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“Oh, God…ohhhhh, God, yes,” I mewl. “Eat my pussy. Oh…oooh…”
“That’s right, baby,” Marcel whispers, looking up from between my thighs; his dreamy, bedroom eyes full of lust and love and a hint of mischief; his cum-slick lips glistening, “give me that sweet pussy…” He licks his lips, then dips his head back in between my quivering legs, sucking my clit into his mouth like an oyster as he slides a thick finger into my slit and pumps inside me in a steady rhythm. He swirls his finger into my wetness, pulls out, then slides two fingers in, then three, until I feel everything inside of me start to throb and ache. My pussy clenches around his fingers, greedily sucking them in. He is skillfully stretching my walls and stroking my spot, stoking the fire.
Oh, God! I want, need, his huge dick filling me.
“Please,” I whisper.
“Please, what?” he taunts, lapping at my juicy pussy, sinking his tongue between the plump folds of my throbbing lips, then swirling it back over my clit.
My heartbeat quickens. My body trembles. Drool settles at the corner of my mouth. I moan his name and cum hard, the hot pulse of my need spews out and drenches his fingers, his hand, as I get lost into a knot of swirling, throbbing ecstasy. I grind my pelvis into the blaze—his thick, sticky fingers still pumping into the flames—and beg him over and over and over.
“Please, please, please…oh, Marcel, baby…pleeeeeease…”
“Please, what? Tell me what you want, baby.” He looks up and grins that lopsided grin; his deep dimples creasing each side of his face. “Tell daddy what you want…”
Daddy. Oooh, daddy, daddy, daddy…
“I w-want t-that b-big d-dick, d-daddy…mmm…f-fuuuck m-meeee…”
He leaves me breathless and begging.
“Your Hands” floats around the room and Marcel’s face disappears again. He hums the tune into my pussy. And tears spring from my eyes.
I know most people don’t believe in love at first sight. But I do. And I knew the first time I spotted Marcel—fall semester of my freshman year at Howard—coming out of the student center with three of his frat brothers that he would be my everything. And I knew the first time he slid my black-laced panties down over the swell of my hips—at the end of fall semester the following year—spread open my thighs and licked my clit, then slid his long, delicious dick into me, slow-fucking my pussy and stretching open the inside of my silky walls—causing wave after wave of wet blazing heat to flood my body, that he was the man I’d spend the rest of my life with.
And here we are sixteen years later, and nothing’s changed. I am still in love with my husband, more so now than ever before. With him, there are no sexual limits. He has pushed and tested and tried every one over the years, taking me to places beyond my own imagination. And there is nothing I will not do to pleasure him. There is nothing he will not do to pleasure me. My fantasies are his. And his deepest desires are mine. All within reason, of course.
And, together, we are a never-ending inferno. A wild, thrashing river of hot sensations, forbidden desires, and fulfilled fantasies.
I gasp as Marcel sucks on my labia like it’s a juicy peach and my heart nearly stops beating as my nipples pebble and my pussy floods with more liquid warmth. “Oh, yes, baby,” I whimper, grinding into his mouth. “I love you, I love you, I looove you…”
I fight to keep my eyes open, fight through the glaze of encroaching pleasure slowly blinding me. I don’t know how much longer I can hold on. I am hanging on the edge of the cliff, losing myself, my mind falling deeper into the haze as he pulls his fingers from between my slick heat and brings them up to my lips.
“Taste your pussy,” he murmurs, sliding two fingers into my drooling mouth. I flick my tongue over his fingers, tasting the sweet thickness of my cunt cream, sucking him into me, pretending it is his thick dick in my mouth. Wishing it was.
Oh how I wish, yearn, for him to inch up over my body, hoist my legs up over my head and aim the thick, bulbous head of his dark, veiny dick at the opening of my slit, then fuck his way into the scorching heat. But he doesn’t.
Instead, he pulls his fingers out of my mouth and sucks them into his own, sliding them in and out, then flicking his tongue over each finger.
“I want you to come for me, Marika. Give me that sweet, juice, baby. Squirt it all over my face…” His gaze shimmers with heat and want—and determination. Then his face disappears, again, his tongue circling over my clit, then plunging back into my hot pussy, darting in and out, in and out, hard, fast.
Marcel slides a wet finger along the crack of my ass—my asshole is juicy and slick from my pussy and his spit—then pushes it inside of me. In synchronized motion, his finger and tongue work in harmony with Jill Scott’s “He Loves Me.” He tongue-fucks my pussy. Finger-fucks my ass.
And now I am gasping for breath. Sweet torture. That’s what this is.
I open my mouth to speak, to murmur, to moan, to babble…anything, but nothing comes out. Mouth agape, my eyes float around in their sockets as a jolt, the tingles, a surge of rippling fire, coils through my body and causes my pussy to spasm uncontrollably.
I am overwhelmed.
Powerless.
The searing heat completely takes over.
And I come. And come. And come. Clasping my thighs around my lover’s head, I squirt and soak him, wetting the sheets beneath me.
TWO
Marcel
