How I Became a Cock Sucker in Ninety Seconds
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The First Ninety DaysPart 9 free porn video
Day 35: Caitlyn Stanford's 21st Birthday
When Jon opened his eyes on Sunday it was still dark out—which, to his thinking, was far too early. However, he didn't find any reason to complain, as the thing that woke him up was the tickling sensation of Caitlyn kissing her way down his chest.
"Good morning," he said.
"Good morning," she said. "Lie still."
Jon snuck a look at the clock while he could: about 5:30. What, exactly, did Caitlyn have in mind that would take so many hours... But then he remembered that she had been asked to play at the 7:45 church service today, as well as the 9:00 and the 10:30. If they wanted to do anything beforehand—which, clearly, she did—now would be about the time.
He felt her lips brush petal-soft around his navel, and then the tickling intrusion of her tongue. She seemed to like that part of him—certainly it made him jump, feeling that warm, slippery-soft touch in a place he had never thought of as sensitive, much less erotic—warm, soft, slipping into crevices he never knew he had. And then her kisses were trailing down through his pubic hair, towards the cock already beginning to thump with blood.
He felt the warmth of her breath on his sensitive skin a moment before her tongue touched the top of his cock, sliding down towards the head. She wrapped it around the underside, stroking up towards the base, sliding in between the shaft and his scrotum, making him tingle. She was getting awfully good at this.
He hoped she wasn't trying to somehow guilt him for not making any overt preparations for her 21st birthday today. To her knowledge, he hadn't made a cake or set up a party or even bought her a present. Of course, telling her in advance about a surprise birthday party would sort of ruin the point. The Cranes were bringing the present, and the Chamberses were bringing the cake.
But it was hard to concentrate on all that with her mouth on his cock.
She took the head into her mouth as it slowly inflated, swelling with blood. For a few moments she simply held it in that warm, wet pocket, letting him feel the faint touch of ridges on the roof of her mouth, her lips clasping his shaft, every little quiver of her pink tongue. Then, after he had stiffened, she began, running her tongue around the head of his cock, caressing it with the gentlest and merest of touches. It was hardly enough to get him off, but the sweet tickling sensation was pleasurable in its own right. And besides, there was something indescribably loving about her ministrations, the tenderness and care in every line of her body as she bent over him, showering love on that most secret and sensitive of places.
"Oh Caitlyn, I love you," he breathed.
He felt rather than heard her smile. "I know. Now be quiet and let me love you."
Her tongue began to slide down his shaft, stroking the underside ridge all the way down to his balls and then back again, taking him as far into her mouth as she could manage. She had never heard of deep-throating, and he saw no real reason to inform her: what she managed already was quite enough for him. When she was satisfied with his lubrication, she fastened her lips around his head and began to suck, using her hand to stroke up and down. They had discovered, quickly, that this was the most efficient way to get him off—a useful discovery, considering his stamina or sometimes-disappointing lack thereof—and evidently that was what she had in mind. Jon was groaning and writhing on the bed—he wanted to stroke her hair, but he'd seen men in porno grappling the woman's head to his crotch, and he want to move even vaguely in that direction—suddenly he didn't want her to finish at all.
"Caitlyn... Caitlyn..."
The sensations stopped. "Yeah?"
"Let me... Do you want me to do you?"
An unreadable pause. Then: "Okay."
He reached down to draw her up until her face was level with him, kissing her soundly in the process. Then, without further ado, he began to kiss his way down her neck and chest towards her breasts, tasting her pale flesh, feeling her nipple stiffen in his mouth as her arms cradled his head.
The funny thing was that, though playing with her breasts was undoubtedly more erotic for her, her tummy, and especially her navel, were more sensitive. They had learned from each other, each experimenting, learning things to try from each other by discovering what worked best on them. Caitlyn had actually been the first to try the stomach area, but it was when Jon tried it on her that things really got interesting. Even the slightest touch would make her jump—great involuntary twitches that were almost violent in their intensity. He could never do that by playing with her breasts or even her pussy. Of course, she never grabbed his head and held it to her belly button, either.
He knew he wasn't going to last long once they finally started fucking—not without the condom, not with his early-morning need to pee, and especially not now that she'd gotten him so close to the edge already. So when he got to her pussy, that warm feminine flower already moist and distended, he knew he had his job cut out for him. Like most women, Caitlyn found it hard to orgasm from penetrative stimulation; complicating the matter, she really liked having him inside her when she came. It was delicate balancing act, finding exactly the right level to stimulate her to before moving up to penetrate her, but one thing was certain: Jon loved to practice.
He found the little nub at the tip of her cleft and encircled it with his lips around it, applying gentle suction; by now, he knew better than to start off with the high-intensity stuff. As her breathing increased, he started licking up and down her slit, applying firm pressure with his tongue, tasting the tang of her nectar and feeling the smooth texture of her skin. Then he began to focus on her clit, licking up and down the hood and shaft, until her moans and gasps told him she was ready. Finally, he put his lips around her clit again and sucked on it, hard this time, while slowly working his fingers into her pussy.
Though it was a little hard to see her face with pubic hair and breasts in the way, Caitlyn's breathing was clearly audible now, and her expression was that look of hopeless longing that he loved so well—the look that meant she was his now, body and soul, surrendered to whatever he planned to do to her. Her pussy was smooth and wet to his touch, pulsing slightly in time with her heartbeat, and when he applied upward pressure inside her, she gasped again, arching her back, her hands rifling through his hair.
"Oh... Oh Jon... Oh... Now, oh—"
Moving up over her, he heralded his arrival with a kiss; one arm entwined his neck even as her legs spread, and she reached down between them to guide him in.
He sunk to the hilt with a single smooth thrust.
It was almost too much, even right then—he could feel every fold and ridge of her pussy enfolding him, a smooth warm wet tunnel that clung to every vein and ridge of his cock. Every time it's better than I remember. How can that be? Do I just forget?—or does it keep getting better? If he moved would come, he knew that without thinking, so he let himself settle on his elbows and knees, kissing her, his tongue entwined with hers, his hands enshrining her face as she wrapped her arms, drawing him close, welcoming him home.
"Are you... Are you ready?"
"I'm too close... I'm too close, love. If I..."
"It's okay, it's okay... Just stay here, stay here, I love you..."
She lifted her legs, linking them behind him, cradling him, changing the angle of her pussy, allowing him to sink deeper still. Even that was almost too much, and he moaned into her mouth. "Baby... Baby... You've gotta let me rest for a bit..." To distract her, he bent his mouth to her breasts, suckling at her nipple. She moaned and arched her back—once again changing the angle of her pussy around him. Jeez, I think we have to lie completely still...
He reached down between them, finding the nub at the top of her slit, and began to caress it, taking the opportunity to move his other hand under her body, crossing her back. She gasped and clenched his body to her, and the shudders from her pussy nearly drove him mad. If he came now, so close, so close to their goal... But he didn't, and as he continued to play with her clit, he gradually became accustomed to the clenching of her body as it moved under him, undulating from hips on upward, while her breasts cushioned his chest and her moans sounded soft and warm in his ear. Seizing the inspiration, he sucked her earlobe into his mouth, licking the back side that was normally protected by the shell of her ear, and was rewarded almost immediately by her arms tightening around him, her hand seizing the back of his head. "Oh, oh, oh... Baby, baby, do it now, oh..."
This is going to be the shortest thing in the history of ever.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he began to move within her. By moving so slowly he could basically prevent himself from boiling over, but even he could tell that it would do nothing for her. He had to go faster.
"It won't be long," he whispered.
"I'm so close," she breathed, "I'm so close, oh, Jon, oh..." And to his surprise he felt her fingers replacing his down below, increasing the stimulation on her clit. "Just, just... You..."
He kissed her.
In six strokes it was over. As he slid out he felt her pussy contracting behind him, closing down in anticipating of his next stroke. Her knuckles brushed against his navel, her fingers tickling his shaft as she worked at her own climax. And then there was the joyous sensation of burying himself in her, her walls opening to receive him, her slickness cradling him, welcoming him home. Her breath rushed damp in his ear; her nails scraped over his scalp. He did it twice more, and as he pulled out and pushed in for the fourth, he felt his orgasm beginning to boil over—and then the glorious but none-too-helpful sensation of her pussy contracting as some spike of pleasure jolted through her. How does she expect me to— And then, as he drove in a third time, he knew that it was over: he felt the rushing sensation beginning deep inside him, and knew that it was time.
And then, as he thrust one more time, he heard her cries reach a miraculous crescendo, and felt her pussy clamp down on him with unmistakeable strength. And he had just time enough to voice one questioning cry before his own orgasm hit him, washing away all thought. And all he could feel was the clench and rush of his cock, and the tremendous spurting as his cum rushed out to her in a joyous surge, as she gasped and cried out as her pussy clenched around him, shuddering with release, and the crescendo washed over them both like the first blast of morning sun.
And then he was heavy and panting and sweating, his heart thundering over hers, and her legs were clenching his torso with a strength that was almost uncomfortable, and it was pretty darn cold with all the blankets thrown back. And yet he felt so warm, so welcomed, so loved, that he never wanted to move.
"Oh..." she gasped. "Oh..."
"Happy birthday, darling," he whispered.
He felt her giggle under him, in her chest pressed up against his. "Is that all you could think of to get me?"
"Well, I made it myself. I thought you might like it."
"Hmm. If that's the case, I can't wait for my next birthday."
"Hmm."
"I love you, Jon. I love you so much."
"I love you too."
"There aren't... There aren't words enough for, for how much I love you. There aren't even actions enough for... Even the things we do, together, here, when we're alone... They aren't enough."
He kissed her cheek. "No, they aren't. But they're the best we have. We'll make do."
"Yeah."
"And besides, if it doesn't express it enough, we could always, you know, do it again."
She laughed. "I wish, but... We kinda have to get up now. We have to be at church by seven."
"Ungh. You mean I have to move after all that?"
"Sorry, baby."
"I almost wish you hadn't done that stuff to me. It's like my bones have melted."
"You don't mean that."
"No, I don't. I'm glad we did that."
"A fun way to start off my 21st year."
"Yeah."
"Well, come on, honey. You've got to move, or I can't get up."
"So... If I don't move... You'll be stuck here?"
She laughed. "You better not."
"And I can, you know. Have my way with you again?"
She swatted him gently on the head. "You're insatiable, you know that?"
"No, actually, I'm rather sated at the moment. Totally satisfied. So satisfied that I don't want to move at all..."
She rolled her eyes, put her hands on his shoulders, and pushed. "Come on, lazybones. Up and at 'em."
"Melted bones," he protested, but he rolled off her obediently and they got up to get ready.
"I guess this is gonna be a busy day," she said as they drove to church. "I'm only playing up to the offertory, so we can leave at about eleven, but we have to drop the harp off back at home and then have lunch before your appointment with Roger DiSalvo at one—"
"My appointment?" said Jon, glancing over at her. "You're coming too, remember?"
"—but after that," Caitlyn said, "we have the rest of the day to ourselves. What should we do?"
"I dunno, sweetie, it's your day." Come home and have a party. I hid a spare key under the welcome mat last night, so if Christa and the others show up at 1 PM, they should have plenty of time to set up and be ready when we get home from Roger DiSalvo's office... Whenever that is. "What would you like to do?"
"I don't know. I can't really think of anything. Besides Disneyland."
"Besides Disneyland," he agreed.
"We could go... I dunno, we could go see a movie, we could go ice skating... We could invite people over and have a party... We could just stay home all day..."
There were all sorts of comments he could make about that option—and the activity it implied—but Jon decided to play it straight. "You know I'd like that, Caitlyn, but it really is your day. Whatever you want to do is fine with me."
She gave him a mischievous glance. "Even if I wanted to go out and get roaring drunk?"
He shrugged. "I'd hold your hair back while you vomited." He gave her a leer. "And call you stupid every second of it."
She gave him a snort and a smile. They drove on in companionable silence for a few moments.
"What I'd really like..." she said finally, and at her tone of voice Jon looked up. "What I'd really like is to see my parents."
Jon fought the urge to cover his face with his hands—he was, after all, driving a car. "Caitlyn, the last time we did that, it didn't really work well."
"I know, but... Jon, they may not want to have anything to do with me, but I still want to have anything to do with them."
"I know. And, Caitlyn, they feel the same way. What do you think they're doing over there? Your mom's probably spending as much time as she can at work—your father too. Why? Because they don't want to come home to their empty, dusty house. Their lives means nothing without you, and they know it. So if you really want to have a good relationship with them, you should keep the pressure on, by leaving them alone, until they come begging to you."
She sighed. "Maybe if we invited them over along with a bunch of other people. You saw how they reacted to Brandon—he just wouldn't take any of their nonsense, and they knew it. And if we made them promise to be polite."
"Do you think it'd work?" Jon asked, who didn't think so at all.
She sighed. "No. I think they'd promise and then just come over and make a scene anyway. I don't think the laws of propriety matter to them when I'm involved."
Jon, who had thought that from the beginning, belayed an I-told-you-so by covering her hand with his own. "Soon, my love. Soon. They can't wait forever."
She turned away to look at the nighttime scenery scrolling by. "Jon... What if they can?"
"What?"
"What if... What if they can wait forever? What if they suddenly realize that, no, they, they didn't really need me, they... They can live without me?"
Jon had never claimed to understand Caitlyn's parents—but sometimes, he didn't understand Caitlyn either. "Well then... Good riddance. Cait... If they take the time" (and forego thir pride long enough) "to get to know you for who you actually are... Well, they're your parents. They'll love you even if you turn out to be an axe murderer. Which you are not. You are a wise, loving, moral, Christian woman. That's something they respect. They'll love you. And, if they're going to judge you based on who they think you are—based on the Caitlyn who lives in their heads, whom as we both know has nothing to do with the Caitlyn who once lived in their house—then why would you want their approval anyway? If they dislike you, it's not because of who you are. If they like you, it's still not because of who you are. And, frankly, it's easier to just be rid of them."
Caitlyn turned a sad gaze on him. "Jon, they're my parents." And though Jon had not had the best of relationships with his family, he had to admit that, were they to turn their back on him, it would pain him quite a bit. It's kind of like undermining the foundation of who I am. My family is where I learned, for the most part, to be me. My family made Jon Stanford. For all of them to turn away, to deny me, to say, No, we will have no part of you...
But it wouldn't be the end of the world. I'd still have Caitlyn. I have a life outside my family now, an identity that is separate from the people I came from. I have more than one family, and the second one is just as important as the first.
... And if Caitlyn doesn't feel that way, why did she marry me?
Now hold on a second, Jon Stanford. You don't know what she feels. Don't jump to conclusions. Remember Jack Crawford: When you assume you make an ass of u and me both. And besides, losing half your identity isn't made any easier to bear by not losing all of it.
"Jon?" Caitlyn said. He realized suddenly that she was standing outside the door of the borrowed van, peering in—that he had managed to arrive at the church without even noticing it. "Is everything okay?"
"—Yeah," said Jon. "I'm coming with you." He started to open the door, only to notice the sudden dreamy smile on her face.
"No," she said, "you did that already."
Jon felt a smile splitting his face.
"That was really something," she said.
"Yeah. It wasn't easy, but, I think it was worth the effort."
"We should try that again some time," she said. She still had that distant, bemused expression on her face.
"Well, after the job appointment, we could just stay at home all day," he said, and was rewarded with a giggle and a kiss on the cheek.
Jon had to admit that he was not looking forward to sitting through all three services. Fortunately, neither was Caitlyn. "We'll stay for the first service," she said, "and then after I play the offertory at the 9-AM we can go get some food or something. Or just wander around the downtown area, if we want. And then... Oh, but: after I play the offertory, Pastor Pendleton will come up and preach. We can't exactly be zipping up the harp while he's up there."
Jon grunted and settled the harp on its two wheels. Eighty pounds of wood wasn't too bad, but there was almost nowhere to grab it. "So tell him we've got somewhere to be and we have to leave early."
Caitlyn said, scandalized, "We can't lie to a pastor!"
"It's just a little white lie."
Caitlyn shot him a grumbling look.
"Fine, then, ask him if we can leave early. We'll wheel the harp into the side office and zip it up there." The harp went everywhere in a protective shroud; without its cushioning, car drives might be fatal.
"Hmm, he might be okay with that," said Caitlyn. "I mean, it's seven o'clock. He's probably not even here yet."
And that was their cover story at eleven. "Before I begin, I'd like to take this moment to thank Caitlyn Delaney Stanford, who has played at all three services today. Despite the cold weather and the early hour, she agreed to be here at seven AM to rehearse and play in the early service, and then the other two as well. We've decided to let her and her husband Jon go home a little early, but first: we've received news that it's actually Caitlyn's birthday."
Caitlyn, halfway across the dais, turned bright red.
"How old are you today, Caitlyn?" Larry Pendleton asked, turning to her, and the grin on his face that told Jon that the minister had been planning this ambush for several days.
Caitlyn was gawping like a fish, so Jon took matters into his own hands. "She's twenty-one."
"She's twenty-one," Pastor Pendleton marveled. "Twenty-one, a truly gifted harpist, studying for her master's degree and happily married. She started early in her life as well as early this morning. So, in honor of what will hopefully be a fun and enjoyable day: Amber, if you please?"
And Amber Pendleton struck up the organ in that old familiar arpeggio, and the entire congregation sang. Caitlyn looked somewhere between offense and tearful happiness. Jon, who was singing along at top volume (and in key, thank you very much), saw a sea of smiling faces... Except for those belonging to Samuel and Linda Delaney. Caitlyn's father was stone-faced—he could be hiding just about anything under that Easter-island visage—but Mrs. Delaney looked to be nearly choking on her fury.
Jon hustled his wife off the dais before she could notice that particular feature.
"I can't believe it," Caitlyn said, somewhere between annoyed and giddy. "I can't believe it. Who did that?"
"Dude, how many other people get happy-birthday'd by the entire church?" Jon said, trying to inspire a smile.
"It was probably Pastor Larson," said Caitlyn. "Or Mrs. Larson. I am so gonna—"
"Thank them," Jon said. "Thank them kindly."
"Well, yes, of course," Caitlyn said. "And then, on their birthdays... I don't know, do you think a stripper cake would be too much?"
"For our budget, yes," Jon said, laughing, and started pushing the harp.
They dropped the harp back off at the apartment, snagfed a quick lunch, and at 12:55 rolled into a parking space at Global Economic Associates, Inc. Roger DiSalvo was exactly as Jon remembered, a portly Hispanic with a shaven head and fairly bouncing with energy. "Jonathan Stanford, and on time I see! You know, I always say you can tell something about a man by whether he arrives when he says he will. I'm glad to see you. And this beautiful creature must be your wife. Your name is?"
"Caitlyn." She extended her hand to be shaken. "Caitlyn Stanford."
"Caitlyn. A lovely name for a lovely woman. it's a pleasure to meet you. Why don't you both come up to my office and I'll show you what Global Economic Associates can do for you."
"Laying it on a little thick, isn't he," Caitlyn said to him in an undertone. Jon shrugged. Yes, he supposed, one could look at it that way, but Jon preferred to wait and see before making any firm judgments. Roger DiSalvo exuded an easy camaraderie which Jon admired. Maybe effusive praise was just his way.
Roger DiSalvo led them up the stairs and down the hall, through a conference room so large it could probably house an entire company. The room was completely bare, for the most part, save a table in a corner and a few banners above the front stage. Off of this room were a number of smaller rooms, one of which Roger ushered them into. "My office," he said. In this office was a curving, two-sided desk with a wheelie-chair for Roger on the inside and client chairs on the outside; a computer; a closed filing cabinet; and some binders piling up in a corner.
Roger wasted no time in getting down to business. Quickly he was knees-deep in talk about finances, 401Ks, retirement, investments and other monetary chaos. Some of the particulars of it evaded Jon, but he wasn't too concerned about that: Caitlyn, after all, was the Accounting major, and he was sure she would catch what he missed. The whole thing seemed fairly simple, though: an overall plan to help make sure there was always enough money. Jon, keenly aware of the inadequacy of his current salary, could much appreciate that.
"Basically, we at Global Economic Associates take this knowledge out into the world," Roger said. "We teach people these principles and then help them choose investments, insurances and savings policies that will benefit them in the future. So, what do you guys think? Did you guys know about this stuff before today?"
"No," Jon said. "No," Caitlyn said.
"Would you tell people this information if you had the chance?"
"Well, sure," Jon said, but Caitlyn, evidently seeing where this was going, said, "Only if they paid me!"
"Ha-ha, that's the spirit!" said Roger. "Now, if you're interested, we'll have you each fill out an application form. One of the things we'll ask you to do is assemble a team, a group of people who are close associates of yours who will help you market, process and approach. Furthermore, employees at Global Economic Associates—" Jon noticed the slurring, as if he'd said the name thousands of times before: globaleek-nomica-soshits. "—are technically self-employed, and one of the things we'll require is a $50 deposit with which we run a background check. Since you will be selling insurance policies and such, it's important to us to hire trustworthy people who have never had prior trouble before, you understand? And, because it's a business expense, you can claim it as a tax write-off. We accept check or credit card."
"Ah, um," said Jon, digging for his wallet. "Okay."
"Jon," said Caitlyn, in a voice that stilled movement. "I think I left my wallet in my purse. Would you mind going out for it?"
Roger DiSalvo turned away from his computer to look at them.
Jon blinked. "Umm, sure. Umm. Just, give me a minute, and I'll be right back."
When returning the harp to the apartment, Caitlyn had changed clothes. Currently she was wearing a voluminous hoodie sweatshirt and a pair of jeans fished out of the men's department, small enough for her frame. They were her favorite jeans, she said, because they had the one thing most women's pants lacked: pockets, pockets a capacity of more than a fluid ounce. And when she has pockets, doesn't she normally keep her wallet in... ?
And a quick look in the car confirmed that, yes, she did normally. The wallet wasn't in her purse. Chapstick, make-up, sunglasses, cellphone: all those things were, somehow crammed into a package that looked barely large enough to hold a compact. (She had always prided herself on Mary-Poppins-style handbags.) Undoubtedly she knew she had the wallet; why had she sent...
—Oh!
"I, um, I couldn't find it, sweetie," Jon told her. "I think we left it at home." He tried to keep his voice level and normal, and not tense and confused. How did he sound normally? I really should pay attention to myself. It's hard to lie convincingly when you don't know how you sound when you tell the truth.
"Uh-oh," said Caitlyn, sounding for all the world like a woman without her wallet. "We'd better go home and check, I'd hate to think of what would happen if I lost it..."
"Yeah," Jon agreed, trying not to sound too emphatic.
"Oh dear, that is troublesome," said Roger DiSalvo. "Jonathan, do you think you could finish your application before—"
This time Jon was on the ball. "I wish I could, but all of Caitlyn's ID and credit cards and things are in that wallet. If someone's gotten their hands on it... Well, seconds could matter."
"We'll call you back about finishing them up," said Caitlyn.
"All right, well," said Roger DiSalvo, evidently realizing there was no hope. "Let me at least walk you down."
As he did, he regaled them with his own life story: married young, divorced younger, and now with sole custody of a seven-year-old daughter. "Depending on my earnings, I might be able to retire in a few years. I'd really like to spend that time with my daughter." Jon could appreciate the sentiment, but at the moment his paranoia was up, and while Roger's story might be heart-felt, it might also be manipulative. Jon would take no chances.
What spiked Caitlyn off, anyway?
It wasn't until they were safely away in the car that Caitlyn could answer. "It wasn't the money thing... Okay, it wasn't just the money thing. I've had business classes in cheats and scams and stuff like that, and... Well, the $50 sort of made everything clear. All the little details I'd noticed. Like, how totally empty the conference room was. How empty his office was. Nobody else seemed to be there, did you notice? And then, when he said we'd have to recruit other people into the business... It all just lit up at once."
Mila
- 20.02.2021
- 18
- 0
