She meant my eyes and I opened them wide as she rode me to something real and spectacular. Strangely, because of our eyes, neither of us made a sound, other than the noises from the pounding itself. It was if all of our energy was locked into our gaze. That there were no words or noises our mouths could make.
I wanted to close my eyes. I wanted to grunt and shout and fling obscenities at my wife but I would not allow myself to. I would not allow myself to not look into her as she was looking into me. Suddenly the bolt hit me and I stilled before shaking, my legs flying away from hers. Out of control except for my eyes. Somehow I managed to keep them on hers. I felt her shake as her own orgasm coursed through her. But she too was strong enough or determined enough to maintain our eye contact.
She discarded the strap-on and lay beside me. She always made me feel her love whatever we did. She often made me literally feel her love too.
It was so intense that neither of us thought of doing anything more that night. I awoke early the next morning. She had to go to work, but I was beginning my eleven-day hiatus before my job began. I peed and returned to the bedroom. It was warm, and I was glad she was only under a sheet. It was about 6:15. The early-morning birds were chatting, their chirps echoing across the yards and the trees on our street.
I delicately pulled the sheet off of her. She was on her side, so I had to be acrobatic. She was not wearing panties. We both trim our pussies, and I could make out her folds. I took my t-shirt and panties off and turned my head so that I could lick her. I hoped that she would roll onto her back and after less than a minute she did. Her legs were too close so I knelt to her side and leaned over to resume my licking, pulling my hair aside. When her legs opened enough, I moved between them, placing my chest down to the bed. My nose was near her clit and my eyes were looking towards her face. One of the many nice things about her spectacular, small tits is that they never obscure the view of her face from where I was.
I do not know if she was awake yet—she denies it—but I could hear moans and I could feel motion in her hips. When I felt her hands grip my head I knew my wife was awake.
“Don’t you fucking stop.” Suze, unlike me although I am trying to get better, only curses when we have sex. She was cursing. Her hands were keeping rhythm with my tongue.
“Inside.”
I made my tongue into a circle and pushed it into her, attempting to duplicate the pistoning that she gave me the night before. She liked this, but she liked something else more. I pulled my tongue out and replaced it with two fingers, with my tongue resuming its alphabeting on her labia. In short order, her pussy was humping my face and I was like a bull-rider trying to stay aboard. Which I did until she pushed my face away with a “fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.”
Our eyes were locked until that moment and by the time I joined her at the head of the bed she was breathing heavily. Her eyes were blinking and staring at a spot on the ceiling, and her hand was on her forehead.
“Morning.”
“Morning.”
With that we kissed. And, sadly, an hour or so later I walked her down to the train for her morning commute. We were an incongruous couple on the platform. She in her light summer-dress and pumps. God she was gorgeous and damn if she did not know it. I was in my shorts, t-shirt, and trainers. When the 8:13 rolled in, I kissed her and she got on-board. First door, third car. I told her to say hello to Ms. Elliot. I waved to them as the train pulled out, heading to the City. I walked up the hill to the house, wondering how I would spend my vacation.
That was last week and we’ve both enjoyed the removal of the professional obstacle that’s hung over me, and hangs over every other law student, from that first day of law school, two days before she reached across and asked me to be in her study group after a Legal Method in August 2016.
The sex is always good. Usually great. She is beyond words.
“What can you tell me about Simon Douglas?”
“Hello to you too Kate.” This was Eileen Neally.
“Sorry. He just left a voicemail for me and you went out with him before Tom.” Kate Pugh.
“Actually, I dated both of them at the same time but chose Tom. I might have chosen Simon if Tom didn’t come along at the right time.”
“You’re such a romantic. But now about me. I spoke to him for a long while at your wedding. His message said he wanted to take me to an opening at the Guggenheim. I know nothing of modern—”
“Nor does he. And he freely admits it. He uses openings as an excuse to ask someone for a date. Our first date was an opening in Greenwich and we spent half the time trying to figure whether the things were upside down. No. He’s a real country landscape and boats-on-the-Sound kind of person. I liked him a lot. I knew him years ago when we worked together at the same bank. He then made a fortune on Wall Street with a hedge fund. He’s loaded and lives in Greenwich, but he’s really not a Greenwich kind of guy.”
“So should I call him back?”
“You should definitely call him back. Have you gone on many dates since you moved into the City?”