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“Get up here,” Olivia said, pulling me to her lips and kissing me softly. She lapped up her pussy juices as I found my feet, my trousers dropping to the floor and my cock at rapt attention. It slapped against her leg, still in her ruined leggings.
“My fucking turn,” she said, grabbing my shaft in both of her hands. “Red meat and cinnamon.”
“What?” I laughed.
“It’s what I think your cock tastes like,” she said with a wicked smile. “That’s been my guess. Let’s find out.”
Olivia pushed me back into the chair and dropped to her knees, never taking her focus off of my penis until she’d wrapped her lips around the head. Then she looked up into my eyes, working my shaft with one hand and cradling my balls with the other.
The warmth of her mouth enveloped me, from the tip of my dick to my heart and brain. My soul seeped into her, past her hungry lips and urged on by her stroking hands. I felt a wave of orgasm start building, powered by years of chaste yearning. Her long hair tickled my legs, and she never looked away.
But I had to stop it.
In hindsight, it was really just panic. I felt my balls tightening, the electric fireworks starting to pop all over my body, and I panicked that I was going to jizz down her throat, we’d sigh and laugh, and it would be over before I ever got to fuck her.
I wanted to be inside Olivia so badly that I couldn’t risk cumming in her mouth and us coming to our senses. I needn’t have worried, but at that moment, sliding my cock into her vagina was the only thing I could care about.
“You fucking tease!” she gasped, breathing hard as I stood out of her embrace. “You were close, I know it.”
She crossed her arms across her tits, and frowned.
“That load belongs to me,” she said, waving in the direction of my erection. “And the load after that. And probably, if I know me, the one after that too,”
My nervous laughter seemed to annoy her. Her rosy cheeks flushed with rage, and she leaned in, speaking the next words directly into my right ear.
“If you think I’m playing, I am not.” she whispered. A person standing three feet away would have heard nothing at all, but I heard her as if she were screaming. “Take what’s been yours longer than you could possibly know. And give me what’s mine.”
So all the games ended, and the fucking began.
I looked at her, kissed her on the forehead and turned her away from me, toward the table. As if by instinct, she pivoted at her hips and palms on the cool surface, as I ran my hands down every inch of her body, from her neck to her back and her fat tits, the curve of her hips in her high-waisted leggings. Finally to her bottom, and the torn fabric.
I followed the heat to her entrance, and tore those leggings even wider, exposing most of her ass crack and freeing her pussy to me. My cock, recovered from the brink, poised at her vestibule, and she pushed back onto me, taking the first inches of my dick by will.
I grasped her hips, and sank myself slowly, steadily into her in one authoritative thrust. We stood like that, the only sound our heavy breathing. I looked down over her shoulder at her eyes shut at the pain/pleasure threshold. He tits jiggled every time one of us moved.
The head of my cock straining against her cervix, I thrust ever-so-slightly forward, and then smoothly withdrew, feeling the wetness flood our juncture.
She breathed out, “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck, Pete, you’re so big.” I didn’t know if it was a compliment, or just a statement, but it emboldened me. And I started to work her, slow and smooth. Her hands were white and bloodless on the table from the tension, and after a couple of slow strokes, she started to fuck me back. Olivia widened her stance and urged me on, to push harder and deeper.
The sight of this beautiful woman underneath me – this woman whose body I had wanted for so long – sent me hurtling back toward the edge, and this time I had explicit orders to fill her with my semen. There was no recovering; I was going over the waterfall, and in that exact moment, I did not care at all whether I lived or died.
Her tits bounced along with my thrusts, her sodden tights glistened as her wetness spread to accept me, and her pussy walls rippled with tension. I felt the first rope of cum leave my cock and heard its impact in her triumphant growl.
“Yes, Peter. Yeeeessss, Peter. Give it to mama. Give it to mama.”
Olivia reached down to her cunt, felt my still-exploding dick, and started rubbing her clit furiously, Those fingernails again, so unlike Jane’s, inadvertently grazed my shaft. It turned me on so much, like the fleeting feel of teeth during a blowjob. This was not a fantasy, but a real woman, with sharp edges to go with her soft curves.
“Come for me, Olivia,” I said, as my own orgasm vibrated through me. “One more time, come on my dick.”
I could feel myself softening and the orgasm fading, but I stayed, hugging her to my body, kissing her neck and tweaking her swollen nipples as she frigged.
Suddenly, I felt her pussy spasm around my half-hard cock, her body go rigid, and a guttural scream pass her lips.
“Uhhhhhgghhuh!!!”
And she slumped into my arms. The rest of the room – everything that was not this gorgeous woman, and the surfaces where we fucked – blinked back into existence, and I lowered us to the floor. We just sat there breathing for what might have been 10 minutes, though it could have been 30 seconds. Impossible to know, or to care, honestly,
“What am I going to do?” she said, finally, indicating her leggings. “I don’t have any other clothes.”
***
“Hey, did you know Jane and I fooled around?” she said. ”It was around the time you two started talking, but it was never serious.”
She smiled as if to consider whether to say the next words in her mind, took a hit off a joint she’d found in her purse, and handed the joint to me.
“And then you came along, and she got totally dick-drunk. I was like, ’What the fuck just happened?’ We never hooked up again, and after a while, she set me up with David.”
I knew this story, or at least 90 percent of it. The other 10 percent made me halfway hard again.
“What does dick-drunk mean?” I asked, while holding weed smoke deep in my lungs. I exhaled away from her.
It was so close to an innocent question – I really hadn’t heard the term “dick drunk” before – but I do remember how it was. Jane and I had sex four times a day when we first met. And even though she’s a sex goddess and could get pretty much anybody, there was something different about us. Before we met, she was a lesbian-leaning bisexual. A week later, she was walking funny and telling everyone who would listen that it was because she’d been so thoroughly railed the night before, or that morning, or 10 minutes ago.
Olivia and I were sitting on the floor next to the conference table, naked, backs to the wall. I passed her back the joint and I could tell from her side-eye that she didn’t buy my innocence at all. She’d been one of Jane’s friends with benefits, and had heard plenty. I thought of her taking middling dick over the intervening 10 years, and fantasizing about me.
“This,” she said, indicating herself, head-to-toe, like a game show hostess with a marijuana cigarette. “This is what dick drunk looks like. Buckle the fuck up, cause Ima ‘bout to get obsessed.”
Instant panic. And arousal.
The idea of this woman – and her neutron bomb of a body and mind – obsessed with me, or even just my dick, was intoxicating. But my marriage to Jane was the foundation of my life. I loved, admired and relied upon her to an extent that could never be replaced.
And yet the thing Olivia and I had just done could hurt Jane so deeply, and rightfully ruin her trust in me forever. My pussy high was quickly wearing off, and I scrambled to come to grips with the betrayal I’d perpetrated. We didn’t have an open relationship. We’d had a few conversations about non-monogamy, but mostly in deference to Jane’s bisexual past; I didn’t want to be the reason she never felt the erotic touch of a woman again, especially as someone who loves it so much.
Jane had never not been enough for me before, and in the afterglow of my fucking Olivia, I realized that she was still enough for me. I’ve ruined everything, I thought.
Olivia must have read me perfectly, because she reached over and put her hand over mine.
“Don’t worry about Jane,” she said. “Not yet, anyway.”
I looked at her face, her eyes closed and cheeks flushed with our recent sexual effort, waiting for her to elaborate. She didn’t. She just took another pull of weed, and my frustration grew.
“What could that possibly mean?” I said. “I have to decide. Do I tell her about this? Seems unthinkable, but I’ve never been able to keep a secret from her. Lying about it seems just as ridiculous.
“I’m totally fucked either way. And either way, I can never do this again.”
Olivia didn’t respond, or even open her eyes. She just calmly extinguished the joint on the carpet, and placed the roach on the table. Then she slid her hand up my thigh to my crotch, where it brushed softly against my cock, which twitched at the attention. Her other hand went to her slit, which she traced with her finger before bringing that finger to her lips.
Her eyes opened, and she stared into mine as she sucked the moisture from her finger, licking it clean.
“I can’t tell if I’m tasting you or me,” she said. “But I like it. It’s sweet. I mean definitely salty, but sweet too.
“And I want some more.”
Olivia swung her leg over mine and sat down on my thighs, scooching herself forward until I could feel her lightly haired pussy covering my recovering cock. Making no move to take me inside her, she began to undulate, her elbows on my shoulders, her hands in my hair.
“You’ve got great hair,” she said. “Really healthy hair.”
She leaned forward to smell it, and her breasts mashed my face. I involuntarily opened my mouth and found a nipple shoved into it. She exhaled, undulated, inhaled.
“I can’t wait to go to the drug store and try to find your shampoo, so I can always smell it when I want to,” she said. And my dick was fully hard.
It was something animal about her, that I never would have guessed before. I had fantasized about the woman with the big tits and the miniskirts and the full face of makeup and the $200 hair style, but that exterior was another costume, and the reality was so much sexier.
Olivia sensed my erection, shifted her weight slightly, and wordlessly impaled herself on my spear again, all the way to the hilt.
“What were you saying about never again?” she said, teasing me as her pussy walls gripped my member.
“I… I guess I meant after today,” I stammered.
She seemed to ignore this, fucking her way calmly to another topic.
“So I was kind of right,” she said. “Your dick tastes like really rare roast beef, but it’s more nutmeg than cinnamon. And your cum… Oh yeah, that’s it, fuck, fuck, fuck, Pete, fuuuuccckkkk….”
Her movements on top of me quickened, and she shifted some of her weight to her knees, hovering above me and slamming my eager dick deep into her faster and faster. I was caught up too, and warming to the task.
“Do you want to know what your pussy tastes like?” I said, teasing her. She smiled and nodded.
“Warm lemonade.”
She laughed and I leaned up into her, into an embrace. I held her chest against mine and I gently guided her to her back, never slipping out of her warm, womanly cavern. She wrapped her legs around me, pulled me further into her, and stared unblinking into my eyes. I stared back into Olivia, and made love to her one more time on the carpeted floor of the conference room, reaming her cunt until she came again.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she whispered over and over, as her vaginal walls squeezed against my cock. If it was going to be the last time, I was determined to make it unforgettable. I kept up my thrusting through her crescendo, climax and decrescendo. To my surprise and delight, another orgasm overtook her quickly, and nearly took me with it.
“Jesus!” she screamed, her body going taut and her eyes rolled back in her skull. “Jesus fucking Christ!”
I tried to keep going, but she had completely seized, her pussy’s grip on me so tight I could only try to move inside her. The trying was enough, however, to pace her through her climax and to the other side. And when the clench let go, I stopped, my still-erect penis resting its full length inside Olivia’s body.
“Did you come?” she said, breathlessly.
I shook my head wearily.
“You better not have,” she said, gaining composure quickly. “I need a load in my mouth,”
Her body asked for me to roll onto my back, and my body obliged, my dick slipping out of her spent pussy along the way. She slid down my body until my penis was nestled between her large, sweaty tits, and she pushed them gently together to increase the friction. I grew so hard that it ached, and she replaced her breasts with her hands and mouth.
This time she was not just fooling around. This was a semen-extraction mission, and within seconds, I was nearing the brink.
Olivia stroked my shaft, massaged my balls and sucked rhythmically on my helmet. She seemed to know I was going to blow even before I did – something about the feeling of my junk tipped her off – and she clamped her lips around the head of my cock.
I spasmed into her thirsty mouth, feeling the hot, viscous cum mix with her saliva. I watched her savor the flavor, moving it around her mouth and tongue, and then I saw her swallow. A smile broke across her puffy pink lips, the careful red lipstick long smeared and gone, only beautiful contentment left.
“Salty caramel,” she declared. “Just like Jane said.”
“Oh did she?” I replied, laughing. Women really do tell each other every goddamn detail, don’t they? “I’m surprised it’s the same. I ate so much more junk when she and I first got together.”
“Oh no,” Olivia said, slumping back against the wall and lighting the rest of the joint. “She told me this last week.”
I couldn’t believe it. I knew that Olivia and Jane had been talking a lot more – Olivia was divorcing Jane’s incarcerated brother, after all, so there was plenty to gab about, both trivial and consequential. I wasn’t angry, exactly. Especially under the circumstances, I hardly had any right to anger. But it felt strange anyway.
“What the heck?” is all I could think to say.
Olivia explained, with a studied calm and between drags on the joint, while she gently held my spent manhood in her other manicured hand.
“Jane said, ‘When you suck Pete off, see if his semen tastes like salty caramel to you too.' And I agree, it does.
“She said it probably wouldn’t taste as strong if I didn’t get you to blow your load directly into my mouth. Like, I could lick it off my tits, but then the taste would probably just be salty. Not bad, just not as sweet.”
“What the fuck is going on?”
I was completely bewildered. For about the eleventh time in an hour, I felt like I was missing some vital piece of information that Olivia certainly had. I could not form words for the multitude of questions jamming my skull.
“What?! What the…” was all I could muster.
Olivia let go of my dick and took one of my hands in hers, and stared directly into my face.
“Pete, I’m sorry I lied to you,” she said. “I told you that Jane and I haven’t had sex since she met you. And that was true until two weeks ago.
“Jane slipped up. She cheated on you. With me. She feels terrible about it, Me? I don’t know what to feel.”
We were sitting naked on the floor, our clothes around the room in a huge blast radius. Some of them were ruined, and others I would never see the same way again. These were the pants that Olivia reached into for my cock. That was the sweater I peeled off her willing body.
“Tell me what I should feel, Pete,” she said, holding my hand and my gaze tightly. “If it’s shame, I can do it. But I’d rather feel something else.”
***
I told Olivia that I had to think things through. I lent her a pair of basketball shorts I had stashed in my office, and she tossed her apartment key to me.
“Just put it back where it was, I just needed an excuse to see you,” she said. “I one-hundred percent thought you knew, because I was driving. If I had my car key, I had my house key, ‘cause they’re together.
“I was sure you saw right through me.”
Utterly bewildered, I went home to talk to my wife.
Jane had tears in her eyes when I got to the door, and threw her arms around me. Apparently, she already knew, a fact which didn’t really help me figure out what to do next.
“It just happened, two weeks ago,” she explained. “It wasn’t her fault. I did it, and I’m so, so sorry.”
It’s funny to me that I was prepared to say something very similar. It wasn’t Olivia’s fault. I’m so sorry.
It may not have been Olivia’s fault, but it was clear to me that it was her doing. And I wasn’t really sorry, or at least I didn’t regret. The feeling of fucking that woman was among the best I ever expect to feel, right up there with the love I feel for this other beautiful woman, my wife. And even better, my wife knows the feeling too. It’s something valuable that we share.
“It’s going to be okay, baby,” I said to Jane, noticing her outfit for the first time. Deep green mock turtleneck, knee-length skirt, black nylons, possibly stockings.
She kissed me hungrily, her tongue probing my mouth as she dragged her dusky curves against my skin. I felt her hands at my belt and zipper, and as she dropped to her knees, the skirt rode up, revealing the lacy stocking tops. Jane looked up at me, rubbing my cock against her pretty face, her green eyes brightened by the sweater and her emotional roller coaster ride.
“I can smell her on your dick,” she said, before licking the length of my member, and sucking on the tip. “And I’d know the taste of her pussy anywhere.”
“What happens now?” I gasped, feeling my erection answer the tender call one more time.
“Now?” Jane said. “Now I fuck my husband, because he belongs to me. And my husband fucks me, because I belong to him.
“And after, we can talk like we always do, as partners, and plan our Olivia era. Maybe we can have it all.”
I’ve never loved Jane more, or wanted her more deeply. When she spread her legs at that moment, and I buried myself in her, it was a safe return from a place of thrilling doubt. I’d get the chance to fuck Olivia many more times, and even to fall in love with her. So would Jane. So would we.
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