A Taste of his own Medicine
written by:
Naughty Miranda

It was one of those evenings when it looks like the world's about to end. The clouds were so low you could touch them, and the rain was so hard that simply looking out of the window made you sea-sick. I rolled over in the bed and reached towards Ray.

"Can't sleep?" he asked.

"No, I was just thinking how glad I am that I don't have to go out tomorrow."

"Speak for yourself." It was Friday night, the start of my weekend. But Ray was off to a conference first thing in the morning, an expenses-paid trip to Miami Beach, which still wasn't exotic enough to compensate him for having to go. He hated flying, he hated conferences, he even hated Miami. But, most of all, he hated the nights before he traveled, knowing that he wouldn't be able to sleep, but too tense and irritable to do anything about it. And I'd long ago learned, when he was in this mood, the best thing to do was leave him alone. I rolled back onto my side and carried on watching the rain. Beside me, I heard Ray's breathing slow and, thinking that he'd finally dropped off, I fell asleep as well.

I awoke with a start. Beside me, Ray was sitting up reading by the light of one of those little clip-on lamps. Without moving, I admonished him gently; "it'll make you blind."

"No, that's an old-wives tale," he replied. "But I might get hairy palms."

I rolled over and suddenly realized that he wasn't reading - and there was no clip-on lamp. The light came from the television on his side of the bed, and what I'd thought was the rustling of a newspaper was the gentle creaking of the bed, as he vigorously jacked himself off with one hand.

"Need another hand?" I punned. This wasn't the first time I'd caught him pleasuring himself, and he was always overjoyed when I gently took over for him. Tonight, though, when I touched his arm, he pointedly moved away. "You go back to sleep. The movie's almost over, anyway."

I focused on the screen. Ah, it's that one. I'd seen the case on the table when I came in, Kasbah Kandies, volume seven in the (I have to admit!) imaginatively-titled Skirt That Squirts series. And it looked like the movie - and, indeed, its heroine - was about to reach a climax.

The guy, a buff muscle man in military gear, lay on his back; the girl - or rather, the lower quarters of the girl; the rest was swathed in a head to toe robe, which she held aloft with one brown-skinned hand - crouched just a few inches above his face. If you didn't know any better, you might think she was going to pee on him, and there's still guys out there who believe that's what she does (I know, I dated one of them once - he was horrified the one time he saw it happen!) Ray was more sophisticated, though; he didn't understand it, but he appreciated the view: hence the DVD, and hence the rapt expression that glued his eyes to the screen.

My attention, too, was absorbed. One hand supported her weight; the other was flicking back and forth across her clitoris, while her cunt gaped wet and wide. Any moment now.... I nestled my head against Ray's shoulder, and lay my hand across his stomach. Again he shifted away. "Please, Chrissie, go back to sleep."

He'd stopped playing with himself, and had turned away from the screen to face me.

"I was just wondering..." I began.

"Well, don't." And then, as the TV speaker emitted a volley of groans, he laughed. "Now look what you've done. I've missed the end of my movie."

I looked up. The soldier's face was covered in sticky wet, his tongue snaking hungrily across his cheeks; the girl simply gazed at him in rapt astonishment. "No man's ever made me do that, before," she was saying, and Ray hit the Mute button. "She said that last time as well. Only there, she was dressed as an Indian princess. Never mind, she was a lousy shot anyway."

He snapped the TV off, lay down and, within minutes, he was fast asleep. I, on the other hand, slipped into the bathroom and brought myself off with half-a-dozen strokes. With my eyes tightly shut, it was easy to imagine that it was Ray's open mouth that lay just a few inches from my pussy - and, when I squirt, my aim is perfect every time.

Morning came, and nothing was said. Ray left for the airport, and our goodbyes were no more or less passionate than any other time. But, whereas I'd intended spending the entire weekend in a multitude of projects, I wound up worrying both days away. Lack of sleep, lack of focus, lack of whatever it was, but I couldn't get last night out of my mind.

Ray returned on Monday, and so a week passed by. We made love a couple of times, once in the bed, once in the shower, and I gave him a blowjob while we watched a True Blood because, let's face it, how many men don't lust after Sookie Stackhouse? Everything was normal. But that night stayed in my mind, anyway - of course it did. You try waking up and find your boyfriend whacking his meat while watching bad porno, and refusing to let you join in. Half of you feels shocked, even spurned; but the other half has never felt so turned on in your life. I began wondering how I could possibly get my own back.

It couldn't be anything obvious, so there'd be no setting out on a solo flight when I heard his key in the front door. Nothing nasty, either, because that would let him in on the fact that I was taking revenge. But something that might remind him, all the same....

After a few months of living together, you usually know when your partner's feeling amorous, and this evening was no exception. You usually know what's going to happen as well, but I decided to change the rules a little. We rolled around kissing for a few moments, and loosened enough of our clothing to make the next step seem obvious. But when Ray broke away to start undressing. I waited until he got to his jockeys, then grabbed his arm and pulled him back down onto the bed.

"I want to do that," I whispered. "In a moment." I kissed his forehead, once, twice, three times, then slowly began nuzzling my way towards his neck; stopped, then leaned over to work on the other side. He lay stock-still, and I moved to his throat, warm light kisses, occasionally joined by the tip of my tongue.

Slowly I eased my way to his shoulders, and down towards his chest. But, though my lips touched them, I steered clear of his nipples, concentrated instead on the flesh around them, tracing my tongue through the tangles of hair, to the very edge of the corona.

His nipples were erect, standing out hard from the muscular firmness of his chest and I almost gave in to the temptation to take one in my mouth - I knew how crazy that sometimes drove him. Instead, I continued kissing and licking first around one, then across to the other, lapping his flesh but never allowing the warmth of my mouth to close over anything.

He raised his head. "What are you doing, silly?"

"Hmmm, I don't know," I replied, and began inching my way towards his stomach.

"If you start tickling me..." he threatened.

"No, no tickles. I promise." And I was true to my word. Again, the temptation was there, but this was not about doing anything he was expecting. This was about taking him to the same peak as he'd taken me, with nothing more provocative than his own imagination could add.

Stroking his flesh, running my tongue in tiny circles, my lips had reached his waistband now, and I traced my tongue along it, occasionally flicking from side-to-side, but carefully - no tickles. I moistened his belly-button and blew gently into it; he giggled a little, so I paused, kissed it hard and inched back up towards his chest.

He was watching me now, uncertain what I intended doing, but I pretended not to see him. Again I teased him, just close enough to his nipples that he could feel my breath, but not so close that I touched them.

Down again to his underwear and, this time, I traced my tongue over the thin cloth, tracing the shape, but not the dimensions of the cock that strained beneath it. I could feel the curls of his pubic hair, and his thick musk rose alluring through the material. But I moved on, swerving away from his inner-thighs - another of those tickling no-go areas - and began kissing the tops of his legs.

I glanced at Ray. His hands were resting on his stomach, as though poised to grab me if I did anything he didn't like, but the expression on his face suggested that, at this stage, I'd have to work hard to think of something. His eyes were closed and his mouth was slightly open, his lips moist. I moved up and kissed him hard, my tongue parting his lips a little and flicking the tip of his. One hand caressed his shoulder - with the other, I felt between my legs, stroking my clitoris lightly, seeking out my moisture and smearing my forefinger and thumb in it. As I broke the kiss, I placed my finger beneath his nostril and let him breathe in my scent.

His eyes opened to look at me as I took my hand away, placed the fingers in my mouth and then, as he watched, caressed myself again. This time, as my hand went towards his face, he reached out and tried to pull my fingers closer. I let him, but only for a brief, tantalizing moment. Then I moved away, back to layer my kisses over his stomach.

This time as I kissed, I folded back the top of his briefs to reveal the first inch or so of pube. I let my mouth linger there, feeling the coarse curls against my chin, and breathing in his scent. His cock lay rigid just a breath away, a damp spot forming on the surface of his underwear, as the pre-cum started to leak. Again, I had to hold myself back, fight against my natural inclination to trace the length of his sex with my tongue, sucking in the flavor through the cloth, drinking his warmth into my mouth. There was so much more of him to tease.

I ran a fingertip there instead, barely touching him, but flirting close enough that I knew he could feel the slightest pressure. His body tensed - the tightness of his briefs ensured that his erection was outlined exquisitely; in my mind's eye, I could even see it pulsing, begging me to stroke it, rub it, suck on it. Instead, I nuzzled one thigh, then took his hand and gently kissed each finger-tip, enclosing them, one by one, in my mouth, and sucking firmly but gently. First one hand, then the other. Then I straddled his hips and, parting my pussy lips, traced a line of wet across his belly.

I wanted him inside me so bad that it hurt. My pussy, my groin, my thighs were slick and sticky. Even sitting upright, I could smell myself - and that was just how I wanted it. I moved up his body, crouched over his face and lowered my cunt towards his mouth. As his head arched to taste me, however, I moved back a little.

"Don't..." I whispered. "Just watch." I began stroking myself slowly, flicking around my clit, or parting my lips to slip a finger in deep. Again, his tongue flicked out; and this time I allowed him the slightest touch, just enough to tingle the nerve endings. But again I moved away, straightened up, and reached behind me to touch his cock.

Even through the cloth, I could feel his heat, and I traced my fingers up and down the shaft, squeezing his thickness as it fought to lift itself into my fist. His breath was coming in short gasps, his hands were running down my body, crushing my breasts, twisting my nipples. I knew I wouldn't be able to hold on much longer - no matter how worked up he was, I was there before him. There was just one last act to play out.

I bucked my hips forward, placed my pussy an inch from his face, and then halted. "Where do you want it?"

"Wherever you want." His voice was weak, breathless, desperate.

"No, where do YOU want it? Tell me."

His eyes gave away his indecision. His cock was aching for me, but so was his mouth. I saw the memory dawn in his eyes, the movie he'd been jerking to that night of the rainstorm, the ending that he'd missed. I rubbed myself against his mouth, saw my juices clinging to lips, watched his lips pull to one side as my stickiness dragged against his skin.

"Right here, right where you are. And right now." His head sprang forward and his lips engulfed me, one hand clenched across my ass, the other frantically driving in and out of me, and every muscle in his mouth worked to further enflame my already screaming clit. Then, as I came, and my cunt split wide to unleash that glorious, strength-sapping fountain of juices that looks and feels like nothing else, he tipped his head back, and bathed in the flow that spurted from my cunt - and kept spurting.

His fingers still worked, pumping me hard; his tongue lolled greedily, catching my spend. But his other hand had been busy as well, and suddenly I felt him tense beneath me, before his body was wracked by an earthquaking shudder, and he shouted my name at the top of his lungs. His cum splashed hot against my back, three solid blasts each as heavy as the last. I bent forward to kiss his trembling lips, and felt his juices trickle towards my butt crack. At the back of my mind, something I'd often wanted to ask him came to mind - I wanted to feel his tongue in my ass. But the words wouldn't form in my mouth. Another time, maybe.

We lay side-by-side without speaking. I really thought he might say something, but he didn't breath a word and, slowly, I felt him falling asleep in my arms. I lay awake for a while longer, then slipped away myself. The last thought I remember having, before I sunk into an exhausted sleep, was - next time he wants to go to the movies, I hope he does it alone once again.

Just so long as he saves the Encore Presentation for me.