Fourth chapter of Camille
"Why don't you go back on the pills?" Arlene inquired as her fingertips danced across my skin like tiny butterfly legs.
"I prefer to feel everything fully," I replied, keeping my eyes shut and relishing her gentle touch.
"Is it worth it?" she questioned, her finger exploring a clump of dried semen in my hair near my hairline.
I turned onto my side, supporting my chin with my hand, and grasped hers with mine.
"Leen," I said, "if you couldn't sense this," I traced my fingers across her breasts, where her pale skin met the slightly darker and different texture of her areola, "or this," I brushed the backs of my fingers, my fingernails lightly grazing her skin, down her stomach, over her belly button, to her mons, "or this..." I pressed a kiss to her lips.
I drew back and stared into her eyes, halting her before she could respond.
"If it came down to this," I whispered, pinching her nipple and causing her to yelp and pull away, "or this," I slid my finger between her thighs and penetrated her, "or this," I returned to her lips, pressing my mouth against hers in a hard, almost rough kiss, "which one would you choose?"
She grinned.
"Both, honestly," she said.
"Me too," I agreed, "but here's the catch. When I'm on the medication, it's as if I can't experience these sensations, "I ran my fingers over her nipple," and this," I twisted it again, eliciting a shriek from her, "barely registers."
I traced a tear that slid down her cheek.
"I could murder your father," she confessed, "you have to know that, right?"
I planted a kiss on her, a tender, foreplay kiss.
"Dad was in pain just as much as I was," I shared, "it wasn't like Mom had cancer or something. She was 29, healthy, and returning from a Bunko game...well, shit, you've heard this story before."
"It must help you to talk about it," she said.
"I'm a cliche," I sighed.
She chuckled, grabbed the back of my head, and kissed me deeply.
"My dear Cammie, you are many things, but 'cliche' is not one of them," she claimed, "so share more with Aunt Leen."
"Shall I roll you onto your stomach and satisfy you the way you adore?" I asked.
She brushed an errant strand of hair from my forehead and replied, "Afterward, you can do whatever you want."
I mimicked her action and said, "The things you want."
She grinned and said, "And that too."
"But first," she instructed, intertwining her fingers in my hair, "share your story."
"Oh god," I groaned, kissed her, and pressed against her, praying the absence of a strap-on would tempt her.
"Don't try to seduce me with your cock tricks," she said, giggling and dodging my advances.
She stretched sensuously, resembling a cat with how her eyes closed in pleasure and, coincidentally, exposing her ample breasts.
I exhaled, drew a deep breath, and recounted my past.
"My mother was killed by a drunk driver. It was just one of those unfortunate events. He was intoxicated, ran a red light, and it was the end for Mom," I recounted, nearly repeating previous stories she'd heard but considering it maybe a type of therapy for me.
"Dad and I were devastated. I’d seek solace in his arms. Both of us needed comfort," I lamented, "but he wouldn't let me remove my panties."
I chuckled.
"But once I coaxed it out and took it in my mouth, well..." I giggled, "he located a moral high ground to stand on."
"Did you swallow?" Arlene asked.
"All of it," I assured her.
"But do you any longer?" she inquired.
"I do with my husband," I confessed, "but not when I'm simply satisfying my urges."
"Describe the first time that urge struck," she urged.
"Here," I exclaimed, spreading my arms wide, "just rip me open and behold my secrets."
She squeezed my breast gently and suggested, "You may now engage in your twisted deeds."
"I have always been devoted to my spouse, referring to none other than John, of course," I mentioned and she gently wiped away a tear that trickled down my moistened cheek, "but all I could ever think of was sucking an organ that didn't belong to him."
"So, I summoned you, Slut," I declared, chuckling and seizing the hand she used to wipe away my tear and stroking it instead, "and you consented, similar to a college prank or some such, and we headed out that first night. I felt remorseful over my actions, and I despised the man I connected with on a primal level. Only then did I have his pleasure rod enveloped in my mouth, and I found myself content."
I hesitated for several moments, taking deep breaths while she brushed imagined strands of hair from my forehead.
"But then, I captured the sensation of him, you know how men can be, the slight tension, the sporadic thrusts that can't be controlled, and I couldn't manage to suck him off, but I couldn't leave him unsatisfied," I paused and inhaled once more, "thus, I endured it on my visage and in my hair."
I sobbed uncontrollably again.
"I LOVED IT," I shouted, "I FUCKING ADORED IT. Are you content now?"
"And that's why you cease the medication, isn't it?" Arlene enquired, scouring me with what could be considered a penetrating gaze.
I was howling so recently, weeping, violent tears.
"Please, Leeny, don't," I begged.
"Tell me," she urged, her voice unbroken, unrelenting.
"Please," I begged.
"Tell me," she commanded, her tone devoid of amusement.
"Yes," I breathed, "I don't take the meds as I enjoy engaging in this behavior, but also I abhor it."
"Well," she proclaimed, wrapping me in a warm embrace, her soft breasts resting against me and feeling comely, her strong arms wrapping round me, her well-built legs pulling me close to her, our entire bodies pressed together, "Come to Aunty."
She allowed me to cling to her as I sobbed, the wetness and mucus accumulating, rendering the contact slippery.
"Time for rehabilitation therapy to conclude," she said, still hugging me, comforting me like a wounded child.
She carried me in one of those eternal moments.
When I subsided into delicate weeping, she pushed me back to arm's length.
"Alright?" she enquired.
I smiled and kissed her, a soft, slimy peck.
"Thank you," I said, relieved and emotionally drained and, deep within my gut, sexually stimulated.
"Now then, Mister," she said, smirking a sweet, youthful smile, "you mentioned something about having your way with me."
I erupted in laughter then, and laughed, feeling the gritty particles from my face shatter beneath my most extensive grin of the day.
"I love you," I said.
"Awww, yes, yes," she said, smiling and rolling over, "Now it's MY therapy time."
"Pots positioned, perverse female," I said, slapping each of her full mammaries forcefully enough to elicit a yelp.
She assumed a "frog kick" position, face against the pillow, legs parted and bent at the knees, the entire front of her body lying on the mattress.
"Nah-nah," I said again, "pick that rump up, Whore. The choice is yours."
"Ooooohhh," she mewled, moving her knees forward and jacking up her majestic derrière.
She does possess a truly masterful ass, and she sports a strikingly beautiful vagina. It was shiny and moist and primed as I watched a watery drop form at the bottom of the extensive crevice created by her plump nether lips. It began growing and morphing into a long, thin, silvery strand connecting her to a growing silvery pool between her knees.
Jesus, and I hadn't even touched her yet.
I reached out and traced her, my fingertip making its way down the length of her full nether lips until I felt her button, her clitoris. She shuddered and emitted a soft sound of pleasure as I pressed on it.
I was patient. I was familiar with her. She has been my confidant and, I'll repeat it, the only female I've ever shared my sexual encounters with for many years. She recounted to me countless times about the men she had allowed into her bed, and how she savors the variety selection.
And there are very many men.
Unlike me, who experiences bliss only while married, she is a confirmed spinster, rarely allowing the same male into her bed twice. She informed me how she prefers this mix and even on occasions when we're positioned together, she would inquire as to how I manage to endure the identical form.
But I was also aware of her idiosyncrasies.
She whimpered as I pushed in a third finger and began squeezing slightly tighter, [
At the fourth finger, she cried out, "Jesus," and squirmed, trying to escape, but I pursued her with my hand.
On her stomach, she moaned as I tightened my grip, desiring to inflict pain not because I wanted to hurt her, but because I knew she desired it.
She possesses a hidden edge of masochism, but she is hesitant to express it with others. Indeed, she is hesitant to express it with anyone other than me.
Not just that, I also allowed my latent sadism to emerge.
So, I tightened my grip and she shouted in pain, and I pushed her face into the pillow to dampen the sound.
To say the least, I possess a significant amount of sadism, and Arlene has a strong penchant for masochism as well.
I loosened my hold abruptly, smacked her large posterior, and then entered her from behind, immersing myself in the sensations her strapless top was providing, and I grabbed a pair of her hips in each hand and began fucking her. This was not an act of lovemaking. This was just raw sex.
And she enjoyed it just as much as I did.
I climaxed first but maintained that slightly intense, not quite brutal rhythm, thrusting deep into her until she climaxed with a cry and a stream of her love fluid that soaked us both.
Once she was satisfied, I withdrew and settled beside her, my hand gently resting on her waist, smiling at her across the pillow.
"I still don't comprehend," she gasped, still struggling to catch her breath, reaching behind my head to pull me close for a kiss, "how you evolved into the one with the penis."
I chuckled and said, "My natural dominance."
She laughed at that.
"You," she kissing me and continued, "my love, are one of the most vanilla women I know, and yet, here we are."
I carefully pushed a few stray hairs away from her forehead coated in sweat and said, "Considering the psychological dynamics at play, I believe it's only my reaction to satisfying my drive."
"Well," she said, lying back and taking a deep breath, finally bringing her breathing under control, " I'm certainly not complaining. Now, please, order us breakfast before I starve to death."
I chuckled, tickled her belly that formed a roll when she wore her tight jeans, and said, "Because you're wasting away."
"Don't make fun of your Aunt Leeny," she said, laughing, "Now, feed me!"
I laughed again, jiggled the muffin top of her belly when she wore the tight jeans, and said, "Because you're aging."
I turned over, picked up the landline phone, looked at the list attached to the phone console, and dialed "19" for room service.
The order placed, a double order of biscuits and gravy, sausage, and a large orange juice for Arlene, a Denver omelet, white toast, and a large orange juice for me, I hung up the phone and she pulled me onto my back.
"Now, my little love ribbon," she said, grinning, "my turn."
I lay back, aware of what was coming and eagerly anticipating it.
She patted my thighs, and I spread my legs. Then she located the small pump bulb, squeezed it, and held it, gradually deflating the anchor balloon in my vagina. She did the same with the anal anchor, said, "Stay put," and entered the bathroom to wash the strapless.
Then she returned with her learned mouth, kissing her way up my thighs until she found my pussy, already wet for her.
I attempted to restrain myself but her tongue found my special spots, and her fingers parted me further so she could delve deeper.
"Push, Cammie," she whispered, her voice deep and mesmerizing.
Indeed, she knew how to manipulate me.
But I pushed, contracting my anal sphincter to avoid an embarrassing mishap, and pushing my cervix and uterus forward for her.
I cried out when her tongue touched my cervix and came in torrents when she covered it with her lips and sucked softly.
I came twice and was on the edge, barely able to breathe when Arlene abruptly pulled away.
"LENNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN," I cried.
She was giggling.
"Breakfast has arrived," she stated and I became conscious of the gentle knocking on the door.
"Go ahead," she said, "receive payment."
I took a deep breath and exited the bed, slipping into the plush robe the hotel provided, securing it loosely about me, and approaching the door.
The youngster wheeling the cart with its two plates covered by those sparkling stainless steel covers was young enough for me to wonder about work permits and so on. I was blushing, of course, with the crust on my face and I knew the aroma of sex was wafting off me like fog.
I stepped aside and ushered him in, trying to suppress a snicker at his blushing.
"Good morning," a cheerful voice called out from another room, and when I glanced over, you were lying there, stretched out in a sultry pose, your chin resting on your hand, the sheet loosely draped around your hips, exposing your sizable breasts.
"Over here," I waved, directing your attention to a pair of chairs situated by the tiny kitchenette.
You looked flustered.
I signed the bill, slipped him a twenty-dollar bill as a tip, and said, "Thank you."
The door swung shut, and your arms instantly wrapped around my waist, kissing my shoulder.
"You're such a tease," I teased back.
"Don't you dare call me that! I'm many things, but 'tease' is not one of them. Shall I stop him before the elevator arrives to prove it?" You took a step towards the door.
I laughed and stopped you.
"No, you filthy little tramp," I joked, "Sit down and feed me."
We settled on the chairs, relishing the view, and fed each other breakfast, sharing a beautiful intimacy.
Dressed in last night's clothes, we headed for the lobby to check out. Looking like any woman returning from a night of sin, you had a wild-looking hairdo, and no makeup or undergarments beneath your clothes. I walked around with my shameful signs - crusted facial hair and hair crusted with sweat. Every eye that glanced our way caused a wave of discomfort.
At your residence, you allowed me to wash up.
We showered together, cleansing our faces, shampooing our hair, and washing our bodies, although this was not a sexual experience. The time for sex had passed, and this was a return to normality, or so we wanted the world to believe.
We shared one final cup of coffee, and you walked me to my car.
"You know," you mused, "one day your urges will ignite, and I won't be around. What will you do then?"
I wonder if your prediction was merely a premonition or an attempt to push me back onto my medications.
"Don't be ridiculous," I responded, "you are the eternal earth mother."
You snickered, embraced me, and said, "Go home to David, Cammie."
Like always, you turned and walked back into the house, reluctant to witness my departure.
On my way home, the lingering traces of the URGE and its consequences slowly faded.
Upon arriving home, I called out a "Hello," but received no response. I then heard the sound of one of David's power tools in the basement, and knew he was immersed in one of his projects.
Descending the stairs, there he was standing in front of a huge saw, calling it a 'radial arm saw.' The large, terrifying blade whirred as it cut through a piece of wood.
It was easy to sneak up on him without him noticing.
When I encircled his torso behind him, he jumped, turned, and raised his hands in defense. He recognized me and smiled.
He knew what to expect from me after a Girls' Night Out event.
"You made it home safely," he remarked.
I remained silent, simply embraced him in a kiss.
"I'm so scared every time my urge hits, David. I wish it could just go away," I privately thought.
I let go of the kiss and knelt in front of him, my fingers working at his trousers' closure.
He stroked my hair as I loosened his belt and then started on the zipper.
"One day, I'm going to follow you to see what exactly it is about your Girls' Night Out adventures that inspires these intense feelings," he whispered softly.
"No, My Love, never. It couldn't happen," I mentally replied, realizing how utterly inaccurate my intuition was.
Performing oral sex in this manner is like offering the most heartfelt present I can think of, and I led him to paradise, steadily, affectionately, and on my knees amidst the sawdust scattered on the basement floor.
I've got a fair understanding of giving oral sex. It's essentially divided into three ways a female can bring a man to climax. One is by swallowing deeply, defying the instinctive gag reflex, and allowing the dick to enter her throat, letting her throat serve as a substitute pussy. Another is by gripping him in her mouth, her lips and tongue acting as a substitute hand and jerking him off. The third method is by withdrawing just before the climax, employing her hand to guide him, sustaining him by jerking him off as he orgasms and receiving his semen on her face and hair, a technique I refer to as "face-fucking and hair conditioning."
I've executed all three, but I believe the most affectionate is the second, holding him in my mouth and sensing the discharge, savoring his incredible fluid, gratefully welcoming it, and treasuring it.
This afternoon, I provided that to him. I leisurely brought him to the brink until his body was convulsing with his longing. The whole time I held his gaze. When I sensed that initial droplet of pre-cum, I used the tip of my tongue to gently stroke his urethra, which caused him to jump from the intensity of my actions. My hands on his ass kept him close to me even as the first wave of those mind-blowing sensations swept over him.
I extended it further than that. Smiling with my eyes, using my tongue to caress his shaft.
When he ultimately came, I just loosened my hold on him enough for only his glans to remain in my mouth, my lips forming a tight seal to prevent wasting his precious fluid. I continued sucking, softly, with my hands on his ass keeping him from inadvertently drawing away from the overwhelming sensations I was causing.
As I felt him ejaculating, the rushing, thick stream of his seed reaching the back of my mouth, the second pump flowing more than oozing, coating my tongue with the taste of ecstasy, the sensation otherworldly, akin to the experience achieved by those who have entered heaven or roamed in Elysium fields, I stopped sucking, merely holding him as the final contractions of his prostate and testicles finished off his ejaculation in my mouth.
I held him for a few more moments until I sensed his member beginning to soften and I released my grip, my lips eagerly clutching, reluctant to spill even a drop of his semen. When he was finally free, I captured the last drop with my tongue.
Still on my knees, still locked in his gaze, I uttered "open" to show him how I had been careful with his gift and then swallowed it.
I stood, then stood on my toes and gently kissed his lips.
"Thank you, my sweetheart," I said.
He smiled at that.
"No, Millie," he said, "thank you."
"I'll leave you to your task now," I said, kissed him again, and left the basement.
Read also:
- Breeding Me: Chapter 2
- Early Timber Rising
- Entering Expert Status Once More
- Seeking Amor At Any Expense
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