RoseAnn Discovers Dominance Pt. 13

It took two different buses to get from Bernie's Grill to Craig's apartment, so I didn't get there until a little after ten o'clock. He'd left the door slightly ajar for me. Inside, he was reclining in his chair, watching the black and white flicker of his little television. He got up and snapped it off when I came in.

"I brought us some food," I said, fishing a heavy paper bag from my purse. "Some mostaccioli left over from the kitchen."

"I can smell it from here. I was waiting supper until you got home...I mean, here."

I giggled. "It's a little soon to start calling it home." I put the package on the kitchen counter and turned on the stove. "I can heat this in 20 minutes."

Craig stood behind me with his hands on my hips as I put the food in a baking dish. Once the food was in the oven, I turned and bent to kiss him. His lips were soft and welcoming.

When I came up for air, he held me at arm's length. "You look tired," he said. "How about I get you some wine, and then a little backrub while the food's heating?"

"I think I'd like that," I said, and walked over to a straight chair, letting my hips wriggle as I did so. He brought me a glass of merlot. I sipped it, and said, "Nice. Now how about taking my top and bra off before you start?"

There was that tingle again! Taking the initiative was exciting. Why hadn't I tried this years ago?

Craig tried unbuttoning my shirt, but he had to get on his knees to do it properly. His fingers clumsily worked to loosen my bra, but I made no move to help him. This is what Queen Samara would have done.

Finally, the bra came free and I delighted to the shine in his eyes as he looked at my chest.

"Your breasts...they're so beautiful," he whispered.

I recalled a similar comment so many years ago, in Donald Whitten's car. Donald and Craig were alike in so many ways.

I held up Craig's chin with my fingers. "Why do you call them breasts? Most men say tits, or boobs, or knockers. Why don't you?"

"I think it's more respectful. To call them anything else would be wrong. Especially yours."

"Just for that, you can kiss them, but just for a second. Then I want my backrub."

As I hoped, he kissed directly on the nipples. The electric thrills echoed up and down my spine as his tongue reached out to each of them in turn. I wanted to lean back and let him have his way, but I pushed him away. "That's enough now. Rub my back. No more fooling around." If I'd let him continue, I'd have forgotten the backrub and the dinner and just want his tongue where it would do the most good.

He began gently, and only gradually dug his fingers in deeper. His hands were stronger than I expected. I wriggled my back and flexed my neck, and relaxation spread though my whole body. I sighed and murmured with the pleasure, and this encouraged him.

"Do you want to lie on the bed so I can do this right?" he asked at last.

"I'd like that, but we have food in the oven. Keep rubbing." Just then, the timer dinged. I shook his hands from my back. "We should eat. I don't know about you, but I'm hungry."

Together, we set the table and divided the pasta between two plates.

"Do you want me to put your shirt back on while we eat?" said Craig. He touched my elbow with soft fingers.

By now I was completely comfortable with my breasts exposed to his gaze. "No," I said. "Why don't you take off your shirt, too?"

We held each other's eyes as he unbuttoned his shirt, shed it, and pulled his tee shirt over his head. "Mm," I whispered, running my fingers over his chest. "Nice." As I stroked his nipples, they grew hard like little pebbles. He closed his eyes and shivered.

He helped me with my chair, poured some wine, and sat at this own chair. Watching him move, I had a wicked thought.

"Without our tops on, at least we won't get sauce stains on them." I speared a forkful of noodles and drew them slowly across my chest from nipple to nipple, leaving a trail of marinara sauce. "Oops," I said, smiling. "Looks like I've spilled some already. I wonder how I'm going to get it off me?" I dipped the noodles on my plate, and watched his eyes as I drew another line from between my breasts to the waist of my skirt.

He set down his fork and stared. I could almost see him salivating.

"Later," I said, changing my smile from seductive to innocent. "Eat your food before it gets cold."

He shoveled the mostaccioli into his mouth so rapidly I feared he'd choke. I had another evil thought, and said, "You're far too neat. I'm surprised you haven't spilled any on yourself."

He froze, and then smiled slightly. With his last few noodles, he dabbed up some sauce, rubbed it into each nipple, and drew a line between them. With more sauce, he drew a meandering line from his left nipple down to his pants.

"Naughty man," I teased.

It was torture for me to delay, but I ate the last of my supper slowly, one noodle at a time, while staring into his eyes. I could see the strain building up in him, like steam in a boiler. This was fun! Exciting, too. I already knew that tonight's orgasm would be beyond spectacular.

When I set down my cutlery, he said, "Would you like to—?"

"I'd like some more wine." I almost said 'please', but chose not to. I seemed to be in control of the action here, and wanted to see how far I could push it.

He had to get out a new bottle and pull the cork. The neck of the bottle shook as he poured, and some wine stained the tablecloth.

"Why don't you kiss me while you're over here?"

"Don't you want to take your time and drink your wine first?" he said. A trace of resentment sneaked into his voice, as if he was growing weary of the tease.

I spoke sternly, but kept my temper in check. "Don't get testy with me, Craig. I know what you want and I can imagine how impatient you must be. I'm having a little fun with you. You don't mind, do you?"

He seemed relieved to be let off the hook so easily. "No, I guess not."

"Then kiss me."

He set the bottle on the table and bent down. The position was awkward, so he got to his knees beside my chair. I met his lips, and we kissed until we almost ran out of breath. I loved the hoarse sounds of our breathing as we fed on each other's lips and tasted each other's tongues.

When we paused, I whispered, "A man on his knees. That's where men belong, don't you think?"

He looked down and said nothing. He tried to hug me, but the chair was too tall and he was too short while on his knees, so I pulled his face into my breasts. He immediately began to kiss them, keeping away from my nipples.

"Isn't this how you'd be with your Queen Samara?"

He stopped kissing and drew back. "Who?"

"Craig, I read that book."

He spoke quickly, even stuttering a little. "I'm so sorry. I meant to throw it away. I thought I'd have some warning you were coming, and—"

"Craig, stop babbling! It's all right. Really, it is. I don't understand why a man would want a woman ordering him around and making him go without his orgasm. It's not what I was raised with. But I like you and I want to give you what you need. If that book tells me how your mind works, then we should keep it so I can understand you."

He still looked unhappy, and I added, "After all, you do things for me that make me very happy, don't you? It wasn't something I expected or even thought about, until I experienced it."

That perked him up. I wondered if I'd believe it, too, if I said it often enough. Well, I hadn't expected Mike would ignore regular sex so he could shove his fat cock down my throat every night, either, but I almost got used to that. I'd even thought up ways to tease him and get him excited, so he'd be less likely to pick a fight with me when he was drunk. Craig was not Mike, not at all, but he was a man and would be as driven by sex as any other.

"So keep the books," I said, "both of them. I can do without the pictures, but I need the books so I'll know how to make this hard for me." I reached down and gently pinched his stiff cock through his pants. "Maybe this Queen Samara has the right idea, after all. Now kiss my nipples."

It took a few seconds before he realized I'd given him a command, so I repeated it, with a hint of threat. "Craig, kiss my nipples, now!"

He made a little moan and leaned into my breasts again. He licked at the nipples, one after the other, as they grew hard. He opened his mouth to draw in as much of my flesh as possible, and then sucked until electric shocks blew up and down my spine, and I felt the liquid soaking my panties.

"That's nice, Craig. Don't stop."

But in just a few minutes, I grew so excited I began to worry that I'd come from the breast stimulation alone. I pushed him away. "Take me to the bedroom now."

He'd been on his knees for some time, and got stiffly to his feet. He took my hand, and I rose elegantly from the chair and led him to the bedroom. I was excited almost to hysteria, but I tried not to let it show. Sitting on the bed, I pushed my skirt to the floor and began peeling my pantyhose and panties off. I watched Craig as he shed the remainder of his clothes and kicked them into a corner. His freed cock sprang from its confinement and stood out straight. He rushed to the bed, settling onto his knees in front of me.

"Trade places with me, Craig. I've got to get that sauce off you."

His eyes were desperate as he sat on the bed, but I was as eager as he, as I began licking at his nipples, tasting the spicy tomato sauce dried on his skin. His nipples were tiny and stone-hard, and he breathed and moaned into my hair. I began following the Marinara Trail with my tongue. In my peripheral vision, I watched Craig's stiff cock bobbing slightly with his heartbeat.

I pushed him back onto the mattress in order to reach the last of the sauce, and his cock brushed against my shoulder and then my neck. With the last of the sauce gone, I backed away and took his cock in my fingers. "There's a tiny bit of sauce left." I touched the tip of his cock, where a drop of clear fluid glistened, and reached with my tongue to lick it from him. The brush of my tongue made him gasp and whimper.

I was seriously tempted to suck him to climax. But as I contemplated taking the beautiful organ between my lips, I thought of Mike and the brutal way he'd pushed his thing into my mouth almost every day for four years. I couldn't continue. I took the silken glans gently between my lips and drew back slowly until his cock swung free.

"Now you have to get the sauce off me," I said. "Switch places again."

Even through my excitement, I was aware that we were at a critical point. If Craig demanded I go back to his cock, or even complained, it would spoil our blossoming relationship. The memory of Mike's abuse was still too strong.

But that didn't happen. Craig slipped off the bed onto his knees, grabbing my leg with his arms as I rose. "Please, Roseann. I need to taste you," he pleaded.

"Of course you do," I whispered. "But I've got sauce all over me. So take your time. Be gentle with me." I sat on the edge of the bed, and he dived immediately for my pussy. But I kept my knees clamped together.

"Not yet, Craig. You have to take care of the sauce first."

He ignored me and snuffled at my crotch like an animal.

"Craig! Clean the sauce off me now!" I said sternly. I was as anxious to get started as he was, but I was his Queen Samara now. It was important to reinforce that.

Reluctantly, he moved up and licked the sauce from my breasts. He was hasty about it, but I was okay with that. I wanted him down between my legs, soon.

His tongue rasped at my nipples, and a gush of fluid warmed my vagina. It thrilled me to make honey for him, knowing how eagerly he'd lick it up when the time came.

Slowly, slowly his tongue trailed over my stomach to my navel, and his cramped position became more awkward. Even when he'd come to the end of the line of marinara sauce, he continued down my belly, trying to force his way between my thighs.

"Are you sure you got it all?" I said, pushing him away.

He looked over my chest and stomach, and licked a trace from near my navel. He went back to licking my belly, low down near the margin of my pubic hair. I sighed and lay back on the bed, opening my thighs to his caresses.

"Oh, my sweet Roseann," he said, and moaned as his tongue dipped into my pussy. The sensation came like an electric shock. I heard myself cry out in joy, as the rough flesh stroked the lips of my vagina. When his tongue moved, it touched my clitoris. Within seconds, the orgasm welled up inside me.

No! Not now! I want to enjoy this. I want it to go on and on—ah!

I launched into my orgasm, grasping at his ears and bucking my hips at his face. He moved so his tongue was stroking my clitoris directly, and the orgasm intensified. I cried out again, more high-pitched than before. As my hips writhed from side to side, Craig stayed with me, his tongue locked to the exact spot, and stretching out the beautiful torture for a few more seconds.

Finally, I opened my eyes. As brief as it was, I felt like I'd run a marathon. "That happened quicker than I thought. You got me so excited."

"I wanted it to take a long time, too," he said. "Can I...?"

When the pause went on too long, I said, "Can you do it again?" I giggled. "You certainly can. In fact, I insist on it. Just lie there and rest for a few minutes. You'll know when I'm ready for the next one."

I let myself go limp on the bed, one hand softly stroking his hair. I wondered what time it was, but I was too lethargic to bother looking at the clock. Craig had to go to work in the morning, but I wasn't about to deprive him of another opportunity to give me pleasure. The backward situation amused me. I was the one having the orgasm and the pleasure leading up to it, yet he was the more eager of the two of us. He would beg, and I'd play hard to get.

One day, I guessed, I would understand how the brains of men worked.

The minutes ticked by, and Craig began to try to urge me on. He kissed my thighs, and he burrowed with his lips through my pubic hair, kissing my mons. I didn't stop him, and after a while, it did begin to work as he—and I—hoped. Taking his head gently between my hands, I turned him to face me and guided him into position.

This time, there was no haste. I raised my legs and dug my heels into his lower back as his tongue resumed exploring my vagina. Wet sounds came from below as he licked up my moisture; I even heard him swallow as his tongue ranged over my inner lips. As I relaxed, my thighs drifted further apart. He was staying clear of my clitoris as much as possible, stretching out the pleasure. I was absolutely in heaven, and judging by his muffled groans, so was he.

But eventually, I grew desperate. "Your tongue—my clit!" I gasped. "Do it, now!" Now my entire body stiffened and my back arched as the flat of his tongue moved slowly upward. Oh, this was the best thing in the world! I thought briefly of Donald and his sweet tongue, and where I might be today if I hadn't been an idiot. But there was no time for regret. Donald had certainly sought a wife who would want her pussy licked every day. Meanwhile, I'd found a treasure of my own, another man who craved the dark space between my thighs.

The pressure built, driving me insane with lust. His tongue was like a force of Nature, relentlessly stroking and pushing me slowly and inexorably to the edge.

Again, my orgasm came on like a fast train, roaring in my ears. Far away, I heard my voice crying out into the room, while violent waves of electricity reverberated between my pussy and my extremities.

Slowly, the contractions in my pelvis subsided. I said, "Craig, put it in me and come! Right now!" I bucked against his face to urge him on.

"I don't have protection," he mumbled into my pubic hair.

"Get a condom from the bathroom, quick!"

Reluctantly, he got up and went to the bathroom. I heard the box being ferociously attacked and ripped, but by the time he came back into the room, I'd had a moment to think.

I let him roll the condom onto his cock, as I remembered his unwillingness to come after he went down on me after the baseball game.

"I've changed my mind," I said, putting on a sweet smile. "I think I'll keep you hard for a while, but you're not going to come today. Take that rubber thing off and bring your cock over here."

He looked disappointed and relieved at the same time, if such a thing is possible. But he didn't hesitate to unroll the sheath and toss it in the general direction of the little trash pail by the bed.

I sat up and took his cock delicately between thumb and finger. "Mm, I like this," I murmured. "Mind if I touch it for a while?"

"Be careful, or I'll come anyway."

"You better not." I gently stroked him. "This is mine for tonight, or maybe longer. You like being tormented, don't you? You want to get all excited and then not be allowed to come? Isn't this what your Queen Samara would do?"

His back was arched and his entire body trembled. His face turned to the ceiling as he breathed, "Yes, that's what I need. I need a woman who will torment me and make insanely cruel demands of me."

"I think I just might be that woman, Dr. Warburton. I feel like I might keep you on the edge all night. Who knows? I might get so excited, I'll want your tongue again."

"Oh, God, I hope so."