tagHumor & SatireHouse of Feathers Ch. 13: Video Killed the Radio Star

House of Feathers Ch. 13: Video Killed the Radio Star

byTarnishedPenny©

A stand-alone story following others in the series. Please enjoy!

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As we finished our breakfast, we discussed the day to come. I hoped to finish editing another chapter. He had his quarterly videoconference scheduled with his cabal of lawyers and money managers. Necessary but boring; my head imploded whenever he tried to explain it all to me.

"Swim after lunch?" I asked.

"Unless it's raining," he smiled. It never rained at that time of year. We barely saw clouds once a week and the temperature never varied three degrees from 28.

"I ironed your shirt," I said, raising both our grins at the image of me as a dutiful housewife.

"Thanks," he said. "Wouldn't do to have them see me as I really live." Meaning, of course, in our usual state of dress, which was essentially barefoot all over. He'd be running his videoconference wearing only a shirt and shorts.

I left the dishes in the sink and headed for my office. I was soon happily surprised at my progress; maybe the renowned author had bothered to look up the word 'grammar'. His footnotes matched. And his sentences made sense. Amazing, I thought cynically. Maybe he'd hired an assistant, one who knew the English language. Pay her more! I thought.

I wound up finishing the chapter well ahead of my initial estimates. Very pleased with myself, I sat on the veranda and looked at the surf for a while, then went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. Making a tea, I headed for his lab, with a small stop in our bedroom. He wasn't keen on my being present during his meetings, claiming my boobs were too distracting when business was being done. He would generally make an exception for my bringing him a drink, however, provided that I was absolutely quiet and put the cup down off-camera where I and it wouldn't be seen. Something about commercial confidentiality... Meh - like I cared or would tell.

I opened the door quietly and stepped inside. A voice from one of the monitors on his desk was talking in German. My German was rusty, but I could follow some of it, something about proposed patent regulation changes in the European Union. From the look on my man's face, it was clear he'd been listening to this for too long.

I'd never seen any of his people; going around to his side of the screens would put me on camera. I had visions of what they looked like, though. The one speaking sounded like he had five chins.

"Look, Hans," my lover said, "can we or can we not sort this out by the time we've promised the Beta version?"

The voice launched into another oration. Never trust someone who answers a simple question with a prepared statement, I thought.

He looked frustrated. I put the tea down on one corner of his desk. In doing so, I brushed a piece of paper off. I knelt down to pick it up. Framed under the desk were his feet and calves - and his shorts, kicked off and lying on the ground. I looked further in and could make out his flaccid manhood hanging between his thighs.

Perv.

But a fun perv. I loved him.

OK. Never miss an opportunity, girl.

I quietly pulled a chair to in front of his desk and sat down, legs wide apart. A couple of metres away, he had a perfect view. I fondled my breasts, running hands over them, cupping them like fingered bras, sliding them slowly over my nipples. I looked up; he was pointedly staring at the monitors on his desk.

Toad! Ignore me, will you?

Spreading my legs wide, I began massaging my pussy with three fingers. My middle finger dipped into my vagina each time they passed over, lingered. I could feel my own response building. My fingertips were wet and my nipples stiff.

I glanced up to see that he's hunched over so as not to be able to be distracted by me over the screens.

Would you, then!

It was time to show him who was boss around here. I slid under the desk. His hand came down and his fingers flicked towards me - Go away!

I grasped his fingers, leaned towards his hand and slowly licked from his fingertips to his wrist. He tried to pull his hand back, but I clung to it. He was stronger, but I was pretty sure he didn't want to stage a wrestling match with a stark-naked woman in front of Hans, let alone all the other suits presumably on the circuit. And, no doubt, recording.

I separated his fingers and proceeded to lick and suckle his middle finger, inhaling it all the way down to the third knuckle, rolling my tongue around it on the way out.

He twisted loose and grabbed my wrist, pushing me back. I grabbed his package and squeezed. The pushing stopped. I rubbed my fingertips gently over his bare pubis and inner thighs, followed by lightly scratching the same areas with my fingernails. I traced the same path with my tongue.

He coughed, spoke above the desk. "Herr Horst, what progress have you made?"

An elderly, plummy voice started mumbling something about Brussels and excise reciprocity. Deadly. German made it worse.

Time for some real stimulation.

I shifted my grip on his man-bits. Holding the head of his penis, I stretched it down towards his knees. With the fingernails of my other hand, I lightly tickled behind his scrotum. His penis got a little fuller and I could feel his thighs tense, but his voice continued above the desk. "No. I don't want to talk to them myself. You have the authority."

I had picked up a toy in our bedroom, the eagle flight feather he had found in Canada. I took it from behind my ear and started to tickle his inner thighs with it, eventually moving the strokes to his bait-and-tackle. He squirmed a little. The feather was stiff enough to provide pressure but soft enough to stimulate well. An aunt once told me that a man has enough blood in his system to run either his brain or his willy, not both; I was successfully rerouting blood away from his brain. I dragged the feather around and around his head.

His cock rapidly grew erect. I made a brush from the ends of my hair and used it to stroke his cock and balls for a minute, then ran my fingernails along its length. It jerked beneath them. I pulled it away from his abdomen and rolled it between two stiff palms. His feet came up on their toes. My hands rolled up and down his shaft, faster and faster. His abs were rippling.

Changing course, I began licking his swollen organ slowly from base to head with the tip of my tongue. It pulsed under my hand. I tickled my way up the underside with my tongue-tip, then with broader tongue strokes licked up one side, then the other.

I started going faster, stroking with the full width of my tongue. He tried to push me away - most unusual for him, but considering the number of zeroes being discussed, perhaps understandable. No matter; I squeezed his balls, medium-hard, to make my point - he could close down the meeting or go with, as it were, the flow.

"Frau Advocat Wester," he said, his voice now a touch strained, "your recommendation, please."

A woman's voice, high and birdlike, began to reply. I always pictured her as looking like Tweety Bird. I began pumping his shaft, sucking on his head and flicking my tongue-tip over his slit. My other hand continued to fondle his scrotum. He shifted in his chair. He began to breath faster. The light was dim under his desk, but I could see his cock become darker. It throbbed in my hand. I nibbled gently on his shaft with my teeth and smiled as he shifted position in his chair over and over.

Pumping him, I shifted to sucking on his balls. One at a time, I brought them into my mouth and swirled them gently around against still teeth. Backing away, I could see his head swell still more, like a purple mushroom. How do men stand that? It looked like it was ready to explode.

The babble continued above me. It was a measure of his opinion of the meeting's value that he had stopped trying to push me away and was instead caressing my hair softly.

"I don't care. This is important. Make it happen."

I'll make it happen, I thought. I lowered my head on his wood and, easing my throat, began to deep-throat him. His hand clutched at my neck. After three strokes, I pulled off and managed not to gasp. It's fun for a woman to able to excite her man like that, but it's no great physical thrill.

I enjoyed his reaction however.

His manhood, now free from my lips, twitched and bounced, as if he were running a hard foot race. I was a little bit jealous; I can squeeze my lady-bits a little, but nothing that impressive. I often wish I could switch bodies for a while, just to feel what it's like.

Running my hands over his stomach and inner thighs, I held his shaft while my tongue flicked rapidly at his head.

I licked one palm and, fondling his shaft with the other, rolled it around and around his head, like polishing an apple. He started to stand up, then fell back down.

The plummy voice cut in, "Are you feeling all right? Your face is flushed."

"I'm fine, thank you, Manfred. Something I ate, I suspect. Please continue. Um... Yes."

The voices started arguing. To my ears, it sounded like a throat lozenge commercial done by dog pound dropouts. I started sucking on his cockhead again, lightly twisting the fingers of both hands around his shaft. His legs straightened under the table. His balls were tight against his body. I gently pulled them away with one hand, stretching his scrotum.

He groaned above the desktop.

"Enough!" he said in a husky voice. "Hans, you know what I want. Talk to Zurich. If they... if Zurich..." He was losing coherence. I tongued his head over and over. His thighs began to tense.

"Tell Zurich to either agree or we'll go to London. Hanes... I mean Hans... Do it today and email me their offer. I must go."

The birdlike voice came back. "I do hope you are feeling better soon, Mein Herr. Stay out of the sun for a few days, ya?"

"Danke." He broke the connection and, a bare instant later, came. It surprised me but I managed to get most of it. His hands held my head in a vise as I bobbed and licked his mancandy.

After a few minutes, he rolled his chair back, his shirttails draping down over his bare legs. I followed him, still holding his balls in one hand.

"Dammit, imp! That was important - I should turn you over my knee!"

"Yes, please," I replied, smiling.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? Seriously, we're talking big money here."

"Hans sounded like he has a carrot up his arse."

He smiled. "No, not Hans. His background check said he's more of a sub."

"At his age? Ick. Anyway, they didn't catch on. You watch, they'll be all sympathetic the next time you talk to them. Why do you put up with such people?"

"Because they're very good at what they do, obviously." He smiled again. "Like you."

"Obviously." I leaned forward and slowly licked his softening manhood.

He reached down and slid a finger between my legs. I was pretty turned on with the spectacle I'd staged and his finger slid back and forth in slickness. I smiled. "Yes, please."

Putting his hands under my arms, he picked me up and seated me on the edge of his desk. He stood between them, bent down and kissed me a prolonged kiss. His hand down below started pulling gently on my inner lips, stretching them in one direction, then the other. I pulled his head down for another kiss. Two fingers entered me and began twisting. I gasped and kissed him harder.

Altering his angle, he began massaging my G-spot with one finger while applying a firm, steady pressure down in my clitoris with his thumb. His other hand moved from breast to breast, lifting, stoking and squeezing.

I could barely breathe. My nipples ached in their hardness.

He stood up all the way. His erection had returned. I reached down, grasped him and pulled him towards me. He slid in to his full length.

Grabbing my ass and knowing what I needed, his initial slow strokes changed to rapid hammering. My balance on the desktop was such that I couldn't use my hands for anything but keeping upright. Resting back on my arms, I could watch his veined member sliding back and forth between my distended, bare lips. I was blurting yelps of pleasure each time he drove home.

"Don't stop!" I hissed. Ripples built inside me. I leaned up and our lips locked together. I came, magnificently. Waves of ozone-splashed orgasm exploded inside me from my head to my toes, rebounded, echoed.

"Lie back," he directed. When I did so, he grasped both legs, put their calves on his right shoulder and pounded me harder and deeper at the new angle. His eyes were closed, focussed on his coming orgasm. I could feel a second building in me.

Driving his engorged length into my welcoming depth, he began to pant in time with his strokes. Then he went totally rigid, clasped my legs in both hands. I could feel him pulsing inside me and came again myself, this one rounded and sweet.

After a minute, he lifted my one leg over and down, to stand between my legs again. He put one hand under my ass and extended the other one to me. Taking my hand, he pulled me up to a seated position then, still firmly buried in me, picked me up with my legs around his waist. He carried me down the hall into the bedroom and, still impaled, I fell beside him onto the bed, safe in the arms of the most loving man in my world.

And, yes, for the record, he got half-a-dozen get-well cards in the mail two weeks later.

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