Holes

It was a mild and lazy autumn morning. I strolled out of the master bathroom wearing only a pair of worn, pale blue, cotton, string bikini briefs. It is a valid aesthetic question whether a man of my description has the body to be wearing bikini briefs. Suffice it to say, I don't look like the underwear models on the Calvin Klein website.

I wear them anyway. The legs are cut all the way up to the waistline. The cut shows off a broad expanse of thigh. I have thick, strong thighs which more than one woman has remarked on. My legs appeal to some and I don't mind showing them off in bikinis. The little triangle at the front is pretty skimpy. My package is distinctly average, but the tiny-ness of the triangle exaggerates the size of my equipment. I don't mind that, either. I want to look well-endowed. And, the back covers and cups my bubble-butt pretty nicely. So, model material or not, I wear them anyway.

I strolled into the bedroom in bikini briefs. She was seated at her dressing table, finishing up her eye make-up wearing a short satin print kimono. She looked at me and my wardrobe in the mirror and then turned to face me.

"Those have holes in them," she said.

"I hadn't noticed."

And, I hadn't. But looking closely it appeared she was right. The knit fabric had a couple of small flaws in it.

"They're not big holes," I reassured her.

"Come here," she ordered, motioning to me.

I stepped to her table. She looked still more closely at my crotch.

"You need to throw those out. The pink, wrinkly skin of your scrotum is pooching out of that lower hole already."

She extended a finger toward the blue triangle, and had I been asked, I would have had to concede that I sensed skin to skin contact. I was not asked. Rather suddenly, she poked her slender finger at the pink spot. The hole, which had been maybe a centimeter in diameter, grew a little larger. She hooked her finger and pulled and the lower hole expanded still more swallowing up the upper hole.

In what now constituted a major wardrobe malfunction, my cock and balls spilled out of my torn bikinis. I felt my face reddening. I don't know why. Nobody was seeing anything they hadn't seen thousands of times before. Still, it's one thing to disrobe and another to be forcibly disrobed. The gentle violence of tearing up my bikinis occasioned a minor embarrassment. Almost immediately thereafter, it also caused a rapidly swelling erection.

This fact was not lost on her. She still had a finger in my shorts and in a heartbeat that finger became a palm, first cupping and then tugging on my dangling balls. She pulled me toward her by the nuts, wrapped her lips around the head of my swelling cock and gave it a passionate tongue kiss.

I gasped, moaned and heard myself say, "Oh, fuck," in my throatiest voice. I was sure I could readily guess what I was in for and there was nothing to do, except stand there and take it like a man.

"Mmmm, does somebody like that?" a soprano voice asked from somewhere below my waist.

I moaned again.

She pinched the head of my stiff dick between her thumb and forefinger, and with the tip of her tongue slowly traced a line from the bottom of my well-shaved scrotum, up my shaft, all the way to the head. She repeated this maneuver a half dozen times.

Then, grabbing my cock with one hand, she turned her attention to my balls. She sucked first one, then the other into her mouth. She licked my hairless scrotum eagerly. The hand that was not wrapped around my cock found its way behind my balls and two fingers deeply and slowly massaged my perineum putting pressure on my prostate.

"How does that feel, baby?" she whispered.

Feeling like a man of few words, I moaned again, "Mmmm."

Without changing the position of her hands, her mouth once again found the head of my cock. Instead of the ticklish swirling tongue kiss, though, I was now treated to the full-on slow deep suckle. Her hands stayed rhythmically busy behind my balls and on the shaft of my cock. And every second or so, the head of my cock was treated to a cheek dimpling vacuum as if she were trying to sip the world's thickest milk shake through a much too small straw. The sensations were exquisite.

I put one hand on each of my butt cheeks, closed my eyes, threw my head back and delighted in the familiar pleasure that one only knows who has lived under the same roof with an expert fellatrix. This went on for a period of time that would be impossible for me - lost outside time - to estimate. I do not know if my breathing changed, or my body gave some other sign, or whether she just has a sixth sense. But, suddenly, the sucking and the rubbing stopped.

"Are you close?" she asked softly.

I opened my eyes and looked down at her, still seated at her dressing table. My cock was rampant inches from her face. It was duplicated behind her in the dressing table mirror, as was I, looking somewhat laughable with my erection protruding from torn powder-blue panties.

"Mmm-hmmm," I moaned again.

Her hands fell to her waist where she untied the belt of her short kimono. She slipped it off her shoulders, exposing her voluptuous nudity.

"Then, I want to watch you finish yourself, and to watch you come right here," she said, indicating the pink globes of her breasts.

This was not what I had been expecting, but I am a good sport. And, how anyone could refuse a request like that from a woman who had just brought one to the brink of orgasm with her lips, fingers and tongue, I have no idea. So, filled my right hand with my own hardness and tried to resume the rhythm she had so recently been employing. I closed my eyes, and punctuated my stroking with short puffs of breath.

It did not take long for me to be at the edge again. I reopened my eyes to make sure I was on target and seeing the curve of her breasts, I lost control.

"Oh, fuck," I ejaculated in a double-sense.

The orgasm swept over me in waves. My cock gushed four or five creamy eruptions all over her ample tits. My heart raced, my chest heaved, and I groaned. A chemical rush - adrenaline, oxytocin, something - thrilled through every blood vessel in my body. I shook my head, breathed deeply and I was done.

A high voice tinged with mock outrage said, "You NASTY boy. You came all over my tits."

"I sure did." There was no point in arguing.

She hooked two thumbs in the waist-string of my torn blue bikinis and pulled them to my knees. Gravity pulled them further to my ankles.

"Step out of them."

I did.

"Hand them to me."

I did.

She took my ragged blue panties and mopped her luscious, come-covered breasts with them. When her breasts were dry and the panties were covered in spunk, she handed them back to me.

"Those have holes in them. You need to throw those out."

I did.