Gigolo

Having savored her dewy manna earlier, Cyr reveled in the piquant perfume emanating from her sex, evidence that his back rub had accomplished its goal. Monica was highly aroused. Very wet.

Ready.

So was Cyr. He had inched steadily down her body as his massage had descended, and now his knees were resting just outside her calves. In position. He planned his movements, mentally rehearsed, then executed.

Cyr swiftly, decisively, pulled her hips up and towards him, rocking her back onto her knees. When she felt his cock prod her rear, Monica was startled out of her erotic haze and objected, "Cyr, doggie is not my favorite. Let's do something... OOH!"

Cry driving his cock into her from behind took away Monica's breath and voice. He held her hips firmly and, though she tried to squirm away, he easily kept her impaled. He teased, "Monica, your pussy feels just too heavenly. I couldn't possibly bear to pull out and switch positions. Besides, you had it your way the first time, didn't you? Now it's my turn."

As he said, "My turn," Cyr began to fuck her. Slow, steady, relentless strokes. Monica writhed and twisted, still trying to switch positions, but Cyr was too strong and kept her captive, pulling her ass to him as he thrust in, then pushing her away when he withdrew. He picked up the pace with every cycle, and savored Monica's sexy huffs each time he drove into her.

During his earlier cunnilingus Cyr had carefully noted how she best liked her clitoris stimulated. He wormed one hand around her waist, into her pussy, and began doing with his finger what he knew she would not be able to resist.

When he rose to one knee so he could drive down into her even harder, Monica's whimpered protest was smothered because her head was buried in the mattress.

She was doubly miffed. First, because he'd slyly maneuvered her into a sexual position -- this was aggressive doggie -- that was not to her liking.

Second, she was especially exasperated because, despite her resistance, it was working. Monica was going to come. Cyr was going to make her come. By doing her doggie. The contrast between the massive cock pummeling her pussy and his fingertip caressing her clit so tenderly was just too effective.

Though being submissive was not her nature, Monica realized she was going to be thoroughly and massively fucked. She resolved to enjoy the ride. To enjoy being taken by this powerful, attractive man. The one she'd flirted with and led on all night. The one she'd wanted to fuck since she'd first seen him.

She began rocking back to meet his thrusts, and she didn't try to suppress her sensual whimpers and moans, knowing they would encourage her lover to pump her harder.

Thrilled that she was fucking him back, as the best sex of Cyr's life went on and on, the overwhelming, utter desire that he felt for Monica took him to a place he'd never been. Something deep inside him stirred, something he'd never known was there. As it emerged he realized it was a wild, primitive essence, driven only by his deepest, most elemental needs.

Cyr felt its animalistic power surge with each impression as he gazed down at the gorgeous female beneath him. He marveled at her womanliness, the contrast with his ascendant burgeoning masculinity, how her cunt was welcoming his cock as it fucked her. He relished the squishy softness of her pussy around his diddling fingers, the irresistible heat and clingy viscosity of her vagina enveloping his penis, the cushiony elasticity of her breast under his fingers. The jounce of her tantalizing ass as it bounced each time he rammed into her.

Cyr craved Monica like he had never wanted anyone, anything in his life. And that she was moaning, moving in sync with his trusts, fucking him back, wanting him back, was beyond wonderful. It felt completely right. Preordained.

Utterly perfect.

Awash in passion, in pure, pristine lust, Cyr surrendered to the animal within.

It erased his mind as it seized control. It knew only one thing: the primordial need to breed. To copulate with its chosen woman. To ejaculate the boiling semen into her before it burned him up. The male beast single-mindedly mated with the female beneath it, driving into her ever harder, ever faster.

The roaring inferno in Monica's sex suddenly erupted, the flames swirling out, spiraling, scalding her entire body. She gasped, shook and moaned as the second wave overtopped the first. Only to be exceeded by the next.

Still the beast fucked her. Stirring the pot even as it boiled over.

The fire pulsed ever higher within Monica, rocking her, taking away her breath, her body, her mind. Everything.

Still the beast fucked her.

Then it was too much. When she could stand it no longer, when Monica simply had to escape the fiery goad incinerating her innards, she balled her fists and smashed them into the rutting animal behind her.

Ripped back to consciousness, and shocked that Monica was hitting him and crying out, "Stop! Please stop, Cyr!" revelation came in a flash. He released her.

Finally freed, Monica collapsed forward onto the bed. But found no respite. Her climax continued, coursing through her, driven by her body's own reactions. Having been relentlessly and continually overstretched, every cell of her sex convulsed, each nerve firing again and again as her vagina struggled to resize.

Cyr took Monica in his arms. She threw herself onto him, hugging him hard, but still trembled and rocked as her conflagration roared on. Cyr held her and stroked her, soothing her as she shook and writhed.

Even after the peak had passed, Monica's breathing remained ragged and her body twitched from the aftershocks of the most intense orgasm Cyr had ever witnessed. He clasped her to him, tenderly kissing away the small tears squeezing out from her tightly clamped eyelids.

When Monica finally opened her eyes, she smiled, stretched, sighed, and whispered, "Wow. OMG, that was intense."

Cyr missed how the glimmer in her eyes became mischievous.

He obediently rolled onto his back when she pushed, and sighed as she kissed her way down his body.

He could not pinpoint what it was, but some little thing that Monica was doing was unique. It was more stimulating than any fellatio he had ever experienced.

The fiery sparks emanating from his penis intensified the growing care and tenderness for Monica blossoming inside him, pervading every single cell of his body. He realized that her vulnerability, her loss of control during her massive orgasm, had awakened his protective instincts and solidified his rapidly burgeoning bond with her.

Perhaps due to this intense, growing connection, Cyr found himself curiously incapable of applying the governor that he used to control his ejaculations.

He first thought the reason was her tongue. As prickly as a cat's, it kept licking and goading the spot where his shaft met the head. Though he moaned and twitched with each lick, he next thought it was how she was varying the tension, the swirling of her lips. They surrounded his head, feathered lower, then churned back up. Cyr rocked and writhed on the bed as his moaning intensified.

Then he knew. What was really getting to him, what was irresistible, was her powerful, pulsating suction. The waves of vacuum she created extended down his urethra, through his prostate and seminal vesicles, all the way into his testicles. Newborn, nascent sperm were dragged out of him, bathed in the fluids from his other glands, and inexorably vacuumed up his cock.

As Monica worked his penis over, Cyr's blown mind marveled at how unlike him it was to have to grab handfuls of sheet, to feel his hips uncontrollably twitch and thrust, to hear his mouth emit wild, ecstatic sounds. They became louder as Monica sped up her tongue and increased her suction.

As the first dollop of seething cum surged up his cock and erupted into her mouth, Monica applied the coup de grâce. She assailed his balls. Just as she sucked that first glob up and out of him, both the fiery feelings from her prickly tongue laving his head, and of her intense suction siphoning the cum up from his core, were obliterated by her hand slapping his testicles.

As she kept at him, forcing his tool to burgeon and shoot time and again, Cyr winced and recoiled at the pleasurable pain each time she softly paddled his testes. They clenched and spasmed, redoubling their efforts to empty themselves.

Even after they were drained, and his entire system had no more fluid to give her, Monica continued to suck and spank him, compelling his system to reload, fire and convulse, shooting blanks over and over.

As the phrase, "post-orgasmic torture," resounded in his mind, Cyr became unable to stand the excruciating ecstasy another second and cried out, "Monica! Stop! Please!"

She did relent, but only after Cyr's moans and wails got louder still as she forced his cock to distend and clench through two more unbearable dry heaves. As the last one completely fried his brain, Cyr was certain that Monica was actually sucking out his soul using his dick like a soda straw.

Even after she finally released his incinerated penis, Cyr's electrified body still sizzled and shook. Content that she had extracted his all, Monica swallowed, over and over, gulping down his essence.

He pried open his eyes when he felt her sliding up his body. Monica's face filled his vision as she raised her eyebrows and smiled. It emphasized the look of knowing triumph on her face. Gotcha. Cyr instantly understood. He had made her come so hard that she'd totally lost control and begged him to stop. Now she'd turned the tables, done the same to him. Made him beg for mercy.

Judging from the intense after-burn in his cock, Cyr was certain Monica had won their duel in the erotic arena. As Monica's look changed, became tender and loving, he saw the serendipity in it all. He chuckled and hugged her to him as he realized how perfectly equal, appropriate and felicitous it all was. She began giggling, then joined him in easy quiet laughter. As it quieted, they lolled in each other's arms, coddled by their loving auras.

Mmmmmm.......

Time stands still.

Until she starts it up.

As they warmly hug and lightly kiss, Monica begins caressing his penis. Cyr is entranced. This incredible woman, this gorgeous waif, seems insatiable. Like him. His cock stiffens quickly, and when she judges him ready, Monica mounts him. His now hard probe slides into her easily this time. Her vagina is supple, slick and ready, and their fit seems perfect.

It is the best, most intimate love making ever. Cyr completely forgets himself, the Rules, and simply does what he senses -- he is incredibly attuned to her -- Monica wants. She ever-so-slowly rides him, small, simple motions. He loves how she squeezes his cock each time she rises, her pussy clinging to it as if bereft that it no longer fills her completely.

He senses the essence emanating out from him merging with a similar aura from her. As it becomes one entity, engulfing them both, they kiss.

And come together, in the simplest, most profound of orgasms.

Cyr wakes in the dead of night, from a dream of Monica. Images of her flood his mind, and knowing he is hard, he reaches for her. The pang of emptiness, of regret -- they both had early morning commitments and had decided he should not stay the night -- is assuaged by remembering that they had made a date for lunch tomorrow.

He drifts off, smiling. Happy.

***

The Uptown Restaurant

God! She is so gorgeous! Cyr's breath is taken away when he first glimpses Monica entering the restaurant, face aglow, eyes scanning. He stands and waves. Her smile melts him.

The kiss is everything a lovers' kiss should be: warm then hot, pure then lascivious, hello then HELLO! Cyr is unaware when his erection begins, but by mid-kiss it is throbbing. Monica's dulcet moan reveals that she knows, that she feels it during their embrace. And is pleased at her instantaneous effect on him.

She sits on the curved bench and, when Cyr sits next to her, she slides closer. Very close. "Do you know what's good here, Cyr? I haven't been to this restaurant before."

"Um, I had a... a chef salad here once and... and... it was... it was good." Monica's devilish caresses on his cock under the tablecloth are addling his brain and Cyr hears himself stammering.

"Hmm. The soup special looks good. I've always been partial to Vichyssoise. Maybe it and a small salad. Have you had the house vinaigrette, Cyr?"

"Um, well, I think I had... um... had bleu cheese that time... that time I had..."

"Are you all right, Cyr? You seem distracted." Monica's eyes betray just how much she is enjoying herself. Enjoying teasing and taunting this man she suddenly adores.

"Well, yeah... It's just that you... You look so wonderful, Monica. It's hard..."

"Why yes! It certainly is!" Monica's whispered interjection is as wicked as the way fingertips play over the tip of Cyr's throbbing penis.

His composure returns when her hand leaves him, though he is puzzled at how she squirms on the bench. He manages, "I mean that... that it's hard for me to concentrate."

"Oh, and why is that, Cyr?"

"I think that you know..."

"Oh? Are you distracted? Give me your hand." He holds it out and she purposely rubs the inside of the sopping crotch of her balled-up panties against his palm as she presses them into his hand.

Cyr's ability to concentrate is not improved. Not in the least. Neither by the warm, damp cloth in his hand, nor by the heavenly scent he remembers so well from last night, and certainly not when her fingers return to his penis under the table. He distractedly wonders how she so deftly bared her pussy to give him tactile evidence of just how aroused she is.

When he is unable to speak Monica continues. "Did you not sleep well last night? I slept like a log. Speaking of which..."

Cyr winces as her fingers find a particularly good spot. "Monica, I think I want you to stop that. No, actually I don't, but it's so hard..."

Monica's delighted giggle interrupts him. She intensifies her fondling as she says, "So, what do you want to eat? I think I've decided."

Cyr can't think. Images from last night flood his brain and drive out everything else. How avidly she had ridden him their first time, how hard she'd come when he'd screwed her doggie, how relentlessly she had sucked him off, and how loving and meaningful their last coupling had been. When in extremis, grasp for the familiar as a lifeline. "I guess I'll have another chef salad. Yeah, that's it."

"Good. I'll have the Vichyssoise and a small house salad with the house dressing. Cyr, please order for us. I need to visit the Ladies Room."

Though simultaneously both relieved and dismayed at no longer being so irresistibly enticed, Cyr's cock twitches and drools as he watches Monica's bare buttocks undulate under the stylish powder-blue sundress as she sashays to the rear of the restaurant. Fortunately, he is able to rally when the waitress appears and orders what Monica wants.

As the waitress walks away, Cyr finds himself astounded by how differently Monica is behaving. Wonderfully coquettish, not at all like the woman who had insisted everything be equal last night. His pondering -- perhaps it's because they've achieved a new, deeper, much more intimate connection? -- is interrupted by his phone buzzing.

The text perplexes his already befuddled brain: "Watson, come here. I want you." When the realization dawns that it is a paraphrase of Alexander Graham Bell's famous first telephone call summoning his assistant, and it is from Monica, Cyr almost overturns the table in his haste to stand.

He tells the waitress that he'll just be a moment and makes for the back. The restaurant's two restrooms are both unisex, and Cyr stops, bewildered. Until the door to one opens. Just a crack. The beckoning finger may as well be attached to a leash around Cyr's neck, as it jerks him immediately inside.

Monica closes and locks the door on her way to her knees. Cyr's eager cock springs free as she deftly releases it, and he moans in delight as the back of her throat surrounds its head. He only has time for a brief flash of how she had been so skillful with her tongue and lips last night before he is surprised to feel the cool air on his wet, throbbing dick.

Monica's voice is low, edgy, and ardent. "That's just for lube, babe. Fuck me now, hard and fast. Come as soon as you can, Cyr. Just use me to get off. Understand?"

He understands, even before she throws the hem of her sundress up around her shoulders, plants her bare butt on the sink, and spreads her legs. Cyr's eyes lock on her wide open vulva, its wet lips glistening in the dim bathroom light. He grabs his cock and starts to slide the tip up and down her slit, but stops at her urgent command. "Just stick it in, Cyr! Fuck me!"

He does.

She gasps when he takes her in one full thrust, and then again and again as he begins to madly pump her. She has already teased the seething semen inside him to boiling, and it pulses and pounds, swelling his urethral bulb to overflowing. As it begins to quiver and spasm, Cyr short circuits his habitual response of calming it and pumps Monica harder.

She wants him to come. Hard and fast. He wants to come. Hard and fast. For her.

As the cum surges up his tube Cyr feels her hands on his cheeks. Her loving and tender caresses form the perfect counterpoint to his mad, frenzied thrusting, pounding into her ever harder and faster. When one hand covers his mouth, Cyr tries to suppress his gasps and snorts. His mind blanks as he lurches and heaves uncontrollably, convulsing into her, over and over as the torrents of searing semen jet out of him, gushing into his love.

Cyr's mind returns when Monica takes her hand from his mouth and kisses him lightly on the lips. "That's a good boy. Hard and fast, just like I wanted. Now, let's eat. You leave first. I need to, er, tidy up." As she begins blotting up the flood of semen streaming out of her vulva and running down her thighs, he stuffs his penis back in his pants. Monica's parting kiss is so sweet it melts Cyr's heart anew. She giggles, turns him, pats his ass and pushes him out the door.

Buoyed high on the sea of their fresh love, neither has an inkling that disaster lays in wait, just around the corner.

***

To be continued. Watch for Lothario, coming soon.