Bad Cupcake

She felt, as well as heard, Larry billow with laughter all the while as his dick was snuggled hard against her bottom. He jerked up her cami, leaving her tits exposed, feeling damp in the tingling air. He gave her nipple a serious tweak, rocketing through her with a pain-tinged jolt of pleasure. "Alright girl, I believe you. Have at your birthday treat."

She twisted herself around and looked into his eyes. "Thank you, sir," she said meaningfully, like a pouty spoiled but appreciative little slut.

"And keep that camisole rolled up above those tits. Those two cupcakes should stay out for a while."

As she resumed her initial cock-sucking position, April faintly asked herself where her torrent of naughty talk had come from. The fetishy vinyl pants, she supposed, unlocked a certain character. As she took Larry's cock back into her mouth and began sucking it in earnest, it occurred to her that a hard dick has a way of unleashing a certain character, too.

April didn't think of herself as a prude. She had fellated her husband sometimes, on an irregular basis, in the cozy comfort of their bedroom, sometimes with the one bedside lamp still burning. Or did it count if you only sucked it as foreplay?

She should have felt trepidation now, at the prospect of making her husband come inside her mouth. But she understood she needed this as much as Larry did-- she wanted to give a real blowjob. What a wanton PVC-wearing little whore would do, real proud and down on her knees.

April continued eagerly to draw her husband's cock into her warm mouth, driving it in and out with the emphatic bobbing of her head. She smelt the healthy musk of his crotch, stronger every time she felt his penis nudge itself pleasurably against the back of her throat. She massaged the inside of his thigh while she continued to fellate him. She was moaning involuntarily, lending a soft flutter of vibration that gently echoed through his hard member.

As Larry began to twist his torso above her, she felt a red wave of tension and embarrassment flood across her cheeks. The thought that he was near his release made her heart pound within her chest. She was making this happen, down here on the floor between his thighs-- she was turning him on, she was going to make him spill his seed in her throat. She pressed her hand gently into the crotch of his pants, fondling possessively the concealed scrotum, as if wishing to milk his pliant balls of all the come they could hold. Ragged little gasps came from him, like a flutter of birds beating wings against naked branches. He arched his back suddenly, as if the seat behind him were on fire, and then the first spurt erupted inside April's mouth. She sucked down hard and flicked her tongue lovingly around the purple crown inside her mouth as his semen shot itself, again and again, into her. Gently she bobbed her head, feeling the spurts shoot into the back of her throat, the roof of her mouth, thick against her roving tongue. She swallowed and swallowed, compulsively, as if defying herself to show the slightest hint of reluctance. She wanted to show her gratitude for the rich gift of his warm seed. But as she slowed her loving ministrations with her tongue, caressing the cock lovingly with the snugness of her mouth, she paused to savor the pungent come, feel its glueyness melting in her mouth, a thing to be savored, this warm essence of her man that she greedily suckled from him.

She continued to cradle his member inside her mouth like this until it began reluctantly to soften. She let it slide out with a lovingly protracted, gentle teasing of her lips, feeling the organ flex itself in a thrilling little spasm, like an involuntary echo of arousal. She lay her head in his lap, her eyes almost closed, her thoughts distant and fluttery, like a field of fresh daffodils sleepily stirring in a warm spring breeze.

They remained like this for some time, the only sounds breaking the silence the gentle stir of their breath and the irregular squeaky peelings of her synthetically covered limbs. His hand sat restfully atop her head, stroking the soft tendrils with intent affection.

Eventually Larry said, "You feel like watching 'His Girl Friday'?"

It took a moment's pause before April's mind was ready enough to form a reply. Squeakily she straightened herself and slowly stood while she said, "That might be a bit high energy for me right now."

Larry laughed. "Yeah, I guess that might be a little too caffeinated a viewing experience. Well, how about 'Jeopardy' then?"

She laughed quietly. With a blush she took stock of her still-bared breasts and pulled her camisole back down into decent order as nonchalantly as she could manage. "And maybe a cup of tea too?"

He nodded. "Sure, I'll put on a kettle."

"No no, allow me."

"Oh come on, it's your birthday. I can't allow you to make your own tea, can I?"

"But it's our tea. And I want to do it. Stay here: it's Birthday Girl's orders." And she smiled adoringly.

In the kitchen with the tea things (though not her new teapot-- she didn't feel up to cleaning it properly for use), she took a mental snapshot of herself, still in her PVC trousers as she was, and the now rather carnal-seeming cupcakes cami, and registered the incongruity of her standing there like that, and with the salt of Larry's jism still in her mouth and down her throat, all the while performing all the familiar parts of her domestic ritual. Digging absently in the sugar bowl with the spoon, she suddenly laughed at herself, quite loudly, and then stopped herself, afraid Larry might've noticed.

But it was a few moments later when he startled her by crying out, "What was that about?"

"Be ready in a minute," she hollered back; then, fearful of elaboration she added, "Nothing."

But as she stirred the sugar into their cups she was almost unaware of the way she rocked her pelvis, the squawk of tight vinyl in counterpoint to the gentle clanging of the spoon.

Back in the living room, April cradled her head against his shoulder while he idly scrolled through the channels. "You know something," she said, grinning, "I never finished reading 'Middlemarch.'"

He jerked his head in feigned shock, causing her to lift her neck to meet his outraged gaze. "Why you little illiterate! I should make you drink Diet Pepsi from these cups from now on. You're not worthy of tea."

"I did a paper on 'Daniel Deronda' though. It's about as long."

"'Daniel Deronda'? Isn't that a little obscure?"

She purred. "Maybe. But doesn't that make me a well-read girl after all?"

He smiled a look of mollification. "It shows effort, I suppose. But there's no excuse for skipping the essentials. Not read 'Middlemarch'! Whatever is it you do with your time?" He sipped his tea in dignified reflection. "We shall have to improve your education."

She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder and sighed amusedly. "Yes, Daddy. Teach me all I need to know."

He put his free arm around her and stroked his thumb against the underside of her breast through the camisole. "Well, drink your tea wench, and maybe I'll give you one more lesson tonight."

******

Later, upstairs, he fucked her, a hard, propulsive fucking that surprised and, if she had to admit it, shook her.

He watched her peel herself out of the vinyl pants, made her hang them up securely in her closet, and then stripped, changed into a pair of boxers. April sat on the bed meanwhile, winding up her clock, when he turned upon her and wordlessly manhandled her full length onto the bed, limbs akimbo.

Her skin where she had worn the pants was sweaty, sticky, flushed. She could smell her musk through the panties, and with a blush of horror realized how damp they were as Larry smugly peeled them off. His hands stroked her sides from the hips up, pushing her cami till it bunched up at her shoulders. She trembled in her exposure, his eyes upon her, hungry and devouring. He rubbed at her nipples with the balls of his thumbs, stiffening them, awakening her dormant arousal. She tried to will herself into complacency, hardly daring to believe it was going to happen. But then he dropped his boxers and his cock stood hard. With no further prelude he grabbed her knees and bent her legs, spreading her.

She briefly took hold of his cock as the head of it prodded her vagina. It was a gesture of possession and gratitude, but fleeting, as he sank himself within her. She wrapped her ankles around him as he took her, and she rocked away with him, snapping her hips, the wet squealches of her sodden pussy filling the air like an echo of her squeaky pants before. Little rhythmic moans cascaded from her throat, her lips open this time, in counterpoint to the wet sounds of their fucking. Her back arched and her pleasure exploded, as his seed erupted inside her.

Later, when the lights were out, he nuzzled the nape of her neck warmly as outside a soft rain fell in the dark. April kept her body still, but she was awake, restless, though not exactly alert. She lay in bed with only the camisole still on her. She couldn't remember even trying to sleep bare-bottomed before. But it felt, now, like it would be a kind of retreat, to fish around for some panties (surely not the now-nasty things she had worn earlier tonight) to sleep in. She felt a mess down there. It was not a restful thought. Larry had put his boxers back on to sleep in. But somehow, somehow-- though it hadn't been spoken, it just felt somehow that she should, she ought-- to remain like this. Damp and soiled and used.

Used good, for her birthday. She smiled silently at the thought. A special treat. An okay time to get a little carried away.

Hardly something that would ever be more than a once-in-a-blue-moon sort of thing.

Beside her, Larry drifted off to sleep, worn but contented. But his mind too was humming with the soft lull of sensuous reflection.

The evening had gone so very well. So much more gratifying than he had even dared to imagine.

He couldn't wait to tell Elissa all about it tomorrow.