Mister Tuesday Night: An Erotic Short Story by Dee Valentine Page B

hips and moving in and out and
making guttural animal sounds in the back of his throat, and I'm so excited I'm
ready to come right along with him.  I know I've soaked through the new silk
panties I'm wearing, and I marvel at the irony of it, that I know exactly what
he needs sexually, yet I don't know whether he's left- or right-handed, whether
he prefers coffee or beer, whether he goes home after these little
tête-à-têtes, like I do, to a spouse who barely knows he's alive.
    His hands, twisted in my hair,
guide me to move faster, deeper, harder, and the noises he makes grow louder,
and then with a cry he comes, in a noisy, shuddering burst that fills my mouth
with the warm, honeyed taste of salty musk and man.  I swallow his juices,
follow them with my tongue, lick his cock clean with each aftershock, and I'm
so hot and wet and excited now that I'm ready to fuck him, fuck him right
now , but it's too soon.  These things follow a pattern, and it's not yet
time for that.
    He takes my hand and helps me to my
feet.  I stand there trembling, legs barely able to hold me up, as he unbuttons
my suit coat and chucks it to the floor, makes short work of my tailored
blouse, peels my bra straps down my shoulders and frees my breasts, those
heavy, aching breasts that are so desperate for the touch of a man.  He rolls
my nipples between his fingers until I almost scream from the pleasure, and
then he runs his tongue down my bare midriff.  By the time he dips it into the
hollow of my navel, I'm breathing so hard I'm nearly hyperventilating.
    He guides me backward to the bed. 
I fall on my back on the mattress, my clothes a hot mess, my legs dangling over
the side of the bed.  He kneels between my thighs, shoves up my skirt and peels
off the forty-dollar virginal white lace panties I bought for the occasion. 
"Scoot down," he says hoarsely, the first words he's spoken since I
got here.  Heart hammering in anticipation, I align my bare bottom with the
edge of the mattress, and I almost laugh because for an instant, I'm reminded
of my gynecologist, asking me to slide down until I reach the end of her examining
table.  Then he lifts my legs over his shoulders, his hair tickles my inner
thighs, and I forget about laughing as he leans closer and buries his head
between my thighs.
    And fucks me with his mouth.
    I'm so excited already that I
nearly come the instant that soft, wet, insistent tongue touches my clit.  I
try to be quiet, but I can't.  I roll in ecstasy, make soft keening sounds in
my throat, as he licks and sucks and flicks with that magic tongue of his, this
beautiful young man who doesn't care that I'm beginning that slow slide into
middle age.  Somebody has taught him, and taught him well, and I buck and cry,
trying desperately to get closer, closer to the rapture I know is just a
heartbeat away.  I'm beginning to unravel, and then he slips his tongue into my
cunt, and sweet Jesus I nearly scream.  I grab huge fistfuls of the
bedding for ballast, edge closer to him, lock my thighs around him and grind my
pussy against his face, bathing him in my hot, wet juices as that tongue of his
alternates its sweet torture:  cunt, clit, cunt, clit, cunt, clit, and the
world drops away, and there's nothing but my clit and his tongue.  No breath,
no thought, nothing but the slick, exquisite glide of his tongue against my
most sensitive, most private place.
    I come in a heated, screaming rush,
thrashing and tearing at the bedding, and now, finally now! still
kneeling on the floor between my thighs, he takes that big, thick cock of his
and drives it into me.  My legs still over his shoulders, he cups my ass and
lifts it right off the bed, and he fucks me hard and fast and rough, his hands
gripping me so hard I know I'll have bruises tomorrow, but this is how I want
it, how I like it, how I need it.  No whispered sweet nothings, no pretense of
love, just hard, hot fucking that takes me higher and higher, my cunt wrapped
tight