Oh My! Ch. 02

I met Eric at the pier, and, as others were about, we kept our distance as I boarded the launch and he loaded the cooler and other gear. We both sensed the cloud hanging over us - this would be our last time together - and I sat astern, apart, as he piloted us out over the bay, towards the secluded, secret island he knew. Once well away, however, the need to be close to him, to touch him, to savor every precious remaining second, relit my passion, and it took over. I walked to Eric, kissed him, and stood by his side rubbing his shoulders and neck as he navigated us across the surf, skirting the shoreline.

During our first sexual encounters, it had actually seemed to me that some harlot, some brazen hussy, had taken control of me and made me do things I previously would have believed unthinkable. Now I knew that she was me, a sublimated and previously unrealized aspect of my sexuality. So it was I, not some other minx, who saucily stripped off her coverup, teased off her bikini, offered a hard, rosy nipple for kissing and a juicy finger for tasting. Once on my knees, I worked his trunks down and off, fondled his cock to fullness, and took what I craved into my mouth. Eric seemed quite aroused already, perhaps from how I caressed myself during my little dance, and it took no time at all to get him right where I wanted him.

"Oh God, Maris, that's too much. Stop. I might wreck us..."

"Oh shush. Can't a girl just have a good time?"

"But, really..."

"Don't speak, until you're right on the edge, and then I'll stop. Trust me. This will be such fun, Eric."

How I loved the look of anxious trepidation, verging on terror, in his eyes as I kept at him!

When Eric gasped in alarm, I did stop. Sort of. Once he quit twitching and could breathe again, though, I devilishly resumed tonguing and sucking my tasty lollipop. His fevered croak, "Oh God, Maris!" stopped me the second time, and began his curious custom of confusing me with the deity.

Eric had confessed that how I had milked his cock with my vagina, wringing out every drop, had never happened to him, and I was certain that this had not, either. It was such fun, toying with him, making him my yoyo, winding him up, easing him down, pulling him up again. I kept careful watch and released my throbbing toy when his curling toes, clenching hips, and hissing breaths told me he was in danger.

I savored how his penis burgeoned against my tongue as I laved the head. I relished controlling him, working my strong, commanding, wonderful lover into an unthinking, gasping frenzy. Then stopping, savoring his frustrated moans as he teetered on the ledge before inevitably falling back. Only so I could do it again. Each time it took fewer licks on his special spot to get him to the brink. When he could no longer speak, implore God and me for help, I gauged his level from the pulses on the tight ring my finger and thumb made around the base of his inflamed, cherry-red cock. And from his moaning, shuddering, desperation.

I do like counting things, and, as he approached his 8th edge, Eric saw salvation. The island. He revved the boat faster, beached it, flung me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, leapt out, threw me onto the sand, and fell on me like an eagle taking a hapless bunny. His wild hungry eyes were glazed over with lust, and his brutal thrust, a fencer's lunge, pierced me, pinning me to the sand and literally driving my breath from me. His immediate withdrawal was only a momentary coiling, a flexing of muscles so he could plunge into me again.

The thought, "Oh my God, what have I unleashed?" came to me when I saw the blankness as his eyes rolled back, rode his bestial heaves, and heard his animalistic grunts. I had teased the searing pool of semen out of his balls and into his shaft, made it boil up his pole, then foiled it, frustrated it, compelled it to cool and ooze back down. Time after time. I realized that now Eric was compulsively, mindlessly driven to release it, expel it, before it burned him up and consumed him totally. His fucking was frantic, frenzied, so wild I could only hang on, huffing as my breath was driven out, gasping for air as he reloaded.

I couldn't count how many times Eric erupted because the orgasm that took me consumed everything. I was only aware of the unending explosions in my brain, each triggered by being driven into the sand and impaled to my core, over and over and over.

Blackness.

Waves on the shore, seagulls' cries. Cooling breeze as the hot, sweaty, weight blanketing me lifts. Sweet lips on mine. Hands coddle my face, embed in my hair. "Oh my God, Maris. What you incited in me!" Eric kissed me again.

I was speechless, from the power of the orgasm, and the awe, slight tinge of fear, this massive, magnificent male, my man, had imbued in me. The look of utter love and devotion in his eyes was truly sublime.

After we'd unloaded the boat, put down our towels, set up the large umbrella and begun to relax in the warm sun, I recited a favorite poem for Eric. He reciprocated, but, regardless of how much I pestered him, he steadfastly refused to favor me with one of his. I gave him his present - I'd thought for days about what could possibly begin to express what I felt - and he told me he did not have a collection of Emily Dickinson, much less a leather-bound one. I'll always treasure the tiny angel charm he gave me - I couldn't receive anything substantial requiring an explanation - and we kissed sweetly as we took out our poetry books and began reading to each other.

Just as I began Browning, his libertine hand alit on my back, fingers idly teasing. He read Whitman with my head on his belly, ignoring my playful puffs. When I ventured into Yeats, his naughty caresses ventured to my rear, but my tempting kisses on his stomach could not distract him from Neruda. I stammered a few times over Frost as his hot fingers traced the crack of my buttocks, and his voice caught twice during Angelou when I found especially good spots on his penis. His fingers probing my vagina had me right at the verge in Cummings, and he closed his book when I took the head of his cock into my mouth and swung my hip over his head.

Perhaps the French are different. Maybe during soixante-neuf they can control their passion, focus on giving their lover ultimate pleasure while receiving it simultaneously. I can't, so Eric lost out as his skillful tongue teased and toyed with my clitoris. His fingers embedded in my butt felt perfect as I trembled and shook through my first orgasm, but even better when two pressed into my vagina and a third into my anus during my second, even more ecstatic climax.

When I again could control my tongue and lips, I began fellatio anew, showing Eric how dearly I loved his penis. I can't deep throat and gagging seems hardly erotic, so when he toppled over the edge, I just held the tip in my mouth, licking the spot that always makes him twitch. The first jet into the back of my throat had such force that I had to gulp reflexively to clear it, and then sucked and swallowed with each eruption, devouring his essence. Unconsciously counting each ejaculation, when he began to wane at four I gave him new life when I caressed his balls and eased a finger into his anus. His hands on my head told me he'd had enough at seven, so I stilled my tongue. My finger, sliding up his shaft gave me a last savory, creamy treat, and I loved how his wince shook his entire magnificent body when my lips popped off his soft purple head.

We ate our picnic lunch under the large umbrella, leaning on each other, touching, kissing. We made leisurely love, one nursing while the other read, our mouths and tongues eventually leading the other to arousal and completion yet again. Our cooling swim turned into a water fight, then a water fuck. Once ashore, Eric finally broke down, gave in to my constant pleading, and recited a number of his poems for me. I melted, truly loved them, and him even more. I believed his promise that he would begin looking for a publisher.

Though the skies stayed sunny, our mood darkened as our time grew short. Ted had insisted on an all-day family activity for our final vacation day, so this parting would be our last. I was stunned when Eric proposed. His plan sounded wonderful: I would divorce Ted, the kids and I would move to Mobile, and we'd live in unending bliss. That his plan was as impossible as it was wonderful became obvious as we talked. Having now had an affair, and likely hidden it very poorly, there could be no guarantee that I'd get sole custody of Ben and Susie, and I simply could not live without them. The judge might block my moving away as it would deny Ted his lawful access to his children, and having to work full-time - my small, mostly online bookstore was just breaking even and could not support us - would end Eric's dream of grad school and rob him of time to write.

Eric dropped me on a deserted section of beach instead of at the pier so we could kiss goodbye unseen. Our tears mingled. I still remember the salty taste of his on my lips, and how the love between us burned white hot, then seared my soul asunder as I watched him sail away.

Ted's grunts turned to moans, and I knew he was finally coming. After two years, my vagina had resized from being stretched so profoundly by Eric, and I could perceive Ted's smaller squirts. I kissed his head and hugged him to me as he recovered. It was his second command performance of the night, and I was proud of him. It might be a pencil dick, but it was MY pencil dick, the one that had given me my two babies. I loved the little fella. And the man to whom it was attached.

So much had changed in those two years. My daughter had become Susan. Susie was a little girl's name, and now that a training bra adorned her fledgling buds and she had had her first period, she was NOT a little girl. She and I were developing a closer connection, sharing womanly matters, and I was determined it would survive her teens. Ted was wonderful with Ben, playing basketball, teaching him golf and fishing, and how to drive our Bronco. Though a bit alarmed at the latter, I did look forward to Ben eventually taking over the taxi service - to athletic practices, dance classes and music lessons - I'd been running for years.

My small used bookstore downtown, specializing in poetry of course, had almost no walk-in traffic, but was thriving online, and Ted was now manager of the Ford dealership, establishing, instead of having to meet, sales quotas. The extra money was great and the future looked rosy.

As Ted emptied himself into me, I didn't bother to fake an orgasm. We were well past that, and I'd truly enjoyed the two he'd given me with his tongue before we began screwing the second time. When his penis shrank and drooped out of me, I pulled his head up when he began his usual kissing trip down my body to lick me clean. I told him to give me some tissues, that tonight we'd just cuddle, and savored the look of devotion and gratitude in his adoring, puppy-dog eyes as he curled into me, laid his head beside my shoulder, and quickly fell asleep.

In the morning I'd have him fuck me again, make him get me off several times as he licked up his cum, and then I'd put him back in his cock cage. The one he'd given me two years ago.

Just a week after we'd returned home from Mobile, Ted and I had a heart-to-heart. He told me he of his 6th sense revelation, that he knew I had been fucked by another man. But rather than accuse me of infidelity and make a scene - that would have been an interesting talk, as I knew the names of three women with whom he'd had trysts - he simply confessed to his affairs, swore he loved me, said he wanted me to own him, and gave me the cage. Though shocked, I did want to please him so locked him up. Worried about losing me, Ted had chosen to transform and again become the loving, attentive, romantic man I had married. With one important difference.

As the power dynamic between us shifted irrevocably to me, Ted's innate submissive nature surfaced and became his dominant trait. That night two years ago I had been very surprised to hear what he needed from me, that he wanted me to show my love by controlling him. It felt awkward at first, but soon I accepted that the more I demanded he do menial things - clean, shop, wash the dishes - and especially do lewd, sexual things, the more he worshipped me. At my direction Ted became adept at cunnilingus, and grew to relish cleaning me up each time I allowed him to come inside me.

After my heart-rending parting with Eric in Mobile, I'd made the best of things, and now Ted and I had a great understanding. Previous affronts, sins and affairs had all been forgiven, and we realized the true depth and quirky complexity of our love for each other. We appreciated our good fortune in having wonderful kids, good health and increasing wealth. Life was definitely good.

At first I was always hesitant when he would propose a new masochistic activity, present another Rubicon for us to cross. I learned to simply let that hussy, the Wild Maris, come out to play, and whatever he proposed, she'd try it. For him. He'd been so shy, but trembling with excitement, when he gave me the strap-on cock and asked me to fuck him with it. Though I'd had qualms, he truly seemed to want it. We'd yet to try the new, larger one, but I knew we'd both take to it.

I was also shocked when he asked the first time, but now I was accustomed to giving Ted his daily morning check before he went to work. To make sure he had a big enough butt plug in, the cage was on securely, and then make him use the Hitachi to edge himself. Until gasping, trembling, struggling mightily to hold back, not to come, not to disappoint me. Then, after making him to stop, I'd have him do it again, and again, until finally I'd squeeze his plump blue balls, pull up his pants, kiss him, and send him off to work. Minx Maris' mischievous mind enjoyed thinking of all manner of things she could make him do when she called him at random times each day. It was fun. For both of us.

Just last week Ted had come up with yet another quirk. At first I had to pry the details of this new yen - a fascination with cuckoldry - out of Ted, but it became easy once he started, as he really wanted to tell me. Everything. Initially, he wanted to suspect that I had been fucked by another man. Then to find out it was true. To have me tell him all about it. Every detail. To feel my pussy awash in the other man's cum. To dump his own load in my semen-slick quim, savoring sloppy seconds. Next, to masturbate while hearing over the phone my cries as I came, then another time get off while watching it on video, maybe from an adjoining room. From the same room. To have me order him to eat the other man's spend out of my pussy.

I wasn't sure about all of that, but I'd see. Initially it struck me as a trifle debauched, but Ted seemed to want it dearly, and when he kept bringing it up in ways subtle, and not-so-subtle, I came to believe he was serious. I do love him and want him to be happy. Perhaps it is my wifely duty, even. That realization made me think it might be okay. Even fun. If I found the right man, of course.

Always fervently wanting to please me, Ted also read me poetry, including from my most recent collection, a first publication by an up-and-coming young poet. The book that had arrived at my bookstore in the mail just yesterday. Sent anonymously. The love and passion still burned white-hot every time I thought of Eric, and had been almost unbearable last night when his poems, dedicated to the mysterious, beautiful older woman he'd love forever, were read to me.

This morning I discovered that, as he was now a published poet, Wikipedia had a small entry for him. It noted that he was an adjunct English professor at a small college in Florida, but the section on his personal life made no mention of a wife. Google had links to Eric's homepage, and, by chance, he would soon be quite close by, in Omaha tomorrow, for a reading and book signing.

Hmm.

Such a fascinating confluence of life paths: Ted's new craving, my sincere desire to make him happy by doing what he wanted, and Eric's impending proximity. Interesting coincidence or fate? Who knew, but I reasoned that it would be very impolite of me to not take the opportunity to thank the author in person for the signed first edition.

It had been over two years, but, as I had hoped, or as fate would have it, Eric did have the same phone number. He texted back within seconds, saying his reading would end at 7:30 and inviting me to dinner after.

Oh my!

***

I was very pleased at how Eric had been surprised, even delighted, when he saw my shaved pussy. I'd given it a fresh trim just that day, as I was dressing to go to the poetry reading. I'm pretty sure that Ted noticed, and he certainly was aware of my attire. Elastic top white stockings. White, fuck-me high heels. Lacy white silk bikini panties. And my short white silk dress with the high neck and very low back. The one I liked so much because I couldn't wear a bra with it and the feeling of the silk on my nipples was delicious. I loved that my outfit was all white, like a virgin bride might wear.

The reading had been truly wonderful. Eric looked even more fabulous, two years adding gravitas to his persona and more chisel to his features. His voice was even deeper, more mellifluous, and definitely stirred things up inside me. I was alternately giddy and jealous when it became so obvious that numerous other women at the reading were rapt, deeply moved by him, by his words, by his aura. I shivered frequently, counting down the minutes until we could be together. I was ready already.

As I waited while he signed books for the many enthralled, willing women, doing their best to throw themselves at Eric, I recalled my conversation with Ted just before I left.

"You look very fancy. Where are you going?"

"There's a poetry reading in Omaha, at an upscale bookstore. I want to look nice."

"You certainly do. Would you like company? Should I tag along?"

"Oh, thanks dear, but there's no need. Poetry is my passion, but I know it's not yours."

The look in Ted's eyes as I left was amazing. Fear, joy, arousal, dread, all competing for dominance in his anxious deep brown eyes. He said nothing as I put my overnight bag in the trunk of the Mustang.

As Eric finally signed the last book, I finished my text. "Ted, the reading has been fun, and I've run into Barb and Julie. We're going to go out for a glass of wine. Don't wait up."

He didn't respond, either to that one, or the next, 70 minutes later as I sat on Eric's hotel room toilet, his semen almost gushing out of my pussy as I typed, "Hi. I'm afraid that I've had a bit too much to drink, dear. I don't think I should drive, and Barb has offered her guest room. Take the kids to IHOP for Sunday brunch in the morning and I'll see you later."

Eric looked at me quizzically as I rejoined him. I kissed him lightly and stepped into my panties. "It's complicated, my love. I'll tell you over dinner. But please get dressed and let's go. After all that exercise, I'm starving." Our arousal, honed to a keen edge by the enforced separation and frequently exchanged ardent glances at the signing, had required that we stop in his room before dinner.

When I arrived back home the next day - it was a most uncomfortable trip, but once inside the door I knew relief was in sight - I heard the loud TV from the den and knew that Ben was watching soccer. Was Ted? Susan's door was closed, but I could see her with my mother's X-ray eyes, curled up on her bed, earbuds in, consumed by whatever was on her phone.

I poked my head into the den and cheerily said, "Hi, I'm back. How was IHOP?" Ben shrugged and waved as he turned back to the game. I beckoned Ted, then walked upstairs into our bedroom. He'd had been good, made the bed and straightened up. I pulled the blanket and top sheet down before turning to face him. He avoided my eyes, even when I slinked up to a foot away. I pulled his chin up and smiled at the mixture of naked arousal and nervous anxiety in his furtive eyes. I kissed him.