Sexy Couples Erotica by Tapestry Lange
I knew something was up when he awakened me last Saturday morning with gentle licks and nibbles down low. As my lashes fluttered toward consciousness, I found myself torn between an unexpected sunrise climax and the ease of burying my face in the pillow, begging for just one more hour. Come on, really, I hadn’t imbibed a single sip of coffee nor enjoyed the first long drag of a cigarette.
Having turned in a couple hours before daybreak after a hearty night of blues, accompanied by the stiffest brandy and Cokes ever served, morning arrived just shy of my being ready for it.
Yet, there was no doubt, morning had come, and I was just about to. With his face buried deep in my sex, I could recognize the inevitable, even more pronounced with the insertion of his second and third fingers.
“I love your pussy, Baby. It tastes so sweet,” he murmured with his mouth full of yoni petals. “Are you ready for another finger? Let me fill my woman up. You need four, don’t you?”
Fucking me with very nearly his whole hand, he gnawed on my clit like a starved animal, just as I like it, until I came with a tremble, a shudder and a groan.
He held me, later pouring my coffee and lighting my cigarette.
Wow, I thought, Somehow, I became a goddess overnight or he wants something.(ITALICS)
“I’ll be right back,” he stated about twenty minutes later. “Gotta pee.”
As I nuzzled with Sushi, our aging calico, I took in each expected toilet noise – the lifting of the lid, the torrent waterfall, the flush. Then, I heard rustling from the linen closet and the door closing.
Contemplating how he could possibly have blown through a full roll of bathroom tissue within an hour of waking, I was taken by the sight of him, emerging with nail polish remover, cotton balls and a towel in hand.
“I’m going to give you a pedicure,” he announced, lifting my legs and spreading the towel atop the mess of bedcovers under my feet. “What color? The red one?”
“Um,” I replied, perhaps a bit suspiciously, “OPI, An Affair In Red Square.”
He began inspecting the bottles.
“It would be on the bottom label,” I informed him.
“Here it is!” he exclaimed as though he were seven years of age, revealing the lizard he had stuck in his pocket at recess.
My pedicure consisted of perfectly polished phalanges, a full-body rose oil massage, a warm up on my coffee and another earth-shattering climax.
As he lay down beside me after his morning’s labor, he gazed at my feet, admiring his work.
“Your toes look like little candies,” he said.
“They’re beautiful,” I replied. “So, tell me, what’s your vision for the day?”
“Well, I was thinking that I could make you breakfast. Then, we’d clean up and head out. You know, stop by the bakery, visit Chester (the kitten we sponsored last month from the local shelter) and maybe swing by the guitar store.”
“You want a guitar, don’t you?” I inquired.
“I was just thinking. You know, I’ve wanted to learn for a long time. It’s not just a passing thing. I need a passion… um, other than you, of course. Baby, you know that you’re my passion; but, after hearing Bobby Bryan play last night, I realized that it’s time and…”
I stopped him short, “That’s wonderful, Sweetheart. I’d love to see you play.”
The expression on his face read, Damn, I didn’t know it would be so easy. (ITALICS)
Indeed, we went to the bakery, the feline adoption day, and the guitar store, where our Visa account blessed him with his first electric guitar.
After carefully positioning the amp and the guitar itself in the back so as to not smoosh the loaf of bread and the M&M cookie that I longed to devour the next morning, he hopped into the driver’s seat, still shivering from the mid-February chill.
“Thank you for letting me have my dream,” he told me. “I’m really excited.”
“I’m glad you are. Now, stop dreaming and start playing… after the wine tasting, that is. We’re going to be late.”
We pulled into our parking spot at home, unloaded our bakery treats and his guitar and amp and took the elevator upstairs.
As he began opening boxes, I brushed my teeth, refreshed my makeup and swapped my wool coat for a henna-embellished, leather biker jacket.
When finished, I picked up my purse and called out, “You have all night to play. Kara said to be there by five.”
Fortunate for us, our best friends opened a wine store just last year; and, though Jeremy finds any excuse to pinch a penny, Kara relies on her nearest and dearest to empty the tasting bottles.
After the hugs and kisses per protocol, Roger and I took our seats at the tasting bar. Despite healthy pours of Razor’s Edge shiraz, shiraz-grenache and cabernet, I could tell that the slight oakiness of the shiraz and the fruit-forward aspect of the blend eluded him. Given the distance of his gaze, I knew he was longing to feel the strings beneath his fingertips. I went to the register and promptly purchased the shiraz we had tasted as well as a Red Diamond cabernet for backup.
“I’ll see you later, Kara,” I announced with the blow of a kiss as Roger and I made for the door.
Upon arriving home, he bee-lined for the instrument. I unloaded the dishwasher, threw in a load of laundry, set the auto feature on the coffee pot and headed toward the bath.
As I relaxed amid the bubbles, I took in his clumsiness upon the strings and loved him for it.
I emerged an hour later with wineglass in hand, donning nothing more than my leather jacket, a white lace bra, and a pair of matching panties.
As I entered the living room, I found him on the sofa, struggling to find agility within his left hand while learning the basic chords.
Approaching him, I was taken by the expression of awe upon his face as he gazed up at me.
“You’re so hot, Baby,” he uttered in a near-whisper.
“Every musician needs a groupie to worship him,” I said as I unbuttoned my jacket to reveal the white lace bra that matched the panties I hoped would eventually be torn away. “I was hoping I’d be the one you’d choose to take home from the club tonight.”
It seemed to take a moment for him to behold the vision; but, once it registered, he owned it.
“I never take any of you home. That’s my rule. Now, come here. Sit on my cock,” he commanded as he leaned back against the leather cushions and unzipped his fly.
I’ll admit, it took everything I had to suppress a giggle, as I sipped from my glass.
“But, I want to worship it,” I pleaded in what I could muster of a demure tone.
I kneeled before him and reached with long, manicured nails to unbutton his jeans and release his phallus.
“May I take it in my mouth?” I asked. “I would do anything to taste your cum.”
“You’re a beautiful little slut, aren’t you?” he commented, as he fed me the length of his shaft.
I took its entirety right down to the hilt, and he held my head firmly against his pelvis. After a few moments with him lodged deep in my throat and my face pressed against his flesh, I began to gasp and choke.
“Ah,” he smirked, “I knew you’d have a hard time taking it all in.”
My husband (turned blues legend) had fully embraced his newfound identity over the few hours that had passed since he first held his six-string lady, and I was determined to make him mine.
“I’m honored that you’d let me try,” I said. “May I taste it again?”
This time, he fed me just the tip, upon which rested a single bitter droplet.
“Mmm,” I moaned as I savored the taste of him upon my tongue. I continued to lick the sensitive underside of his member until he groaned and thrust it again deep into my throat.
His arousal was more than evident, given its stature; but, as much as I craved for him to penetrate me, it was he, my blues god, who would be the one to make the call.
“Sit on my cock. Do it. I want to take you now,” he growled. Instantly, I felt the gravity of his command.
I shrugged off the jacket and straddled him. In a split second, he had torn aside my panties, grasped my hips and thrust himself deep inside me.
I rode him hard and fast. I knew he was eager to take it all; and, as three simple words passed through my lips, he shot his cum into my depths.
“I love you,” I panted, leaning back and resting my hands upon his knees.
There, right there, was the eternal moment, and we both remained still.
At last, he tenderly drew me toward him and rested my head upon his shoulder.
“Now that I’ve had you here in the club,” he spoke softly into my ear, “I think it’s time I take you home.”
“I thought you never let your groupies stay the night,” I reminded him.
“I’m not even close to finished with you,” he stated with conviction. “It looks like it’s going to take a lifetime.”
After leading me to the bedroom and laying me down, he ended the night just as the morning had begun.
“I love your pussy, Baby,” he murmured. “Ah, yes, it tastes so sweet.”
Originally published July 2009