Foreign Tongues Pt. 02

The hum of the restaurant faded away. The wine made my mind dance. I began romanticizing the relationship. I pushed all thoughts aside that had to do in any way with the difficulties. I wanted to remember her lounging in my bed, her smiling, her having leg quivering orgasms.

By the time she had returned from the bathroom, I had propped myself up against the headboard using a few pillows.

"Your little friend went away, sorry. He wanted coffee more than anything."

"Oh?" she said, smirking, "he'll return; he always does."

I moved by the cover and let her naked body slip in. Again, I was struck by how incredible she looked. Genetics blessed her with a fantastic metabolism. I would go to the gyms for hours, trying to keep myself fit. She'd eat a bowl of pasta and lose weight while doing it. She was a distant runner in high school and regularly ran marathons before moving to Paris. When we joked about this, she would say, "Yeah, but you're building your stamina up to satisfy me, not just to keep fit. You can fuck me all night without exhausting yourself!"

This always made me feel good. I knew it was true; I knew I was a good lover - no, a great lover. I never hooked up; I never flipped through dating apps and went out looking to score. This was not how I went about my love life. If I wanted to get off, I could do so with my hand. To me, I needed passion. I needed intimacy. After establishing that, I could fuck someone to the point of pure exhaustion and keep going all night.

"Do you like what you see?" she said, watching me staring at her as she climbed into bed.

"Looking at you is like admiring art."

She leaned over and pecked me on the lips.

We chatted about the upcoming events of the day. However, nothing significant was going on for either one of us. So we talked about everything else. We had been together almost a year, but there was still much to explore: music, literature, travel, etc.

I loved watching her sip coffee. It was adorable. The tiny sips were so cute. Leaning over, I started kissing her neck. She leaned into me, asking for it. I set my plate down on the small night table beside me.

"Babe," she said.

"Yes, belle," I replied, my words muffled, coming from the small of her neck. I was gently nibbling her and kissing her soft skin.

She giggled, having to move both her arms out of the way so she wouldn't accidentally spill her coffee that was precariously sitting atop a plate, as was the rest of her croissant.

"Babe," she said; her tone was more direct this time.

I looked up my lips now just above her right breast. The shift in her tone made me pause.

"I'm going to put my plate down, but I want to finish your amazing coffee."

"Okay," I said, not sure why she was telling me this.

"While I'm enjoying it, I want you to eat my pussy." She said this so directly, so demanding; it made my cock pulse with desire.

"I want you, babe, to eat my fucking pussy," she said again, slowly, emphasizing each word.

As she said this, she began to open her legs. Then, bringing her knees up, she rotated her hips, opened them, and spread them apart. Reaching down with one hand, I could hear the wet sounds her vagina was making as she moved her hands in and out of it. She would get wet so quickly. A single word, a thought, an idea was all that her body needed to start dripping. She began to quicken her pace; the sound of an open palm slapping against the pubic and groin area was deliciously loud. Finally, the pounding stopped, and she released a short sigh. Bringing her hands up, we both shifted our gaze and looked at them. The middle and ringer were glistening. I reached up, took the fingers, and put them in my mouth. I sucked. I wanted to drain every ounce of her, pull every bit of the wetness from those fingers. She pulled them away and held my cheeks between her thumb and forefinger.

"Eat!" she said forcefully.

With that, she took a sip of coffee as if she hadn't just commanded me to plunge my face into her wetness.

I began to drag my tongue along her chest. The nipple of her right breast was salty. I licked it and pulled it to attention, blowing gently on it, my cool breath making it jump up more. It was salty.

"Do you like licking your dried cum?" She asked.

"I do," I said without hesitation, remembering the load I had released on her last night.

Her stomach has always driven me crazy. It is firm, though not with protruding abdomen muscles. I always found that to be a turn-off. I bit her. She gasped. I bit her again and again. I was marking her. I cupped her left breast in my left and continued moving my way down her body, finally reaching the upper pubic area. I pinched the nipple gently, but enough to elicit another small gasp. I dragged my tongue from her lower abdomen to her right pelvis and moved inward. I love this part of the human body. I love it on her body. I Kissed it softly, licked it, nibbled it. Finally, I hauled my tongue along her inner thigh, down her lower abdomen, and along her clitoris. She hadn't expected it so quickly; her gasp was quick, a gulp of air. But I couldn't help myself. I wanted her. I wanted my face between her legs.

I longed to breathe in her wetness. Positioning myself squarely between her legs, I rolled her hips and draped them over me. She pulled my head in gently, snuggly tucking face against her. She was mine, and I was hers. My tongue worked in long strokes, drenching her clit in my spit, letting it mix with her juices. My mouth, my lips, my chin were wet. Reaching my right arm under her thigh, I slowly inserted my index and middle finger. Her body opened even more. Pulling myself up further, I pulled my left arm over and down, spreading the outer and inner lips of her now soaking pussy gently open with my index finger and thumb. I worked my two fingers slowly, moving them in and out, curling them, rubbing her g-spot in rhythmic pulling motions.

Without skipping a beat, I slipped in my ring finger and continued the same movement - now with three fingers plunging deep within her. All the while, my tongue alternated between long strokes and quick dart licks. Her breathing was now coming in gasps. Under my left arm, I could feel her abdomen rising and falling as she took in uneven breaths. She reached down and squeezed my hand while pulling my body closers into hers. I could barely breathe, but I didn't want to. I only desired to make her scream. Her leg muscles tensed and shook, and I felt a shudder run through her body. Then she released the most beautiful sigh that spoke only to fulfillment. I slowly withdrew my fingers and began kissing her inner thighs.

"Babe..." she said, drawing out the "a."

"Did you spill your coffee?" I asked, to which we both laughed.

I knelt on the bed, her body below me, spread eagle. I began wiping her juices from my face and licking them from each finger. I did this in long, slow motions. I wanted her to watch me enjoying her taste, her nectar.

Her eyes were sleepy, calm--the eyes of someone satisfied.

"I'm going to call out of work," she said. "You should, too."

"I am going to look at a gallery today for a show I'm curating," I said. "But I can arrange to do so later."

"Good," she said, finalizing that. "Because I want another cup of coffee."

I was hoping she'd say something else. I wanted her to say she planned to spend the morning doing horrible and glorious things to me.

"Okay, belle, I would like another cup, too."

"Can you make mine without cardamon?" she asked.

"Really?"

"Yes, I'd like something else this time."

I was unsure if I understood what she was saying.

She sat up. Her once spread eagle legs tucked around me. I was looking down at her, looking into those eyes that immediately made my cock begin to rise. She pulled my body in by my butt, squeezing me as she did, and began kissing my abdomen.

"No cardamon, I want cum in my coffee."

She began to massage my testicles, gently moving her soft hand around my scrotum and then up along the shaft of my now fully erect penis.

I made a gentle moan. This pleased her.

"Tell me, how can we make this happen?"

I thought for just a second, then replied as if this had been a fantasy of mine.

"While I'm making our coffee, you're going to be sucking my throbbing cock. I want you on your knees."

"Yes," she said, the words coming out like a gasp. "Then, tell me!"

"I'm going to bend you over my kitchen table and pound you from behind."

"Yes!" she said again, another exclamation that was more air than a word.

"I will finish in your coffee. I will release myself into your cup and watch you enjoy it."

She was still now, just looking up at me with those eyes that drove me into a place I never thought I'd be. A place where I'd say such things as I just did. A place where I'd tell a woman to drink her morning coffee that had my cum in it.

But that was the beauty and intensity of this relationship. She'd firmly tell me what she wanted, and I'd do the same. There were no boundaries, and we felt comfortable talking about things if there were. I loved that she told me what she wanted; it turned me on in a profoundly primal manner.

Looking down at her, looking at those eyes, I smiled. I was happy. I was satisfied. She looked up, still clasping on my ass cheek in one hand and stroking the shaft of my cock with the other; she winked coyly, telling me she felt the same.

"Let's go make coffee," she said.

© 2022 Jocelyn Benoit All Rights Reserved.

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