RoseAnn Discovers Dominance Pt. 09

A wicked idea occurred to me. I whispered, "Do you want me to help you now?" After last Sunday, I expected him to say no, but this time I would have a surprise for him.

Without rising from my pussy, he shook his head. "Not now, please. Let me enjoy this."

"If you don't let me take care of you, I'm going to make you lick me again." I was certain I was good for another, even after the prize-winning climax I'd just had.

He rubbed his lips against my pubic hair so it muffled his response. "Oh, yes, please. Please let me lick you again." He trembled against my thighs.

I'd actually made him beg, like a starving man seeking nourishment! Stranger still, he was begging to be allowed to give me pleasure. He was so utterly different from other men who'd pursued me. I felt deliciously wicked. "Yes, you may. But I need ten minutes to rest. Just leave your head there for now. I'll tell you when it's time."

My muscles were still unwinding after the intense orgasm. I let my head fall back against the sofa and stroked Craig's hair. I'd never suspected that sex could be so good. What made it puzzling was that Craig seemed to be as satisfied as I was. It was his turn to have an orgasm, and it didn't make sense that he'd willingly pass up the opportunity for my sake. But now that I was anticipating another oral experience in just minutes, Craig's pleasure became a distant concern.

Craig obediently kept his head turned and resting on my pussy, but he was unmistakably aroused. From time to time, his whole body shivered. Sometimes his hips would spasmodically thrust against empty air. His breath was rapid and stirred my pubic hair.

More bold ideas emerged, one after the other. "Why don't you strip before we start?" I whispered. "I want to see you naked again." He stood up and shed his clothes with preternatural swiftness. His cock was stiff and pointing slightly upward. I guessed he was well enough endowed after all. I'd only become accustomed to Mike's enormous size. I enjoyed Craig's trim nakedness for a moment before he resumed his place, kneeling between my legs.

"I think I'd like you to start now," I said, "but don't be so frantic. Slow your tongue down so I can really feel it. Just soft little licks in my vagina to start."

Gazing at my pussy as if mesmerized, he leaned into me. The touch of his tongue was electric, and once more, tingling waves coursed up and down my body as he searched in my most secret place. He licked delicately at the lips of my vagina, and slowly he slipped inside, scooping with his tongue as if to gather up every drop of my female juices. When I felt him swallow, an extra thrill went though me. He'd actually swallowed my pussy juice, took it into his own body as if it were the finest wine!

His hands slipped under my thighs and up my torso until his fingertips teased my nipples. My back arched with the added pleasure. I opened my mouth, about to demand that he lick me to climax right away, but hesitated. Why not stretch it out for a while? How often have I had a man's tongue at my disposal? I should make the most of it.

I groaned and twisted as I fought against myself. I wanted to come, but not right now, and the torment was delicious. I endured it for a few minutes. But finally I'd had enough. I whispered, "Lick my clit, now!"

But he teased me, licking my vagina for a moment more, and moving slowly upward, with delicate dabs of his tongue. Finally, his lips closed around my clit and sucked gently, and when they released it, he lapped slowly at my little gem with the flat of his tongue. I cried, "Yes, yes! Don't stop," and plunged over the edge into the vortex. My hips bucked and bucked against him, and my back arched until I thought it would break. I moaned and whispered, "So nice, so nice," over and over until the beautiful spasms slowed and ceased.

He lay again with his head resting on my pubic patch. "You do realize that I could go on doing this until morning, don't you?"

I wanted to check the clock, but I was too limp to bother. I remembered there was a clock over the television. "What time is it?"

"I don't care," he muttered into my hair.

I twisted around to see. "Craig! It's two in the morning. Don't you have to go to work?"

"Yes, but some things are worth skipping work for. I haven't taken a sick day in six months. I could catch a cold or stomach flu by morning, right?."

"Let me take care of you now, and then I'll catch a taxi home."

"Stay. Please stay."

Hm. It was very late to be standing outside, waiting for a cab. And I didn't have to be to work until three p.m. And I hadn't had a man in bed beside me in a year.

"Don't you think it's a little early in our relationship for this?" I said, hoping he'd pursue me further.

"RoseAnn." He said my name as if it were a magical word for him. "We've just had pretty intense sex. I think we're already beyond the 'shall I stay over' stage."

"We had sex? Would you call that sex? You didn't get anything out of it at all. You should be demanding your turn by now."

He rubbed his face in my pubic hair. "It's the very best kind of sex. For me, anyway. It leaves me fulfilled and happy, but I'm still aroused and I'll dream about you when I'm asleep and daydream about you when I'm awake. That wouldn't happen if I had an orgasm."

I shook my head. "I don't think that way. A man deserves an orgasm, too, and it excites me to give him one."

He knelt upright and looked in my eyes. "Indulge me, RoseAnn. Stay the night. Let me watch you sleep, and dream about you tonight. In the morning, you can do to me what you did last Sunday. Maybe you'll even want another by then."

I pursed my lips and nodded. "Well, okay. I'll stay, but you have to let me take care of you in the morning."

So we struck the bargain. He got out a new toothbrush and gave it to me. I guessed he kept one, just like the unopened box of condoms, just in case a miracle happened, and a woman stayed the night. He got out a fluffy towel and washcloth for me, and a glass for water.

Getting into bed was free of embarrassment, since we were both naked already. Under the covers, where our relative heights didn't matter, I could slip down and tuck my head into his shoulder, and feel enclosed and protected with his arms around me.

Sometimes I fantasized about being six or eight inches shorter. I'd probably have married someone other than Mike, and I'd still be living in Bitumen. One thing for certain—I wouldn't be here in Chicago, in a university professor's bed, my body still ringing like a bell from two of the most intense orgasms I'd ever experienced.

I lay for some time before I noticed that Craig wasn't asleep either. "What are you thinking?" I whispered.

"I'm thinking that this has been the happiest and most exciting day of my life. I'm so grateful that you let me date you."

"Hm. The gratitude isn't all on one side, you know. No man has ever put this much care and attention into making love to me."

"You deserve whatever I can do for you."

"But I still don't understand—why didn't you want to come?" I lay my fingers on his belly in invitation.

He gently trapped my hand in his. "Don't worry. I'm quite satisfied. Take my word for it."

"But what about me?" I said, deliberately making my voice petulant. "I like making a man come. I like the way your muscles go all tight and your stuff shoots up in the air, all because of me."

"In the morning, then?"

But when I woke, the air smelled of coffee. The bed was empty and cold beside me. I looked at the bedside clock. Nine! I leaped from the bed and looked around until I found a bathrobe to wrap myself in. The closet door was open. I crossed the living room to the bathroom. The towel and sink were wet. The apartment was quiet; it was too high up even for street sounds.

On the dining room table were a note, a key, and a ten-dollar bill. The note smelled of a man's cologne or aftershave.

Good morning, RoseAnn. I just couldn't bear to wake you. You were sleeping so soundly and you looked so beautiful as you slept. I've made coffee, which should still be fresh. There's fruit, cereal, bread, and eggs in the refrigerator.

Don't take the ten dollars the wrong way. [There was a smiley face here.] I didn't know how much cash you had in that tiny purse, so it's for cab fare home. They key is because you have to lock the apartment door from the outside (although I'd be happy if you'd keep it).

Love, Craig.

PS. Call me at work.

I poured a cup of coffee and stood for some time looking out the window. This apartment was so much brighter on a sunny day than mine. Colorful prints on the walls helped scatter and brighten the light throughout the small space.

For a moment, I imagined waking up every day in this apartment, with Craig still sleeping beside me. I would get up and fix his breakfast while he showered and shaved. I'd kiss him as he went out the door. Later, I'd go to my classes or to my job at Bernie's.

Perhaps I should find a doctor and ask about renewing my birth control pills. Mike didn't like condoms, and I got the impression most men didn't. It would be a nice treat for Craig to let him push his 'average' cock inside me, naked and stiff, and spend himself into my body. Her certainly deserved it.

The thought made my pussy tingle. But I did love what his tongue could do for me, too.

I roused myself and took a shower. Afterward, I looked at myself in the slightly fogged mirror. My breasts rode high on my chest. They were big enough that I knew they wouldn't stay there for many years, and would gradually sag down. My belly was strong, and the muscles showed through an almost nonexistent layer of fat. A sparse trail of dark hair began at my navel and led down to the thick bush of pubic hair. What would Craig think if I shaved it?

All I had to wear was my formal dress from last night. At least it would be enough to get me home. There was no rush, since my shift didn't start until three. So I put the bathrobe back on.

I looked around the apartment again. There was so much you could tell about a person from their home. I looked at the bookshelf. He read all different kinds of books, from ones whose titles I couldn't even pronounce, to detective novels.

But I wondered what he read before he went to sleep? One thing about men—they all kept pornography, and they masturbated to it. Even Mike, who made me suck him to orgasm every day, had a box of magazines in the closet, featuring naked women with men's cocks in their mouths, or with their faces covered with jizz. I didn't like it, but at least I was pretty sure he didn't masturbate when he had a female mouth available whenever he wanted it, whether or not she wanted it. I imagined by now, he had another woman housed in his trailer, who would be expected to meet him every night on her knees, ready to take his huge organ into her mouth. Or perhaps she might wake up in the middle of the night to find Mike straddling her chest, his cock forcing her lips open. She would wait in vain for that magnificent cock to thrust its way into her cunt.

I went to Craig's bookshelf again and examined all the titles. Nothing interesting there. Nothing in the bathroom cupboard. I got down on my knees and looked under the bed. Just a herd of dust bunnies and some news magazines. The closet? I opened some boxes, but there was nothing interesting there, just old tax forms and bills, and some notebooks.

But if a man lived alone, and had no reason to hide his porn, wouldn't he just keep it where he could get at it easily, perhaps in the bedside table?

The top drawer contained an old watch, some tie clips, cough candies, an envelope with a few dollars in it, and a leather belt. No dirty pictures? For the hundredth time, I began to wonder about Craig. Was he the one man in the Universe that didn't keep porn around?

And then I opened the bottom drawer.

Under a handful of issues of The Atlantic Monthly was a small pile of loose papers with two paperback novels mixed among them. I spread them on the bed, and what I saw took my breath away.

There were pictures of naked men wearing handcuffs, while fully clothed women played with their cocks and balls. There were naked men tied over sawhorses and chairs, and women in leather costumes brandishing whips over them. Men kneeled, kissing the feet of women who sat imperiously in throne-like chairs. Naked men in tiny aprons served food to groups of women seated around a table. There was printed material attached to the photos, but it was all in a foreign language. I guessed it must be Danish, since that's where most pornography was printed these days.

But by far, the most common picture was of women reclining on beds or chairs with legs apart. Men lay between their legs or knelt between their feet, their mouths and tongues buried in the women's pussies. In some, the women were on top, sitting on the men's faces. Meanwhile, the men's erect penises pointed uselessly at the ceiling.

I picked up the cheap paperback books, which were yellowed and falling apart. Training Your Hubby to be Your Slave and The Queen Commands. The covers of both displayed men kneeling submissively before women.

My head spun. This was too much to absorb all at once. My wonderful new boyfriend was a pervert! I felt horribly betrayed. Clearly, his lovemaking with me was inspired by this trash. Tears began to trickle down my cheeks.

My first impulse was to tear it up, but I took a deep breath first. I had no business snooping in his drawer. What was worse, owning such filth, or ransacking a man's house to find it? I was humiliated and angry, both at Craig and at myself. I should have known that Fate would fuck me over again.

Forcing myself to stop sobbing and shaking, I stuffed the material back in the drawer. Hurriedly, I put on the black dress—I would have shredded it and left it behind if I'd had anything else to wear—and caught a cab to my apartment. As tears streamed down my face, I went to the phone as soon as I arrived and phoned Bernie's. I wasn't going to be able to work today.