Facets of Love Ch. 02

I continued licking, kissing, and eventually sucking his dick, all the while keeping my eyes on his. Watching him slowly wake and realize this wasn't an erotic dream, that his male member really was in his fiancé's mouth, brought me as much joy as it did him.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Uh huh," I mumbled and nodded my head, forcing his cock further into my mouth.

"I don't know how long I'm going to last."

I gave him a wink and a smile, which made him moan.

"Oh God Mary. You can't imagine how good that feels."

I backed away until his helmeted head was between my lips and tasted his first few drops of precum with the tip of my tongue.

"Look out, I'm going to cum."

Hearing his words and feeling his dick swell made me realize that, before I started this endeavor, I should have figured out how I wanted it to end. Where would he deposit the fruits of my labor? If in my mouth, should I swallow or spit it out? If not in my mouth, would he cum on my face, my boobs, his belly, or the bed sheets? So many decisions, so little time.

Since it was my first time, I might as well do it right. I took him as deep as my virgin throat would allow and sucked until my mouth filled with a creamy mixture the likes of which I had never experienced before. I swished it around a couple of times and then let it slide down my throat in two gulps.

Not as sweet as a milkshake but also not a bitter pill to swallow. Probably an acquired taste, certainly one I'd be willing to try again.

Which I did. Two or three times a week. For the rest of the semester. With the goal of getting his entire cock down my throat. I wanted his balls banging against my chin by the time he graduated and, to accomplish that task, I'd have to work on my gag reflex and his endurance.

"How big is he?" Casandra asked when I first told her about Robert and my ongoing blow job training program.

"I really don't know. Average, I guess. His is the only penis I've ever seen, much less had in my mouth, so I really don't have anything to compare it to."

That's when Casandra pulled out her laptop, looked up a website I never knew existed, and went through a bunch of videos of men and women having oral sex.

"Okay," she said after showing me a half dozen examples. "How does Robert compare to these guys?"

"About the same. Bigger than some, smaller than others. Like I said, I love the man, but he has an average sized dick."

"You are absolutely unbelievable," Casandra said, giving me a look of disgust. "The men in these videos are porn stars. They're not getting paid for their thespian talents. They're hired because of the size of their dicks. You're taking statistics, right? Male porn stars' cocks are in the 98^th percentile of the population. And if you say Robert's tool is the same length and width as the erections in these videos, you're sleeping with a freak of nature."

-

The previous conversation didn't happen immediately after I gave Robert my first blow job. It took a while for Casandra and me to get close enough in our relationship to have this type of frank discussion. We actually didn't see each other that often. I only slept with her on Monday and Wednesday nights. And I really can't say when our "inadvertent nocturnal boob grabs" turned less accidental and progressed to, well, something more.

After our second or third week of sleeping in the same bed, I again found myself in a compromising position I my bedmate when I woke in the middle of the night. But this time, she too was awake.

"I'll give you exactly half an hour to get your hand off my boob," she said.

"And if I don't?"

"I'll be forced to roll over and do the same to you."

"You wouldn't dare assault a pregnant woman," I countered.

"Assault? Really? As if Robert doesn't maul those cantaloupes every night you're not sleeping with me."

"That's different. We're engaged."

"If you're promised to Robert, why is your hand around my boob instead of his dick?"

"My hand wouldn't be on your boob if you hadn't given my bed away."

"Is that what you want?" she asked. "Do you want me to bring your bed back so you can sleep by yourself every Monday and Wednesday?"

"No," I said after a moment's contemplation. "But I wouldn't mind if we replaced the bed we're in now with a slightly larger one."

"Why would you want that? If we had a larger bed, what would you use for an excuse to molest me in my sleep."

"First off, I'm not the only one to cop a feel in the middle of the night. And more to the point, if we had a bigger bed, we'd have more room to maneuver."

"Maneuver? What the hell does that mean?" she asked.

"You know, stretch out a little bit. How do you expect me to give you a proper back rub if my nips are jammed up against your shoulder blades."

"Good point. I'll look into getting us a bigger bed, but only if you agree to shave your pussy."

"What does trimming my bush have to do with you getting a back rub?"

"Nothing. But if this is going where I hope it is, I don't want to wake up every Tuesday and Thursday morning with blonde pubic hair between my teeth."

Casandra was right. Once we admitted that we liked playing with each other's body, it was just a matter of time before a hand on a boob turned into lips on a nip, kisses between the thighs, fingers stroking a clit and, finally, tongues between the folds. But it was a long journey.

We didn't go from giggling girls playing under the sheets to experienced lesbian lovers in a week, especially since we only had access to each other's anatomies two nights a week. It took Casandra a couple of weeks just to talk the dorm manager into swapping our single bed out for a double. I kept up my end of the agreement and shaved my puss but neither one of us were comfortable leaping directly from gentle nipple tweaking to no holds barred muff munching.

We took it slow, progressively exploring our boundaries... what we were comfortable doing to each other and what we were comfortable having done to us. We spent the first couple of weeks giving each other back rubs with an occasional reach around to squeeze a tit or pinch a nip.

For some reason, we always led with our hands before following with our mouths. My fingers spent hours caressing Casandra's small breasts before I finally built up the courage to press one of her nipples between my lips. And her fingers stroking my g-spot brought me to dozens of orgasms before I let her tongue slip into my ginny.

I wouldn't call our relationship a lesbian affair. Not once during the six months Casandra and I shared a bed did I think about leaving Robert. In my mind, she was helping me get more comfortable with what my body wanted and, at the same time, learning how to read the reactions of another person as I used my body to pleasure hers'.

My lack of prior sexual experience still bothered me. I knew Robert said we'd learn together, but any additional experience I could bring to the bedroom could only improve our future love life. Which was the only excuse I had for what happened in Casandra's double bed and, more importantly, keeping it a secret from my fiancé.

I obviously didn't tell Robert about what happened in my dorm room. When he asked why I suddenly decided to shave my pussy, I certainly didn't say "because Casandra doesn't like kissing lips surrounded by a beard."

Instead, I took his hand, placed it on my freshly shaven mound and said, "I did it for you. Do you like it? Do you like my bare pussy?"

He did. He liked it a lot. And also licked it a lot. And kissed it and stuck his tongue in it as far as he could. It was the first time he went down on me. Yes, his fingers and dick were already frequent visitors between my legs, but this apparently was his first attempt at cunnilingus.

Admittedly, Casandra's first oral visit to my vagina was far superior to Robert's, but that was to be expected. She had one. Robert didn't. She already knew where the sensitive spots were, and Robert... he was kind of clueless. But what he lacked in knowledge, he more than made up for in enthusiasm. After several minutes of furious slurping and sucking down below, in tandem with some pinching and fondling up above, I experienced a minor, but none-the-less, satisfying orgasm.

At that time, my knowledge of all things sexual was severely limited. I had heard rumors of something called an "orgasm" since middle school but didn't have a clue what one was until Robert came into my life. I also didn't realize that many women were only capable of one orgasm per night and some even less often than that. The term "multi-orgasmic" was not in my eighteen-year-old vocabulary but it was apparently in my DNA.

After Robert tongued me to my first sexual peak of the evening, he made his way up my body, taking time to kiss my belly and have a short talk with his unborn child, and stopping again to orally worship my swelling boobs, until his lips came level with mine.

"May I kiss you?" he asked.

"Always."

"Are you sure?"

The only thing I wasn't sure about was why he was asking permission. Robert was my fiancé, the father of my child, the man who had just kissed most every part of my body, to include my -.

And that's when it dawned on me. He wasn't sure I'd want his lips on mine after they'd been between my legs. Instead of answering him verbally, I took his head in my hands, pressed my lips firmly against his, and when he started kissing me back, I invaded his mouth with my tongue.

It was a different taste. Not like the morning coffee kiss I got when he dropped me off at school. Or the welcome home sweet tea kiss when he picked me up in the evening. His "post cunnilingus" kiss was a completely different flavor than any I had experienced before. A subtle blend of communion wine and forbidden fruit, with perhaps a drop of inhibition inhibitor mixed in. I say the last because, as my tongue explored his palate, his cock slipped into my well lubricated pussy and danced around like it owned the place.

Until I came again. My second orgasm of the evening. And Robert had yet to have his first. Which certainly wasn't acceptable.

So, once I recovered from O number two, I coaxed Robert onto his back and almost reached my goal of taking his entire length down my throat. And I would have, if his forest of dark curlies hadn't tickled my nose, making me sneeze, which made Robert come before I was ready. So instead of swallowing, like I normally did, his streams of spunk squirted out the sides of my mouth and ended up soaking the aforementioned patch of brown pubic hair.

"You know, this would be a whole lot easier if you did a little man scaping down here," I said as I cleaned up the mess with a warm washcloth. And sure enough, the next time I gave him a blow job, which was thirty-six hours later, the previously untamed clump of penile underbrush looked like a manicured putting green.

My point being, while I felt slightly guilty about not telling Robert about what Casandra and I did in our dorm room, I believe he benefited from our twice weekly trysts just as much as I.

-

Robert Ryan Jones

The last semester of my senior college year got off to a rocky start. Discovering my newly acquired girlfriend / roommate was pregnant will do that to a guy. But once Mary put her morning sickness behind her and I put a ring on her finger, my final term of school got progressively more enjoyable.

I loved Mary. I knew that the minute I first laid eyes on her. Even though she told me daily how much she loved me, I often worried if she was too young and naïve to understand what her words meant. Her actions, however, spoke volumes.

I knew Mary was a virgin from day one. Yeah, me popping her cherry confirmed the fact, but the way she talked, dressed, and acted, convinced me of her innocence well prior to our first sexual foray. Like I said, I loved her and wanted nothing more than to share my life with her, fully expecting that, once we started a relationship, it would take a good amount of time to get her comfortable sharing her body with me. That's not quite how it went.

Mary took to sex like a pig to mud. Neither one of us had a clue about what we were doing, but we had a shitload of fun figuring it out. Being older than her and with at least a modicum of previous experience with the opposite sex, I expected to take the lead in the bedroom. And I did for a month or so. But soon after we got engaged, she started driving our erotic train.

It was little things to begin with. When she first discovered my tendency towards morning wood, I'd wake up with her lips around my dick and, in less than five minutes, be giving Mary her first breakfast. It was an abrupt but enjoyable way to start the day. However, starting a couple of months into the term, an even better alarm clock led me through a gentler transition from REM sleep to contented consciousness. Instead of waking with my dick already tickling her tonsils, the soft lips that eventually wrapped themselves around my pole either started on my chest and kissed their way south or began their journey around my knees and licked their way north.

From Mary's point of view, the result was always the same. A morning mouthful of cum. But for me, the tender build-up, the loving preamble, doubled the time she spent pleasuring me, making the final event twice as satisfying. Which only made me love her more.

But how did she know? I never once complained about her original plan of attack. Never did I say, "you know Mary, as much as I enjoy your morning blow jobs, would you mind throwing in a little foreplay before sucking my erection down your throat?"

Yeah, those words never escaped my lips because a) only a fool critiques a girl on her fellatio technique and b) even if I was such a fool, I had no way to know that a little buildup would make it more fun. And if I didn't know, how the hell did my recently converted virgin fiancé figure it out?

Her morning blowjob lead-in method was just one of many subtle techniques that, over the space of a few months, Mary added to her quickly growing repertoire of seduction skills. But that wasn't the end of it. Not only did she surprise me with the things she did to my body, she also found ways to push me to expand the limited envelope of what I would do to her.

Case in point.

I had no desire to fill my mouth with hair. Regardless of where it grew, on top of the head, under the armpits, between the legs, if it was hair, I didn't want it in my mouth. That's why I never grew a beard. Based on my reluctance to get hair in my mouth, I was fairly certain that a significant percentage of women would have the same "hair-in-mouth" phobia as me and wouldn't want to kiss a man with a beard, thereby limiting my choice of future mates.

That all changed the evening we settled into bed and, as my fingers made their way into Mary's panties, planning to play in her blonde pubic patch, they found nothing but the smooth mound of her slightly damp outer labia. She'd shaved her pussy. Something I'd heard about but never experienced or really given much thought.

Up until that night, I had never gone down on a woman. My fingers and dick had obviously done their share of probing and prodding between a lady's legs, but my lips and tongue stayed exclusively above the belt, spending most of their time on the lady's breasts and upper lips. As soon as I touched my first bald pussy, I had to get a closer look. And when my eyes took in the natural beauty of a hairless snatch, I had to kiss it and taste it and probe between the folds with my tongue. Only to discover there was another set of lips hidden under the outer layer, which, when French kissed, excited Mary even more than when I did the same to her upper pair.

Mary shaving her pussy was like cutting down some bushes in a kid's back yard to reveal a hidden swing set. I spent the next half hour orally playing between her legs and, got so caught up in what I was doing, I was surprised when her body stiffened, her back arched, and she moaned out the words every man wants to hear.

"Oh my god. I'm coming."

But the question remained. How did she know that shaving her pussy would make me so happy? And, later that evening, what possessed her to suggest I do the same thing? Which, when I did. When I trimmed up my pubes, how did she know that simple act would make her blow jobs even better?

She had to have some help. Somebody was giving her advice. The obvious suspect was her mother. Martha was a marriage counselor. I wasn't exactly sure what she did in her sessions with battling couples but assumed the topic of sex (or lack thereof) came up quite often. Maybe she was the one counseling her daughter.

But Martha hated me. There was no way she'd tell her daughter how to give a better blow job. And the only other person Mary associated with was her dorm roommate. Not that I had a lot of interaction with the girl, but from the few times I'd been around Casandra, she never impressed me as being an expert at anything.

The more I thought about it, the less significant it became. I had much more important things to worry about than why my fiancé kept finding new and different ways to improve our already amazing sex life. So, while I continued to enjoy Mary's slowly expanding body (mostly her boobs and belly), I turned my thoughts to the future.

***

Dear reader. Thank you for taking the time to read Chapter 2 of Facets of Love.

Please rate my story. An author needs at least fifty ratings in the first month of publication to qualify for a Literotica Reader's Choice Award. My goal is to win at least one of these awards so that I can increase my followership. If you enjoyed the story, leave a rating.

I also want your constructive comments. My desire is to write stories you look forward to reading.

Chapter 3 introduces another voice. It is time for you to hear Dr. Martha Spencer's side of the story and contemplate her "Nipple Envy" theory.

A