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“Oh, not now,” she says. To my disappointment, she’s suddenly perfectly happy to finger me until my crotch explodes and I buck against her hand. She always laps my cunt, but not now. Still it surprises me that she ignores my new jewelry altogether. I know without her telling me, that she’s waiting for her special present, until we’re home again. I can only imagine now what she’ll do with it. I absurdly think of her hanging things from my cunt, making the obvious protrude even more, making my labia out of kilter with the other side, by attaching something heavy to this ring. That might please her sense of the bizarre.
After I climax, I press my lips against hers and flick my tongue inside her mouth. My own hand roams about her thighs and she begins to gasp. Just playing with her body, not even finding exposed skin, she’s alive with a powerful need. Before I even reach her cunt to play with it, she jerks. It’s a short quick orgasm. I call them her public orgasms because they happen so quickly. I’m often amazed by her easy performance. When we take our time, she has long rolling endings that I think will never stop. She swears mine are longer, but we’ve never kept time.
The sex makes me languid as we ride home in the heat. But my body has not been satisfied. My greatest pleasure is knowing we’ll spend the rest of the day and most of the next in bed together. I couldn’t have planned it better, even though I’m still angry that she takes such bold steps with me.
“Was there some reason for the choice of rings? It seems so deliberate.”
“I have petals, you have the rose,” she answers.
“Is that symbolic?” I wonder aloud.
“Perhaps,” she answers guardedly.
“Sometimes I don’t know what to make of you,” I tell her.
She chuckles. “You’re too cautious, you think too much,” she replies. She’s said this so often I’m sick of hearing those words, even when she’s right.
I drag Peach into bed when we get home. Familiar territory and I’m even more bold. It doesn’t have the same thrill as a semi-public place, but there’s a lot more possibility inside our four safe walls.
I’m lying back on the water bed, she’s between my legs. With her face staring up at me from my cunt, I catch the expression when she finds the ring on my cunt. Like a kid opening a birthday present, her eyes are wide with glee. Then her tongue playfully flicks the funny thing. I’m gasping, realizing that I need more and more and more. She pulls at the ring just a little; but it’s sore, and I wince. She takes my naked labia in her mouth and sucks it hard. Then she sucks my clit, and it burns; the pressure she uses hurts, though it nonetheless arouses me even more. These are just preliminaries. She would like it rough tonight; and I?
??d like it that way too, except I’m careful with my tiny wound.
Three fingers press their way into my sloshy gate. I squeeze them as hard as I can, seeing her smile, seeing infinite pleasure written in her expression. I close my eyes and imagine even more, more jewelry, more fingers, more women, my imagination taking off into a crude flight of extremes, tricking my body into thinking that I’ve disappeared into a world of carnal creation where nothing but sensation matters.
I cum.
This long wave of pleasure grabs me deeper than I’ve been grabbed in some time. Peach is touching heaven with her skillful disregard to form. She breaks rules well, when I don’t. And now I’m grateful for every slap and pinch and bite, as the last waves finally break on my cunt’s soft shores.
I give her everything she desires thereafter, with my hands and tongue. Her body rises and falls, riding a crest of waves that seem as unending as the ocean itself. I watch her firm strong thighs when they clench; I see the rose petals move as if they are waving in the breeze. She looks like raw lust, a bawdy obscene whore. (I imagine she’ll like my appraisal of her when she hears it.)
I often think that though I have the corner on shadowy sexual fantasy, she has the daring essence to see it materialize. Times like this, she scares me.
She finishes, and we’re spent, at least until midnight, or whenever, when our bodies are aroused again.
Chapter Four
Peach storms into the apartment, her wild eyes flashing. Often so easy going, I’m always scared seeing her this way. I’m packing, but soon I’ll see my efforts completely dashed, when she overturns the luggage, and spills the contents of the cooler and picnic basket all over the floor.
“What the hell is going on?” I demand to know.
“You’re going to get spanked, you little brat!” she vows.
“What the fuck?” Her anger ignites my own. But seeing her like this, I’m also scared. Never in eight months has there been such fury written on her face, in her eyes, and all over her lush body.
She comes at me with a look I’ll never forget; with eyes darker than coal, they burn their way into me.
“A hairbrush or a belt, which would you prefer?” she blurts out at me.
“What have I done?” I ask astonished, as astonishing as this savage solution to her anger seems to me. Spanking? Is she really serious?
“You lied to me,” she said.
“I’ve never lied to you,” I answer indignantly.
“These,” she says, angrily waving some letters in my face. “You hid them from me.”
“No. No, not at all,” I try to defend myself.
