Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
A stand-alone story, but following from earlier ones in the series.
Thanks for taking the time to read this
and thanks for your support with comments and votes!
I’ve never understood why women are permitted and even encouraged to own and use sex toys but a man who uses them risks laughter and scorn. The last survey I’d read showed that the majority of western women owned or at least had at one time owned a vibrator of some sort. Men? Find a vibrator in a man’s drawer and he’ll invariably say that it once belonged to a long-departed ex. Fleshlight? Same ex, a forgotten gag gift.
How their pride costs them, poor dears.
When I woke up, I was alone in bed. We permitted ourselves no clocks, so, looking at the sun outside, I made a guess as to the time. He has perfect time-sense. Me, I’ve got perfect boobs.
I got up, spent a few minutes in the kitchen, went outside and headed down the path past the satellite dishes and into a shady glade. Typically, he’d been up early to practice his katas; we met when I was entering the clearing. The dawn had broken clear and cloudless. It promised to be a hot day, but he’d already worked up a sweat.
His torso and butt were covered with perspiration. (Did I mention that I find a hard male bum really – really – attractive?) As I watched, a drop trickled off his chest, down over his abs and naked groin, along the length of his penis before falling to the ground. I watched its progress, fascinated. I handed him a glass of iced Perrier and lime juice, his favourite after-workout drink. He took it thankfully and gulped half it down in one go.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” I said with a smile. I gave him a tight hug – I hadn’t had my shower, either. He squeezed my bum and ran his hand down my back.
“Thanks, love,” he replied. We headed back to the villa, hand in hand. Just another day in paradise, off to its usual start.
I refilled his glass and put the kettle on while he got the shower going on the porch. With an open, gazebo-size frame of wrist-thick copper pipe, it overlooked the ocean surf below. We had large ‘Amazon’ shower heads, each big enough for two to stand under in comfort, with side streams on call. A retractable roof was fitted for when it rained and a split bamboo screen could be rolled down in case we desired privacy.
The frame was polished regularly. The roof was used from time to time.
The screen had never been unrolled.
Leaving coffee to steep, I joined him in the shower. He held out his hand to help me in. Warm water was already falling in a gentle shower. We each took a palmful of body wash from the dispenser. Forget washcloths – nothing is better than washing your lover with your bare hands.
I carefully washed his forehead, his cheeks and his neck. I took another handful of gel and, my eyes closed, started on his chest as he did my face. Rubbing my hands over his pecs and down over his abs was as pleasant for me as I suspect it was for him. Not a gym-rat body; he was more the lean and wiry type, but with good muscle definition. And a very nice set of ancillary equipment…
As I held my face up to the water and the gel rinsed off, I felt his firm hands move down my shoulders and onto my breasts, stroking and fondling them as he cleaned. My breath caught for a second.
I grasped his shoulders and turned him around, his fingers trailing off my nipples as he spun. I spread body wash over his shoulders and rubbed it across his back, my fingers running up and down his spine and into the crack of his ass. My fingers rubbed the slippery suds over his secret rosebud and he sucked in a deep breath.
Taking another handful of soap, my hands moved up along his flanks towards his armpits. His arms lifted in cooperation. My hands güvenilir bahis still full of lather, I reached around either side and began washing his package.
My breasts rubbed up and down his back as I stretched to reach. One hand rolled his balls, gently washing gel into the many crevices, while the other slowly ran along his stiffening penis.
I giggled and said, “Looks like somebody’s looking for a happy day!”
“Mmm-hmm.” All the Talkative was being stroked out of him by my right hand. I took another glob of body wash and came around in front of him, standing chest-to-boob, continued to do my best to ensure his love tackle was clean enough to face the day. His scrotum lifted as his excitement grew.
He began washing me again, his slick, soapy hands running over my arms and under my armpits, returning to my breasts. I started to moan as his long thumbs rolled my nipples, then continued to moan as his hands left my boobs and moved down to my belly.
A hand slid between my legs and gently stroked my pussy. As I continued to roll and stretch his balls and massage his soapy, rigid member, his fingers grew bolder. My knees were growing weak. Both of us were breathing heavily,
We played this game most mornings. We had a hotel-sized hot water tank; some lunches saw us still white and wrinkled from the shower.
I didn’t object. Ever.
But today I had other plans. I wanted to keep him hard, primed and right on the edge.
I stepped out of his grasp.
“Finish your shower,” I said. “Breakfast is almost ready.”
Towelling myself off as I went quickly into the kitchen, I confirmed that the coffee was indeed ready and took him a cup. He was leaning against the copper shower frame, his eyes closed, erect cock standing proudly under the warm water beating on its shaft and head.
I ran my finger along its underside and his eyes flicked open. I handed him the steaming cup. “Not yet,” I told him. “I need that thing awake.” He sighed and then nodded.
It took me only a minute or two to finish breakfast. Black coffee, omelette aux fine herbes, papaya slices and a French stick with country butter and guava jelly. I knew my man.
We ate sitting on the veranda, overlooking the surf below.
I watched his hard manhood under the table and once in a while fingered it gently or cupped his still-swollen balls to keep him erect.
“Are you going to tell me what’s up?” he asked. I almost snorted coffee out my nose with laughter and he had the grace to laugh with me, acknowledging his unintentional pun.
I reached under the table and lightly pumped his tool half a dozen times as quickly as I could. “In a few minutes.”
I squeezed his shaft and he nodded.
Finished eating, he went to clear the table. I pushed him back in his chair. “My job, today.” Table cleared, I poured us each another coffee and, leaving the veranda, went to my closet.
“Happy birthday, baby,” I said on my return, as I kissed his ear and placed his present on the table in front of him.
From the look on his face, I guessed he’d either forgotten or had been trying to. Men!
Our custom is to give home-made gifts. Our bay is home to birds of seemingly infinite species. I’d taken a heavy cardboard mailing tube that had come in the post some time before. After cutting it down to forearm-length, I’d drilled literally hundreds of quill-sized holes all around it, from one end to the other. Using long forceps, I had inserted the quills of small feathers I’d gathered under the trees, some quite soft, others firmer, into the holes from the inside, then glued it them place from the outside. I then trimmed the protruding quills, sanded it down and finished it with two coats of bright red paint. It had taken me hours, but türkçe bahis when finished, it was a feather-lined tube like a Fleshlight, but more suited to tease and torment than satisfy. I’d decorated the outside with the Chinese ideograms for joy and fulfilment.
He looked at it curiously, not quite understanding. Turning it over to examine the ends, he slowly poked a stiff forefinger into the tube. The lights went on, as they say. He rotated the tube and I could see feather-tip after feather-tip lightly stroke his knuckle.
“Yes,” I smiled.
He pulled his chair back and was about to try it on the spot, his long-denied cock hard and ready. I settled back to watch, smiling happily at his enthusiasm. “No,” he said, after reflecting, “I really like it, but this is something special. Let’s do this together.”
“Shift over,” I said, starting to leave my chair. I held my hand out for the tube.
“How about at the Throne?” he suggested. This was our name for a pile of rocks which had somehow naturally wound up in the shape of a high, chair-like structure overlooking the shore. It had a regal air to it; seated there, one could see – and be seen from – our entire bay, like an emperor or empress in state.
He’d actually had cushions made specially to fit when my bum got scraped during one particularly enthusiastic role-playing session. Bless the man.
I put a few things in a toy bag and we literally skipped down the path with him leading. I’d obviously pleased him with the gift.
He almost jumped onto the bare rocks. No softy cushions for my man. His erection jutted out, like a sceptre with a massive jeweled head.
I knelt, kissed its head and lightly dragged my boobs across it. My nipples hummed at the touch and his manhood quivered. Taking my hands, I wrapped his head and shaft in my soft tit-flesh and began to move up and down slowly. His eyes half-closed at the sensation.
“Great King,” I announced, looking up at his face. “Your people send you tribute.”
He grinned at the opening line of the game. “Does this tribute involve wizardry?” he asked.
Improvising like crazy, I replied, “Nay, sire. Just witchcraft. ‘Tis the work of a wise woman, one skilled in bedcraft.” I was rather proud of that last line and winked at him. His eyes twinkled back.
His smile widened. “Let it be produced, wench,” he pronounced, “for our imperial judgement.”
“Yes, sire!” Dropping my boobs, I produced the tube, holding it up with two hands and my head bowed. I took the opportunity to admire his proud manhood aimed at my face. I leaned down and gave its underside a light lick with my tongue. It jumped.
He took the tube from me and held it to one eye.
“What sort of sad magic is this?” he demanded. “We can see nothing.”
I grinned. “Forgive me, great one, but I believe your majesty may have presented it to the wrong eye.” I took one fingertip and ran it gently over the slit in his penis. His member twitched again and he grinned back.
“Explain your paradox, wench!”
“Yes, sire,” I replied. I put out my hand, palm up, and he placed the tube into it.
“The legend, sire,” I began, pointing at the circle of feathers exposed at one end, “states that the wisest creatures are birds, inasmuch as the gift of flight allows them to see further and thus more than any other. It follows, therefore, that feathers contain great wisdom, insight and power.”
“As it pleases my lord,” I replied. “The creator of this wondrous device gathered the feathers of the rarest birds and enchanted them with the power to capture the ultimate attention of any man. May I demonstrate?”
I smiled and placed one end of the tube güvenilir bahis siteleri just above the end of his rampant manhood.
“The spell, my lord, is unspoken. It is effected solely through actions cast over …” I giggled, “…a magic wand.”
Eyes beaming, he worked hard to keep from laughing. “Demonstrate this spell!”
“As you command, sire!”
I slowly brought the end of the tube lower, until his cock-head had just entered the flowery tunnel. His smile stayed, but he closed his eyes.
“I begin to see the worth of this magic,” he said.
I slowly lowered the tube straight down over his tumescence. Hundreds of feather-tips stroked slowly over his head and shaft until it was seated at the base of his penis, his dark scrotum visible just beneath.
“Powerful magic, indeed, wench. Continue with the demonstration!”
“As it pleases your lordship.” I slowly raised the tube upwards until his cock was barely inside. While I couldn’t see his plum, I judged it must be bulging with pleasure, based on the look on his face. I repeated the pumping action over and over.
“The second part of the spell follows, sire,” I intoned solemnly after a few minutes. He nodded, attention centred on sensations from his sensations from his second brain.
Taking our precious Canadian eagle feather, I began to rapidly stroke his nutsack and nipples while continuing to raise and lower the tube over his dick. I lifted it briefly off and saw the head was swollen and red. Obviously, the ‘spell’ was working. I continued to tube-stroke him as I tickled elsewhere with the feather. He moaned with pleasure.
“May I have your Excellency’s permission to continue with the third part of the spell?” I asked.
“You… have our… permission,” he said. There was sweat on his forehead and his nuts were huge, tight against his body in his arousal.
“Yes, my lord.”
I grinned brightly. What fun! Role-playing with him was normally happy, but this was delightful!
Dropping the eagle feather, I put one hand on either side of the tube and rolled the feather-filled cylinder between them, propelling it both around and up and down his pulsing organ, hundreds of feather-tips rotating around every millimetre of his throbbing member at any given second. Shifting my hands, I again and again guided the rapidly-spinning tube up and down along the length of his manhood. His breath became ragged. His hands grasped the rocks beneath them.
“Should I stop the demonstration, my lord?” I asked, pausing the motion.
“No!” he demanded. “Carry on, if you value your head!”
Good one, I thought. Actually, I value yours.
Suddenly, his thighs tightened. Alerted, and knowing the virtual impossibility of cleaning the insides, I yanked the tube off his pulsing organ. Rapidly pumping his shaft with one hand and massaging his balls with the other, I took him deep into my mouth.
He erupted, cum filling the back of my throat. A deep groan echoed over the shore.
I swallowed repeatedly, then slowed my pumping. Still holding his head in my mouth and lightly licking his salty slit with my tongue-tip, I glanced up at his face. His eyes were closed and his mouth open. He was gasping for breath, sucking air into his lungs. His body shook.
I glowed with pride. The ability to bring so much pleasure to one’s lover is not to be trivialized. Such power that is given us, if we only choose to use it!
His hands gently closed over my head, hugging me.
“I love you,” I said softly. Silently, his hand stroked the back of my head.
I let his softening pride slip from my lips and stood up to kiss his. Sleepily, his hands stroked my thighs and back.
“Is your majesty pleased with this tribute?” I whispered into his ear.
There was a pause.
“We are not sure,” he finally said in a quiet, sleepy voice. “It shall be stored for the moment in our treasury. Further demonstrations and experiments will no doubt be necessary.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32