That Thing You Say You Like
written by:
Naughty Miranda

"So, that thing you say you like. Have you done it before?"

Gerry looked up from the sports pages. His mind had been miles away, conjuring possible outcomes for the World Series, and Betty's question came from so far out of left field that he first asked her to repeat it, and then to explain it. "What thing?"

"That thing you say you like." Her voice was steady, but he could tell there was a tumult behind it. "The thing you asked me to do." Then, when he didn't answer immediately, she stood. "Forget I said anything. Cold cuts for supper?" She was walking towards the kitchen.

"Once," he said hastily. "In France."

She paused. "Did you have to pay for it?"

"No." He was shocked by that question, maybe more than he'd been stunned by her original one. "No, I didn't have to pay."

Betty was silent for a moment. "Did you ask her to do it?"

"No."

"So she just did it?"

"Yeah."

She was still standing in the doorway. "Tell me about it."

"What, right now?"

Betty nodded. "Right now."

"We were in a small village in Normandy." Gerry had spent two years in Europe, fighting, one man among the millions who were rolling the Germans back to Berlin in the last year of the war. Nine months in England preparing for the Normandy landings, and the rest pushing painful mile by mile across the map. Betty hadn't known him then, didn't meet him until he was Stateside again, looking for employment and winding up at the plant where she worked as a typist. But he'd talked a lot about his experiences... the good ones, anyway... and she thought she knew everything he'd done. This, however, was a new one. She recrossed the room and settled back into her chair by the dining table.

"I was on sentry duty. The village had been liberated the day before... or, rather, we moved into it the day before, the Germans had retreated a few days earlier. But the locals still behaved as though we'd single-handedly won the war for them."

Betty remained silent.

"Her name was..." Gerry paused, and a flicker of suspicion crossed his wife's mind. Was he pausing to remember the woman's name? Or was he only pretending to have forgotten it, so she wouldn't suspect that he was still thinking about her?

Well, obviously he was. The thing he asked her to do last month proved that.

"Francoise," he continued. "Her name was Francoise."

"Was she pretty?"

"Yeah, she was. Very French looking. Short dark hair, thin..." he spoke carefully, picking words that wouldn't upset her. "She brought me wine and some food. A lot of the girls used to do that. They were so grateful."

"Is that why she did it? Because she was grateful?"

Gerry shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know. I don't think so."

"Then why?"

"Because she wanted to."

"And you wanted her to?"

He laughed. "I didn't know what I wanted. I was nineteen, and the furthest I'd ever gone with a girl, any girl, was second base. In England."

Betty nodded. She knew about that.

"What did she say?"

"She didn't. We were standing, talking. Then she dropped to her knees and..."

"And you let her?"

Gerry was looking flustered now. "I didn't feel like I had a choice. It just happened."

"So what did she do?"

His look changed to panic. "What do you mean?"

"Well, did she kiss it?"

He nodded.

"For how long?"

"Only a moment. And then..."

"Then what?"

"Then she put it in her mouth. And held it there."

"How much of it?"

"I don't know. I was so ... my eyes were closed, I think. But it felt like the whole thing."

"So you didn't actually see her doing it?"

He shook his head. "No, but I could feel it."

"But how do you know it was her mouth? If it had never happened before, how did you know? What did you have to compare it to?"

"I don't know. I just knew. Plus, I could hear her."

Betty made a face. "What could you hear?"

Gerry was bright red now, his voice wavering, his tongue tied. "I could hear her sucking."

"Sucking your cock?' The words sounded so alien in her mouth, their meaning so foreign. He could barely believe she'd been able to speak them. "How long for?"

"Until..." Now Gerry was the one having finding his words felt too big for his mouth. "Until I...."

She waited a moment, then completed the sentence for him. "Until you finished." It was less a question than a statement, and Gerry nodded. "Until I finished."

"In her mouth?"

"Uh-huh."

"Did you warn her?"

"It happened so fast. But... but I don't think she minded. In fact, I think she wanted it."

"What did she do with it"

"I think... uh... she swallowed it."

Betty stood up. It was astonishing how suddenly she could change the subject. Or lose interest in it. "You said yes to cold cuts?"

Gerry nodded. "Yes."

She left the room.

----------

Three weeks passed. Betty didn't ask any more questions, and Gerry was relieved by that. Or was he? At the back of his mind, in that secret place where everybody keeps their deepest dreams, there was the faintest hope that she might be warming to the idea, that she might even be considering it. But there was also the fear that she had moved even further away from it than she had been, that night a few months after their wedding, when....

They were in bed together, and he was moving against her, his cock semi-hard against her leg as she twisted beneath him, inviting him between her legs. Her hand was on him, gingerly as always, but firmly too, and he knew she wanted him inside her. He wasn't ready, though. He needed more, he needed something he'd only ever experienced once, but which had haunted his masturbatory fantasies ever since. So he whispered... told her what he wanted, told her how much he loved her, and how much he liked it... and she shot out from beneath him and out of the bed faster than he had ever seen her move before.

He took that as a "no," and it had never been mentioned again. Until she raised it again, that evening three weeks ago. And never again since then. Gerry couldn't help but wonder why she'd brought it up in the first place, though. Wonder... and hope? More than hope. If he was honest with himself, which he always tried to be, he would admit that he'd scarcely thought about anything else since then; going over and over the questions she'd asked and the answers he'd given, trying to recapture the expression on her face, the tone of her voice. Curiosity? Longing? Disgust? He didn't know and maybe that was the worst part of it. If he knew how she felt, he could live with it. It was the uncertainty that was tormenting him.

And Betty knew it.

She remembered that first conversation as well, and sometimes she wondered if she could have handled it better. He'd shocked her, that was all. Their marriage was three months old at the time, which meant her sex life was three months old as well. Unless you counted that blink-and-you'll-miss-it grope she had given him one night at the drive- in, a couple of weeks before the ceremony. Gerry was the first man she had ever had sex with, the first man she had ever touched "down there," and the first who had ever touched her "down there" too.

Now he was asking for another first, and it wasn't anything she had never thought of herself. You don't grow up in a house with three older sisters without hearing things, and though she'd never asked for details (and wouldn't have been given any if she had... you know what older sisters are like), still she liked to think she was at least a little more worldly than she sometimes appeared.

But it's one thing to know about something, and another to be asked to do it. He read her escape from the bed as disgust. In fact it was pure reflex, her flight-not fight response to an offer so shocking that she had to put as much distance between herself and him because, if she didn't...

...if she hadn't, she'd have said yes.

In fact, she probably wouldn't even have said a word. Her mouth would have been too full.

------------------

A package arrived while Gerry was at work, and she tore it open eagerly. Her weekly magazines were full of advertisements for what the publishers described as "marriage guides," although she'd read elsewhere that most of them were thinly disguised sex manuals, flying just beneath the radar of obscenity by their use of long words and medical terminology. She wasn't even sure why she'd ordered it, beyond the vague hope that with a college education and a father who had at least worked on the fringe of the medical profession (he was a salesman for a drug company) she might glean something from the pages.

Something. A description of what to do. Of how it felt. Of what would happen. The kind of things that she could never have asked her friends about, because they were probably as much in the dark as she was. Probably. Nobody really knew what went on in their friends' bedrooms, for the simple reason that it was nobody's business. But girls talk, girls giggle, girls confide, and she'd had more than her fair share of those conversations, both before and after she married Gerry. Nobody had ever mentioned this.

She flicked through the book, then turned to the index. Where would she even look? It must have a name, but she couldn't think what it was, at least once she'd exhausted the handful of coarse ones that she thought of. So she started at the first word in the index, and then read and referred her way down the page, growing increasingly afraid as she started on the "c"s that it was going to be something beginning with "z." She flicked to the end. No, that would have been too easy.

Every word that she knew, she would ignore. Every word that she didn't, she turned to the page and read. And when she came to "cunnilingus," grasped its meaning with just a glance at the page, she could scarcely control her excitement as she followed the footnote, "see also, fellatio."

What a funny word.

There were drawings. Not of the act itself, although she wouldn't have turned away if there had been, but of the penis itself. It was strange, she thought. Though she had seen and held Gerry's cock, she had never actually studied it. Now she could, conjuring up in her mind her husband's apparatus and layering it over the drawing.

So far as she could see, and from what she had read as well, it was the head that was going to be the most difficult part. So much fatter than the rest of the tool, but more pliable, too. That was her biggest fear. That he would be too big to fit into mouth; that she would try, and fail, and Gerry would be angry... or disappointed... or just feel rejected. She couldn't bear any of those things to happen.

She closed the book thoughtfully, then reopened it. "Cunnilingus." That word was even funnier than fellatio.

----------------

Midnight. Beside her, Gerry was dead to the world, his breathing caught somewhere between gentle snuffles and full-fledged snoring. Betty's elbow was already tensed to jab him in the ribs, but her mind was so alive that she knew she wouldn't be sleeping tonight.

Gerry moaned and rolled over beside her, an arm on her shoulder, the buttons of his pjs cold against her arm. His French girl had been kneeling, while he stood upright. But Madeleine had been on her back, while her boy straddled her face. Betty wondered which she'd prefer, or if there were other ways to do it as well? She liked the idea of being on top, she thought. So she could move away if she needed to. But not being able to move; that thought thrilled her as well, and she wondered whether Gerry would be gentle?

Some nights when they made love... well, one night, anyway, he had been so wild that it felt like his cock was reaching up into her stomach. And she had loved it, feeling him lose control like that and knowing that it was her body that had caused the transformation. Would her mouth have the same effect? Did she want it to? Gerry was not enormous down there, not like some men she had heard of, but he was still long enough to do some damage. To choke her, or at least trip her gag reflex. She needed to train it not to be quite so sensitive. When morning came and Gerry set off for work, Betty could hardly wait to get her coat and shoes on, and out to the grocery store.

She felt an overpowering urge to buy some bananas.

She bought six, hoping all the while that nobody was watching, wondering what she was doing as she selected each one, a different length, a different thickness and two that, to the best of her guesswork, were more or less the same size as Gerry's cock. Then, home again, she ran a hot bath, bolted the door and climbed into the tub, the bananas lined up on the side of the tub.

None of them lasted for long. The steam from the tub, the warmth of her mouth and the splashing of the water as she brought herself to a shattering underwater orgasm all saw the bananas disintegrate a lot faster than she expected. Or hoped. But the thick goo that filled her throat as they did so... maybe that prepared her for something else? It wouldn't taste the same, she knew, and banana was probably a lot more pithy. But she swallowed it down with her heart pumping wildly, and as she lay in the cooling water, the air thick with banana and the remains of her feast already soaking through the paper bag she'd thought to bring in as well, she was pretty sure that she could take anything Gerry threw at her.

In fact, and she almost felt guilty at the thought, the bananas that she'd picked because they seemed the right size were probably the least satisfying of them all. She'd never have imagined it before, but there was something about having her mouth stretched wide, almost to the point of pain, while an alien object pushed deep down inside her that thrilled her into a second orgasm, achieved with no hands or splashing at all.

She remembered the first time she ever saw Gerry's cock, as he undressed on their wedding night. It was already hard, and she'd wanted to ask him if it had been like that all day, in anticipation of this evening? She felt a little guilty about the bananas now. That first night, and for a few nights after as well, it had felt like the longest, fattest thing in the world, splitting her virgin hole in two, and when she gripped it one night... not that first night, though...she could barely close her hand around it. That's how big it was.

Or how small her fist was, a wicked voice giggled in her mind, and she smirked even as she reprimanded herself. After all, it wasn't as though she had absolutely anything else to compare it with, and she wondered how many other newly-weds could say that? Girls, even girls her age, seemed so "modern" nowadays, as though the war had done more than sweep away the danger of fascism, it had also dispensed with all the niceties of manners and propriety that she'd grown up with. As though that entire generation of women who spent the war years doing a man's job, while the men were all away, had suddenly realized that life is too short, and too unpredictable, to keep saying "no" to things. You have to say "yes" when the opportunity presents itself, because who knows how long you'll have someone to say "yes" to?

Betty was different. She did keep saying no, right up until her wedding night. And then she kept saying no afterwards, as well.

They made love twice that first night, once so slowly and painfully that she was glad they kept the lights out, so it would be morning before she saw how much blood was involved; once gingerly but not-so-badly, before they slept. He was ready to do it again when they awoke as well, but they only had three days of honeymoon and Betty didn't want to spend the whole time in bed. There'd be plenty of time for that once they got home, she thought, but of course there wasn't, because real life intrudes, and someone... usually her... is always too tired, or feeling a little under-the-weather, or needs to get up early in the morning.

So that night when he asked the thing that he asked, it was only the fifth time they'd "done it" since their honeymoon. Since when, they had done it another twice.

No wonder he still remembered the French girl's name.

--------------------

Her name was Francoise, and he'd seen her looking at him a few times since the army arrived in the village. Once, she'd even smiled, and he'd smiled back because they were under orders to be as friendly to the locals as they could be. It ensured their co-operation, and it was good public relations. The war was going well right now, but these things can turn on a dime, and if the Germans should start pushing back at any time, the Allies would need all the friends they could find.

Not that Gerry needed a reason to smile at a pretty girl. Stateside, he'd had plenty of admirers, and all the while he was stationed in England as well. Not that Betty needed to know about them. He told her about one girl, Sharon, because she needed to hear something, and a little lie is an awful lot better than the total truth, at least where that particular subject is concerned. He smiled at how easily she accepted his deception. Second base? He'd got further than that before he even left High School.

He hadn't been on sentry duty, and she never bought him wine and food. She smiled and he walked over to where she was standing, spoke a few words in English, to which she replied in French, and when they both realized they would never be able to communicate with words, he leaned forward and kissed her. She kissed him back and that was that. They tumbled behind a building, and up against a wall, his one hand groped at her cunt through her panties, while the other pulled out his cock and nudged it against her pussy. Which was when she whispered a soft "non," and something else that he didn't understand until he saw the blood on his fingers, and realized she was on her period.

Instead she started jerking him, and it was his idea that she should kneel, and his hand on her head that saw her agree, not quite forcing her down, but suggesting it firmly, and later... later, he would probably have felt a twinge of regret that he'd acted like that, except for one thing. From the moment her full, soft lips engulfed his cock head, it was obvious that she not only knew what she was doing, she enjoyed doing it as well. He'd heard the other guys talk about getting head from the locals, and they'd always made it sound like the girl was doing the guy the favor, and wasn't getting anything out of the act for herself.

The way she sucked, the way she moved, she way she moaned, Francoise flipped that equation 180 degrees. Her tongue trailed serpents up and down his shaft, her lips brushed his balls and sucked them inside, her teeth traced the passage of his cock into her mouth, and he swore he could still see the indentations the next day, a firm bite mark that encircled the root. She sucked on his cock head like it was the most delectable candy she had ever tasted, giggling and making little noises in her throat as she slobbered saliva over the fat purple tip, and then her mouth would open just a little bit wider and she slipped him into its velvety heat.

And all the while, her hand was pumping him.

Which was something else he didn't tell Betty. Just because he had finished, it didn't mean she had. Her mouth slick with his cum, she suckled him soft; then sucked him hard again, before wheeling around, bending down, and guiding his cock to her asshole. Then, once he'd fucked her and collapsed to the ground, she reached out and removed his wallet from his pants, selected the three highest denominations he possessed, and tucked them in to her cleavage. Then she gave him a smile and a swift, sweet "merci" and he never saw her again.

He'd told Betty that he didn't have to pay her. What he meant was, he never had a choice.

-------------

Betty let him have her that night, lying soft and compliant beneath his weight as he pistoned his cock in and out of her, but tonight she determined that she would have him as well, her body pushing back against him, against his cock, forcing his length even deeper into her pussy. Her muscles clenched around his hardness, milking him with spasms that made her legs weak and useless, while her hand slid between her legs, twisting her clit, twisting the sensations into something tangible, recognizable. And when her fingers brushed his balls and he gasped, groaning her name, the unexpected intimacy pushed her over the edge.

She came and she felt him lurching too, emptying his passion into her belly, a hot flood into the heat of her heart, and then he was softening, slipping slow and slimy onto the sheets beneath them. And once it was over and he was dropping off to sleep, she lay on her side, a finger spooning his cum from her pussy to her mouth, while her taste buds battled to separate his taste from her own. A little bleachy, a little grapey - it wasn't the most delicious concoction, but it wasn't bad, and her body certainly seemed to appreciate it, her cunt growing wetter as the flavor touched her tongue, her nerve ends dancing as she swallowed.

She breathed deep, and the scent of their love making assailed her nostrils, thick and cloying, oily and dark. And exciting. Was that how his cock would taste, she wondered, and she inhaled again, trying to hold the smell in her mouth as she closed her eyes and imagined Francoise, down on her knees before a total stranger, taking him deep inside her mouth. A myriad textures on her tongue, a million manias assailing her mind.

They'd done it outdoors, Gerry said. The wind in her hair, a chill in the air. Betty didn't believe for a moment the story he told, just as she didn't believe many of the things he'd said about his past love life. Or the lack of. But the idea that they had been outside, that appealed to her. So, she decided, was the idea of Francoise being down on her knees, crouched before her man, his hard cock at eye level, bobbling before she gripped it, angled it, devoured it....

Betty pictured the girl's head bobbing on the shaft, greasing the flesh. Fingertips holding the length steady. When Gerry fucked her, Betty sometimes felt as though his cock was growing longer, harder. Did Francoise feel that in her mouth? Did she feel her jaw being pushed open, her head being pushed back? And then, when he came, how did that feel?

Betty tried to imagine the moment. In her mind, there would be no warning, no tell-tale signs, just a sudden explosion of hot in the heat of her mouth, and she pictured herself fighting to keep from dribbling. But failing, and the cum would flow down his cock, for her to swoop down and take back for herself. She pictured the pleasure on his face, the joy in his eyes, and measured them against all that she would be feeling, the thrill of having her mouth fucked by her man. And other thoughts, too, other wonderful thoughts....

She remembered her eldest sister once talking about something she'd done with a boyfriend someplace, and how it was the "dirtiest" thing she could ever imagine.

Betty didn't want to imagine any longer.

The following evening they went out to visit friends, a nice meal, a few drinks, an evening around the radio listening to music. Then the short walk home, down darkened roads whose residents were already long abed and sleeping. That always made Betty feel so daring, knowing that she was up and out on the street while the people around her had retired for the night, and she looped her arm through Gerry's as he flicked away a cigarette end. Their apartment building was in sight now, the front door lit by the outside light, but the alleyway beside it was in total darkness.

There.

She turned abruptly, pulling Gerry into the darkness alongside her, and she paced the thirty or so steps that she knew took her to the laundry room door. Then, leaning back against the hard brick wall, she drew her husband in for a kiss. A long kiss, a deep kiss, a kiss that sucked at on another's souls as he pressed himself against her, the urgency of his movements focussed on the hardness growing between his legs.

"Let's go inside," he whispered

"Let's not," Betty replied as her hand traced fingertips across his hips, then squeezed between their bodies to caress the stiffness jammed between them.

In the dark, she could feel his eyes on her, the unspoken question - "what's got into you?" But she wasn't going to answer that yet, as she squirmed to the side and, balanced on one leg, pulled her panties down. She stroked herself, astonished at how wet she felt, but not really surprised because she'd been planning this all evening, and had soaked through her underwear before the first course.

She raised a wet finger to Gerry's lips, stroked it across them, felt his cock buck against her as he identified the scent and the flavor. Then, as the tip of her tongue danced lightly in his ear, she breathed the words she had been rehearsing in her mind all day.

"You know that thing you say you like?"

His reply was barely audible, a moan, a gasp, a murmur of assent.

"I think I might like it too," she said, and the hand on his head pressed him down to his knees, and her long, stockinged legs parted around his face. Then she leaned back against the bricks, hips thrust forward and already swaying as his tongue swept her gaping cunt for the first time in her life.

And if he's good, she told herself, if he's really, really good.... "well, maybe I'll suck his cock next week."

And a happy new year to everyone! Thank you for a great 2013 here at ES, and I can't wait to bring you a whole new crop of stories during 2014 ... and lots of other surprises too. Add me as a Favorite Author, and I promise you won't regret it :)