Diary of a Reformed Harlot: Part Seven
Bishop and I haven’t seen one another in three weeks. My heavy workload, Miko’s therapy sessions, and a nagging theological question, 'Anal sex within the confines of marriage', hanging over his head have curtailed anything aside from the occasional email. Which under the circumstances has been a Godsend considering my courage has ebbed and flowed. Our time apart hasn’t been a total loss. It’s clear he wasn’t the curate in the confessional—he would’ve addressed the issue that very night. It has also given me greater insight into Miko’s condition. I no longer blame myself and, thanks to improved medication and her change of lifestyle, she and I both are beginning to see light at the end of the tunnel.
TI and I had dinner on the nights Miko attended group meetings. Truth is, I’ve missed him. Not the sex; I’ve missed him. Of all my lovers, TI is the most uncomplicated. He doesn’t come with baggage (emotional or other), conditions, or a string of would be suitors. Or so I thought. Jackie and LJ, her son, have been staying with him following a gas leak that drove them from their home. It was rather convenient this happened just as she and TI were ‘warming to one another’ that they’re ‘Were getting alone quite well’.
Bitter? Just a little. I'm a sensitive person, for all my bravado so when TI insisted they stay until the repairs to his kitchen were complete, my already beleaguered nerves were set on end; made worse by his incessant accounts of movie nights with LJ and my recurring image of he and Jackie fucking amidst color swatches and blueprints. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear they were sleeping together. Why shouldn’t there be an attraction between them? They would make an ideal couple. Jackie has all my ambition and physical appeal without my high handedness and indecision. And TI would be her perfect match. Immature or not, I’m jealous of their readymade family and in hindsight I’ve kicked myself for not divulging the nature of my relationship with TI.
“So,” I swished my green beans around my plate, “You and Jackie have plans this weekend?” Too proud to ask if their relationship went beyond its professional boundaries, my questions up to this point were vague at best and nonsensical at worst. And TI, the jackass, clearly aware I was dying for information, thwarted my need to get at the truth by dancing around the topic like a clown running over landmines, with equal parts fear and comedy. Finally after some prodding he admitted their relationship strictly was business; friendly business but nothing more.
“I haven’t been with anyone since we split.” He boasted.
I decided to put this to the test as we sat in his car in my driveway after dinner. We kissed and I ran my tongue down his neck. His hands journeyed up my top and he said it was getting late and he should go, but he made no effort to move. I rubbed his groin – his moans rattled the car and judging by how fast he abandoned the thought of leaving, he was telling the truth about his lack of sexual activity.
I asked him to pull down his pants and he did so while saying he didn’t expect anything to happen since Miko would be returning from her group outing. I licked the palm of my hand and told him to shut up and cum. My hand wrapped around his cock, and with a slow, steady motion moved up and down his shaft. He watched his cock pump in my hands; the head glistened with pre-cum under the muted streetlight. My lips returned to his neck; his arm wrapped around me, pulled me close, snaked into my pants, and fingered my clit until his hand and my panties a sticky, well-lubed mess.
He didn’t need to tell me he was about to cum—his rasping breathing left no room for misinterpretation. I leaned over in a position any contortionists would’ve applauded: both hands working with precision; gently twisting at the wrist in opposite directions while I stroke up and down. He was close. He gripped my ass, then frantically his fingers searched for my pussy. Having found it, he begged me to suck his dick Yes, he said ‘dick’! Surprisingly it turned me on. I sucked and stroked his dick like a woman possessed!
The change of sensation unhinged him. He used his middle finger, once lodged securely in my post-orgasmic nether region, to lube my backdoor saying once he’d came in my mouth he’d fuck my ass. Seconds later, spears of cum hit the roof of my mouth and throat. Before the last drop left his head, he was up and out of the car, and dragging me to my front door.
Without so much as a “Wow, I like you what you’ve done with the place’, we stripped and my back was pressed against my living room wall, I guess he’d changed his mind about fucking my ass since this wasn’t the optimal position for such antics. Then, like a flash, I remembered we didn’t have any protection.
“Wait,” I dodged his cock as it headed for the ‘danger zone’. “I thought you were going to…” He stopped my lips with his, bent his knees to slightly lower himself, and slowly entered my ass as he rose. I almost fainted as I leaned back slightly so his pelvis pressed against my clit with each thrust. I was suspended on one leg, with the other hooked around his and his perverse mutterings words ringing in my ears
“Play with your pussy while I fuck your ass,” his hips rolled back and forth like waves lapping at the shore: a pinch melodramatic is description, but nonetheless fitting. I came so hard I may have perforated my uterus. “Look at your finger going in your pussy.”
I was transfixed on how a few well placed words: pussy, suck, clit, fuck, dick, cum, whore, could make me wet. I urged him harder. Though before the words left my lips, I knew I’d lament them later as I was on the verge of passing out. I fingered myself while looking in his eyes and I told him I was going to squirt.
“Make yourself cum,” he ordered. His excitement by the prospect equaled my fear of shooting a stream of girlie-juice across the room; a side effect of having something roughly the size and voracity of a 747 pounding my ass. “Cum, you fucking ass slut!” he grated and I did. I came, hard, twice!
As my last functioning brain cells cascaded down TI’s torso, I threw my arms around his neck. He locked his hands beneath my butt and lifted me to his waist so my legs encircled his hips. Then, what’s this?! He tongued my ear—I lost it. My pussy, now on autopilot, gushed warm spurts between us like a water weasel while TI buried his face in my throat and his cum in my ass.
Again, he tongued my ear and asked how long we had until Miko arrived. Oh shit! In my mad desperation to get in his pants, I’d forgotten about his inexhaustible supply of testosterone. No, this wasn’t going to be an good old-fashion, cursory prodding; he wanted full acrobatics and my orifices stretched to capacity which is exactly what happened when I told him we had little under an hour. We grabbed a quick shower (condom or not, I’m not catching a yeast infection from going ass to vag) then he my reawakened my wetness with his tongue and tentacles until I squirmed off the edge of the bed and begged him to make me cum.
He grinned up at me, pushed me back into my recumbent position and fingered and slurped my swollen and aching hole until the room spun. It wasn't long before I was screaming at the top of my lungs. His tongue is magic! I was still cumming when he slapped my thigh and told me to suck him again.
“You want me to beg to suck your cock?” I looked at me him innocently, as if I didn’t understand what he wanted, as if I wasn’t already nursing his head. I gave him one lingering lick, then sat on the edge of my bed and treated him to long, slow, deep, masterful suck; giving him a full visual feast. His thighs visibly flexed, a clear sign he was about to blow. He looked at the clock.
‘Lena, we’d better…oh fuck…” he sputtered and gave my esophagus a nice coating. That seemed to do the trick. He fell onto the bed, spent.
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This article is part 7 of a 7 part series. Other articles in this series are shown below:
Diary of a Reformed Harlot: Part Seven