Sugar Papito

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Chris smiled and uncorked the wine, creating a pleasant little pop, at which point he said, "I packed it from home."

"Yummy!"

"Yummy, my dear, is exactly what it'll be," Chris pronounced while pouring two glasses.

He handed me one, but, instead of lying next to me, he knelt on the floor beside the bed and gingerly tilted his glass above my belly. A thin stream of ruby liquid cascaded into my navel, causing me to shiver. Chris then bent his head and lapped the wine.

"Hmm. Balanced. Elegant, yet earthy. But with a distinct puckery component," he cooed while plucking one of my nipples between his fingers. His other hand drifted to my knee and inched up the inside of my thigh while enthusing, "Lively and lush, with excellent legs."

I sighed. What a sweetheart.

He picked up his glass and poured more wine onto me, this time into the hollow of my neck. I tilted my head back, relishing his kisses to my throat while he gently sucked up the fluid. His hand, meanwhile, had found my vulva, causing my thighs to widen instinctively and my wetness to greet his fingers.

"Definitely ripe," he moaned. Chris then displayed his finger, sparkling with my juices, licked it, and said, "Rich and perfumed. Opening to yield complex flavours. Try some." His finger entered me again and, once re-coated, approached my mouth. My lips clasped onto his digit, and I tasted myself while gazing up into his brown eyes.

With his other hand he poured more wine on me, in the depression between my breasts, drank, and said after nibbling on my nipples, "But with one minor flaw: a sun-blocky aftertaste. Now, would you like a description of the wine?"

I smiled and touched his face as he climbed onto the bed. Between sips of wine we kissed and enjoyed the dying light of another wonderful day. When darkness came, we lit candles and continued to relax on the bed in the warm glow of the flickering light.


After a while, Chris lowered his head and gently sucked in my nipples, one at a time, making them hard and triggering the mysterious, tingling connection between my breasts and pubic region.

"Catherine," he whispered between suckles, "tell me about your time with the older man while I drink from your body."

"Mmm, that sounds heavenly," I said, "but with one constraint, honey."

"What's that?"

"Not from my pussy. I don't want it irritated by the alcohol, and the last thing we'd want is a raging yeast infection. Wouldn't you agree?"

Chris smiled and acknowledged my request. He then turned me onto my front and filled the small of my back with wine while I luxuriated in his decadent attention and began to tell my adventure.

"I'd just finished my degree, so it happened shortly after starting a twelve-month sabbatical replacement contract in Vancouver at UBC".

"So this was before your one-night adventure with Rob?" Chris asked between sips.

"Yes," I nodded, "about a year or so; I was twenty-six."

"How did you meet?"

"On the ferry from Victoria to Vancouver. I was returning after a weekend of sightseeing and hiking on the island. It was a gorgeous fall day, so I was out on the deck getting some sun and fresh air with many of the passengers. I stood at the railing, and he happened to be next to me and started a conversation.

"He was terribly handsome, with thinning sandy hair and grey eyes. The lines on his face didn't detract from his appearance—if anything they enhanced it. He was very nice, a real charmer, and seemed intrigued that I was a professor, albeit for only a twelve-month contract. Anyway, we got chatting and it turned out he was a bigwig corporate lawyer headed into downtown Vancouver to meet with a client."

"You'd think a guy like that would fly instead of taking the ferry," Chris commented and resumed sipping wine from my back.

"You know, that's exactly what I said. He claimed that the hassle of airports put him off, he wasn't overly fond of flying to begin with, and, ultimately, he just loved the ferry ride. It slowed him down, and he liked that."

"How old was he?"

"Fifty-one."

Chris whistled and then gushed, "Wow, almost twice your age."

"I know," I laughed, "but that added to the fun, I'm convinced. However, I'm getting a little ahead of myself."

"I wouldn't mind getting a little head myself," Chris leered as he caressed my inner thigh.

My husband could also be wonderfully crude at times. I lifted my head and glared at him with mock consternation.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "Please continue."

"Anyway, the ferry terminal is about forty kilometres out of Vancouver, so he offered me a ride into town, which I accepted. Well, he drove a BMW. What a nice car!"

"What model?" asked Chris, as if it mattered.

"Beats me. Several numbers and letters. But I do recall how gorgeous it was compared to the museum piece I drove in Sydney. I'd just finished my studies, was flat broke, and here I was in this luxurious sedan.

"In any event, he asked where I lived, but I didn't want him driving me home; I wasn't that trusting. Instead, seeing as he was headed downtown, I got him to drop me off in Gastown."

Chris moved to my legs to consume some wine from the back of my knees, but he poured too much, spilling some onto the sheets.

"Chris, the sheets!" I exclaimed.

"Fuck the sheets," Chris said flippantly, and then mischievously added, "Better yet, let's fuck you."

He made me laugh, but when he yet again slopped more wine, I repeated my concern about the sheets.

"Catherine," he said calmly, "I'll pay the hotel for the sheets. Just relax, honey. Enjoy."

I relented and—once I felt his lips on the back of my leg—moaned with pleasure, stretching and extending my toes.

"To be honest, I forgot about him almost immediately," I continued. "But about a week later he phoned me at work wanting to know if I was interested in lunch the next time he was in Vancouver."

"He tracked you down? This sounds like stalking," Chris said with disquiet.

"Oh, hardly. It doesn't take much of a sleuth to find the phone number of Professor X in the Department of BS."

"True," Chris acknowledged. "What was his name?"

"Doug. Douglas Parsons. Anyway, I accepted his invitation. It was delightful, so I ended up having lunch with him several more times over the next month. I discovered that he'd married at a young age and still loved his wife, but the marriage had gone stale after thirty years. Apparently, she'd lost interest in sex.

"Sounds like you were having intimate talks?" Chris oozed.

"Yes, by about the third lunch date, I felt comfortable enough to flirt a little, and that, well, expanded our range of topics."

Chris turned me onto my side and filled the indentation of my hip with the Rioja. I stretched on the bed, giving myself over to his care.

"After about a month of lunch dates," I went on, "Doug called to ask if I'd have dinner with him the next time he was in town. I agreed, but I also sensed that we'd probably end up having more than dinner."

"You sensed? You mean you wanted to have sex, yes?" Chris pressed.

"Yes," I confessed, "I wanted to sleep with him".

"Mmm, that's good. What did you wear?"

"The staple that should be in every girl's closet: a little black dress with spaghetti straps."

"Very nice. So what happened?" Chris whispered between tastes from my armpit. His fingers, meanwhile, rediscovered my nipples and rolled them to rock-like hardness. They throbbed, sending sensations shooting to my pussy.

"We went for dinner at the Hotel Vancouver. The meal was superb; his company charming. A real gentleman."

"Only dinner?" Chris quizzed.

"No. We had cocktails before and some wine during the meal. To make a long story short, I went back with him to his room, which was in the hotel. He was wonderful, but I think he was a bit shocked with me—pleasantly shocked," I added with a laugh.

Chris smiled and urged, "Do tell," as he refilled my hip with wine.

"Doug was amazed that I not only did oral sex but actually enjoyed it. Dumbfounded, really. Apparently, his wife would neither do oral nor have it done on her. If Doug were to be believed, I was the first woman ever to have swallowed for him."

"This is making me hard," Chris moaned.

He confirmed his aroused state by taking my hand and placing it on his erection. I gripped it lightly, savouring the hard flesh, and stroked.

"So he went down on you as well, I hope?" Chris questioned.

"Oh yes, he enjoyed doing that. Our relationship became quite oral, in fact. I think Doug was trying to make up for lost time," I chuckled.

Chris guided my fingers off his cock, poured some wine onto my hand, and lapped the Rioja. The feel of his tongue on my palm made me quake with excitement; I longed for him to do the same between my legs.

"We started seeing each other once every week or two, whenever it fitted our schedules," I continued. "He was perfect for me at that time. I wanted to concentrate on my career; the last thing I needed was a boyfriend complaining about all the time I spent at work. And the times that Doug and I did meet, I could forget about work, shut off my mind, and play a sex kitten. I loved him for that. All I had to do was be pretty and sexy; it was a marvellous diversion from my job. Likewise, I'd like to think that I was ideal for him as well. I never put any pressure on him to see me, nor was I interested in wrecking his marriage. When our timetables coincided, we'd meet for some fun. No more; no less."

"Fuck buddies," cooed Chris while refilling my palm.

"More like suck buddies," I quipped, "We'd fuck sometimes, but Doug just loved blow jobs."

Chris stood and bent towards my face. His penis pointed at me with the foreskin back to reveal its dazzling, blood-engorged, luminous head, seemingly begging for attention. Still on my side, I propped my head with my arm in anticipation of his cock. He eased it to my mouth and I drew it in, gripping with my lips while my tongue massaged the underside of his shaft.

Between his sighs, Chris praised me while stroking my hair, "Mmm, you do suck cock so well, Catherine. I'm not surprised he liked it."

I mouthed my husband's dick a few moments more and then let my hand take over, allowing me to resume my story.

"Doug was somewhat of a sugar daddy," I admitted, "But I'd have still seen and spent time with him even without the gifts—though they were a nice perk. He seemed to enjoy spending money on me, buying me gorgeous clothes and shoes in expensive stores that I'd only window-shopped in before. I loved the attention he showered on me during our times together. And he was fun, too. Often, when he picked me up, there'd be an open bottle of iced champagne waiting in his car—little things like that. He just made me feel so sexy and special when we were together."

"So the money didn't bother you?" Chris whispered.

"No, it didn't. To be honest, the clothes and money added a delightfully naughty dimension to our relationship. Besides, Doug was very generous. Once, before I went away to a conference for a few days, he gave me a thousand dollars spending money for that trip."

Chris moaned, turned me onto my back, poured the blood-red liquid into my belly button, and begged for details.

"Doug and I rendezvoused a few days before my trip. He decided to have some fun by pulling out some money and pretending he was a client. He told me to strip and gave me a hundred dollars every time I peeled off some clothing. God, that was exciting! I took my time, stripping off my blouse first, then my skirt, followed by my bra and finally my panties.

My husband explored my body, the pads of his fingers inching up my thigh. Tiny beads of perspiration had formed on his brow. His teeth gleamed through his full lips while his nostrils seemed to flare at each of my words.

"After gawking at me for a while, Doug placed six hundred bucks in my hand, undid his pants and dropped them. He didn't need to say anything. I fell to my knees, pulled down his boxers, and sucked on him as best I could. It didn't take him long to cum. Honey, it was such a rush pretending to be a high-class call girl!"

Chris's finger tickled my clit. In response, my fingers pinched my nipples, squeezing and tugging them. I heard Chris whisper, "So you sucked his cock for money?"

"No," I answered. "I pretended to suck his cock for money. Big difference, Chris. It was a game and it was fun. Doug would've gifted me the money regardless. Chris, it wasn't like I'd never given him a blow job prior to that; it was a game—that’s all, just a game."

Chris kept polishing my clit, smiling and watching my hips gyrate with need; I'd been aroused all day by our stories and especially with my nudity under the sun. I thought of the man for whom I'd cracked open my oyster earlier in the day, and my legs compulsively rose and spread. Chris, meanwhile, spoke in earthy, breathy tones about how I sucked Doug and how he must have loved my mouth wrapped around his rod while cumming in it.

Thoughts of the elderly man and Doug were the seed that I required. I bit Chris's shoulder in response to his words and fingers toiling in my furrows. At last, I sensed the kernel of an orgasm germinate, grow, bud, and suddenly flower, blooming within me with kaleidoscopic vibrancy.

My husband's wet lips were next to my ear and his hand cupped my pussy. I heard him salivate, "I love it when you cum, baby. Tell me more about Doug. What was the hottest thing you ever did with him?"

Once my orgasmic aftershocks subsided, I regained my breath and, easing myself into a post-climactic glow, resumed my story.

"My contract was expiring; I'd accepted a similar position elsewhere. Both Doug and I knew that our little affair was coming to a close. So one night near the end, we went to dinner with some dancing afterwards. It was a dress-up affair. I remember wearing a light green silk dress that he'd bought for me—knee length, fitted to show my curves, with a scalloped neckline. I wore a garter and stockings that night and got adventurous with my bush, shaving away everything except for a thin stripe directly above my clit. But the best part were the new shoes he'd bought for me a few weeks earlier, a pair of Manolo Blahniks. They were so gorgeous! Light beige, ankle straps with a three-inch heel and a closed pointy toe."

"Mmm! Yummy! What colour stockings? Black?"

"Green dress, light beige shoes, and black stockings?" I asked incredulously. "If I were a streetwalker, perhaps. The stockings were sheer, matching my pussy."

Chris broke up laughing, and I continued my story.

"We had a riot, dancing and partying until late into the night. During one slow dance, Doug whispered something about his suite while his hand slid to the top of my ass, pressing me into him. I pushed forward against his pelvis and whispered that I had a surprise for him. So before we left the club, I excused myself, and, in the washroom stall, made sure that my panties were overtop of my garter."

"By the time we reached his room, we were raring to go. In the elevator, we kissed and groped each other and kept at it as we staggered down the hallway and into his suite. As soon as we got inside though, I pushed him away, and ordered, 'Lie down!'

"Doug smiled but obeyed, laying his frame on the floor. I walked around him, clicking my heels while he stared up at me, peering up my dress when the position was right. At one point I placed my foot on his chest and dug my heel in slightly. Even though he was smiling, I saw that his breathing had quickened. Eventually, I stood over him, straddling his chest to give him a view up my dress. Then I stepped back, slipped off my panties, and flung them at his face. He laughed, but his eyes were glued to me. My pussy was tingling, Chris!

"I stood over him again, letting him have a long look up my dress at my shaved pussy before lowering myself onto his face. Then I squatted and growled, 'Eat me. Eat my cunt!' and began to fuck his nose, mouth, and chin. It felt so amazing! Doug was trying frantically to consume my pussy while I ground it into him. I'd squat, go to my knees, and then go back to squatting. Every now and then, Doug's tongue wandered to my anus. It sent shivers through me! My hands stretched my ass cheeks apart so he could dive in as much as possible. He'd tug at my garter straps, occasionally snapping one against me. Meanwhile, his hands roamed all over my thighs and bum.

"I was building to a climax and started fucking his face in earnest. His finger found my ass and slipped in. That drove me over the edge! I rode his face as hard as I could. Oh Chris, it was such a tremendous orgasm!"

My husband's hand meandered to my pussy again and caressed my vulva, playing lightly with my still-sensitive clit. His cock had hardened into granite and shone with pre-cum in appreciation of my story.

"After recovering, I stood—my legs were shaking from cumming so hard and from the effort of squatting for so long. Doug also rose, stood back, and barked, 'Strip!'"

"So now it was his turn?" Chris enthused.

"Yes. It was all unsaid. Doug had picked up on the game that I'd initiated. Anyway, I obeyed, slid out of my dress, and removed my bra while he stood back and watched. When I began fiddling with my garter and stockings, he ordered, 'Stop! Leave those on. They suit your shaved pussy. Very nice!'

"Doug strolled around me, examining me as I stood wearing only my heels, stockings and garter. The dirty talk then started, with him saying things like, 'Great legs… Nice tits… Gorgeous cunt.' Then he went on about my shaved pussy, commenting on how lush it looked and how I was going to show it to him. His talk was turning me on! My nipples puckered 'til they ached, and I shook with anticipation. Every now and then he'd snap a garter against my thigh, making me jump. It was all deliciously exciting. Then, while walking behind me, his footsteps stopped. Suddenly, he gave my ass a sharp, loud slap and leered, 'Nice ass!' I'm not sure what startled me more—the actual smack or its sound."

Chris interrupted his moaning with a laugh, and I continued my tale.

"Doug walked around me some more and pretended to talk to himself, saying things like, 'Hmm, what shall I do? Fuck her or have her suck my dick?' Finally, he pointed at the couch and commanded, 'Lie down!' I obeyed, but he said, 'Not like that! Move up so that your head hangs down, over the armrest.' I did as told and lay prone on the couch, on my back, my head hanging down, looking at him upside down. Doug then told me to spread my legs and get ready to show him my pussy.

"He moved to the other end of the couch and slowly stripped out of his suit while staring at my cunt. Then his instructions started. Oh Chris, it was such a rush! He told me to finger-fuck myself, directing me to use two fingers, then three. After a bit, he ordered, 'Stop! Spread your cunt with your hands.' He looked at it up close for a while and then told me to finger myself again, dictating how many fingers I should use. When he had me fucking myself with three fingers again, he murmured, 'Nice… now stop and stretch your pussy open so I can finger-fuck it.'

"He was free of his clothes by this point, so his erection bobbed as he walked up to me. He took a prolonged look at my cunt while I held it open for him, telling me how wet and pink it looked. Then he sat next to me on the couch, eased his fingers into me, and churned slowly. I searched for his cock with my near hand, but he stopped me and ordered me to keep using my hands to spread my twat for his finger fucking.

"God! I elevated my hips as much as possible so that he could really hump me with his fingers. It was fabulous. He was still talking, informing me that my cunt was steaming and dripping—as if I didn't know it—that I was an excellent fuck, and that he was going to reward me. I just wanted him to keep talking and fingering me, it was so fantastic!