Goddess in Progress

[ This is part of a series, but should be sufficient on its own. The backstory is that my crazy married girlfriend Connie had decided, almost as a joke, to rent me out to some of the neighborhood women who were not getting what they needed from their husbands. Carol had been my second client. She was a naive, beautiful wallflower but full of passion and eager to cultivate her desires. ]

My first time with Carol had been like finding a buried treasure chest. She was beautiful and graceful and inexperienced but with a profound appetite for eroticism that even she herself was only vaguely aware of. We had had a beautiful afternoon at her house, where she allowed herself to open up with me -- there were a lot of new things for her, but she was unsure of herself and was really just testing the waters. Her dream was to give herself fully, and by the end of the day I was referring to her as an "erotic goddess."

Regardless of what we wish, the physical body is what it is, it has sensations, it has the limitations and also the energies of nature, whether we are aware of them or not. We are taught what is "good" and what is "bad," what we are supposed to do and also what we are supposed to enjoy. But sometimes the body itself has its own ideas -- sometimes we are told that something is unenjoyable just to discourage us from trying it, especially if it is something we would enjoy a lot, and maybe would want to devote a lot of time to. And sometimes the body shouts its desires and a person figures out that they are being persuaded to stay away from something profoundly pleasurable and meaningful.

You know what I'm talking about, of course: sex. Or more broadly, eroticism. Calling it "sex" presupposes that our maleness and femaleness has something to do with it, implies that somehow the pleasure of the bedroom is related to reproduction, but I don't see it that way. You can enjoy erotic pleasure by yourself. You don't need an opposite-sex partner to share erotic pleasure with someone. Eroticism certainly can include fucking, but it doesn't necessarily, and it most definitely does not have to be oriented around producing a baby. If it did, there would be no market for contraceptives and a lot fewer abortions.

Nobody wants to tell you that. Sit in on a sex-ed class and wait for them to mention the clitoris. They won't. The female orgasm? Won't be mentioned. Babies, yep. Blow jobs? Nope. Any of a limitless number of kinks, fetishes, and fascinations? Of course not, except maybe to warn you of the reputed danger of some form of pleasure, without telling you what it is or how to do it, or what the actual danger is supposed to be. The official dogma is that eroticism is about two opposite-sex persons trying to make a baby.

I say, let's ignore that. Eroticism is about pleasure.

Sorry to be so wordy. I am explaining what the task is with someone like Carol. She has been taught one thing and was never exposed to any other view. Her body is crying for more. Her soul is crying for more. But more -- what? She doesn't have any way to know. She senses there is more but doesn't know what exists outside the circle of things her upbringing -- parents and religion and school and marriage -- has taught her about.

When she heard the ladies talking about hiring me she decided to take a chance. She talked to Connie, who has adopted the role of my "agent," scheduling me with lonely wives in the neighborhood. We met once and now, Connie says, Carol has called her again. She wants me to come to her house Thursday afternoon. She did not give any specifics. It's a flat rate for house calls, though I don't know what Connie charges them.

Carol had me park in the garage. I had to knock twice at the door before it opened and she swooshed me in, glancing around to see what cars were in what driveways and what curtains were moving. I heard the garage door closing.

"Well hi," she said with a smile in her voice.

"Hi your own self," I said. "You are looking lovely today."

Carol looks like a model, if you look. She mostly makes herself inconspicuous, but if you stop and look at her you discover she is a flawless beauty. She can blend into the background but she also knows how to present herself, like a model, as unbelievably sexy, and I had been curious to see what she would wear for my visit; she did not disappoint. She was barefoot, with leopard-print leggings and a kind of chiffon (I think) top with ruffles up the front and on the cuffs. It did not seem to have buttons, but simply hung open in the front. The ruffles partly concealed her smallish breasts but the fabric itself, a pale rust color, was entirely transparent. She smiled and shook her hair as if she was unaware of the effect she was having on me.

"Come in," she said. Slipping back into housewife mode: "Would you like something?"

"Oh, yes," I said.

"I mean, maybe, something to eat."

"Yes," I said, "That sounds like a good idea."

She laughed. "You're incorrigible."

"Good point," I responded. "I suppose that's why you called me."

She might have blushed. Her nipples kept finding ways to get around those ruffles, peeking at me through the fabric and sometimes the fabric swung back revealing her breasts as she gestured and talked to me. She made no attempt to pretend to be modest in front of me.

"You know what you're doing to me, don't you," I said.

"I'm not doing anything."

"Yes you are."

"What am I doing?"

"You are starting to get me aroused, for one thing," I said.

"Oh, really?"

"Yes. You want to see?"

"Okay," she said. She dropped to her knees in front of me on the living room carpet and unbuckled my belt. She looked up at my face and popped the snap on my jeans.

"The erotic goddess," I said.

"I want to learn to give you pleasure," she said.

"Well you're on the right track."

She had my zipper down and my pants around my knees in a few seconds. I was not fully hard yet. I kicked off my shoes and pants and pushed them out of the way with my foot. She knelt there staring at my cock.

"That's amazing," she said.

"Touch it," I said.

She brought her hand up to my penis and stroked the top of it, like petting a cat. Good enough, I'm not complaining about that.

She touched the head of it with her fingers. "That part's a little sensitive right now," I said.

"Oh, sorry." She pulled her hand away like she'd burned her finger.

"You don't have to be sorry," I said. "How many men have you been with?"

"You can't ask a girl that."

"Three?"

She looked away. "Eight."

"Eight men, okay. That's respectable."

She looked at my face, as if to determine whether I thought that was a respectably small or a respectably large number.

"I had a month in college where I went a little wild," she said.

She touched my rapidly-engorging cock with her fingers and ran them up and down my length.

"What's the biggest dick you've had?" I asked.

"Jeez," she said, "You're the curious one, aren't you. I don't know, I never measured."

"Out of eight guys you probably encountered a big one or two."

"Maybe," she said. "I didn't ever look at them. Usually the lights were off."

I laughed. "Well you don't have to see it to know you're being fucked by a big dick."

She looked embarrassed. "One felt pretty big. Too big, it was uncomfortable."

"Sure," I said, "What was the smallest one?"

"Oh, I remember that one, I couldn't tell if he was in or not."

"They're all different, aren't they."

"I haven't seen them all, but the few I've seen are different."

"Women are like that, too," I said.

"How many women have you been with?" There was a little defiance in her voice.

"About two hundred," I said.

"Two hundred?"

"Before I got married I made a list, because I knew those days were done. There were two hundred names on it. I probably forgot a few. Only a couple since I divorced."

"Okay." I was thinking this might actually be good for keeping our relationship somewhat professional. She doesn't want to fall for a bird-dog like me.

"Look at my balls," I said. "Are they hanging loose or are they pulled up tight?"

"I guess they're hanging," she said. Her hand now was stroking my shaft in a nice way, pumping it gently.

"Touch my balls," I said. She did. I said, "That feels very good."

"Really? I feel like I don't know anything."

"Can you feel my testicles inside there? You have to be very gentle here or you can hurt me. See if you can find both of them."

I felt her hands searching over my scrotum. This was like heaven to me, a beautiful woman stroking my balls.

"Yes, I see," she said.

"Take one of them in your mouth." I said. "Gently."

There was a pause of about three seconds and then she leaned her head forward. I spread my legs a little and she awkwardly tried to put one of my balls into her mouth. She figured it out, and got her lips around it. "Oh yes," I said. "That is a wonderful feeling. Now do the other one."

She released one and fished around until she got the other one between her lips.

"You really are an erotic goddess," I told her. "You don't know how good that feels to me."

"I've been thinking about that," she said, supporting my balls gently in her hand.

"About what?"

"The erotic goddess thing."

"What do you think about it?" I asked.

She hesitated. "Well you said last time that it gives you pleasure to give me pleasure."

"That's right," I said. "Best thing in the world, a woman in ecstasy."

"And I found out it gives me pleasure to give you pleasure." she continued.

"Pretty good system, isn't it," I commented.

"So I don't think an erotic goddess, as you call it, would be someone who just gives pleasure or just takes it."

"Well, maybe sometimes," I said. "It can be fun to do one or the other for a while."

"Yes, either way can be fun, I'm sure, though I'm just learning. But I think it should be possible to give and take at the same time, do you know what I mean?" She had been holding my scrotum in the palm of her hand and now she turned back to sucking on that second testicle.

She worked on it very gently, sucking and licking. I unbuttoned my shirt and tossed it.

"Look how beautiful you are," I said. "Those tits peeking out at me."

"I'm glad you like that," she said. Now she took the head of my penis in her mouth and sucked lightly on it. "Today," she sad, "I want to see what it's like for you to cum in my mouth,"

"That's an excellent choice, madam," I said, impersonating my least favorite waiter. "You could do that right now, and we'd be done. Or we can wait."

"Oh, I'm not in any hurry," she said. "I'm just telling you what I want. I want to try that."

"You seem to be taking this 'erotic goddess' thing seriously," I noted.

She stopped sucking me and looked up at my face. "I have never been an erotic anything," she said. "Ever. And I have never been an anything goddess."

"How is that possible?" I asked her.

"I just thought those were dreams," she said. "I thought people just imagined those things. I didn't know it could happen in real life." She took a slow, sensual suck at my cock, kneeling subserviently in front of me. "Now I want to learn. I want to be that goddess. I want to bring pleasure. I want to give myself to you when we're together."

"What kind of panties are you wearing today?" I asked her, advancing the game.

"Do you want to see?"

"Yes."

She stood up. I said, "Step back, I want to have a look at you like this." She took a couple of steps back. "Turn," I said, and she put her hands up into her hair and turned in a circle, very slowly. Her shirt swayed open, like curtains brushing back and forth over her girlish breasts, and her ass was amazing in those leggings, like a languid lower-case omega, lean and graceful.

The first time we got together we started with a little show like this, and so she knew the drill. Whereas she had been a little on the shy side when we first met, today she was confident and proud, displaying her slender model's body for me to appreciate. She hooked her thumbs under the waistband and, bending, she pushed the leggings to the floor and kicked them off. Her living room was littered with discarded clothing.

She stood up straight. Most interesting; she was wearing pair of white cotton panties. I don't know what you call it, probably a 'bikini cut' or something, they were plain, not 'sexy' in the usual commercial way, but far beyond that. Her body in these panties communicated innocence and desire. And honesty. And mostly, sex. Innocent, curious, brave sex.

Her legs were long and smooth, have I mentioned that? The muscles were toned, the skin was pale and silky-smooth, she had beautiful feet and ankles, graceful knees, beautiful meaty thighs. And her ass. It was not a show-offy ass, not a traffic-stopping ass -- this is not a woman who makes men stop on the sidewalk and stare. This is a woman you might overlook on the street, but once you notice her, she is a full five-course feast for the eyes.

She turned for me. "You like?"

"You're a genius," I said, which even at the time seemed like a weird thing to say. This top she was wearing was a teasing top, I could see her red nipples through the fabric and I could see them when the fabric swished out of the way. And those panties, the dual message was almost too much to handle. Carol understood the profound paradox of eroticism, the fundamental compatibility of raw lust and innocence.

I, on the other hand, was, obviously, bare-ass naked, standing there like a billy goat with my hard-on dripping onto her living room carpet. We were quite the couple. "Would you like to come to the bedroom with me?" she asked.

"Excellent choice, madam," I said, wearing that line out, and taking her into my arms for a long deep kiss. My hands were everywhere on her body, and hers were on me. We broke it off and headed to the bedroom.

She lay on the bed in her top and her cotton panties, with her arms out. On her back, the top fell open, those petite breasts welcoming me. I lay down beside her and she kissed me. I put my hand on her waist, feeling the curve where her hips met her back. It was a little parcel of heaven. In the meantime her hands swarmed hungrily over my body.

I put my hand between her legs but she whispered, "No, let me do this." And she gently pushed me onto my back.

"Watch," she said, and she put her fingers between her own legs. She pressed on those cotton panties, watching my face. "This feels good," she said.

Her fingers pressed down into the fabric and moved slightly. I lay there watching her give herself pleasure. It was a show for me, pleasure for me. Her nipples were hard, and her fingers began dancing more emphatically against herself. She took a handful of pussy and massaged her own flesh slowly, deeply, and her breathing began to speed up.

"I'm going to have an orgasm in a minute," she said, looking at my face. She slipped her fingers under the fabric of her panties and began working somewhat violently on herself, panting now and moaning occasionally.

"Pinch my nipple," she said, thrusting her chest upward. I took her nipple between my thumb and finger and rolled it slightly. "No," she said, "Pinch it." I squeezed it harder -- this had to hurt, but it's what she wanted. Her legs began moving, she bent them and straightened them, and she was trembling, and I pinched harder and she exploded. Her whole body was moving, her arms levitating, her head swiveling left and right, her torso tried to rise off the bed, all of it pulsating rhythmically together as a single whole. Her fingers pressed deep into her flesh now, and her eyes fixed on mine as she grunted and moaned.

After a minute the wave subsided and she relaxed on the bed. "Thank you," she said.

"I didn't do anything," I replied

"Yes, you did." She sat up and pulled her panties off, leaving that teasing little scrap of a blouse on. She tossed the panties over her shoulder without looking.

Her hand reached over to stroke my cock, which was extremely hard. "I'm looking forward to a big load of this," she said.

"I'm looking forward to that, too."

"Lay back," she said. "I want to sit on your face."

I didn't really understand what was going on here. I could hardly remember the shy woman from a couple of weeks ago, but as far as erotic goddesses go, she seemed to have it down. I scooched down onto the bed with my arms at my sides and she arranged herself over me. She gripped the headboard and lowered her pussy over my face. She had dainty pink labia and a little tuft of hair which did not appear to have been treated at any beauty parlor or whatever they do. After her orgasm, her clit was hard and bright-colored, peeking at me with its pearlescent glow as she lowered it to my lips.

"Suck my clitoris, will you please?" she asked, politely. I was unable to reply as her slick flesh made contact with my mouth. Probably good, I probably would have used that stupid waiter line again.

She was very focused. I felt around with my tongue until I found her clit, then took it between my lips and sucked on it as requested. By her groan I knew I was on-target. I worked my lips, sucking and releasing, sucking and releasing, occasionally giving a flick with my tongue. Over the next minute or so she pressed down harder on my face, and I worked my mouth harder on her, until she began wildly humping my mouth and moaning. She went to work on me, fucking my face with abandon, taking everything I could offer, and then she let go of the headboard and toppled over on her side, laughing hilariously.

"Woo, that was fun," she said. "I'm liking this erotic goddess thing." Then without a word she slipped down and took my cock in her mouth. She took it deep, fucking me with her ladylike lips, working the shaft, torturing the head of my cock.

"Are you trying to make me cum?" I asked her.

She looked somewhat shocked at the thought. "Oh, no," she said. "We're not ready for that yet."

"Okay," I said. "Just asking." She returned to sucking my penis but a little more cautiously this time.

Then, just as suddenly as she'd started, she lifted her mouth off me and moved her body on top of me. She pushed her pussy at my engorged penis a couple of times before she got us lined up right, then tipped her hips and enveloped me in that fine vagina.

I know "ladylike" is a dumb word for it, and probably offensive to feminists or something, but Carol was dainty and graceful in a way I do not usually encounter in my ordinary day. It was not only the way she dressed, the way she talked and moved, but her physical body itself had a quality of delicacy or fragility. Even here, getting sweaty and dirty in a frenzy of wild sex, her pussy was dainty, like a soft silk scarf surrounding me.

"Is that okay for you?" she asked.

"Are you kidding?"

"Just checking." She laughed.

She began pumping her hips against me, stroking that snug flesh up and down my length. She controlled the situation, we were moving at her speed and intensity. She was fucking me to please herself, taking me for granted and looking for positions and moves that would feel good to her, using me for her pleasure. She began working it harder, breathing harder, and suddenly she jumped up off me, straddled my face and said, "I need to cum now."

And she did. She sat on my face and I noshed on her like a starving man.

I attacked her clitoris with my tongue and it was not three seconds before she erupted in a beautiful orgasm. She pressed her wet pussy against my busy mouth and held on to the headboard while her body shook convulsively.

Then just as suddenly she scooted back and resumed fucking me, as if nothing had happened. She moved her hips slowly, administering ridiculous amounts of pleasure to me and, it appeared, taking ridiculous pleasure herself.