Manifesting

She had come a long way in a short time. A level of desire that had gone from surprising herself to shocking herself to just matter-of-factly touching herself. Sometimes both morning and night. “Breakfast of champions,” she liked to call it when it started her day. Not cutesy turns of phrase after dark, just a simple wind-down to sweet dreams at bedtime. Turning 40 had quite simply been a revelation. Needs. Wants. Drives. Insatiable drives. And the new things that she found herself wanting in her wildly creative and oh so vivid imagination. Delicious. Decadent.

Dirty.

Forty years as a good girl had given Giovanna reason to make up for lost time. A virgin well past her twentieth birthday, she had been afraid of taking chances, falling for some loser in her teens or winding up pregnant. She had goals. Earnest, hardworking, Cathecism, Red Cross and scholarship girl, always doing the right thing, safe, dependable, taking care of everyone and saving the world. Intellectually gifted, spiritually aware and emotionally intelligent, physically she was a stranger to herself. Twenty years of white bread sex, her sensuality explored but not awakened. Only long term monogamous relationships, never an affair. And those with men who Tried hard but never tried Hard. She didn’t know what she wanted. Wouldn’t have known how to talk about it. Might not even allow it. And then… suddenly so much readiness. So much knowing. Different kinds of goals. And a decidedly new willingness to ask.

Only 7:30pm. Still so early for her. But her throbbing clit while she was answering emails over dinner would not be ignored. Shifting in her chair, feeling the warm dampness inside her. Swollen. Open. Throbbing. How does that happen on its own, she wondered, not for the first time. She giggled and ran two fingers between her labia, thick and ripe even over top of her expensive suit pants. She tapped herself briskly, a tiny self-imitation of a spanking designed to focus, not arouse, and said “Get it together, girl! Time to be a grown up,” out loud as she determined to work. She tried to adjust her weight, concentrate, revel in the anticipation of later, a mature and professional woman for now. But her sex would not be ignored. Not now. Not ever now. She got up to put her salmon and orzo in tupperware for the fridge, suddenly very aware she was ravenous yet not in any way hungry for food. With each step, her lips, her lower lips, brushed up against each other and she could feel how wet she had become. So much wanting, the distraction almost overwhelming. She looked out her picture window at the apartments across the way, wondering if some hot fifty year-old widower or twenty year-old horn dog could see her. Her hand straying down again, mind lost, wishing she had the nerve to open the blinds and…

Oh. She had wandered to her bedroom now. Her ripe and agile mind had already worked out when tonight’s projects could be completed, shuffled into tomorrow’s Outlook, no urgent deadlines, anyway. And this was becoming urgent. An unconscious homing beacon called her to soft sheets, her gorgeous duvet… and those dresser drawers. She slipped off her black blazer with its crisp lapels, so proper, so very $100,000-a-year-take-me-seriously, and sighed as she hung it over the closet doorknob. Reached up to caress her lush breasts through her filmy cream blouse. Hers was not the body of a model or a movie star. Never had been, never would be. But she had made peace with it. Recognized that these curves, the DD richness, her blush peach areolae a full two inches in diameter, the tender cushion of her inner thighs, didn’t come on angular bodies. Save for her reasonably high cheek bones, she had no angles, only softness. And she liked that softness under her own fingers, rolling and kneading… needing… She chose to reason that a man would like the feel of her as well. Remembered one who did and it sent a shiver through her.

Gently unbuttoning her blouse now, the lacy cups and rhinestone inset of her periwinkle blue demi bra such a perfect juxtaposition to the look she shows to the world. No one out there knows what her mind runs to, what her body craves. None would ever suspect what she wore under all that Liz Claiborne and Jones New York, mostly from an online intimate retailer, the courier packages to her office a delicious anticipation all day. Thick FedEx envelope in the middle of her desk for all to see but none to know. She generally liked transparency. Prided herself on her ethics and candor. But to have one juicy little secret? That couldn’t be so bad, could it? She giggled as her fingertip brushed against the edge of the top of a hardening nipple, that place where peach flesh meets ivory, incandescent, always just threatening to show itself as her voluptuous breasts strain against the confining fabric. She wore as little fabric as possible, but these mounds demanded support. She heard herself laugh out loud as her bra strap slid down past that softest of flesh. Well, no. Almost the softest. Oh. She returned to her question. Could it be so bad? Yes it could be. And so deliciously good.

But not yet. First that middle drawer, the one with the special occasion lingerie. Giovanna had slipped off the one bra, trousers draped over a cushy chair – bought for a reading nook in her private space, tonight she thought only of her legs draped one over each of its white-upholstered arms, her dripping cunt pushing up for air as a sandy blond head pushed into her every fold, his knees cushioned by the faux lambskin rug and her fingers tangled in his hair, grabbing his head, begging for his tongue to move up, higher, up to that place that he can’t see but her very soul can feel.

Wow. Where did that come from? They hadn’t even done that. But he had promised they would. Back when they assumed there would be more time. Anticipation. He did so enjoy anticipation. Loved to make her quiver and moan with the lightest of touches, the barest brush of a fingertip on the side of her arm. The point of a glistening tongue running from collarbone to earlobe, along the shivering tendon of her neck. His breath hot on her thighs as he ate her with only his eyes. She slipped on her new shelf bra – straps and underwire and satin and a shiny pink bow. And no cups. Just her glorious nipples kissed by the cool air. And the lacy white garter belt to go with it. A veritable L’oreal commercial: she might be alone, Giovanna thought, but she was worth it. Giggle. Then a deeper laugh as she wondered if he could be coaxed into something no-strings-attached? But this was no time to be thinking beyond the next hour.

First to that bottom drawer. A half dozen collections to choose from. Pleasures. Lust. Ripe Fruit. Beyond Boundaries. Unruly Appetites. What did she feel like tonight? She tucked into the stack of pillows and thumbed through a few pages here and there. Lusty program coordinator takes Baptist volunteer’s virginity. Four girlfriends on holiday, a deserted beach, decide to find out what bi-curious means… all together now. Mild-mannered accountant takes his unsuspecting wife to a special club, watching her face as she realizes the couples in the corners are not just having drinks… that rustling… oh, that’s a moan… they are… watching her as she evolves from shock through horror back to curiosity and eventually desire as she turns, out of control now, and asks him to... Ah, yes, that one is good. Very good. But now to her old standby.

She reaches for Sweet Life, an anthology with its spine well worn, the pages veritably falling open to her favourite story on their own now, and with her other hand pulls open the top night table drawer. A treasure box of self pleasuring. He used to peak into its recesses a little when she would get a condom or a wet wipe, but never let on he saw. Never asked what she hoped he would ask. She felt her shoulders relax and her cunt muscles clench as her fingers wrapped around her favourite toy. The Wahl electric. Because why mess with batteries that lose power, run down, run out, at the most inopportune times, when an extension cord and a plug at the bedside can ensure the pleasure does not go until you come?

She grinned a little as she thought of the first time she had played with it. Her parent’s bathroom floor. Such a naughty girl. Her father’s respiratory therapist had bought it. For his pneumonia. Broke up the congestion and allowed full breathing once more. When he was well, the physio had given it to Giovanna, in a box, along with an inhaler and some liniment… “Just in case you ever have a need.” Giovanna was young. Still very much a virgin. She had missed the inflection in her patron’s voice. But one afternoon, when her history professor had made her pussy drip as he told her how brilliant her found her, trying not to look at her tits but failing miserably, tantalizingly, she got an inspired idea. Locked herself in the bathroom, turned on the fan and ran the water hard and loud, and put that Wahl to work. She came in about 45 seconds flat, shrieking with her first clitoral orgasm. She eventually learned how to bring them on slowly, building, holding on for a whole body explosion rather than a mere vaginal ripple. But there was no turning back from that day. Regularly broke up all the congestion that built up down there in the world of a hot woman living life as just a warm girl. Over twenty years she had gone through three Wahl models, and certainly other toys. But loyalty had its advantages.

“Spa Day” is such an innocuous title. Probably the tamest in the anthology. Doesn’t in any way convey the possibilities. Another woman wouldn’t get off on this, she knows. The woman she used to be would have been scared. Hmmm… he might have liked it. Too bad she’ll never know.

Spa Day is Mrs. Vittorio’s story. On the cushioned table now, just a towel between her naked body and Robert’s healing hands. So love it that she is Italian. And 40. And imperfect but intoxicatingly beautiful, anyway. She knows he can smell her, even with the vanilla-scented massage oil. Mrs. Vittorio should be self conscious. Giovanna knows she is not. These two women understand each other. Know the musky turn-on that comes from letting the body talk... and be heard.

She could feel the tightness ease from her body as his fingers coaxed the knots from her neck and shoulders. She moaned softly in her throat, then, embarrassed, tucked her head against her arm.

She was whimpering by the time the towel fell away and he began working on her buttocks. She clenched the cheeks of her ass as his hands worked around, then even between, her cheeks. She felt her face grow hot and a wetness gather between her legs. So close to her pussy. “Does that feel good?”

Strangely it’s the dialogue more than the description that gets Giovanna hot. Robert’s questions. His directions. His knowing, even as Mrs. Vittorio is only hoping. His confidence and joy in her pleasure.

Though the massage was incredible, she wasn’t relaxing. She could feel a new kind of tension building in her body. She wanted to move against his hands. Wanted to raise her ass and spread her legs and beg him to touch her there, where she was hot and wet. Instead, she forced herself to remain still, whimpering more with every push and tug of his artisan hands on her damp skin.

“Turn over, Mrs. Vittorio.” The tone in his voice made her want to forget her modesty.

Giovanna was losing herself in the story now, his words echoing in her head as resonantly as the humming between her legs. One-handed reading. Soft humming of another kind sneaking its way out of her throat, too. A glorious way to pass a Thursday evening.

She tuned onto her back, the towel slipping from beneath her to fall to the floor. She didn’t care. She liked being naked beneath Robert’s steely gaze.

“Relax. You’re beautiful.”

Giovanna moaned audibly and thrust her own pelvis forward, harder. Mrs. Vittorio might have to act innocent, pretend she wasn’t dripping in lust. She did not. She knew she was going to come. And she was holding out to make it spectacular.

She couldn’t hold back a groan as his hands made circles on her breasts, around them, all around them. Sensual, but the motions of a breast exam nonetheless. And her nipples ached for his touch. He moved up to her collar bone and she impulsively reached for his hand, “Here. I still feel some soreness here.”

“Spread your legs.”

Giovanna’s hips bucked up and a shock wracked her body. The way it did every time. Those words. That tone. Her fantasy.

Slowly she spread her legs as far as the table would allow and he dipped his head between them. She could feel how wet she was, but could he see? The look on his face said he could. And then his hand.

“Relax,” he said. “You can take more.” And he slipped a third finger inside her.

“More.” He used to say that to her when she came for him. “More.” When she had moaned and screamed and called out his name. But before she had mewed and cried and hyperventilated to the brink of sanity. When he had brought her to overwhelming pleasure. And he wanted to bring her to ecstasy.

More.

Giovanna sank further into her fantasy only to be rudely jolted by the phone. What the hell? No. Not now. Back to her vibrations, Mrs Vittorio’s nipples and her swollen clit. Then it rang again. No! But it was two rings, not one. The door security system, not the phone at all. She was suddenly scared. Was her bedroom window closed? Could anyone hear the buzzing coming from her room? The coming coming from her room? She quickly turned off the vibrator. What to do. The two rings came again. Insistent. And against all reason, stupid reflex, she answered.

“Hello,” she said hesitantly.

“Giovanna, it’s me. Saw your light. Just have something to drop off for you. No big deal - I won’t be a minute.”

Oh God. It was him. She’d just been thinking about him. More than thinking. Wanting. Hell, begging in her mind. And he was here. And he could only be dropping off one thing. That last night, weeks ago now, that last frenzied night before she had decided to listen to her backbone instead of just her clitoral boner and realized she needed to break up with him, that last night, she had left her panties behind. $59 French ones with lace appliqué, completely see-through in the front, all the better for her Brazilian-bare pussy. Oh, God, she was hot. And he was here. Now. Like this. This could be so bad. He needs to go, she was thinking. But her fingers pressed the entry button. Reflex. Pushing her dirty buttons.

No time to change out of her naughty underthings, only to pull her fluffy purple robe around her. It was pretty matronly, really. Only for warmth, not heat. She pulled her bedroom door shut and went to her foyer just as he knocked. She took a deep breath, steeled herself, a mantra of “just take them and be done with it” in her head, and then opened the door wide. Fuck he looked good. He looked at her hesitantly for a moment, too respectful to just barge in – ah, respectful? Or was that a challenge she saw in his eyes. If he entered, she would have to admit that she invited it. She stepped aside.

“Sorry for my, well, fuzzy slippers look,” Giovanna apologized quickly. “I had a late night last night and was getting ready to tuck in early.”

“Would it be wrong for me to say I always liked you best tucked in early?” he asked as he pulled out the envelope he had brought her. “Sorry I didn’t just leave these with the concierge as you asked. I could tell you that it’s because I’m in a private suite, the concierges work for the hotel, yada yada. Whatever.” Giovanna looked at him questioningly as she stepped toward him and reached for the envelope. He met her gaze, stepped in to her as well, but then pulled his hand back. Opened the flap instead. Dropped the panties with one hand into the waiting palm of the other. “The truth is…” He stopped. Giovanna was suddenly aware of her breathing. And his. Ragged, both of them. And he still didn’t talk. But his eyes spoke to her. She knew that message.

“The truth is I wanted to smell you.” And he pushed the panties into his face to inhale.

“I can smell you.”

“Well, uh” Giovanna said nervously. Shit, she cursed in her mind. I am a writer. A speaker. And a woman who can take care of her own needs. I don’t need to stammer. Or be toyed with. Get it together! A split second went by. “Well, so you’re done now, fine. Give them back.”

“No,” he said, his eyes locked on hers. Penetrating her with only his gaze. Making her pulse and throb so powerfully that she wanted to close her eyes so she could really give in to it. Except she couldn’t take her eyes from his. “I can smell you.” Another long, deep, thrusting look. “I smell you now.” His eyes offered their proposition. And her eyes must have answered, must have whispered, begged. Because then he said it.

“Spread your legs.”

Her breath heaved out of her in a rush. She was quivering. He couldn’t know what he was doing to her. He leaned even closer, now less than an inch from her face, radiating heat. Dear God.

“Spread them,” he breathed, pushing her panties into her face with one hand and parting the edge of her robe with the other, a confident hand going slowly, though precisely, where it was needed. Giovanna’s knees buckled. His hand slipped behind her neck, steadying her as his tongue gently reached out to her bottom lip, tasting, teasing. He looked down approvingly at her lingerie, now fully exposed to his view. Ran his hand along the top edge of the white satin bra where it skimmed under her ripe nipples. “This is new. And not for me,” he said, uncertain for just a moment. It had been awhile, maybe there was someone else already.

“No. For me. Just me.” She looked him square in the eye, telling him what he needed to know. “But apparently now for us both, tonight,” and his mouth crushed down on hers as he tugged the robe to the floor and shoved his fingers, an arrow to their mark, between her pulsing lower lips.

He pushed his leg between hers and backed her down the hall to her bedroom. Lost in his kisses, Giovanna forgot what she had only minutes before been engrossed in. His kisses could do that, make her forget everything. And tonight they were better than ever. His tongue probed her mouth, searching, sucking, gentle and hard, tugging her lip with his teeth, rolling his tongue around hers, driving and dancing, working her face like a cunt, tasting and knowing every part of her. She liked to suck and be sucked. Everywhere. Insatiably. Oh, fuck, now that was his tongue in her ear, the tingles sending a lightening bolt to her clit. She moaned and lost her balance again. He caught her and pushed her back onto the king sized bed. Awkward for a second, they scooched to find a comfortable position. She was panting now, knowing he was going to go down on her, knowing it would last for a long time, knowing she would be out of her mind soon. His comfort was as important as hers. He pulled the duvet aside.

“What’s this?” he asked with amusement.

“Huh?” was all Giovanna could manage at first, concentrated on the fresh sensations hitting her as so many parts dripping with his saliva felt the shock of the cold air as he sat up. Then she opened her eyes. He was kneeling above her with her vibrator in one hand and her book in the other. “Oh God,” Giovanna said, “Give me that.” She was mortified. Or wanted to be. Then checked for his reaction. Okay, should be mortified. Except…

He saw that look in her eye. “Seems I arrived just in time. Or perhaps a bit early.” He grinned so wide. “Which was it?” he asked, his eyes skimming a page quickly. “Had you just screamed, uh, Robert’s name or did my arrival deprive you of the pleasure?”

Now Giovanna was irritated. She liked to be teased. But this was mocking. And humiliation would never be her thing. “Are you going to fuck me or not? Because if you are not going to get me off, you can get the fuck out of here and I’m going to go back to Robert.”

“Oh I’m going to fuck you,” he said. And paused. Portentously. Melting her indignation with that gaze. “But I’m going to watch you finish with “Mr. Robert” first. He reached out with the vibrator, turned it on with one hand and pulled down on one of her ankles with the other, hard, her balance lost, her back slamming into the mattress. “Spread your legs, Giovanna. Show me. Show me how you touch yourself.”

Saying no was simply no longer an option. Her explosive libido, the evening’s erotic beginnings, weeks of celibacy, years of being trapped and inhibited, mind-altering arousal… And, oh God… his voice… his tone… those words… all came over her in a giant, wet wave. Eyes locked on his, Giovanna began to pleasure herself. Her lids fluttering in a moan or shudder now and then, she nonetheless held his gaze. And it was white hot.

He moved a little toward her. She looked questioningly at him but he moved right past her, his breath hot on her neck as he reached over to open the drawer. Her drawer. He pulled out a bottle of strawberry-flavoured lubricant, looked over the label, and then put it down. “Don’t stop,” he said gently to her over his shoulder. Then came the large phallic vibrator. The bright one with the ridges. “You’re so wet,” he said as he turned it on. “I think you need something inside you.” And he lifted her left hand, placed the tool in her palm, and moved its shiny neon tip to her dripping cunt lips.

“Let me see you. Let me see everything.”

It was the sort of night that could come crashing down around them. Every second another truth or dare. If anyone laughed, got nervous, lost focus, showed discomfort, it would be over. Embarrassment would kill both safety and desire. The night would end and they would never see each other again. But he looked at her like there was nothing in the world to do except, well, to look at her. Passionately. With total acceptance. And overwhelming arousal. And as she held his gaze, her body knew what it wanted, what they both wanted. And she gave herself to it completely.

She shoved the vibrator inside herself as far as it would go and just held it there for a second. Closed her eyes. Embraced the penetration. Then slowly started pulling it out and sliding it back in, watching his gaze widen and narrow, seeing him lick his lips and, indeed, adjust the cock which must have been ready to explode in his shorts. She watched him watching, knowing her lips were stretched around each ridge as she fucked herself, knowing he could see it all, her messy gushing sounds and squirting fluids only driving them both to greater arousal.

Giovanna lifted her left leg, pulling her foot almost behind her, thrusting her mound toward him and pushing the vibrator inside herself from below. His eyes feasted on her in sheer wonder. Her technique afforded direct G-Spot contact. And kept one toy out of the way of the other. His breath caught as he saw her sink into the new waves rippling through her and the promise of coming from inside and her clit at the same time. Yes.

“Stroke yourself for me,” she groaned, breathless with desire. “Kneel right here beside me and let me see you, too.”

He removed his underwear and wrapped his hand around his glorious cock – hard, straight, thick and uncut, its beautiful head straining for release and glistening with pre-cum – before she could even finish the words.

“Oh god, look at you,” came the words from deep in her throat. Looking at him like that made the walls of her cunt throb. “I’ve wanted you to watch me.”

“I’m right here,” he said. “I see you. You’re glorious, magnificent. Come for me.”

She pushed the head of one vibrator harder against her upper vaginal wall, jamming it into her, wanting more, wanting it all, and grinding the whirling tip of the Wahl into her clit as she listened to the slapping noises of his hand pumping his cock. “Do it harder,” she entreated him. “Come with me. Come all over me. Please.” She was reaching that point of no return, the time when nothing could possibly enter her consciousness besides the wave of orgasm overtaking her. “Oh, God, I want to come for you. Now. Come with me. I want to smear you all over me.” Where she learned to talk like that, where these slutty urges and XXX vocabulary came from, she couldn’t say. She had never spoken this way before and no one who knew her outside this room would believe it for a minute. Hell, they’d stage an intervention. But, in this moment, literally lost in lust, her words were the most authentic she had ever spoken. “I’m coming! I’m coming for you! Ooooh… mmm-yyy fuuu-cckk-ing GGG-AAAAAW-DD!” She was gone, so far inside her body she had left it. And in a split second, he followed, eyes rolling back in his head, body surging, rocking, his breath pounding, every inch of him shuddering, hot wet juice shooting on her breasts, her neck, arms, into her hair. She didn’t care. He didn’t care. There was only pleasure in this moment.

Together they panted and stared at one another for what seemed like an eternity before he reached down, pulled the vibrators from her, turned off the switches, and crawled up her body to kiss her and stroke her face as he cooed, “Yes, baby. Yeah, that’s what I wanted. Yes.” Then down her neck, lapping a little of his own come from her, tasting himself, and saying “I can still smell you. And I need to taste you.” His lips trailed down her body. She shivered and quaked – still so aroused from her orgasm, it was almost too much. But she didn’t stop him. She could never stop him.

And then his nose was in the folds of her cunt, inhaling her deeply, drowning in her scent even more than her moisture, teasing her with the sensation of his breath passing over her smooth, delicate skin. Oh, she was glad she had been to Sugarbox this week. His tongue would be good no matter what. Art, in fact. His tongue with unobstructed access to pure, perfect, virgin pussy – not a trace of even the most gossamer hair? The thought alone could get either of them off. And she could tell from his deep, throaty noises echoing into her, the sounds of a man enjoying his first gourmet meal, reveling in her clean, fresh taste, that he had been missing her these past weeks, thinking about getting her off, to get himself off. She pictured him again with her panties on his face. Pictured herself picturing him while fucking herself with two vibrators. Pictured him watching her while she did it. And then remembered that none of these were mere fantasies any more. She had brought them all to life. Manifested perfectly. Ah, law of attraction was indeed a beautiful fucking thing!

And so was his tongue, now lapping her. Flattened and moving deliberately up from her dripping opening all along her clit and up beyond. Of course there is no beyond. And he had learned that about her. Knew that the longer the strokes, the higher he went between her lips, past her nub, grinding around the curve of her pubic bone, the more she would writhe and tangle her hair into the knotted mass he loved to see. He knew that she was not a woman for in-betweens. Feathery, almost imperceptible, absolutely torturing teasing touches, or the head of his cock moving so slowly inside her she could feel every ridge and fold… oh god, she loved it. And sucking and fucking so hard it stopped just this side of pain made her lose it. Lose herself to find herself. The simple “strong” or “firm” stuff in the middle? Well, anything he did felt good because he was a man who knew women. But if he wanted her to come? Titillate or ravage, no half measures. Preferably a varying mix of both. And thankfully for them both, he did want to make her come. Again and again.

“More,” he said. Just the way she remembered. And he put two fingers inside her now, watching them go in and out, getting off on her plump, perfect pussy, but also watching her face, wanting to know what would make her crazy. He liked that she was smart, mature, professional, well-respected. And he liked it so much more that she could turn into an animal, a bitch in heat who didn’t care about anything but that moment of sweat-soaked bliss. The secret, the contrast, was overwhelming… to them both.

“Relax,” he said, slipping a third finger inside her. “You can take more.” Oh my God, Giovanna thought. Did he just say that?

“Spread your legs and let me take you.” Oh God, he did. He said it.

She moaned. Writhed. Started to lose it. Mind racing – he hadn’t been here long enough tonight to do more than read a sentence of two. Had he gone through her drawers before tonight? Read the story? How would he know which one? She had never told… oh god… she couldn’t think anymore. He had slipped a fourth finger inside her. She was writhing, sputtering, mewing, and unable to do anything else.

This wasn’t happening. Oh God. He reached for the lube. It was happening. She had never done that. Never dreamed she would, not really. It was just a… but, no, yes, here she was. Oh, God. Please.

“Yes?” he asked softly, so softly she could barely hear him.

There was only one answer.

“More.”

He went slowly, so slowly she squirmed on the table, urging him to go faster, harder. She was begging. But he ignored her. Tended to her by giving her what she needed, not what she asked for. He kept to his slow, methodical pace, filling her with his fingers. Slowly, he slid them out and back in again, over and over, sweet, steady, stretching.

“I hope you’ll make another massage appointment with me,” he replied with a smile.

Giovanna’s body and mind were in that story, on those pages and right there, in her bed, as present as she had ever been. She was on his hand and lost in the ethers all at the same time. Fantasy and reality, his hand and her cunt… they had all merged and danced and become some new flowy thing she couldn’t see and was inside of at the same time. And it was so inside of her.

His fist – his arm – deep inside her, he kept stroking her ass, licking her lips, sucking her clit, kissing her belly, then her breasts and neck. “Yes,” he said.. “That’s it. Just let go. It’s yours. More. Let me take you. Open. Let me take you there.” She shook. Tears choked in her throat and sprang from her eyes. Her entire lower half shuddered, thighs seizing, toes curling, red splotches radiating across her chest and down even to her nipples… her cervix, even her uterus, in spasm, quaking to her core. “Show me. Come on. Let go. Open for me. Open. Yeah.” And in his words as much as his hitherto forbidden touch, Giovanna’s body knew the ecstasy of its birthright, a metaphysical explosion of light and dark, the kind of rapture all might seek, yet few will dare.

When his hand eased out and slid up to hold her face, kiss her, stroke her, making her feel so beautiful, she pulled his fingers into her mouth, ravenous. He had soaked himself in her and now she would drench herself in him. She moved down his body and took his beautiful erection into her mouth. Fuck he was gorgeous. And his scent. It made her crazy, wanton. She ran her tongue up his shaft to the tip, then circled it around his balls. Intoxicating. Without losing contact between his body and her tongue, she reached over to her special drawer. He deserved something special, too.

She grabbed one of the wipes and ran it over every inch and nook and crack of him, felt his surprise, question, then relaxation as she moved lower with her tongue, rimming him. She had never done this before, wasn’t sure what would feel good, but figured his moans were a pretty good indicator. She resumed her ministrations, sucking his balls one at a time, softly rolling them in her mouth, then tugging on them, then pulling her cheeks together as hard as she could, taking both balls in her mouth hungrily, like she would devour him, swallow him whole. She knew that part of what he loved about the way she gave head was how much she loved doing it… because that’s what so turned her on about his tongue… and now his hand as well. The inspiration and pleasure were always mutual. A couple they were not meant to be, but, as lovers, they understood each other perfectly.

And she reached again for her drawer, the pleasure treasure trove. This time he was so distracted in the sensations coursing through his body, cock radiating out to legs and belly and nipples and even fingertips as he crushed his fists over his eyes and whimpered under her touch, he didn’t notice her pick up the six studded tickler, a new purchase (for what she did not know at the time, just another recent attraction to which she gave in). He didn’t see her wipe it down with alcohol, didn’t feel it as she used one hand to drop lube over it, the other hand pumping his glorious cock into the air, sliding his incredible foreskin back and forth in controlled abandon. Didn’t react other than to moan when she slid a warm finger into his asshole: she had done that before and he had liked it. And she loved the way the muscles around that wondrously soft inner tissue gripped her so hard. It made her think that must be what it feels like for him when she comes. Soft and hard and impossible… except it is happening and so fucking exciting!

In a schedule filled with responsibilities and paperwork, groceries and traffic, life can hold far too little joy. He had brought her to the edge of herself, and she wanted to make him see stars. The tickler was only the same diameter as her middle finger – nothing freaky kinky. But it had balls where it narrowed smaller, then widened out. Six of them. And it was a good three or four inches longer than her finger, which let her get a solid grip to control the pressure, and penetration… to control his pleasure. It would be exciting. For them both. His legs stiffened for a second when she slid it in to him, so tight. He was curious… and nervous for a second. But so turned on he couldn’t bring himself to even look, let alone stop her, and she felt him relax into it, another silent question asked and answered.

“Oh yeah,” she said. “My turn to fuck you.” They both shuddered in arousal at her words. Then her mouth was too busy to talk, moving up and down his cock, her tongue swirling and sucking in all the ways she knew he liked as she slowly, gently, agonizingly, fucked his asshole, one tiny, tight tickling bead at a time. Up and down. In and out. Soft. Easy. Sensual.

And then he said it. One might even say it said him. That desire for…

“More.”

She paused for a second, wanting to be sure. “More,” he groaned. And for the first time ever he began to thrust a little in her mouth – he forgot to be sensitive and gentlemanly and make sure he didn’t hurt her. He was lost in desire, gone, bucking his ass and grabbing her hair and begging her not to stop. And she sucked as deeply as her cheeks would let her, one hand stroking hard up the base of his shaft, the other hand fucking his ass as hard as she had ever rammed a cock into herself. She felt him tense and seize and then shoot into her mouth, once, twice, three times… she lost count… she just kept sucking, just kept fucking… and he kept coming. His hot fluids ran all down her jaw and neck and all over him and she stayed with him as his body kept twitching, her wordlessness in her pleasuring of him saying “Give me all of it. It’s what I want.” When he finally stopped quivering, his abdomen heaving in panting breaths, she reached for her glass of wine and a kleenex, wiping her face, taking a long, languid sip and then passing him the glass to quench his own thirst as she wiped his belly.

He grabbed her hair to pull her up for a long, sensuous kiss… and then they laughed nervously as they looked at each other, surprised at what the night had brought. It had been hot when they were together before, of course. But it had never been like this. And now… what were they to each other?

“You’re okay?” he said.

“Okay doesn’t cover it and you know it,” she replied with a knowing smile. “But, yeah, we’re both okay. Thank you for checking in. Really. Look, this can’t be anything but a bit foreign, but I think we both knew what we wanted and it’s all good.”

“No confusion?” he asked.

“No confusion,” she replied. “We are not back together. But as long as we are single, maybe we might decide we want to get together, now and then? If I’m not mistaken, I just blew your everloving mind, so I’m guessing you might be up to another surprise or two.”

“Yeah,” he said, as he got dressed. “Same to you.”

This wouldn’t be a night of cuddling. Those days were gone. But they would both dream vibrantly and sleep deeply, sated for now.

As he left she couldn’t resist asking, “When did you have a chance to read that story?”

“What story?” he asked, his confusion registering as genuine.

“Wow,” her mind flashed as she kissed him goodnight. “That really was manifesting.”

“I’ll send you a salacious email one of these days and see what you’re up to,” he said as he walked away.

“Yeah - not if I send one first,” she thought to herself as she headed for her keyboard. First she had a proposal to write and some emails to answer and then she needed to be rested for her meetings tomorrow. The slut thing worked best as a counterbalance to a very professional and lucrative career. But tomorrow night? Oh yeah. If one-handed reading yielded that kind of result, she wanted to know what she could create with a little one-handed writing.

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