He smelled different than I remembered men smelling. But at the same time, he didn’t smell like a woman. There was a tang that was definitely not female. I used my hand to part the hair, and immediately discovered his dick, pushing up from between the two folds of skin. I pulled the lips slightly away from his cock, freeing it.
What can I say? It was a lot like a big clit, but not really. More fully developed, thick as my thumb, and there was even a head. My own clit was pretty small, and I’d never looked at it that closely, so I don’t know whether Larry’s cock was just a bigger version of what his clit had looked like. And frankly, I don’t care. Because it looked like a great cock to me. A dream cock. The kind of cock I could suck and tug and tickle and never have to worry about whether he would choke me.
I breathed on it first, warming the skin. Larry shivered, and one hand opened and closed. I flicked my tongue quickly across the tip of his cock, and as he moaned, I covered his cock with my mouth.
Oh, the ride that followed! When I closed my lips and began to suck the length of Larry’s cock, it was like all of his fears melted away. I felt a hand drop heavily onto the back of my head, and when I looked up, I could see him playing with his nipples with his other hand. I found that a little nibbling around the base drove him to thrust hard into my mouth. When I tugged hard at the root, he arched his back, and I got my hands under him, cupping his ass and spreading his ass cheeks slightly. The hand on my head gripped my hair as I tongued the length of his shaft, and tickled the head of his cock. He was pulling and twisting his nipples, which sent hot rushes to my cunt and made me suck harder.
We finally got into a rhythm that I knew would lead to his orgasm, and I let him take the lead, his hand tugging and pushing at my head. Cupping his ass cheeks, I pulled him toward me in the same rhythm, deepening his thrusts into my mouth. His moans had changed into animal grunts, and I could feel Larry’s cock flexing, the way cocks do just before they come.
And indeed, he did come, shooting a hot, bitter fluid into my mouth that definitely wasn’t semen, but tasted too tangy to be women’s juices. It didn’t fill my mouth to bursting, which I appreciated – I hate coughing out come as the ending to a good sex scene – and I savoured its unique texture and flavour. I resisted the temptation to start sucking again, and instead disentangled myself so I could slide back up Larry’s body and rest my head on his chest, listening for his heartbeat to slow down.
Larry finally sighed heavily, putting one arm around me. “Kate, that was – I mean, I never thought -”
“I’m giving you fair warning,” I told him. “I’m lousy at making breakfast, but I grind fresh coffee every morning if I get fucked first.
He laughed. “Lucky for you I’d do anything for a good cup of coffee,” he replied, and then kissed me, long and slow, the kind of kiss you know you’re going to want every night and every morning right after you fuck your brains out. Yes, indeed, I wanted that man.
La Déesse Terre by Madeleine Oh
Why on earth was she doing this?
Other women, when their husbands walked out on them, got drunk with their best friends or gorged on Swiss chocolate until they saw double. Dea Sullivant ran away from the US and fled to France.
It seemed a good idea at the time but, as she peered though the twilight and the driving rain, Dea began to realise why they offered cheap flights in March. Her decision to leave the autoroute because of blinding rain had been a mistake. As the country road stretched through the night, the dark seemed filled with echoes of Rob muttering about her uselessness, her stupidity, her abysmal map-reading skills, and her general inadequacy.
“Fuck you, Rob Sullivant!” she yelled. “Your idea of a big trip is driving to Blackburgh for a ball game. I’m in Europe!” And lost. But what the hell. No one here knew she’d been declared obsolete, and replaced by a skinny speech therapist with acrylic fingernails.
No one cared. She wouldn’t either.
The road forked. Dea took the wider one into a deserted village square. A few chinks of light showed from shuttered windows, but the only other sign of life was a stray dog lurking by the darkened church. So much for her dream of a charming country inn with soft beds, quaint rooms and fabulous food.
As the windshield wipers dragged back and forth, the prospect of a soft bed grew from want to lust. Dea turned down a narrow lane between shuttered houses and a row of darkened shops. Surely, somewhere – yes! There was an inn, on the right, beyond the last cottage. Dea turned into the parking lot and almost crashed her rental car into an immense standing stone. After swerving around it, she parked and killed the engine. The rain had eased to a steady and miserable drizzle but the lights of the inn spread a welcoming warmth. On her way to the front door, Dea paused by the menhir. There was just enough light from the inn to see it was a rudely carved, female stone figure. She looked ancient and weather-worn, much the way Dea felt, but Dea had the advantage of not having to sit out in the rain. Hefting her bag on her shoulder, Dea glanced at the painted sign over the door and entered La Déesse Terre.
She stepped straight into a large room with a beamed ceiling and a wide stone fireplace with a crackling fire. Three men clustered round the warmth turned to stare. Across the room, a woman sorted knives and forks at a side table. She gave Dea a cautious nod.
Dea walked up to her. “I’m looking for a room for the night.”
“Of course.” The woman put down the pile of gleaming forks and gestured Dea to follow. She led her up the side oak stairs to a large room with an immense, carved bed. The air smelled of lavender and old dust but the sheets looked crisp and clean. There was no bathroom adjoining but Dea decided not to get picky. She had antique furniture, a stone fireplace and shutters painted with the moon and stars. The room overlooked the parking lot and the stone woman, which seemed larger than ever in the moonlight.
“What is that statue?” Dea asked.
The woman crossed herself. “La Déesse Terre. The Goddess Earth? No, Earth Goddess, the Earth Mother. Made sense, given the name of the inn. Dea reached to open the window.
The woman stopped her, and swept into a long torrent of French. Dea caught something about the evening and some sort of presence outside.
A sudden squall threw rain hard against the glass, slashing into the window panes and drumming on the roof overhead. Thank heavens she was out of the weather. All Dea wanted now was a hot shower and something to eat, preferably with a couple of glasses of good wine. The woman apologized, saying that the restaurant was closed but offered ham and cheese and the possibility of soup.
The bathroom was across the landing. Dea gathered up towels and soap and took herself off. The water was hot, the towels large, and the soap deliciously scented with herbs. She stood under the warm water and washed away the worries of the last few weeks. Relaxed by the warm spray, she lathered up her hands, spread the soft bubbles over her breasts and belly and turned full face to the shower jet. Her breasts tingled under the fine points of water. She shifted to let it flow over her belly and her pussy and turned to let the soap run off her back and flow down her thighs to pool at her feet. The vast towels smelled of sunshine and fresh air and Dea slathered her body with scented lotion. This might be the back of beyond but they understood comforts for travellers.
Pulling on jeans and a sweatshirt over her still-damp skin, Dea made a turban of one of the smaller towels and padded barefoot back to her room. From downstairs came the sound of singing – not exactly singing, more a melding of plainsong and humming. Male voices blended together in a strange, almost sensual cadence. The sound enticed and fascinated. Dea was halfway decided to descend and listen closer, when she realized she was barely dressed.