Thursday, December 9, 2010

She came for another ride.

"You know something?" she asked me the last time I saw her, perhaps a year ago, when I was helping her move out of the Toronto area. We were standing at my car as I got ready to go. Her idiot boyfriend, unhappy I was there but probably grateful for my help, had skulked back into the house they were leaving. We were dirty. Their U-Haul was packed.

"After we broke up," she continued, "you became the one I thought of the most when I masturbated."

Words I'll never forget.

More than three years since I ended things between us, we've remained friends. She's still with her freeloading, unemployed boyfriend and his sidekick, still defiantly polyamorous, and still as high-energy and boistrous as ever. She had heard that I'd recently become single again, and when she made plans to visit mutual friends in my area, she texted me to see if we could "meet over coffee or a beer." She said she'd be riding in and was concerned about the weather for the trip back. My brain was still on we're-just-friends mode when I mentioned that she'd be welcome to crash at my place if a night drive through the coming cold would be too much for her to bear. "We're-just-friends." I swear.

But it's also true that, still in post-Kara mode, I hadn't been properly laid in a while, and even during these last months she and I were together, things had cooled down some. Leave it to The Tomboy to tease me on this.

Tomboy: Ooo! I get to crash with you?

Me: You'll like the new place. And my new futon is way comfortable.

I have two futons. Only one of them is my bed. I swear.

Tomboy: ...Does that offer come with all the bonuses I'd like? Ha ha!

The Tomboy is an athletic, mid30s soldier who is among the most pro-poly women I know. Her myriad list of outdoorsy hobbies make her a riot to be with, and while sometimes I think she can be a little crazy, she's good people. And here she was, randomly suggesting that after more than three years, she'd like to share my bed again. A year of monogamy under my belt left me blinking my eyes a lot at the possibility, but I also knew that breaking my cherry again would go down so much nicer with a former lover and friend.

I was letting a bottle breathe when I heard her bike rumble down the driveway behind the house. I hadn't even seen her since she moved from the city, when she gave me that delicious praise, and it was a treat to hear her boots clonk up my stairwell to my pad. Hugs and laughter abounded. She removed the black leather chaps she wore, and as she turned her back to me, I was reminded of how gorgeous her heart-shaped ass is in a pair of jeans. My cock thrummed.

Small talk. Catching up. I tinkered with the filet mignon I was preparing and started to sauté the cremini mushrooms. Slowly, as we spoke, we found ourselves drawing closer to one another until, standing in my kitchen, our arms touched. I coiled a hand behind the nape of her neck and ran fingers through her dark brown hair, now much longer than I remember it being last.

"Kiss me," I told her. What followed left my stomach tightened and my cock as hard as stone as she let loose three years' worth of fantasizing against my lips. She feasted on me, her mouth opening for me as her tongue darted across my teeth and teased. She grunted when my arm wrapped itself snugly around her waist, her lips never leaving mine, her thigh raised to graze my own and her knee pressing gently but firmly against my crotch. She reached around me to grip my ass. I reached around her to grip hers.

When the kiss broke, I saw only one thing to do. I smiled wide, grasped her wrist, and led her to the bedroom. "Come on." She laughed out loud.

She tugged my shirt over my head as we knelt on the thick futon, and she stroked my nipples when she brought her mouth to mine again. Her shirt. Her head on my shoulder as I undid her bra. Her hand clutching at the hot bulge in my jeans.

When my hand rediscovered her breasts, memories of them flooded to me. Warm handfulls of her flesh stiffened me more, and she gently chewed on my ear as we knelt before one another while I enjoyed them.

The Tomboy, for all her sex-positive attitudes, is one of those few (in my experience) women in the world who reserves sucking cock "for special occasions." Go figure. It wasn't that way when we were together, but after three years, I wasn't going to assume anything and left well enough alone there. I, on the other hand, was craving warm and randy feminine flesh in my mouth at that point, and I intended to have it.

She splayed herself on her back, languishing in the cushions underneath her, as I drew my face to her bare stomach and started undoing her jeans. Raining kisses and tender bites on her abs, I snapped her pants open and started tugging them playfully, smiling as her black cotton panties revealed themselves to me. The jeans pulled off from her legs, she laughed when I bit her calves and reached for my long locks when I brought my head between her opened thighs.

"Oh, yeah..." she cooed. She hadn't felt my mouth in such a long time.

Pressing my lips to her covered mound, I exhaled deeply and roasted her. I looked up and into her smiling eyes as my warm, wet tongue swabbed in slow, searching strokes and pressed the cotton against her mons. Her underwear was drenched by both my saliva and her trembling, expectant excitement when I finally peeled them off and began sliding my tongue along her seam in earnest.

I had forgotten how gorgeous the Tomboy's pussy is. Soft crescents of reddening smooth skin framed her long and eager clit, which nestled at the core of some of the tightest, most gentle soft petals one could hope to find on such an orchid. A disciplined tuft of dark fur above pointed the way to her button, and I followed the directions it was giving me as I swabbed, as I licked, as I swirled my tongue around her glistening grrlshaft. The lightest of flicks at either side of her left the Tomboy in a cooing puddle of goo, her legs slowly squirming at either side of us, her head occasionally jolted from the pillows, her breathing deep and full of joy.

I love it when my partner likes to have her pussy sucked. I live for it. And when I finally started to slide my fingers inside her core, taunting her G-spot and pumping while I sucked her button quickly through my wet lips, her hips bucked as she rode my mouth. My free hand grasped her beautiful ass, caressed her abdomen, squeezed those tits that were left to sway along her chest with each shaking movement she made. She came in my mouth. A lot.

It healed me.


Cheeky Minx said...

I also find worshiping at the male altar a healing experience.

Simlpy delicious...

Clem said...

Well, yes, the 'altar' has many facets.
i find the worship is based around the sights, smells, and the exquisit tastes of how she cums, wetting me even more, the delightful quivering, then out-right bucking of her ass and hips, the screams as she continues to cum from my persistent applications of my special talents.

Rogue, a very special post here.

Rogue said...

@Cheeky Minx
*kiss* *zzzip* *smirk*

Absolutely, and thank you.

Dolores YK Haze said...

Hey, Swami of Swingers,
I have a question that needs your attention, oh Virgil of Virility.
Recently-acquired boytoy seems unwilling to, as we said in high school in the hood, go down. Specifically on me. I've taken a lot of sections of his cherry but this one frustrates me to no end- how do I go about persuading some almost-virgin to do this for me? I figure you, with all your steam-inducing hijinks, would know more than anyone.

Pledging Allegiance to the Lips,
Dolores YK Haze