Sugar Papito
written by:
Caroline Covington

This tale is the second installment in the series Mexican Bedtime Stories. The story can be read on its own or as a sequel to "The Mexican Stand-off".

After telling my husband about a one-night-stand adventure that I'd had before marriage, a door opened through which there was no going back. Chris's hunger for more tales and his positive reaction to them encouraged me to reveal other episodes from my past. Indeed, my recollections excited me, and I took pleasure in formulating the events in my mind so as to tell them smoothly when the time came. We'd uncovered a new vein of sexuality, and we mined it in earnest.

On Saturday morning, the day after my initial divulgence, we visited some nearby Mayan ruins. As we walked among the ancient temples and dwellings, I tried to imagine what life must have been like.

I'd read about the many Mayan ceremonies revolving around bodily fluids. Blood from the penis and vagina had uncommon significance and were exceptionally prized. Indeed, nobles and warriors submitted to having blood drawn from their penises, for it was believed that this sacrifice especially pleased the gods. Women, likewise, had their tongues pierced, and supposedly parallels existed between the tongue and phallus, blood and semen, and semen and saliva.

My mind raced with brutal, erotic scenarios as Chris and I stood in front of the temple of the Moon Goddess. I imagined a young, muscular warrior on the steps of the temple, naked in front of the masses, his penis bleeding, freshly cut by a stingray spine. An old woman leads me up the steps to stand next to him, whereupon I am disrobed. I then kneel in front of him, my mouth and vulva watering with anticipation, for I have been ordained by the nobility to perform the ritual fellatio, to co-mingle the essential elements of phallus, tongue, blood, saliva, and semen. Before the silent crowd, I perform my duties and bob my head on his wounded cock while the warm, metallic taste of blood intensifies. As I suckle him, he hardens like the limestone on which we execute the ancient rite, and the flow of his blood multiplies, filling my mouth and throat.

My womb and vagina burn with desire as I mouth the man's erection, and I pray for the Moon Goddess to bless me when the warrior surrenders his milk to me. She is pleased with my performance and answers my wish, granting me a violent orgasm at the precise moment that the young warrior erupts in my mouth. He and I convulse in unison for what seems an eternity, my lips locking on his pulsating phallus while my vulva quakes and drips its precious fluid into the ceremonial basin positioned beneath me. Stream after stream of thick virile ejaculate floods over my tongue, its taste and texture a welcome respite from that of the blood. As our spasms and groans subside, his cock softens in my mouth, permitting me to swirl the copious fluids with my tongue, marrying them for the gods and noble gathering. Finally, I release his spent manhood from my mouth and turn to the watchful assembly. Carefully, I resist the temptation to swallow the powerful fluids and instead allow the sacred mixture of blood, saliva, and semen to spill over my lips and flow down my chin and neck, demonstrating that the essential elements have been united...

God, I really had to lay off the mescal.

After viewing the Mayan ruins we sauntered back to the resort restaurant for a bowl of sopa de lima and enjoyed the soup in silence, aside from our slurps. When we'd finished, Chris ordered some beer, and as soon as the waiter left, he spoke.

"I know I've asked you before, but tell me about your first time, Catherine, with a little more detail."

"Oh God, Chris, there's nothing to tell. My memory's hazy simply because the sex was forgettable."

He laughed, "You too, eh?"

"Here's what I remember. His name was George, my high school boyfriend. We were both eighteen and virgins. After about a year of kissing and petting, I finally gave in to his not so subtle pressures to have sex. In fairness, my hormones also played a role," I sighed. "Neither of us knew what we were doing. We had quickies in the most unromantic and uncomfortable of places. As for orgasms, he certainly had them, but I didn't. Yet I knew I was capable of them from my solo efforts. And don't even mention oral sex. What on earth was that? Anyway, at least from my young perspective, I became convinced that sex was hugely overblown. Sorry, honey, I'm afraid you picked a rather unremarkable topic."

Chris then told me about his first time. At the age of eighteen, while dating an older girl, he too lost his cherry in the back of a car, apparently a widespread North American phenomenon. However, Chris and Mandy's explorations, unlike George's and mine, progressed far more boldly. Chris, unsurprisingly, was eager for the joys of oral play and inventive in finding places to make love. For about a year, Chris and Mandy sucked, licked, and screwed each other every chance they could.

I smiled while listening to his descriptions and realised that I was squeezing my thighs together from arousal, but I couldn't resist teasing him.

"Mandy? Don't tell me I've been living with a closet Barry Manilow fan!"

Chris burst out laughing while assuring me that he didn't have any white grand pianos in secret storage.

At a little past noon, we paid our bill and walked back to the cabana. It was shaping into another scorcher, so I was anxious to get to the beach. With only a handful of days left, I wanted to brown some more and take complete advantage of the clothing optional beach, which I'd promised myself I'd do.

My tan was progressing well; a few more days of all-over tanning could only enhance it. Although I'd packed my bikini tops, I'd yet to wear one. Consequently, the whiteness of my breasts had transformed to a nut colour, blending with the rest of my body. And thanks to the skimpiness and see-through nature of my thongs, my crotch had also coloured instead of remaining a stark pale patch.

Once inside our room, we stripped and applied sunscreen to each other's back before tending to ourselves, smearing the rest of our bodies with cream. Chris grinned as he watched me rub my breasts with lotion and asked, "Which thong are you wearing today?"

Although I'd already determined my attire, I decided to tease Chris. So instead of answering him, I pretended to concentrate on protecting my skin. When I'd done coating my breasts, torso, and arms, I lifted my foot onto the bed and covered my feet, calves, thighs, and vulva. Chris worked some sunscreen into his muscled arms while watching me. Meanwhile, his penis bulged noticeably, and although it pleased me that I still affected him like that, we weren't taking time out for sex. I was anxious to get to the beach. The early nights and accompanying cooler temperatures meant that there'd be plenty of time later for extended, comfortable romps.

Chris repeated his question. "I think I'll go with the lace one," I finally responded. The suit was a dainty little number in powder blue lace that provided minute, yet numerous, visions of bare vulva.

"You look great in all of them, baby," Chris complimented.

I thanked him with a light kiss and then finished glazing my skin with lotion. After slipping into my swimsuit bottom, I readied our backpacks, throwing in towels, blanket, books, sunscreen, bottled water, and several other items. Finally, after donning my kimono, sandals, and sunglasses, we were ready to leave.

We'd taken just a few steps along the path when I exclaimed, "Wait. I forgot something. I'll be right back."

Chris muttered something about women and their endless preparations as I returned to the cabana. I laughed to myself, suspecting he'd be more charitable if he knew my plan: Today I intended to bake in the nude. So once inside, I slid my thong down my legs and kicked it onto a chair. I then refastened my kimono, crowned myself with a sun hat, and exited, locking the door behind me.

"What did you forget?" he asked.

"Can't you see? My hat!" I smiled, strolling past him to lead the way to the seashore.

Once there, we staked a spot on the beach and spread our blanket. I trembled with excitement. My vulva was still silky smooth from my Brazilian wax of less than a week ago. I'd been nude on public beaches before but never with all of my pubic hair stripped away.

Chris laid his body onto the blanket while I remained standing, waiting for his attention. It wasn't long before he looked at me questioningly as to why I hadn't lain down yet. I eyed him, smiled mischievously, and undid my kimono, casting it aside with a flourish. The befuddlement on Chris's face was priceless.

"I thought you were wearing the lace thong? I saw you put it on," he stammered.

With my arms raised, I executed a slow look-at-me pirouette before lowering myself onto the blanket beside him.

"Surprised?" I asked. "I left my hat behind on purpose. That's when I took off my thong," I confessed as I leant over to peck him. "By the way, you said something about women and preparations—care to elaborate?" I teased.

Chris just grinned. "Baby, you look dynamite," he crooned with approval and wasted no time removing his trunks. Several other men on the beach were already nude, but, from what I could see, I was the only woman tanning au naturel.

I lay flat on my belly with my arms by my sides, head turned, examining Chris. He rested on his side, his arm propping his head, facing me. God, he still had it! Although Chris, like me, was forty-eight, he looked thirty-two, whereas even on a good day I might've passed for forty. His dark hair was full with only a hint of grey, unlike mine, which would've been silver if not for the masking properties of Lady Clairol. And his facial features were still sharp, with only minor wrinkling around his eyes, which contributed to his youthful appearance.

I thought about last night and the pleasant soreness in my pussy due to Chris's prolonged exuberance. My husband seemed to be reading my mind. He groaned and rolled onto his stomach to hide his burgeoning cock. His hand inched towards mine, found it, and started drawing light circles on my palm. Soon his fingers enclosed my middle one and began a slow, suggestive stroking motion. I eased my legs apart as much as I dared. At the basest level, I wanted him to make love to me right there, on the beach—to hell with conventions—but that was out of the question.

Instead, we spent the afternoon lying naked, people-watching and whispering sweet promises to each other. As the afternoon went by, the sun and tropical drinks worked their magic, unlocking my thighs as I tanned. On our blanket, I sat or lay in positions that were comfortable, not caring whether my insouciant attitude exposed my labia to the other beach goers. Indeed, my poses had quite the opposite effect; the public baring of my waxed vulva thrilled me, so from time to time I even sat cross-legged or with my knees scrunched up and apart, facing the ocean and enjoying both the light breeze that cooled my body and the stolen glances of passer-by's that ignited it.

A woman in a blue bikini bottom, perhaps in her forties, wandered by several times that afternoon. Her bare breasts—round and heavy with large, dark areolae—matched her curvy body, and her erect carriage conveyed confidence. Her well-tanned skin, highlighted by a blonde ponytail, featured numerous large dark freckles giving it a leopard-like appearance. The overall package was undeniably sexy and intriguing. At first I assumed she was ogling Chris, but then I sensed that she was also peeking at me, which both confused and excited me.

In either an act of bitchy possessiveness or daring display—I'm not sure which, perhaps both—I clambered onto my hands and knees and pointed my ass towards her while whispering into Chris's ear as he lay on his back.

"Don't look. You have an admirer. But you're mine."

I kissed him and then let my mouth drift to his nipple to suck on it. As I did so, my back arched downwards, raising my ass in the process. My knees were well apart, so my pose afforded her a clear view of my ass and pussy. The whole act was brief, no more than several seconds, but when I returned to my sitting position, the woman had vanished. Although one part of me was pleased by her departure, another was disappointed.

I continued sitting, my legs bent and thighs apart, my arms propped on my knees, revelling in the kisses from the sun. A little time later, a gentleman who appeared to be in his sixties walked along the shore and stopped about fifteen yards in front of me. Despite his grey hair and ageing body, he was a handsome man. His outward interest in the landscape didn't fool me; I knew he was pilfering peeps of my pussy.

While I debated whether to improve his prospect, Chris lazily rolled over and whispered, "You, too, have an admirer. That's his fifth or sixth stroll to this end of the beach."

"Really? This is the first time I noticed him," I said with genuine surprise.

Inspired and flattered, I lay back on my elbows and, as nonchalantly as possible, widened my knees, eventually flopping them to the sides while keeping the soles of my feet together. It was an impulsive, brazen manoeuvre that unfurled me, providing the man with an explicit view of my vulva. Indeed, I was so aflame that I lost control and, before I even knew I'd done it, slid a finger through my thickened lips to separate them. I then left myself in that position, thighs apart, exposing my rifted labia to both the sun and the stranger with the intention of outlasting the latter.

My pussy churned with excitement as the man's eyes now openly probed me, and I wondered whether my wetness was visible, if it glistened for him. After several minutes of staring, he squatted and ran his hand through the sand. He then rose, smiled at me, and left.

"Catherine, you naughty girl," Chris chuckled quietly as I adopted a more modest position.

"I can't help it," I giggled, "Besides, he's quite handsome."

Now it was Chris's turn to express surprise. "Really?" he said, taking a quick look at the retreating man, "So you like older men? Did you ever... you know?"

"Have I ever been with an older man? Is that what you're asking? Yes, I have."

"I feel another story coming on," he said in a singsong voice. "Tell me about it, baby!" Chris pleaded.

"When we get back to the cabana, sweetheart. I'll tell you there."

It was a sweltering day; Chris announced that he was going for more drinks. I encouraged him with enthusiastic nods. In the meantime, I longed for a skinny-dip, so I rose and walked to the lagoon's edge.

I almost stepped on it before realising what it was. Written in the sand at the spot from where the elderly man had contemplated my cleaved labia, in neat printed letters, lay a simple message: Danke. I smiled while thinking about my high-definition exhibition for the gentleman and was glad that I'd done it.

My nipples tightened in response to these thoughts and to the cool, soothing water into which I waded. Once I was waist deep, I swam out energetically and then floated on my back, looking up at the clouds and savouring the coolness caressing my body. After a while I trod water and touched myself to reconfirm my excited state. My finger ran the length of my mucous slit with ease, splitting apart the puffy lips. I sighed but stopped my probing and gazed towards the shore.

From the water, I saw Chris holding two drinks, standing and chatting with the buxom blonde who'd cruised by us earlier. She was still topless, and I wondered if Chris was keeping his eyes from wandering. Knowing him, he was failing miserably. They spoke for a few more moments before he returned to our blanket and began fumbling with his backpack. Eventually, he excavated his camera and then scanned the water, presumably searching for me. I waved at him and smiled, suspecting that he was getting ready to film me emerging nude and wet from my swim.

When I'd finished my skinny-dip, I walked up the beach towards Chris, pausing every few steps. After posing for a few shots, I re-entered the lagoon to wash away the sand that clung to me from lying in the surf for Chris and his camera.

We continued tanning, enjoying the sounds, sights, and smells of the beach. Chris, while rubbing some lotion onto my back, commented that I'd started a trend—several women now lay nude on the sand. He then massaged the fluid into my bum and the backs of my legs, which I eased apart so that he could cover their insides.

"In fact," he elaborated, "You know the woman who ogled you earlier today? The blonde in the blue bikini bottom?"

"Don't forget her big tits, Chris," I said in an attempt to make him squirm and then lied, "And I'm sure it was you she was ogling."

"Yes, you're right—she does have nice tits. You noticed them too, huh? But it was you she was watching."

Before I had time to react, he said, "Flip over and I'll do your front."

I chuckled at his deft escape as I spun onto my back and was immediately squirted with lotion. Chris worked the sunscreen into my skin, starting on my legs. His hands swirled across my thighs, progressively inching their way upwards. I tensed, expecting him to rub my pussy, but instead he moved to my arms. As he knelt beside me rubbing my skin, I watched his familiar genitals dangle like tropical fruit: a brown banana cock and a pair of passion fruit testicles... I guess I was hungry.

"Anyway," Chris continued, "what I wanted to say was that she made a point of telling me that she admired your bravery and that perhaps she'll work up the nerve to go nude tomorrow."

My husband's hands were now busy on my torso, smoothing the cream over my tummy, shoulders, and breasts. I watched his arms and shoulders work, admiring their thickness and width.

"Good," I said, "We could do with a few more nude women on the beach."

"Well, I won't argue with that," he responded and then ended the massage by saying, "You do your pussy. I'll watch."

I sat up facing Chris, opened my legs, and spread a dollop of lotion over my vulva and inner thighs while listening to my husband groan. Once I'd finished coating my pussy, I shut my legs and lay on my side, looking at him. Chris turned onto his front to hide and smiled contentedly. He too, it appeared, was enjoying the vacation.

We continued relaxing on the beach, but by late afternoon, I'd had enough sun. We scooped up our belongings and shuffled through the sand back to our cabana. Chris stopped on the path, squeezing my ass under my kimono as he hugged me.

"You were fabulous today," he said. "Thank you!"

"My pleasure," I murmured once I'd returned his kiss.

Upon entering our room, we dropped our belongings on the floor, disrobed, and headed into the shower to remove the sunscreen, sweat, sand, and salt from our bodies. I especially wanted to wash away the cream that I'd applied so liberally to my pussy. Chris's talented mouth was on my agenda, so I cleaned myself well.

We giggled and whispered while soaping each other, our hands slipping, sliding, and gliding over backs, breasts, buttocks, legs, and loins as the water sprinkled over us. After a prolonged rinse, I towelled myself down and lay on the bed. Chris, meanwhile, dug into his suitcase and, with much fanfare, produced a bottle of red.

"Where'd you get that?" I exclaimed. Wine wasn't the strong suit of the little palapa bar at the resort.

Chris smiled and uncorked the wine, creating a pleasant little pop, at which point he said, "I packed it from home."

"Yummy!"

"Yummy, my dear, is exactly what it'll be," Chris pronounced while pouring two glasses.

He handed me one, but, instead of lying next to me, he knelt on the floor beside the bed and gingerly tilted his glass above my belly. A thin stream of ruby liquid cascaded into my navel, causing me to shiver. Chris then bent his head and lapped the wine.

"Hmm. Balanced. Elegant, yet earthy. But with a distinct puckery component," he cooed while plucking one of my nipples between his fingers. His other hand drifted to my knee and inched up the inside of my thigh while enthusing, "Lively and lush, with excellent legs."

I sighed. What a sweetheart.

He picked up his glass and poured more wine onto me, this time into the hollow of my neck. I tilted my head back, relishing his kisses to my throat while he gently sucked up the fluid. His hand, meanwhile, had found my vulva, causing my thighs to widen instinctively and my wetness to greet his fingers.

"Definitely ripe," he moaned. Chris then displayed his finger, sparkling with my juices, licked it, and said, "Rich and perfumed. Opening to yield complex flavours. Try some." His finger entered me again and, once re-coated, approached my mouth. My lips clasped onto his digit, and I tasted myself while gazing up into his brown eyes.

With his other hand he poured more wine on me, in the depression between my breasts, drank, and said after nibbling on my nipples, "But with one minor flaw: a sun-blocky aftertaste. Now, would you like a description of the wine?"

I smiled and touched his face as he climbed onto the bed. Between sips of wine we kissed and enjoyed the dying light of another wonderful day. When darkness came, we lit candles and continued to relax on the bed in the warm glow of the flickering light.

After a while, Chris lowered his head and gently sucked in my nipples, one at a time, making them hard and triggering the mysterious, tingling connection between my breasts and pubic region.

"Catherine," he whispered between suckles, "tell me about your time with the older man while I drink from your body."

"Mmm, that sounds heavenly," I said, "but with one constraint, honey."

"What's that?"

"Not from my pussy. I don't want it irritated by the alcohol, and the last thing we'd want is a raging yeast infection. Wouldn't you agree?"

Chris smiled and acknowledged my request. He then turned me onto my front and filled the small of my back with wine while I luxuriated in his decadent attention and began to tell my adventure.

"I'd just finished my degree, so it happened shortly after starting a twelve-month sabbatical replacement contract in Vancouver at UBC".

"So this was before your one-night adventure with Rob?" Chris asked between sips.

"Yes," I nodded, "about a year or so; I was twenty-six."

"How did you meet?"

"On the ferry from Victoria to Vancouver. I was returning after a weekend of sightseeing and hiking on the island. It was a gorgeous fall day, so I was out on the deck getting some sun and fresh air with many of the passengers. I stood at the railing, and he happened to be next to me and started a conversation.

"He was terribly handsome, with thinning sandy hair and grey eyes. The lines on his face didn't detract from his appearance—if anything they enhanced it. He was very nice, a real charmer, and seemed intrigued that I was a professor, albeit for only a twelve-month contract. Anyway, we got chatting and it turned out he was a bigwig corporate lawyer headed into downtown Vancouver to meet with a client."

"You'd think a guy like that would fly instead of taking the ferry," Chris commented and resumed sipping wine from my back.

"You know, that's exactly what I said. He claimed that the hassle of airports put him off, he wasn't overly fond of flying to begin with, and, ultimately, he just loved the ferry ride. It slowed him down, and he liked that."

"How old was he?"

"Fifty-one."

Chris whistled and then gushed, "Wow, almost twice your age."

"I know," I laughed, "but that added to the fun, I'm convinced. However, I'm getting a little ahead of myself."

"I wouldn't mind getting a little head myself," Chris leered as he caressed my inner thigh.

My husband could also be wonderfully crude at times. I lifted my head and glared at him with mock consternation.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "Please continue."

"Anyway, the ferry terminal is about forty kilometres out of Vancouver, so he offered me a ride into town, which I accepted. Well, he drove a BMW. What a nice car!"

"What model?" asked Chris, as if it mattered.

"Beats me. Several numbers and letters. But I do recall how gorgeous it was compared to the museum piece I drove in Sydney. I'd just finished my studies, was flat broke, and here I was in this luxurious sedan.

"In any event, he asked where I lived, but I didn't want him driving me home; I wasn't that trusting. Instead, seeing as he was headed downtown, I got him to drop me off in Gastown."

Chris moved to my legs to consume some wine from the back of my knees, but he poured too much, spilling some onto the sheets.

"Chris, the sheets!" I exclaimed.

"Fuck the sheets," Chris said flippantly, and then mischievously added, "Better yet, let's fuck you."

He made me laugh, but when he yet again slopped more wine, I repeated my concern about the sheets.

"Catherine," he said calmly, "I'll pay the hotel for the sheets. Just relax, honey. Enjoy."

I relented and—once I felt his lips on the back of my leg—moaned with pleasure, stretching and extending my toes.

"To be honest, I forgot about him almost immediately," I continued. "But about a week later he phoned me at work wanting to know if I was interested in lunch the next time he was in Vancouver."

"He tracked you down? This sounds like stalking," Chris said with disquiet.

"Oh, hardly. It doesn't take much of a sleuth to find the phone number of Professor X in the Department of BS."

"True," Chris acknowledged. "What was his name?"

"Doug. Douglas Parsons. Anyway, I accepted his invitation. It was delightful, so I ended up having lunch with him several more times over the next month. I discovered that he'd married at a young age and still loved his wife, but the marriage had gone stale after thirty years. Apparently, she'd lost interest in sex.

"Sounds like you were having intimate talks?" Chris oozed.

"Yes, by about the third lunch date, I felt comfortable enough to flirt a little, and that, well, expanded our range of topics."

Chris turned me onto my side and filled the indentation of my hip with the Rioja. I stretched on the bed, giving myself over to his care.

"After about a month of lunch dates," I went on, "Doug called to ask if I'd have dinner with him the next time he was in town. I agreed, but I also sensed that we'd probably end up having more than dinner."

"You sensed? You mean you wanted to have sex, yes?" Chris pressed.

"Yes," I confessed, "I wanted to sleep with him".

"Mmm, that's good. What did you wear?"

"The staple that should be in every girl's closet: a little black dress with spaghetti straps."

"Very nice. So what happened?" Chris whispered between tastes from my armpit. His fingers, meanwhile, rediscovered my nipples and rolled them to rock-like hardness. They throbbed, sending sensations shooting to my pussy.

"We went for dinner at the Hotel Vancouver. The meal was superb; his company charming. A real gentleman."

"Only dinner?" Chris quizzed.

"No. We had cocktails before and some wine during the meal. To make a long story short, I went back with him to his room, which was in the hotel. He was wonderful, but I think he was a bit shocked with me—pleasantly shocked," I added with a laugh.

Chris smiled and urged, "Do tell," as he refilled my hip with wine.

"Doug was amazed that I not only did oral sex but actually enjoyed it. Dumbfounded, really. Apparently, his wife would neither do oral nor have it done on her. If Doug were to be believed, I was the first woman ever to have swallowed for him."

"This is making me hard," Chris moaned.

He confirmed his aroused state by taking my hand and placing it on his erection. I gripped it lightly, savouring the hard flesh, and stroked.

"So he went down on you as well, I hope?" Chris questioned.

"Oh yes, he enjoyed doing that. Our relationship became quite oral, in fact. I think Doug was trying to make up for lost time," I chuckled.

Chris guided my fingers off his cock, poured some wine onto my hand, and lapped the Rioja. The feel of his tongue on my palm made me quake with excitement; I longed for him to do the same between my legs.

"We started seeing each other once every week or two, whenever it fitted our schedules," I continued. "He was perfect for me at that time. I wanted to concentrate on my career; the last thing I needed was a boyfriend complaining about all the time I spent at work. And the times that Doug and I did meet, I could forget about work, shut off my mind, and play a sex kitten. I loved him for that. All I had to do was be pretty and sexy; it was a marvellous diversion from my job. Likewise, I'd like to think that I was ideal for him as well. I never put any pressure on him to see me, nor was I interested in wrecking his marriage. When our timetables coincided, we'd meet for some fun. No more; no less."

"Fuck buddies," cooed Chris while refilling my palm.

"More like suck buddies," I quipped, "We'd fuck sometimes, but Doug just loved blow jobs."

Chris stood and bent towards my face. His penis pointed at me with the foreskin back to reveal its dazzling, blood-engorged, luminous head, seemingly begging for attention. Still on my side, I propped my head with my arm in anticipation of his cock. He eased it to my mouth and I drew it in, gripping with my lips while my tongue massaged the underside of his shaft.

Between his sighs, Chris praised me while stroking my hair, "Mmm, you do suck cock so well, Catherine. I'm not surprised he liked it."

I mouthed my husband's dick a few moments more and then let my hand take over, allowing me to resume my story.

"Doug was somewhat of a sugar daddy," I admitted, "But I'd have still seen and spent time with him even without the gifts—though they were a nice perk. He seemed to enjoy spending money on me, buying me gorgeous clothes and shoes in expensive stores that I'd only window-shopped in before. I loved the attention he showered on me during our times together. And he was fun, too. Often, when he picked me up, there'd be an open bottle of iced champagne waiting in his car—little things like that. He just made me feel so sexy and special when we were together."

"So the money didn't bother you?" Chris whispered.

"No, it didn't. To be honest, the clothes and money added a delightfully naughty dimension to our relationship. Besides, Doug was very generous. Once, before I went away to a conference for a few days, he gave me a thousand dollars spending money for that trip."

Chris moaned, turned me onto my back, poured the blood-red liquid into my belly button, and begged for details.

"Doug and I rendezvoused a few days before my trip. He decided to have some fun by pulling out some money and pretending he was a client. He told me to strip and gave me a hundred dollars every time I peeled off some clothing. God, that was exciting! I took my time, stripping off my blouse first, then my skirt, followed by my bra and finally my panties.

My husband explored my body, the pads of his fingers inching up my thigh. Tiny beads of perspiration had formed on his brow. His teeth gleamed through his full lips while his nostrils seemed to flare at each of my words.

"After gawking at me for a while, Doug placed six hundred bucks in my hand, undid his pants and dropped them. He didn't need to say anything. I fell to my knees, pulled down his boxers, and sucked on him as best I could. It didn't take him long to cum. Honey, it was such a rush pretending to be a high-class call girl!"

Chris's finger tickled my clit. In response, my fingers pinched my nipples, squeezing and tugging them. I heard Chris whisper, "So you sucked his cock for money?"

"No," I answered. "I pretended to suck his cock for money. Big difference, Chris. It was a game and it was fun. Doug would've gifted me the money regardless. Chris, it wasn't like I'd never given him a blow job prior to that; it was a game—that's all, just a game."

Chris kept polishing my clit, smiling and watching my hips gyrate with need; I'd been aroused all day by our stories and especially with my nudity under the sun. I thought of the man for whom I'd cracked open my oyster earlier in the day, and my legs compulsively rose and spread. Chris, meanwhile, spoke in earthy, breathy tones about how I sucked Doug and how he must have loved my mouth wrapped around his rod while cumming in it.

Thoughts of the elderly man and Doug were the seed that I required. I bit Chris's shoulder in response to his words and fingers toiling in my furrows. At last, I sensed the kernel of an orgasm germinate, grow, bud, and suddenly flower, blooming within me with kaleidoscopic vibrancy.

My husband's wet lips were next to my ear and his hand cupped my pussy. I heard him salivate, "I love it when you cum, baby. Tell me more about Doug. What was the hottest thing you ever did with him?"

Once my orgasmic aftershocks subsided, I regained my breath and, easing myself into a post-climactic glow, resumed my story.

"My contract was expiring; I'd accepted a similar position elsewhere. Both Doug and I knew that our little affair was coming to a close. So one night near the end, we went to dinner with some dancing afterwards. It was a dress-up affair. I remember wearing a light green silk dress that he'd bought for me—knee length, fitted to show my curves, with a scalloped neckline. I wore a garter and stockings that night and got adventurous with my bush, shaving away everything except for a thin stripe directly above my clit. But the best part were the new shoes he'd bought for me a few weeks earlier, a pair of Manolo Blahniks. They were so gorgeous! Light beige, ankle straps with a three-inch heel and a closed pointy toe."

"Mmm! Yummy! What colour stockings? Black?"

"Green dress, light beige shoes, and black stockings?" I asked incredulously. "If I were a streetwalker, perhaps. The stockings were sheer, matching my pussy."

Chris broke up laughing, and I continued my story.

"We had a riot, dancing and partying until late into the night. During one slow dance, Doug whispered something about his suite while his hand slid to the top of my ass, pressing me into him. I pushed forward against his pelvis and whispered that I had a surprise for him. So before we left the club, I excused myself, and, in the washroom stall, made sure that my panties were overtop of my garter."

"By the time we reached his room, we were raring to go. In the elevator, we kissed and groped each other and kept at it as we staggered down the hallway and into his suite. As soon as we got inside though, I pushed him away, and ordered, 'Lie down!'

"Doug smiled but obeyed, laying his frame on the floor. I walked around him, clicking my heels while he stared up at me, peering up my dress when the position was right. At one point I placed my foot on his chest and dug my heel in slightly. Even though he was smiling, I saw that his breathing had quickened. Eventually, I stood over him, straddling his chest to give him a view up my dress. Then I stepped back, slipped off my panties, and flung them at his face. He laughed, but his eyes were glued to me. My pussy was tingling, Chris!

"I stood over him again, letting him have a long look up my dress at my shaved pussy before lowering myself onto his face. Then I squatted and growled, 'Eat me. Eat my cunt!' and began to fuck his nose, mouth, and chin. It felt so amazing! Doug was trying frantically to consume my pussy while I ground it into him. I'd squat, go to my knees, and then go back to squatting. Every now and then, Doug's tongue wandered to my anus. It sent shivers through me! My hands stretched my ass cheeks apart so he could dive in as much as possible. He'd tug at my garter straps, occasionally snapping one against me. Meanwhile, his hands roamed all over my thighs and bum.

"I was building to a climax and started fucking his face in earnest. His finger found my ass and slipped in. That drove me over the edge! I rode his face as hard as I could. Oh Chris, it was such a tremendous orgasm!"

My husband's hand meandered to my pussy again and caressed my vulva, playing lightly with my still-sensitive clit. His cock had hardened into granite and shone with pre-cum in appreciation of my story.

"After recovering, I stood—my legs were shaking from cumming so hard and from the effort of squatting for so long. Doug also rose, stood back, and barked, 'Strip!'"

"So now it was his turn?" Chris enthused.

"Yes. It was all unsaid. Doug had picked up on the game that I'd initiated. Anyway, I obeyed, slid out of my dress, and removed my bra while he stood back and watched. When I began fiddling with my garter and stockings, he ordered, 'Stop! Leave those on. They suit your shaved pussy. Very nice!'

"Doug strolled around me, examining me as I stood wearing only my heels, stockings and garter. The dirty talk then started, with him saying things like, 'Great legs... Nice tits... Gorgeous cunt.' Then he went on about my shaved pussy, commenting on how lush it looked and how I was going to show it to him. His talk was turning me on! My nipples puckered 'til they ached, and I shook with anticipation. Every now and then he'd snap a garter against my thigh, making me jump. It was all deliciously exciting. Then, while walking behind me, his footsteps stopped. Suddenly, he gave my ass a sharp, loud slap and leered, 'Nice ass!' I'm not sure what startled me more—the actual smack or its sound."

Chris interrupted his moaning with a laugh, and I continued my tale.

"Doug walked around me some more and pretended to talk to himself, saying things like, 'Hmm, what shall I do? Fuck her or have her suck my dick?' Finally, he pointed at the couch and commanded, 'Lie down!' I obeyed, but he said, 'Not like that! Move up so that your head hangs down, over the armrest.' I did as told and lay prone on the couch, on my back, my head hanging down, looking at him upside down. Doug then told me to spread my legs and get ready to show him my pussy.

"He moved to the other end of the couch and slowly stripped out of his suit while staring at my cunt. Then his instructions started. Oh Chris, it was such a rush! He told me to finger-fuck myself, directing me to use two fingers, then three. After a bit, he ordered, 'Stop! Spread your cunt with your hands.' He looked at it up close for a while and then told me to finger myself again, dictating how many fingers I should use. When he had me fucking myself with three fingers again, he murmured, 'Nice... now stop and stretch your pussy open so I can finger-fuck it.'

"He was free of his clothes by this point, so his erection bobbed as he walked up to me. He took a prolonged look at my cunt while I held it open for him, telling me how wet and pink it looked. Then he sat next to me on the couch, eased his fingers into me, and churned slowly. I searched for his cock with my near hand, but he stopped me and ordered me to keep using my hands to spread my twat for his finger fucking.

"God! I elevated my hips as much as possible so that he could really hump me with his fingers. It was fabulous. He was still talking, informing me that my cunt was steaming and dripping—as if I didn't know it—that I was an excellent fuck, and that he was going to reward me. I just wanted him to keep talking and fingering me, it was so fantastic!

"But then he stopped, walked 'round to my head, put his cock on my face, and snapped, 'Suck!'"

"Fuck, this is hot!" Chris bubbled. Meanwhile, his tongue and hands grew more urgent, prodding me to go on with my story.

"Oh, it was a sizzling situation, honey, and so was my unusual position, sucking his cock with my head upside down. Doug was really getting into it by this time, squeezing my tits, scratching my extended throat, and still talking dirty to me. He said things like, 'That's it, suck my cock. Slurp it up. Let's fuck that mouth of yours.' Meanwhile, I split my thighs wide and rubbed my clit for all it was worth.

"Every now and then Doug took his dick out and painted my face. Both my hands were working my pussy—one attacking my clit, the other burying two or three fingers into my cunt—so I had only my mouth with which to re-grasp his cock. I'd reach out for it with my lips and tongue, but he kept teasing me.

"He'd tantalise my mouth, smear my cheeks, nose and forehead, and then feed me the underside of his shaft. Once, he moved closer and lowered his balls onto my mouth to suck. Finally, Doug gave me the head of his cock; I craved it by that time and gobbled him up, sucking it in as deep as I could.

"He started fucking my mouth, pumping with a steady rhythm. A couple of times I almost gagged, Doug was so deep. It was insane, Chris! My position let me watch his balls swing as he jabbed his cock into my face, and that sight, combined with my busy hands, brought me to the brink of another orgasm.

"Doug was also close to cumming. His thrusts got forceful while squeezing my boobs hard. He grunted, groaned, and then stopped jabbing and convulsed. He twitched for a second in my mouth but withdrew. The first spurt partly hit my tongue and lips, but most of his cum showered my tits and neck. He drizzled the rest of it across my face. God! I was on fire! I stuffed four fingers into my pussy and polished my clit like mad while Doug sprayed me with his sap. It was the final blow; I had a mind-blowing orgasm a few seconds after Doug had bathed me in his cum."

Chris's lips nibbled my ear lobes. His barely audible mews spurred me to begin playing with his cock.

"Doug slumped but supported himself with his hands on my tits. He started massaging his sperm into me, working it into my breasts, neck, and face. When his hands brushed over my mouth, I sucked in one of his fingers and licked it clean. Our eyes then locked while he fed me his cum-soaked fingers, one by one. It was so sexy, Chris!"

"Shit, Catherine, I could cum listening to this! Did he help you clean it up?"

"You mean did he eat some of his cum? No. I knew he was uncomfortable about that. He cringed at his own cum."

"I'd have licked you clean, baby," Chris offered with a moan.

"I know, sweetheart, but you're special. Doug was so nice to me in other ways—and not just money—so I didn't try changing him. I was young, foolish, and content with making him happy the times we met. Don't get me wrong; he didn't shrink away from me in revulsion, like some jerks. After a blow job, he'd kiss and cuddle with me, but he'd never lick up any spillage. Many of my lovers were terrified of it, actually. It amused me, to be honest, and it's not like he was the only man I had who was reluctant to taste his own cum, never mind someone else's."

As soon as I said it I realised my slip-up and held my breath. It was a story I had no intention of telling to Chris. Thankfully, he missed it. I breathed easier and quickly moved my story along.

"Anyway, I caught my breath, got up, and went to the bathroom to clean myself. When I returned, we sat on the sofa, Doug still naked and me in my heels, hose, and garter. We snuggled and talked, and soon began kissing. The events of the evening had made me incredibly horny. I wanted to get Doug hard again—I really needed to screw—so I lowered my head into his lap and mouthed his dick. It was soft and limp, but I kept at it, making it rise and stiffen. He got quite hot again, moaning and grabbing my hair while I brought his cock back to life.

"But then he raised my head, stood, and led me towards the bedroom. I thought he was taking me to bed to fuck me. Instead, Doug got behind and pressed me up against the bedroom door opening. His cock pushed against my ass while he angled my cunt against the door frame or jamb—whatever it's called. Then he told me to rub myself against the opening, so I hung onto the door frame casing with my fingertips and rubbed my clit against the frame, masturbating like that for him."

Chris's face bore a confused expression, so I elaborated on my position.

"My legs straddled the door opening allowing me to grind my cunt against the frame. Capisci?"

Chris's leer indicated that he pictured the scene.

"Doug lay on the floor, positioned himself, and gazed up at my pussy as I massaged it against the jamb and worked myself towards an orgasm. It was such a turn on! He coaxed me, saying things like, 'Mmm, come on, Catherine, rub your pussy against the frame; come on, fuck it; I want to see you cum,' while he stroked his cock."

My husband was moaning but managed to emit a soft, "Tell me more."

"I started with long, slow glides, wiping my pussy along the wood, bending my knees deep at the bottom of my strokes. I slid and gyrated my cunt against the frame, just like a stripper against a brass pole. But soon my thrusts quickened, and before long, my hips oscillated with short, steady jabs. The pace kept increasing until I was thrashing my clit against the frame as fast as I could in an effort to cum. But I knew I couldn't maintain such a tempo for long. It was frenetic! So although I was building to another orgasm, I almost gave up. But then I crossed that magic barrier and was home free; I knew I was there. Several more pumps and I went off like a firecracker! God, it was incredible!

"I collapsed, exhausted and trembling. Doug crawled over, flipped me onto my back, slid his cock into me, and, placing my legs on his shoulders, started banging me where I lay. My tits swirled and jiggled as he gave it to me with a steady rhythm, my feet and legs kicking up and down in response to the movement of his shoulders.

"My third orgasm, the one against the doorjamb, opened a gate; I began cumming in clusters, climaxing several times while Doug ploughed me. I was incomprehensible. Small orgasms washed over me every few minutes—I lost count. My pussy was pulsating! And I was in a quandary; I wanted to clamp down on his cock yet, at the same time, open my cunt to him as wide as possible."

"Jesus, Catherine, I can just imagine you, hot and horny, fucking him the way you do," Chris grunted into my ear. His stiff cock brushed against my thigh, leaving a smudge of pre-cum, and I ached for him to fill me.

"Can you, Chris?" I whispered back, "Can you imagine it?"

Chris moaned a confirmation as his fingers found my entrance, filling my hole, while his mouth migrated to my breast, sucking my nipples to the boundary of pain.

I was on the edge but managed to end my story. "Doug's plunging gradually sped up until he was finally pounding me. I was soaking; juices poured down my ass like a busted pipe. I don't remember doing it, but Doug told me later that I was loud, begging him repeatedly to fuck me hard and to cum in my cunt. God, it was wild and wonderful! And when he did cum, watching him was so beautiful, especially when he threw back his head to push hard and burst inside me."

Chris's tongue at last completed its journey to my pussy. He knelt in front of me, as though in prayer, mouthing my vulva. It was a ritual I adored. I opened my altar for him, and my pelvis shook to his flicks of consecration across my button. The throbbing grew, my inner sanctum swelled, and I sensed my transfiguration, my crossing of the mystical threshold.

With his face buttressed against my cunt in worship, I anointed Chris's mouth and chin. He drank my holy waters while his fingers rolled my nipples like rosary beads. He knew me like a high priest knows the sacred verses and pressed his chin into me while focussing his suction onto my clit. His trance-like adoration guided my climb up the temple steps, urging me to ascend until I reached epiphany and quivered in salvation against his lips, tongue, and chin.

Chris then rose and approached my face. I took his offering of blood and flesh, erect and hard, within my lips and bobbed my head, longing to empty his pillar of its salty fluid into my body and soul. For a brief moment, Chris pulled out from my mouth and drizzled his cock with blood-red wine. I pounced on it and sucked with renewed eagerness, savouring the flavour of the wine and his cock. My tongue played with his column's ridges and veins, returning often to tease the orifice from which his passion would emanate and commune with me.

I continued feasting on him, increasing his frenzy, milking his cock with my mouth, coaxing him to release his nectar. He shuddered and spoke in tongues, lolling and shaking his head in ecstasy. Then, when his rapture finally arrived, he withdrew, and, aiming at my face, erupted and ejected three or four fiery blasts, baptising my cheek, mouth, chin, and neck. What remained oozed and dripped from his cock, and he used that to smear my nose and forehead, blessing me with his bodily fluid.

Upon spraying me with his cum, Chris keeled over top of me. Then, slowly, he arranged himself to lie with me and began to lick my face, scooping, collecting, and then kissing and sharing with me his honeyed milk that had started to gel against my skin. I clung to him like a lost soul at sea would claw at a raft and, with my mouth cravenly open, consumed the sperm he fed me and returned his savoury kisses.

Finally, Chris whispered, "Catherine, you bad girl. That was superb. I can't wait 'til tomorrow's story!"

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Many thanks to Chris O., Mariya T., WhiteWave48, a particularly helpful anonymous reviewer, and several other reviewers.

Comments, criticism, and feedback are always welcomed.