides, I thought, it had been her idea: and we also had a safeword.

As she cried, her lips swelled, as if she were too hot. She pouted, as if to ask permission to suck.

"Permission granted," I said.

The cave had a large mirror on the side wall. She got down on her knees, and I could see her toes twitching as she sucked my cock.

And the perfect shape of her buttocks.

I could also see the ponytail of red hair she had dyed to look like Wilma the cavewoman, just for me.

She sucked with intensity as she moaned and squirmed. I had recently cum, and she had to suck very long. But she was beautiful, and I was so happy that she had set this up so easily for me.

I could not resist any longer, and I cummed in her throat.

She felt ropes and ropes of hot semen in her mouth but did not try to escape. She strained her neck to try to swallow as much cum as possible. Then she slumped onto my thigh, breathing heavily.

In the mirror I saw that her forearms looked slightly flushed. I thought perhaps my leather belt might be causing bruising and released her. She said nothing.

From my position I could not reach the two manacles at her wrists.

I whispered to her, "Bring the wrists closer so that I can release them."

"Oh, no, master! I'm so comfortable, I might as well fall asleep. Would you like that, master? I would be at your disposal all night long (I only ask if you would accompany me to the bathroom for a minute before sleeping)."

I was speechless.

After a moment of surprise, I agreed.

"Very well, you will sleep tied up: but know that I will wake you up during the night."

"Yes Master."

"As in Histoire d'O, the famous film I showed you."

"Yes Master."

"And you won't do the usual scenes, those phrases modern women say about headaches, phrases dictated by laziness, but you'll be ready and effective right away!"

"Oh, yes Master if you make me a coffee first, I can blowjob you even at three in the morning!"

Indeed, coffee was a tad anachronistic. But I remember that the Flintstones had a record player and a car, so they might as well have had a coffee pot. Anyway, it didn't matter: at three o'clock we would test whether her promises were just idle talk, and a coffee was a small price to pay.

I waited for her to fall asleep. She must have been tired, because after a while I heard her snoring softly. I loved the way that girl snored.

While she slept, I lay awake reading pornographic stories. My cock was hard but I did not masturbate, because I waited to see what the cavewoman would do.

At 3 a.m., without any mercy, I decided to wake her up.

"Wake up, Wilma! I want to cum!"

Normally she would have resisted, with the usual excuses all women say: I have low blood pressure, never before my coffee, not in the morning, etc.

But that night was the sacred day of Steak and Blowjob: I hope they soon decide to promote it to the status of a national holiday, indeed: in every country in the World.

My Wilma opened her eyes at once, smiled, and said, "Anything you want, master."

"Aren't you tired? Don't you want coffee first?"

"No, what coffee? I am a cavewoman, adrenaline is the only drink I need."

With an agile maneuver she knelt down, sliding her legs under her butt. She still had the cuffs on.

She moved her tongue and lips around my hard cock, sucking and licking. With skillful strokes she darted the balls with the tip of her tongue.

Despite her uncomfortable position, she tried to swallow it all with a deepthroath.

I heard the most beautiful noise a man has heard in the last ten million years: the sound of a woman's throat, twitching trying to swallow the cock as she ran out of breath.

She knew that noise would make me cum.

And indeed I flooded her.

I tried to pull her head away from my cock, but she pushed with her neck: she wanted to swallow it all, and I let her.

Later, however, I freed her arms so she would not bruise while she slept.

Tired I fell asleep.

###

In the morning, very late, I woke up with a hard cock: it was not strange, the classic morning wood.

What was strange was seeing my girlfriend sucking cock to wake me up.

From below, she looked at me and smiled, "My master, the Sleephead Hunter, sleepy has woken up at last..." and took to sucking harder and harder. I cum in her throat mercilessly. I thought she would spit out some of the semen, but instead she swallowed it all. Then she stuck out her tongue to show me that she was completely clean. Then she began to lick my cock, picking up even the last little drops that had gushed out afterwards. Then she mumbled something to the effect of "poor testicles, no one ever gives them a kiss," and she cuddled my now emptied balls with much love.

Half asleep, still dazed, she could have stayed in bed in laziness. Instead she got up to make me fresh coffee and breakfast of eggs and bacon (which were in the package from the butcher's: I hadn't even noticed).

I lay in bed and smelled the smell from the kitchen.

She came back to me, simply naked and with the breakfast tray in her hand. It was raining very hard outside, but it was warm inside the house. We ate eggs and bacon, laughing and making little jokes.

Then I said to her, "Honey, it's not fair that you don't have an orgasm all weekend, let me help you..."

"No, absolutely. This day is dedicated to you, as reparation for all the one-sided Valentine's Days when you, or any other man in the world, have been forced to put up with the romantic flattery of some overly demanding woman."

"But you don't deserve this, you deserve a good orgasm..."

"Make me." She said, smiling belligerently.

Ah.

Now I understood.

The prehistoric need.

March 14.

Sure thing.

She nodded.

She understood that I understood, too.

She repeated again, "Make me. Make me!"

Good strategy. These days she had been getting aroused as I vented my stamina with repeated ejaculations, now she was asking me to force her to come, after I had already cum four times. At least we were both certain that the penetration would last a long time.

I grabbed her and lifted her by weight. A kiss on the mouth, a swirl of tongues, I laid her on the bed.

"No one will be able to stop a prehistoric man from fucking his woman."

I open her thighs: she pretends to squirm but is too excited.

I rest the tip of my cock on her labia, find them wet and hot: she must have been aroused for hours, perhaps she had even masturbated before bringing breakfast.

I grab her wrists with my hands and force her to stay under me with her legs wide open. No foreplay: usually I go down and lick her pussy for hours to get her wet, but this time I penetrated her without any additional lubrication.

Her labia were tight and offered weak resistance.

The cock became even harder.

A prehistoric instinct took hold of me.

The labia weakly ajar.

I imagined that for ten million years, hominids have described this situation with the words "the labia ajar like the petals of a blooming flower" (not these words in English, this metaphor, always the same for millions of years).

Because I felt within me all the strength and energy of thousands of male ancestors penetrating thousands and thousands of her female ancestors. My father, my grandfather, the great-grandfather of my great-grandfather, the grandfather of the first who sailed the sea, the grandfather of the first who escaped from the Roman legions, who was grandfather of the one who painted hunting scenes with bows and arrows in a cave in Altamira.

I was happy, but she was much happier than I was. I had already cum twice, she had yet to reach the orgasm she had denied herself for so many hours, devoting all of herself only to my service.

I penetrated her hard and she cried out, "OH YES, YES, FINALLY YEAH!"

I will acknowledge that she had implemented a very good strategy. With my balls completely emptied, I could last in vaginal penetration for much longer.

She moaned and screamed, but the cabin on the lake was very isolated and it was raining hard outside. No one could hear her.

After her orgasm she cried.

"Did I hurt you?"

"Oh, honey! I don't cry from pain, I cry from joy. I'm so very happy, and I had such an intense orgasm... Tell me we'll make this March 14 a recurring anniversary!"

"My love, if you want, we'll do it every 14th of the month -- or even every day, if you can!"

She smiled, satisfied.

She had almost fainted and fell asleep immediately from exhaustion. I cuddled her but also fell asleep.

Let's call it a very quiet morning.

We both forgot to eat.

Several hours later, she woke me up by sucking my cock. She weared her Wilma Fintstone "full uniform" again, firmly determined to make me cum once more in her eager throat.

.

The End.

.

Some fools say there is no such thing as happiness, but there is; all it takes is a steak and a blowjob.

Everyone focuses on the fourteenth of February, but the fourteenth of March is better.

THE END (or, to be continued?).

.

### Copyright © 2024. This is a copyrighted work. Unauthorized use is prohibited. All rights reserved by the author. Work of total fiction. No relation to real facts or people. My contribution to the Valentine's Day Story Contest 2024. Constructive comments are the best reward for the writer. Be patient with mistakes, English is not my native language. ###