Stop It

"Stop it," she said as he kissed down her stomach. "I don't like that."

"Every woman likes that," he assured her as he continued lower.

"Stop it!" she said more forcefully, grabbing his head and pulling him upwards. "It's not nice. Don't do it."

He raised his head, looking at her bemused.

"You think it's not nice? You really don't like the feeling of a man doing that? Or you just think you shouldn't?"

"All of them," she told him. "Don't do it. Make love to me. Properly."

"You'd like it if you let me do it," he grumbled, but he did as she asked and was rewarded with her polite little sighs and slight quiver of appreciation just before he reached his own climax.

She slept snuggled against him, her firm breasts pressed against his side. It was comfortable, pleasant, and gave him a feeling of warmth that was so much more than just the heat from her body. He turned slightly, being careful not to wake her, and kissed her on the top of her head as she slept.

He did not sleep for a long time. She was beautiful and, more than that, she was the perfect wife. She did everything he could possibly want around the house, and more. She cooked, cleaned, washed and ironed, made sure everything was in its place where he could find it, and was completely attentive to him when he returned from work. Even when he offered to help as he frequently did, feeling that she already worked far too hard in the house and that he was doing too little, she politely declined his offer and asked instead if there was anything else he wanted.

She never refused him anything. Everything he wanted to do she always agreed immediately. Except, and there had to be an 'except', in bed. She never refused him, but neither would she do anything even slightly different. When he made love to her, as he did regularly and with much enthusiasm, she lay as if tolerating rather than enjoying it. She put her arms around him affectionately and pressed her hips upward to receive his thrusting, sometimes grasping his hips to pull him into her, but then too he felt that her interest was to hasten his climax rather than in any pleasure of her own.

He had asked her more than once what she liked. She smiled and kissed him. "I like you to make love to me in bed," she replied.

"Don't you want to try anything different?" he asked. "You could be on top, or I could kiss you all over. There are lots of things we could do. I'd really like to try something more unusual."

"Oh no," she told him. "It's perfect just as it is. We don't need to do anything nasty, do we?"

He agreed, because he loved her. He certainly did not want to do anything she thought was 'nasty' or anything that might upset her.

"I think you might like some other things," he tried to persuade her, "If you would just try them."

She shook her head. She was just not interested.

**

It was late on a Friday night. For the first time in many months she had been out. It was a reunion with some of her friends who she had not seen for several years, and although she had said she would rather spend the evening at home with him, he told her to go out and enjoy herself.

He was already in bed. He was not asleep, and had been watching a late film on the little television in the corner of the bedroom.

He heard her come in. There was a crash from the front door and then a thud as she tripped over something and fell over. An expletive drifted up to him, startling him because he could not remember ever having heard her swear.

She staggered up the stairs and appeared at the bedroom door.

"I think I've had a little too much to drink," she slurred, swaying from side to side.

He grinned at her. "That should do you good," he told her. "It's about time you let your hair down!"

She put a finger to her lips. "Hush," she said indistinctly, "You're very bad."

"And you're very good," he said sarcastically, suddenly rather annoyed. "It would be too much effort to be even a little bad, wouldn't it?"

He regretted saying it as soon as the words left his lips. It was very unfair. She spent most of her life making an effort to please him one way or another.

She did not seem to mind. She curtsied at him unsteadily.

"Well, kind sir," she said, "Tonight I might be very bad, starting with these."

As she spoke, she pulled apart the top of her dress, exposing her breasts only just contained in a low-cut, lacy, black bra.

"You're drunk," he told her.

"And you're sexy," she retorted, wagging a finger at him severely. "It's very bad how sexy you are. No one had a right to be as sexy as you are."

"Just get undressed and come to bed," he said.

"I thought you wanted these," she said in a disappointed voice, staring down at her partly exposed breasts. "They're very nice."

"Yes they're very nice," he agreed. "Now come to bed."

"Oh. I forgot," she said suddenly. "You prefer this."

She lifted the front of her dress. "Look," she said proudly. "Stockings."

"You're not wearing any knickers!" he exclaimed in surprise.

"Aren't I?" she said bending forward to check. "So I'm not. Must have lost them somewhere. Oh dear. What a shame."

She reached behind her and unzipped the top of her dress. She wriggled out of it, letting it fall to the floor.

"I'm right, aren't I?" she asked him, "You do like this best. You like it so much you just want to kiss it and kiss it and kiss it and kiss it, but I never let you 'cos that would be bad and I'm not bad."

He did not answer. He was staring at her. In her black bra, black suspender belt and dark stockings she was the most desirable woman he had ever seen.

"I knew you liked it," she said triumphantly, pointing at the bulge in the bedclothes. "And now you're bad, and bad boys need a smack."

She lurched forward, aiming a slap at the bulge. She missed completely and fell forward onto the bed.

"Oops. Missed." She burped loudly. "Manners."

"Come to bed." He reached for her.

"Wait!" She put up one hand to stop him.

"Why?"

"'Cos I want a pee." She clambered to her feet, trying to look dignified. She swayed and looked around as if unsure which direction she was heading.

"Ah," she said, waving in the general direction of the bathroom. "There is it. Back soon."

He heard her fall against the wall in the bathroom and then sit down heavily.

"Tinkle, tinkle," she announced. "Can you hear that?"

"Hurry up," he told her.

"Can't rush it," she said seriously. "Even when it's noisy. I hate it noisy. I put loo paper down first in the ladies so no one can hear me."

"I didn't want to know that."

"Yes you did," she said, reappearing in the bedroom. "You want to know everything about me."

She started towards the bed and then stopped. "Yeuch."

"What's up?"

"Pissed myself. All down my legs. Must have stood up too soon."

"I didn't want to know that either."

"You can lick it off if you like," she said cheerfully. "I expect you'd like that."

"No thanks."

"Yes you do." She leapt onto the bed and knelt astride him. For a moment she looked down at him, studying him. He saw the glistening pearls of moisture on her thighs and between them.

"Lick," she said, lowering herself towards him. "You've always wanted to."

"Aren't you tired?" he suggested hopefully. "Just get into bed and go to sleep. You'll have an awful headache in the morning."

"No I won't," she declared. "I don't get hangovers."

"Well you'll feel bad when you remember this," he said, but already she was pressing against him.

"Lick," she suggested again.

Her damp thighs were against the sides of his face. He kissed deep between her legs and then pressed his tongue into her. She sighed with pleasure.

"You were right," she told him. "It's not bad."

She squealed as he found exactly the right spot and sucked at her.

"Now that's bad," she gasped, "What are you doing?"

He had brought one hand up underneath her and pressed a finger into her, quickly adding a second finger without stopping sucking on her.

She jumped from him, panting and shaking her head. "That's too much," she said unsteadily. "Too much, too fast. I'll have to do something about that."

She disappeared into the bathroom again and returned with their two thick towelling bathrobes.

"You're not going to wear that," he said in disgust. "That's not very sexy!"

"I'm not going to wear it," she confirmed, pulling the belts from each of the bathrobes and dropping the robes on the floor. "I'm going to control your wandering hands!"

She jumped on top of him again, sitting astride his chest. Fumbling slightly, she looped one of the bathrobe belts around the corner of the bed and knotted it tightly on his wrist. She repeated it with the other belt, pulling his wrists towards the corners of the bed.

"Hey!" he protested, although he had had plenty of time to resist her while she did it.

"Got you," she said with satisfaction. "You always wanted it kinky, so now you're going to get it kinky!"

Without giving him time to reply, she moved up to his face. "Lick," she said, and this time it was a command.

She moaned with pleasure as his tongue and lips worked on her for several minutes.

"Look," he said, "Untie my wrists now. It's getting uncomfortable."

"Don't stop!" she groaned, "Don't stop."

She pressed forward onto him, seeking his mouth and tongue on her again. He was half smothered by her, and poked his tongue into her as hard as he could. She squealed, and her body quivered. She pushed down harder, rocking backward and forward.

He tried to tell her that he could not breathe at all, that she was suffocating him and hurting him, but what little sound escaped from underneath her she ignored completely.

Several times he thought he would pass out from lack of air, but each time he managed to snatch a much needed breath as she squirmed on top of him. He had no idea how long it went on. It seemed like hours. Finally she shuddered, screamed, then relaxed, falling backwards onto the bed and lying exhausted, perspiring and gasping.

He closed his eyes in relief, wondering whether his face looked as bruised as it felt.

She sat up, removed her bra and stockings, and clambered into bed next to him.

"That was wonderful," she said, kissing him lightly.

"Untie me," he said softly.

She reached for the belts that held his wrists and pulled at them.

"I can't," she said. "It's too difficult. My fingers are numb. Just go to sleep."

"I need..." He thrust his hips upward slightly, knowing she would understand.

"I don't feel like that now," she told him. "It would be so boring after that wonderful..."

"You need to untie me."

She shook her head. "I can't," she said positively. "Maybe in the morning I'll be able to. Anyway, I'm sure I'm going to want to do that again and again, just as soon as I have my breath back."

"You can't leave me like this!" He was horror struck at the thought he might be not be freed until the morning.

"I can," she said quietly, running one hand over his chest and cuddling close to him. "I most certainly can. Go to sleep now. I'll wake you up when I need you again..."