What I Did for Love

This fictional tale is based on true events. Notes: (1) All the characters in this story are 21 years of age or older. (2) This story is intended for adults only. (3) In all of my fictional tales, no one has any sexually transmitted diseases. In the real world it's important to know who your sexual partner is and to practice safe sex. (4) In the world of fantasy your proclivities are just that: yours. In the real world, respect for your partner and yourself are essential.

*****

I really should have known better. I wasn't a kid anymore. I was college educated and my loans were paid off. I had a good job (though it could have paid better), and if all went well in the not too distant future, I might be able to put a down payment on a condo.

So I should have seen that the line between doing sexy stuff and over-doing sexy stuff had been crossed. Indeed, I could no longer even see that line in the rear view mirror. I had become carried away by the fun and the naughtiness of it all.

Fun and naughtiness. And even nastiness. But I can't ignore the fact that I had fallen in love with him. Really fallen. Hard. The way no smart woman should.

It was when I learned the truth about him and about us, that's when it was clear to me that I had become an addict, one who needed therapy and probably some kind of twelve-step program.

Being brutally honest: Spending a year of my life with Steven was a mistake, plain and simple.

To be fair, it wasn't all bad. In the beginning I fell in love. Truly, madly, deeply, in love. It happened fast and hit me like a firebolt. The first few months were amazing, head over heels, filled with heretofore-unknown pleasure. We were compatible from our first date. The things we did, the trips we took, the joy in just being with him. It all felt right. Making love with him was, for the first time in my life, fun. It made me excited, hot—and wet. He told me that he had these incredible orgasms. I loved it when he had orgasms.

He told me he wanted to indulge all of my fantasies. I smiled, glad in the knowledge that I was the center of his desire, but I didn't think I had a whole bunch of fantasies that were crying out to be indulged. Simply knowing that he wanted me and wanted to make love to me was fantasy enough. I should have questioned his intent. That too had been a warning sign I missed.

And in a there's-a-first-time-for-everything sort of way: Not only did he have orgasms, I had orgasms.

Sex had never really given me much pleasure. Even after four serious boyfriends and doing it regularly, it was not fun. After the first few boyfriends, I went to my GYN. She told me the name of my condition (dyspareunia) and that it was, at least partially, mental. Afterwards, doing my research, I felt foolish having spent the money. I did not need a doctor to tell me that intercourse was painful most of the time.

With Steven, though, sex was surprisingly good. He was caring and took things slowly. From what I could determine, I was probably more relaxed and therefore I drew more pleasure from the act of lovemaking. It was not always "amazing," but it was way better than it had ever been with the other men I'd slept with. Way, way better!

After those first couple of months, though, things changed. I repeat: I should have seen the signs, but love has a way of making you oblivious to the little traps springing up in front of you. It's all about oxytocin and neurotransmitters and dopamine and the amygdala. Women are probably more susceptible to it than are men, but love has a way of reaching in a yanking on those heartstrings in almost all of us.

As the relationship grew, so did my obsession with Steven. When I wasn't with him I wanted to be with him. When I was with him, I wanted to be closer to him. I wanted to know everything about him. I wanted to share everything about me with him.

Love. Caring. No secrets.

I loved him so intensely that I was willing to give up my own needs for his.

Over time I realized that his desires, his fantasies, were not normal. Well, at least the fantasies he wanted to act out were not what most people would deem normal. I didn't see it until the relationship had become seriously broken. It took me an entire year. A whole friggin' year. Stupid me.

Of course, I have since tried emotionally to put all the blame on him. And to be candid, the way he was able to manipulate me is hard to believe and hard for me to accept. So, a part of me still does blame him, but he didn't force me. I agreed mostly willingly, not because of something that was real, though. Because of the damn oxytocin and those neurotransmitters.

Love—or so I thought.

Chapter 1: Exciting Beginning

I was living and working in Chicago when I met Steven at a Superbowl party in late January.

The first time Steven and I kissed was the kind of moment you never forget. The feeling is etched inside my brain. We were at a restaurant on our second date. To be closer to one another, we were sitting on adjacent sides of the table, the corner between us. I was looking for some tissues in my bag and my phone fell out. He leaned over to pick it up for me and the back of his hand brushed my thigh. That sent a sudden, surprising shiver up my spine.

"You look funny," he said, placing my phone on the table.

Feeling a tad woozy, I said, "What do you mean?"

"I don't know, just sayin'."

I hesitated a moment. "You touched me."

"Yeah, and?"

He looked into my eyes. I felt that he was engulfing me, that I couldn't breathe. I needed him to touch me again or I would die.

Sensing what I wanted, he leaned over and kissed me, full on the mouth. The sudden shiver I had just experienced was dwarfed by my emotional response to the soft, sweet touch of his lips. When the kiss ended we looked at one another. I had a sense that I had stopped breathing altogether, that the world no longer existed. Only Steven's brown eyes.

As he drove back to my apartment, he held my hand in my lap. Neither of us spoke. We both knew what was next.

Moments later sitting on my bed, Steven kicked off his shoes. I stood before him and slowly unbuttoned my blouse. I wasn't embarrassed. I wanted him to see me naked and I wanted to see him. I removed my skirt and hose.

With his finger pointing down, he made a little circle. I understood and turned around for him twice. All the while I could think of but one thing: I need to touch this man. There was nothing else I needed more in the world.

He reached up and took my hand, pulling me onto him on the bed. When he slid his hand to my back to remove my bra, the feel of it caused a spark to run across my back and down between my legs. I thought: You know what I need, Steven, touch my breasts, please, now.

After removing my bra he began to kiss first one, then the other. The sensation of his tongue on my body gave me these little orgasmic stirrings, something I'd never experienced. A couple of minutes later, I undressed him, pulling off his sweater, sliding off his socks and pants, until he was only wearing his boxers.

His erection was pushing up at the thin material. I slowly pulled his shorts down and then I saw his beautiful cock. It was pointing to the ceiling and had drops of moisture in the slit. I wanted to taste him. I needed to taste him.

Moving my head down to his erect penis, I slowly caressed my face with it. I could feel the pre-seminal fluid sticking to my forehead and cheeks. He smelled clean and manly.

Wrapping my lips over my teeth, I took him in my mouth and rolled my tongue over his head. The taste sent more of those shockwaves throughout my body. I simply held him there enjoying the textures and tastes on my tongue. After a few moments, I could feel him ever so slowly pushing a little deeper into my mouth. The sensation was instantaneous. My libidinous engine that had just recently gone from an idle to high gear suddenly went into overdrive. I climaxed. Just like that.

Never in my life had that happened. I wasn't touching myself, nor was Steven, but the orgasm happened as though I were in the middle of a full-on fuck session.

Holy crap!

Once the sensation slowly diminished, Steven tore off my panties, laid me down on the bed, took a second to roll on a condom, opened my legs and put the tip of his cock on my clitoris.

Another orgasm ("Yes! God, yes!") just from that little button being pushed by his hard cock.

Without waiting for me to finish and to come down this time, he moved his cock lower and entered me, not as gently as I was expecting. I could feel my wetness; I was concerned that, as had been usual for me, it would hurt. But this time I was more than just pleasantly surprised. He pushed pretty far in and I felt no pain. In fact, with each slow, firm thrust I moved ever closer towards more of these ecstatic sensations.

When he was very deep inside me, I reached down to feel him and to play gently with his balls. He seemed to know exactly what moves to make and did those things just right. My response was to allow myself to be moved to a euphoric state that was somewhere between "Oh my God" and full-on orgasm. Nothing else mattered. There was nothing else, just Steven's hard cock thrusting in and out of me.

In my throes of rapture, I had a brief mental flash about his cock. I know I'd seen it and had it briefly in my mouth, but when I touched him I realized that he must be bigger than I'd ever had before. I could feel some pain when he pushed as far as he could, but it struck me that even then I could touch quite a bit of hard penis still outside of my vagina. I momentarily considered if he was enjoying himself or if he felt unsatisfied by not being completely inside of me.

It was at that moment that he began to thrust even more forcefully and to pick up his speed. Putting everything into perspective I decided that now was not the time to worry about his possible satisfaction or disappointment. He seemed to be about to climax and I knew I'd be joining him in just a few seconds.

As he was about to come, his hands gripped me tighter and he strongly thrust into me sounding a big, rough low noise in his throat. I could feel the force of his effort and it had the ineluctable effect of giving me an orgasm, the kind I'd never experienced without a vibrator.

Each of his orgasmic thrusts provided me with additional peaks of pleasure. At some point I must have wrapped my legs around him and with each of his strokes I clenched, driving him more firmly into me and putting more pressure on my already satiated lady parts.

Before Steven, I had no idea that I could come like that.

As I lay cradled in his arms several hours (and what seemed like innumerable orgasms) later, I couldn't help but consider the ramifications of the evening. Could I really enjoy sex this much? No wonder people did it often. If I had had this much pleasure with other men, I would have done much more of this stuff. Sooner.

As I said: Amazing!

Chapter 2: As Time Goes By

Over the next few weeks, we did more things with and to each other. We made love in every position I thought possible—as well as some I had never imagined possible. (My flexibility surprised even me: I was glad my mother had corralled me into both gymnastics and dance classes as a kid, but mostly I was thankful to Janine, my yoga instructor.) We did it in the car, in the kitchen, behind a sand dune on a warm sunny beach and in front of a roaring fire with the snow piling up outside.

In the beginning he went down on me and licked me regularly, easily pushing me over the edge in a matter of just minutes. I had never had so many orgasms in my life. Of course, most were not huge, but that was fine with me. I couldn't take too many of those biggies. Smaller pleasurable sensations satisfied me just perfectly.

Soon, however, I was sucking him more than I'd ever sucked any other guy. He told me he enjoyed blowjobs more than intercourse. I could understand that. For me, receiving oral sex was a transcendent experience. Why wouldn't it be for him too?

But I think that's where the problem emanated, actually. At his request, I began to spend most of my time pleasuring him with my mouth. We didn't have intercourse as often as we had in the beginning. And even when we would make love, he'd usually pull out and come in my mouth. As I spent more and more time with his cock in my mouth, the time he spent on giving me pleasure diminished. I didn't realize it at the time, but sex began to mean blowjobs, not good old fucking.

It was all OK with me, though. Our love, I thought, was growing, our commitment deepening. Whenever we went out we had a great time. We went to nice restaurants, on special long weekends, to movies, to concerts, to the ballet. And we did a lot of other fun and romantic things together.

In my heart, Steven had become my soul mate. We had a bond. I wanted nothing more than to please him. That should have been another warning. Only afterward in hindsight, I could see so many of them.

One evening, we were lying on the sofa at his place and watching something on television. We were both dressed and not doing anything sexual. Suddenly, he asked me if I would give him head.

It surprised me, but was kind of exciting too. We'd never just "done it." Every time we'd been intimate there'd been a warm up of some sort. We'd hugged, touched, kissed, or even simply held hands. Things progressed from there naturally.

This was different. Steven just said, "Hey, Patrice, would you give me a blowjob. I want to come in your mouth."

Just like that. No foreplay, no light romantic caress. Nothing. Just, "Hey, would you give me a blowjob. I want to come in your mouth."

OK, I thought. I'd given lots of blowjobs. Well, not lots, but more than enough to know how to please him and I'd never had any complaints.

But, you see, when a man ejaculates in my mouth I swallow. I've always swallowed. It's sort of the natural thing to do. Guys had seemed to like that I do it and I'd always had a what-the-hell attitude about it. It certainly seemed neater than getting up to spit in a piece of tissue paper—or worse yet, going into the bathroom to spit or gag. I remember when I was younger some girlfriends said they did that.

Plus the feeling of swallowing semen is kind of sexy, if you do it right.

But this request was a little off-putting. Even though he phrased it as a question, it was more like a command. As I said, on the other hand it was also kind of hot.

I didn't say anything at all. I just moved my head down to get settled at his groin. As I was moving my head lower and about to unbuckle his pants, he beat me to it, leaning back and stretching out his legs. I had been planning to undress him slowly and sensuously below the waist. Instead, he quickly unbuckled his belt, pulled down his jeans and shorts, and aimed his cock at my face.

As my mouth was nearly there, he was already stroking his hard cock. Well, this was not my first rodeo. After one circumnavigation of his head with my tongue, I took him in. My head was at an odd angle and I could only move my tongue over and under the shaft. Its head was now pressed against the roof of my mouth.

Then he did something else that was new: He held my head firmly in place and shoved deeply into the back of my mouth. Because of the angle, I gagged a little, but just momentarily. I was able let him thrust though. Getting no negative response, I assumed, he had determined that I was OK with this new, firmer approach to oral sex. He began to do it with a regular motion. Surprisingly, he did it in a kind of repetitive pattern: two or three regular hard thrusts and then one deep, even harder thrust.

I was a little shocked at these new actions, but they excited me too, especially when I heard his satisfied grunts. We continued this way for a few minutes. Although I wanted to get more actively involved and even creative, Steven's hands were still holding my head firmly in place. And, to tell the truth, I enjoyed the smooth and wet feel of his luscious hard-on sliding in and out of my lips.

Before long I knew he was getting ready to come. His hips were moving faster and faster. His hands gripping my head were so strong, he probably would have bruised my skin if he were holding my arms. I began to taste the salty beginnings of his pre-seminal fluid leaking over my tongue.

I don't know if it was the new taste or the slightly stronger smells of his crotch or the wet feel of his hard cock gliding smoothly over my lips or even the tension in my shoulders and neck from his grip on my head. Whatever it was, it was somehow working for me. I could feel that newly familiar feeling of an orgasm in the offing.

Weird. Delightful, but new and still weird. I'd never become so excited without fingers or a vibrator on my clitoris, a cock in my pussy, or even hands on my breasts. Never. I remember asking myself if this was possible.

But the thought was interrupted—not the feelings, only the thought—because just a few grunts and thrusts later, he started to climax.

I could feel his head grow suddenly and I felt a simultaneous pulse of cum shoot deep into the back of my mouth. It was so strong that each pulse felt like one of those big, heavy raindrops at the beginning of a storm. But this was cum, not water. Male sex fluid. Steven had been coming in my mouth most nights and I enjoyed giving him the pleasure.

This time, his climax initiated one of my own, not a little trembler. No, this orgasm was a stunner and frankly surprised the hell out of me.

He kept shooting into my mouth and I just stayed in that position, shaking like a leaf as he continued to fill my mouth. The warmth and the salty flavor suddenly gave me the sensation of taking a bite of a rich, chocolate tort. It filled me, satiating me. It was all I could think of and, for the moment, my orgasm and Steven's orgasm and Steven's semen were all that mattered and all that existed in the world. It held me there for what seemed a long time.

As we both began to return to the world of the not-currently-climaxing, I could feel his cock begin to soften. I used to think this was such a funny thing, but now it's kind of endearing, especially knowing that very soon it can start to get rock hard again.

It's a little easier to swallow a mouthful of cum without a cock, any sized cock, in your mouth, though. At least for me. As he began to slip from my mouth I kept a tight seal around him so we would not make a mess. Then he did something else he'd never done before.

"Sweetie," he said, "show it to me. Show me your mouthful of cum."

This too was new and weirdly sexy. I'd never been asked to do this, but, I thought, what the hell!

He let go of my head and I turned around to face him, now with the back of my head resting on his lap. I looked up at him and slowly opened my mouth so he could see the cum that had pooled around my tongue.

"Jeez, that's so hot," Steven said.

I enjoyed that I excited him. But what also surprised me was his focus on my mouth. I felt a little disappointed: I was looking at him, at his eyes, feeling happy and content that I had given him a great orgasm (not to mention my own). But he didn't even make eye contact. It was as though my mouth and the fresh genetic material it contained were another entity, his sole interest at the moment.

Still staring at the liquid in my mouth as I slid my tongue playfully back and forth, his said, "Can you blow bubbles?"

Bubbles? Why? I briefly considered this and could not understand it at all. He'd just come. Why did he need to see his cum bubbling inside my mouth?

Oh well. This was the man I love, right?

Sure, I was up for anything. I began to gargle a little and the cum started to bubble up in my mouth. After just a few seconds it felt like big bubbles had completely filled my open mouth, some of it overrunning my lips. Not wanting it to get all over, I stopped. It was all a little funny to me. I just didn't understand it, but when I looked into his eyes I saw something that I'd never seen before. It seemed like I wasn't any longer a person, much less his girlfriend. I was just a load of cum with a tongue surrounded by lips.