My Dad’s Boss

Excerpt

It was a Mr Hudson, but not the one I expected. This was his good-looking bastard of a son, Nicholas.

His eyes opened in surprise, then he smiled and said, “Hi, Bruiser!”

I hated that name!  It was a painful reminder of the first time we’d met.  I had still been wearing the stupid dental braces my mother had insisted I needed, though I’d thought my teeth were fine.  People tell me I have a killer smile now, so I guess the pain and embarrassment at the time were worth it.  But that hadn’t been the most embarrassing thing of meeting him that day.  I had bumped into my friend, Gemma, in gym class the day before. And, I mean bumped into, literally.  She was shorter then so her hard head had connected with my left eye.  I hadn’t wanted to attend the stupid company picnic with an eye the colour of a rainbow, but my father had insisted, saying that I was too young to be left at home on my own.  And, added to all that, I had woken up with my first ever teenage spot that same bloody morning.  I had looked and felt like hell.  I felt even worse when I met Mr North’s eldest son, who just graduated from Cambridge and was off to work in the States on a four-year contract, the next week.  He’d been dressed casually in a polo shirt and black jeans, but he’d looked so worldly and sophisticated, I’d felt like a ten-year-old and I’d wished he had bloody gone to America a week early.

He looked suave and even better looking now, sitting behind his father’s desk and wearing a light grey shirt which perfectly matched his eyes.  I stared at him stupidly for several seconds, realizing in horror that except for the top which occasionally rode up and showed the undersides of my breasts and the short skirt my mother often threatened to burn or give to the twelve-year-old girl next door, I was naked to his gaze.

“So, Bruiser,  what can I do for you?”

“I’m here to see your father.”  My voice came out wobbly.

“My father retired three months ago.  He and Mum are currently on a Caribbean cruise.”

“So who’s in charge?” I asked, hoping that I was mistaken in thinking that he was.

“I am, of course.  Who did you expect to be?”

This is why my dad was worried, I realized.  Old Mr North had known him for years and knew how good he was at his job as an investment banker.  This young upstart would only see the money he would lose if he lost Mrs North’s account.  I decided it would be foolish to beg him for anything. 

“Never mind, then.” I grabbed the side of the door wishing that I could back through it instead of having to turn around and walk through it.  My mother claimed that the cheeks of my ass were visible under the skirt, but I disagreed totally. The only things visible were the tops of my thighs as they curved into my ass, but I didn’t particularly want him seeing that much of me.

“Come back here, Bruiser!”

I wanted to stick two fingers in the air and tell him to sit on them, but my father’s job kept me in a style to which I had become accustomed.  If he lost it, I would have to find one of my own.

I turned around obediently and stared at him.

“Come closer.”

Walking slowly back to his desk, I willed my breasts not to bounce.  They didn’t, but to my horror I felt my nipples hardening as his eyes zeroed in on them.

Bastard!

Instead of offering me a seat, he looked me up and down, slowly, assessingly.

“Did you come here dressed like that hoping to entice my father into reinstating your father’s job?”

“Reinstate?  You fired him?”

Double bastard!

“I haven’t fired him yet, but he’s left me little choice in the matter.  Mrs North is a pain in the ass, but she’s a multi million-pound pain in the ass.  Sometimes you have to endure the pain, no matter how much your ass hurts, to get to the pleasure of the profits afterwards.”

Maybe it isn’t too late to stick those fingers into him, I thought.

“So, you came here flashing lots of cleavage and even more leg, hoping to make my father lose his head?”

“I didn’t,” I protested indignantly.

How dare he think so cheaply of me?

Triple bastard!

“I would need a lot more than a flash of cleavage and the sight of your long legs.”

“I wasn’t offering you anything.”

“Really?”  He sounded so uninterested I wanted to knock his perfectly groomed head off his broad shoulders.  “That’s a shame because I was willing to be convinced.”

“What would I have to do?” I asked hesitantly.

I would give him a blowjob in a heartbeat, but nothing else.  I don’t like sex.  I can’t imagine why people have it, except to have kids.  My ex-boyfriend, Mark, and I had fooled around when we were sixteen.  I hated it!  The pain, the...ugh!  After the fourth time I told him I wasn’t doing it anymore.  And after a month of giving him excellent blowjobs, even if I say so myself, he broke up with me to have ‘proper’ sex with Darla, my bitterest rival all through secondary school.

“I want you to strip for me.”

“What?” I asked in alarm.  There was no way I was taking my clothes off.  The next thing he would want is sex.  “I’m not getting naked!”

“You’re halfway there already.  I don’t see the problem.”

“I’m not taking my clothes off!”

“You have no reason to be shy.  Your body is very sexy.”

I like my body and like to stand in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom playing with myself.  I know I have a sexy body.  I didn’t need him to tell me that, but I also know that I didn’t plan on having sex again until I was married.  And then only enough times to have the two cute daughters I’ve always wanted, Adele and Chloe, and never again.

“I won’t touch you,” he promised.

“Promise?”

“Not unless you want me to.”

When hell froze over, I thought.

“I won’t touch you,” he vowed.  “But I want you to touch yourself.”

Oh my God, could he tell that I played with myself all the time? Were the words ‘frequent masturbator’ tattooed on my forehead in invisible ink that could only be seen if someone looked hard enough?

“Touch myself?”

“Yes, I want you to touch yourself for me, but you must follow my instructions implicitly.”

“Okay,” I agreed, liking the idea of getting him all hot and sweaty as he watched me play with myself, making his cock as hard as a rock…once he didn’t try to put it into any holes on my body, except my mouth.

“Lock the door first.”

Toni

Excerpt

Twenty-eight-year-old Toni Montgomery had several attributes that could have made her a supermodel: high cheekbones; dark well-defined eyebrows; wide-set, thick-lashed grey eyes; a narrow, straight nose and full, sensuous lips which were so perfect they looked cosmetically enhanced.  She was five-foot-eleven in socks and had shapely forty-five-inch legs that most women would kill for.

But the rest of her was not quite so perfect: broad shoulders; small breasts; thick waist and a small behind.  A body that was straight up and down.  She was often mistaken for a transsexual.

She wasn’t.

Medically, she was termed female pseudo hermaphrodite.

Her loving parents thought her beautiful and perfect in every way.

The couple had both been extremely busy doctors with no thought of having children when her mother had miraculously become pregnant with Toni at the age of forty-five; her father had had a vasectomy almost fifteen years before.  After their initial shock, her parents had looked forward to their child’s birth as eagerly as any expectant parents-to-be would.

Within minutes of her birth the doctors and nurses had started whispering in hushed tones about ambiguous genitalia and at first wouldn’t allow her parents to see her.  Finally when her father had insisted, the doctors had taken him aside and explained the problem and suggested that they take immediate steps to correct it.  Her father had promptly reminded the doctor that he too was a physician and the ambiguity of her genitals was not a problem.

He and her mother had both agreed that they would let nature take its course and to the horror of the medical staff of the maternity hospital, had taken their healthy baby home without surgical intervention.

Toni had had an extremely happy childhood.  Her parents had discussed her unique body makeup with her and answered all her questions as frankly and as honestly as they could.  She had been privately educated, excelling at most subjects but had a natural flair for foreign languages.  Up to about age eleven she had looked and acted more like an unusually pretty boy and had never seriously wondered if she was male or female.  She had been very athletic; able to outrun both boys and girls of a similar age.  Then at puberty she developed breasts and started to menstruate.  The nub between her vaginal lips began to look more like a small penis than a large clit.

When she was about fourteen her parents realized that she was extraordinarily attuned to people’s needs.  She would occasionally, without being asked, pour a small tumbler of brandy for her mother or her father when either came home exhausted and mentally drained after losing, or having to impart devastating news to, a patient.  Her hands would sometimes unerringly find a spot of tension or soreness on their bodies and massage it until it disappeared.

She had inherited her Irish father’s thick, silky jet-black hair and her English mother’s  dreamy grey eyes, small hands and slender, delicately arched feet.  Neither of them was particularly tall so it had been amusing when she shot up past both of them in height before the age of sixteen.  Long hair had never flattered her slightly angular face so she opted for ultra short, superbly-cut hairstyles which complimented her features.  She never liked the feel of her thighs touching each other, especially in the summer, so more often than not she wore trousers.  Her breasts though rounded didn’t protrude enough outwardly to warrant the restriction of a bra.  But she had worn one until the age of twenty-one when she graduated from Oxford Brookes University with a BA (Hons) Business and Marketing Management.

***

Toni’s hands flew over the keyboard with effortless ease as she quickly drafted the minutes of the last meeting with her employer, Bryon Carter, and Mars Lockwood, the owner of an elite employment agency Bryon was hoping to soon acquire.

“Toni?”

She looked up at the sound of his voice and found him standing framed in the doorway of his office, looking every inch the tycoon in a designer suit that had been tailored to fit his trim body.  He smiled at her before turning and walking back into his office without saying another word.

She got up immediately and locked the outer door before she walked back past her desk and entered his beautifully designed, functional office.  He had his penis out of his trousers by the time she got to his desk.  Kneeling on the plush carpet, she took it into her mouth.  He had a client due in twenty minutes, so she knew all he needed was quick release.  She opened her mouth and took his erect penis all the way into her throat as she cupped his balls softly.

He came in less than five minutes.

“Thank you, Toni,” he gasped as he spurted the last of his cum into her mouth.

“My pleasure, Byron.”  She got to her feet and straightened the jacket of her trouser suit.  “Shall I send Mr Butters in at his appointed time?”

“Yes please.”

“Very well.”  She nodded to him, walked back to her office and into her private bathroom.

She quickly stepped out of her damp panties,  dropped them into the bin and wiped her wet vagina.  She always got such a rush from giving him head.  She opened the door of the cabinet, cleverly designed so it faded seamlessly into the wall, took out a fresh pair of panties and pulled them on.   She made a small adjustment to her skirt as she checked herself in the full length mirror before walking back into her office.  She then unlocked the outer door, walked back to her desk and resumed where she had left off before Byron had summoned her.

She loved being his PA and had known she would have done the moment she’d seen the advert for the job.  She had been easily able to demonstrate every essential requirement.  He had hoped for someone with a working knowledge of French, Spanish or German; she was fluent in all three.

Bryon was one of the UK’s most powerful executives and there was never a dull moment in her working day.  Her annual salary and bonuses were in excess of a quarter of a million pounds.  She had been in the post for just over two years but she vividly remembered the day that she had attended the interview like it was yesterday.  When she’d walked into the room she had immediately realized that she wasn’t what Bryon had been looking for although her CV and references had been impeccable.  Thankfully he hadn’t immediately dismissed her.  He had listened keenly to her well-planned presentation and when she’d had his undivided attention she had started to throw the words willing and able into as many sentences as she could. When he finally got her drift she had seen the recognition of it in his eyes.

At the end of the interview she had asked what time he planned to leave the office that evening and he had told her eight o’clock.  She told him that she would give him some time to think about the benefits she could bring to the job and would return just before he left at eight to discuss it further.

When she had returned at eight o’clock she had spun his chair to face her, casually unzipped his fly and given him a blowjob that he had confessed later was the best he’d ever had in his life.  Before she left his office he’d offered her the job.  Three months later her first bonus was  half her annual salary.

She was attuned to Byron’s every need.  She would sometimes unobtrusively stand behind him and massage his tense shoulders.  Or lock the door, give him a blowjob or drop her panties and bend over the nearest desk or chair so that he could take her quickly and release the tension after an intense business negotiation.  Other times she would perch on the end of his desk and let him eat her in appreciation for a job well done if she’d pulled off a major coup. She could sense when he was tired, when he was hungry for a sandwich or needed a full five course meal.   He never regretted hiring her.

His wife was extremely comfortable with their working relationship.  She praised Toni for being so efficient that Bryon had mellowed significantly since she started working with him.  They had holidayed as a threesome in Dubai eight months after Toni had started the job and she had spent more time pleasuring Mrs Carter than she’d had Bryon.  He had been so jubilant after a successful takeover bid, he had slept like a baby for almost fourteen hours every day of their ten nights stay.

Toni’s melodious, husky voice which had made her a small fortune as a chatline operator while at university was at complete odds with her appearance.  Many of Bryon’s business associates were taken aback when they met her in person for the first time after having dealt with her only by telephone and imagined her to be a petite temptress with a voluptuously curved body.

***

Image is Everything

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Elusive Innocence

Excerpt

Lisel Herrera tugged at her skirt one last time before pressing the doorbell of the sprawling mansion.

The advert had listed a mobile number and had said simply, “Female, preferably between the ages of 16 and 18, needed for light housework.  Please contact: Gareth Anderson.”

At nineteen, she barely looked fourteen.  She desperately needed extra income right now and would do just about anything to get some, including lie about her age.

The door opened moments later and for a few seconds she gazed stupidly back at the man standing in the doorway, completely lost for words.  Wearing a forest green roll neck jumper, black jeans and black monogrammed bedroom slippers, he looked as though he had just stepped off the screen of an old Hollywood movie.  Late-twenties, or early-thirties, Lisel guessed.  Two tiny wings of silver at each temple enhanced the glossy lustre of his jet black hair and almost perfectly matched his silvery eyes.

“Are you here for the job?” His voice was a deep purr that sent a shiver down her spine.  As she nodded, too surprised to speak, he stepped aside and invited, “I’m Gareth.  Come in, please.”

She had thought the exterior of the house impressive as she had approached the building, but it paled in comparison to the magnificent interior.

“Your house is beautiful and…and spotless,” she commented in awe as she looked around.  “Why do you need help cleaning it?”

“Thank you.  I do most of the cleaning myself, but I don’t always get the time when I’m working on a project.  I need someone to keep things spic and span when I’m busy.”

“Why do you need someone young, or a girl for that matter?”

“Boys are dirty little creatures,” he said dismissively.  “And the reason I specifically requested someone young is because the job pays just above minimum wage.”

Stingy bastard, Lisel thought in annoyance.  His house is worth millions, and he wants to pay someone less than minimum wage to clean it?  She would be better off stacking shelves at Sainsbury’s or Tesco!

Just as she opened her mouth to thank him for agreeing to see her for the informal interview and say goodbye, he continued, “Although if you do a good job there will be regular bonuses.”

“Why not just pay more and forget bonuses?” she demanded.  It would make more sense.

“I’ve found that employees work harder when bonuses are promised.  Believe me, you won’t be disappointed with the monthly bonus I pay you.”

Monthly bonuses?  That didn’t sound too bad, if it was ten pounds or some equally ridiculous amount she would leave after the first month.

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“You look younger.”  He smiled, looking pleased at the thought.  “When’s your birthday?”

“Actually it was last week.  April 21^st,” she said truthfully, seeing no harm in giving him the exact date.

“So you’re just sixteen?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent.  Sixteen is the perfect age for the job.  The pay is enough for a girl’s first job.  An older girl would be able to earn more doing a regular job.”

His words sounded reasonable, but Lisel didn’t buy them.  If the man cleaned his house himself and kept it as spotless as it appeared, he didn’t need help, young or old.  She suspected that under his well-groomed exterior lurked a pervert of some sort.  A more naïve woman might have been in grave danger from him.  Lisel felt she could handle him; he seemed the type to cajole, not force, a woman into doing what he wanted.

“Are you doing your A-Levels at the moment?”

“Yes.”  Lisel did a quick mental calculation and realized her error.  “Actually I start studying for my A-Levels in September if I pass my GCSEs.”

“Does your school have a sixth form?”

“Yes it does,” Lisel responded her mind racing as she thought of an answer to his next most likely question.

“And which school is that?”

“St Angela’s,” she answered, hoping that the school did indeed have a sixth form.  She had seen some rather mature-looking young women in the school’s uniform when she had briefly rented a small, cramped bedsit in Plaistow.  They must have been at least seventeen.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but that’s a Catholic school isn’t it?”

“Yes.”  At least it sounded like one to Lisel.

“So you have to wear a school uniform?”

“Yes.”

The interview was turning out nothing like she’d anticipated.  What did wearing a uniform have to do with anything?

“What time do you finish school?”

“Most days I finish at half-four.”  Schools generally finished earlier, Lisel thought, but she needed some extra time to get from her office to his house.

“Would you be able to get here for half-five?  You can come straight from school.”

He spoke the words casually, yet suddenly everything clicked perfectly into place.  He had a school girl fantasy, but unlike other men who were satisfied with an older woman playing the role, he wanted the real thing!

“I can get changed and still be here by half-five,” Lisel suggested, looking directly into his eyes to gauge his reaction to her words.  If she had to buy a school uniform and rush home to put it on each day, it would take up too much time.  She didn’t need the hassle or the added expense.

“I would prefer you to be here at five.  My cook leaves at four to pick up her kids, it would be convenient for you to be here soon after she leaves.”

A less savvy woman might have believed his glib excuse, but Lisel had grown up struggling for a living in Venezuela and saw him for the predator he was.  She’d had a lucky break when at the age of fifteen a young British couple who had come to the capital Caracas as volunteer teachers had hired her as a sort of au-pair for their seven-month-old son.  They had brought her to the UK at the end of their two-year stint and she had spent another blissful year working for them and improving her numeracy and literacy skills before they had moved to the US only six months ago.  They hadn’t been able to take her with them, but had found her a small flat and given her enough money to last three months in the UK while she looked for a job and just enough to buy a ticket back home if that failed.

Her money had almost run out—she had even used a little of the money that had been set aside for her plane ticket back home when she had successfully passed the interview for a job as receptionist for a large UK-based Venezuelan company.  She shared reception duties with an older woman who complained bitterly each time she had to do the seven-to-three shift.  It would be no problem for Lisel to convince the woman to let her permanently do the early shift in future.  She could be home, dressed and at his place for five, but it would be one big rush.

“Five’s too early, even if I come to your house straight from school.”

“Okay, let’s leave your starting time flexible.  I want you to come straight from school and work for two hours each afternoon.  Would that be okay with your parents?”

“I live with my grandmother,” Lisel told him.  “She doesn’t care what I do once I brought some money home.”

His eyes darkened to a stormy grey at her comment, convincing her that he had no good intentions.  Any lingering guilt she felt at deceiving him melted like ice on a sweltering day.  He meant to use her to act out some perversion or other; she would use him to get the money she desperately needed.

Promising to start the next Monday, Lisel caught a bus.

An hour later she sat in front of her second-hand computer more than a little annoyed with both herself and Gareth.  She refused to go all the way to Ilford to the school’s recommended supplier to buy their ‘custard and gravy’ uniform which the girls in Years 9-11 wore.  Instead she would go to Marks and Spencer, John Lewis or a similar high street store and buy whatever they had available.  Since schools had already reopened for the summer term, she should get everything she needed for half price or less.

***

Turning My Man Out!

Excerpt

I never realized how many men there were in the world dying for their women to strap on and attack their sweet little butt holes!  My boyfriend Calvin and I have been together for six years and I have only just discovered his secret longing.  I could weep for the lost time, but thankfully he’s allowing me to make up for it.

Six-foot-four, good looking, a hundred and ninety-two pounds of solid man muscle and not conceited about his looks, he’s still my fantasy come true.

He used to have simple taste in sex—mostly the good old missionary position.  Occasionally, we used to do it in a chair, on the kitchen table, in the bathroom, on the backseat of his car or standing up.  Nothing extreme.  Nothing that would make me think that under his cool, happy exterior was a man who needed to be butt-fucked in the worst way!

But I’m getting ahead of myself.  Let me relate the events as they happened.

***

“Vanity, are you coming to bed any time soon?” Calvin asked.  “If not, I’ll deal with this myself.”

I turned from watching my favourite episode of Sex in the City and found him standing naked in the doorway of the living room holding his erect nine-inch cock in his hand.

He’d done it deliberately, knowing that I can’t resist a hard cock.

“Did I give you permission to play with yourself?” I asked annoyed, switching off the DVD and turning to face him.  I didn’t like it when he left me out.  I worried that he would have so much fun alone he would decide that he didn’t need me anymore.

“You said you would be there ten minutes ago, so I decided to get myself ready,” he explained calmly.

He was right, of course.  I’d just needed to see my girls for the hundredth time, but I’d told him that I would be there in a minute less than fifteen minutes ago.  He was asking for trouble!

“Your ass is mine!” I threatened stripping off my clothes and racing after him as he turned to go back into the bedroom.

It was an empty threat—I’m a slender, okay skinny, five-foot-three, he could snap me like a twig—but I really should punish him for making me turn off the DVD when Samantha was naked in bed with two gay men.

“Drop that cock and eat my pussy now,” I demanded and climbed onto the bed with him.

It was what he would have done anyway, but it felt good saying the words.

Did I mention that we went through a similar routine every time we had sex?  He played with my breasts a bit.  I don’t have a lot of breast, so playing with them must feel to him like he’s playing with his own chest.  I’d thought of getting implants, but he’d begged me not to.

Sorry, where was I?  Oh yes, our routine.  After a little breast play he would move southwards to my pussy and eat me until I was almost on the point of coming.  Then he would guide his cock to my mouth and I would give him head until he just had to be inside my pussy or die!  Then he would fuck me until I came and he would come shortly afterwards.  A few times he came before me, but not often.

That was our sex life.  It wasn’t bad.

I had no idea then how much better it would get.

Still in a commanding mood I laid myself back on the bed, spread my legs, and my pussy lips with my fingers and said, “Stick your tongue right up in there and fuck me until I tell you to stop.”

He went willingly, scooting down the bed until he was between my spread-eagle legs.  Wrapping his arms around my hips he spread my lips to his satisfaction, pushing my fingers out of the way.

“Ah,” I moaned as he plunged his tongue deep inside me, rasping my inner walls and sending a shiver through me.  Like his cock, his tongue was in proportion to his height and longer than most.

He carried on, stabbing his tongue inside me like he wanted to touch my womb.  By then I was wriggling and trying to escape, but he wouldn’t let up.  Finally a shock like a bolt of electricity started at my clit and raced to both my head and my toes.  Screaming, I rubbed my clit against his nose and came, clasping my head in my hands to keep my brains from exploding.

Coming hard always left me weak.  Twice I tried to raise my head off the bed and fell backwards both times.  Laughing, Calvin got off the bed and went out the bedroom.  He came back with a half a glass of red wine—all that was left from the bottle we’d had earlier with dinner.  He propped me up on his arm until I drained the glass.  I had recovered with the first sips of wine, but I played it out a bit, wanting him to feel like he was the man.

“Right, it’s my turn now and as I said earlier your ass is mine!” I threatened again, grabbing hold of his cock as he stood at the side of the bed.  Sitting on our low wooden designer king-size bed with my lack of inches, I was at the perfect height to give him a blowjob in comfort.

But surprised to find him as stiff as a poker in my hand even before I’d started, I told him, “Come and lie down on the bed.  I don’t want you to fall over when I start because I’m going to suck your cock like it’s a Marks and Spencer lollipop—the ones I really like.  I’m due a facial and these breasts aren’t going to grow any bigger unless they get a shower of your rich sperm to fertilize them.”

He quickly lay on the bed, bracing himself on his elbows and planting his long legs on the floor, opening himself up completely as I knelt between them.  He liked me to talk about his cock and about how I was going to give him head and what I would do with his cum.  It usually ended up inside me, as I mentioned before, but we always played these little games beforehand.

After letting him imagine coming all over my face and chest, I added, “Actually I need the nutrients.  I think I might just swallow your tasty cum instead.”

I felt his cock expand at the new thought.

“God, you’re so hard,” I told him, as I slowly licked my way up his shaft.  He was oozing pre-cum.  I lapped up several drops and smacked my lips as I held his gaze.  “And so delicious.”

Still holding his gaze I slowly covered the tip of his cock with my lips and sucked on it, holding his shaft in both hands, letting him see how long his cock was.  I have small hands with narrow palms, it looked as if I could wrap another hand around his shaft, if I had one.

Every now and then I let the head just slip out of my mouth, curling my lips outwards to make it appear as though the crown of his cock was forcing my lips apart.  Had I  planned it in advance I would have worn red lipstick, that really gets him going, but there had been no time for that.

Then it was time for some ball work.  Calvin has small, tight little scrotal sacs that I hoped would be able to produce little Calvins when we finally decided that the time was right.  Pumping his shaft lightly in a smooth repetitive motion, I moved down to gently tongue his balls.  His head immediately fell backwards and soon the rest of his body followed limply.

His balls were the crown jewels of his body.  But they had to be handled just right.  I sucked one into my mouth and teased it with my tongue and then rolled it gently in my mouth as though it was a sugared sweet I was trying to dissolve.  By the time I got to the other one his breathing was audible in the room.  He is not much of a talker during sex, but the groaning sounds he makes let me know when I get something right.

Usually after ball play I head back to giving head.  This time I headed further south, intended to lick my way to his butt hole.  He nearly came off the bed when I ran my tongue over his perineum.  I did it a couple more times as he begged me to stop.

But I was just getting started.

Now only stroking his cock very lightly, to keep it warm more than anything else, I continued to tongue the sensitive area between his butt and his balls that I had discovered for the first time.  And curious to find out what else lay undiscovered, I moistened the middle finger of my left hand and rimmed his butt hole.

The same electric shock that had gone through me earlier seem to go through him.  He clenched his butt muscles and pleaded, “Please stop…please don’t…stop.”

A clear request for me to go ahead if I’d ever heard one.  So, I did.

He reached down and placed his hand over mine, urging me to quicken the slow stroke of my hand on his cock.  Instead, I slipped my hand from under his and curled his fingers around his now straining shaft, leaving him to look after it while I got up and a bit more personal with his butt hole.  Reasoning that something larger than my slim finger made its way out of him on a daily basis, albeit in a different direction, I worked it past his entrance carefully as I continued to kiss and caress his perineum with my tongue and lips.

Before I got my finger in to the first knuckle he came all over the bed sheets.

***