One week. It had been one week since the last time I had experienced any sexual release. Now it doesn’t seem like such a long time, but when it is the first time that having been locked up truly locked no way out for resizing or any other excuse, it seemed liked a life time.
I knelt in front of her, she was sitting on our love seat, I was nude, and she was wearing a mini skirt and blouse with a plunging V neck line. I begged her, not whining or bargaining or appealing to her love for me, but begged her. I begged like only a man who desperately needs something, with no other way to get it, and I desperately needed release.
When words failed I turned my lips first to her legs, then her shoes, licking them, lapping at them. I knew she was looking at me while I did this; she stroked my hair as I humbled myself before her, and then with a sharp jerk she pulled my head up and pressed my face to her moist sex. My tongue worked on her, the taste filled my nose and mouth, filled the whole of my world.
Thighs, hers griping my ears blocking out her moans, muffling her cries of pleasure. Hands pushing me away from her my face covered with the wetness of her. She leans back, her eyes holding contact with mine I’m incapable of looking away.
She unlocks me. I have heard the expression before, but the first time I felt it, I was trembling in anticipation.
“Are you ready for this? Do you want this?”
She leaned back spreading her legs, and this was all the encouragement that I needed. The pleasure I felt upon entering her was indescribable.