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She had me lie down on my back, and then she climbed on top of me. She kissed
my ear, and neck, and throat. "Michael," she whispered, "Do you want to cum in
my mouth, or in my pussy?" I groaned. I wanted to cum in her mouth. She
knelt between my legs and started on me again. Every once in a while she would
stop, and grip me with her hand again, like she had before, to prevent me from
coming.
Soon I couldn't stand it anymore. I was begging her to let me cum. "Please
don't stop!"
She gripped me fiercely, and put her finger to her lips. "Shh." She was
wearing a powder blue bra I'd given her for her birthday. She watched me,
breathing.
Finally she let go, climbed on top of me, and sank herself on me in one long
fluid motion. She flung her head back, and was going down again when I started
to cum. It seemed to go on and on, but through the whole time I watched her.
Her mouth open, her eyes closed, she twisted her hips on me, forcing me up into
her as far as I would go.
Afterwards, I was exhausted. I didn't want to think anymore. I lied beside
her, with her cheek pressed against my arm. After a little while, I reached
for her, but she turned away.
"Michael," she said, "Do you believe me?" I turned my head.
Finally, she asked again. "Michael?"
I shut my eyes.
She got up, heading for the bathroom.
"Maria!" I said. "How long?"
She paused. "Not long," she said. She shut the door.
"Maria!"
I went to the door, and knocked. She wouldn't answer.
I banged on the door. It was locked. "Maria!" I heard water running.
"I'm brushing my teeth," she said. "Wait for me."
I leaned against the door.
I heard the toilet lid. "Do you think I like this? I don't like this,
Michael!" It sounded like she was crying.
"Maria, we need to talk." After a moment, I heard the toilet flush.
"I'm taking a shower, Michael. I'll be out in a minute."
I went and sat down on the bed.
She came of the bathroom maybe fifteen minutes later. She had on two towels,
one wrapped around her middle, the other around her hair. She smiled
tremulously. "Michael, this isn't easy for me," she said. I made a face at
her. She knelt down, putting her hand on mine. She bent her head. "I know
it's not easy for you either." Water was dripping onto my lap. She was not
quite dry. She looked up. All the makeup was gone. Her face was clean. "Can
you forgive me?" What I said next was the absolute truth.
"Maria, I love you more than anything." She smiled, and hugged me. I was
feeling bad already. She held me, nuzzling my face.
"Michael," she said, whispering, "You know I didn't finish before."
"Maria..."
"I know, I know," she said. "We will later, I promise. But." She loosened
her towel. She licked her lips. "I'm really, really ready." I was surprised
at myself. I was hard again already.
There were things I was going to say, demands I was going to make.
She put her hand on my chest, and gently pushed me back. She climbed on top of
me, her hair dripping around my face. She kissed me.
There was no sign she'd been crying.
She kissed me again.
"I was thinking about you in the shower," she said. She let the towel fall
open. Water was dripping down onto my belly. She continued to kiss me. She
reached downward, stroking me. "I can see you're ready too." I could taste
the peppermint from the toothpaste she'd used inside my mouth. She kissed me
hard and longingly.
She fucked me from on top again, like she had before. I watched her, bouncing
up and down on me. Before I could cum, though, she stopped, and leaned down on
me. "Michael," she asked, "could you - could you do something for me?" She
brushed her cheek against mine. "Could you eat me?" She'd never asked that
before, though I would have. I would have been happy to.
She climbed off, and straddled my head, gripping the bedpost.
She was wet, from the shower, and from herself. She smelled like scented soap,
and like sex. Her curls were glistening wet. Little beads of water were
forming there. It took us a little while to find our rhythm. She gave
directions. "No," she said, and, "Yes, like that." She moved around on top of
me, and I found the place she liked.
When she came, she cried out. "Oh yes! Oh yes, Michael, oh, God, yes!"
Afterwards I asked her if she'd liked it. She stroked my chest. "Yes,
Michael, more than you could know. Thank you." I smiled.
That night I had a dream. In my dream I was standing in the hallway leading to
John's office. I was standing there alone, but I knew that they were in
there. I was by the door. It was a heavy wooden door, I knew that from when I
worked there, and I stood there, listening. I couldn't hear anything. The
handle on the door was steel. I was expecting, I think, an electric shock when
I touched it. Instead, I had the sensation like I was falling. I touched it,
and it began to turn. I watched it turning, and then the door slid silently
open, slowly. First she was on her knees in front of him. He was leaning
against his desk, his trousers around his ankles. She was licking him, and in
my dream, his cock was huge. She didn't look at me. Then she was lying on the
desk. She was wearing a whore's outfit; black stockings, a black corset that
stopped below her breasts. I could see her pussy clearly. Then he was pushing
inside her, his cock disappearing into her cunt. She turned her face to me,
her lips smeared with his cum. "Oh, yes!" she moaned, "Oh God, yes!"
Around three am, I woke up, and looked over at my wife. She was sleeping on
her back, her face turned to one side, breathing lightly. She was wearing a
light satin nightie. I could see her nipples pushing up against the dress. I
pulled away the covers, examining her body. The hem of her dress just followed
the declivity between her legs. Her lips moved. I wondered if she was talking
in her sleep. There was a breeze coming through the windows.
When I touched her there, she sighed, and turned her head. When I lifted her
hem, I saw her lips move. When I examined her, I marveled at how beautiful she
was. She said something, indistinguishable, in her sleep, and I lifted her
legs apart, positioning myself between them. Still she did not wake. Only
when I entered her did she cry out. I entered her fully and completely,
stopping only when I touched the very bottom. On the third stroke, I stopped,
and holding her face in my hands. "You didn't fuck him, did you?"
Her eyes glittered. I think I may have been hurting her.
"No, Michael," she said. "Only you."
On the fourth stroke, she wrapped her legs around me, and began to moan.
In the morning, in the kitchen, she wore a light summer housedress. I watched
her making breakfast over coffee and a glass of juice. In the morning light, I
could clearly see her figure through the thin cotton print. She reached, to
get the box of sugar high up in the cupboard, and the hem rose well up on her
hips.
"Did you talk to Maynard?" she asked. I nodded, and then grunted yes, and she
started talking about doctors. She was excited about seeing a "real" one, she
said.
One the way out the door, she stopped me, and rose on tippy - toe to kiss me.
I put my arm around her. "I love you," she said. "You better," I said. It
was an old joke between us. I waved to our neighbor on my way out to the car.
"Michael," she had said, "I liked what you did to me last night." She had
smiled. I had smiled back.
That afternoon I sat at my desk. Honestly, there wasn't a lot of work to do.
I should have stayed home with Maria. At about three, my sister called. She'd
broken up with her latest girlfriend. She was worried she'd never have a
baby. She was thirty-one, the same age as my wife.
I told her about Maria. When I was done, she said nothing for a while. Then
she sighed. "I don't know what to tell you, Mike," she said. "She is right
about one thing, though. This doesn't change her. Sex is not the same as
love."
After I hung up, I stared at my desk for a while. Then I signed a check to the
IRS and went home.
Maria wasn't there. It was a little after four. She hadn't said anything
about going anywhere. I watched a game on TV, with the sound on mute. I
couldn't really concentrate.
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