Maggie s Secret s Secret
- 4 years ago
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Deep Secret Ch. 05 – Torpedoes free porn video
‘I have some more stuff to talk with you about,’ Simone said quietly as she lay next to me in bed. After sucking me off in the living room while I was attempting, but failing miserably, to watch television, we came to bed. Over the course of the next hour-and-a-half she gave me two more blowjobs.
I didn’t think I’d come that often in such a short amount of time in years. Of course, her incredible body and her indescribable oral techniques could probably raise the dead!
Ooh. Bad images. I didn’t mean to go there.
Well, you get the picture.
So, we were spooning in bed, it was close to 1:00 AM, and we both had work tomorrow. She was fortunate because she worked much closer than I did and her job required her to be there 45 minutes later than mine.
‘It was good to talk tonight,’ I told her, feeling exceptionally close to her on an emotional level that was relatively unfamiliar territory for me. Plus, on a physical level I had my arms wrapped around her rather thin rib cage holding a portion of her left breast with my right hand and a portion of her right breast with my left. They were so large that I couldn’t contain one with both hands.
For now, though, there was a certain comfort in feeling the taut, smooth skin of her back and backside against me, smelling a little of her perfumed neck, and resting my weary cock against the back of her cute butt. In a word: heaven.
As I started to drift off to a well deserved sleep with black and white images of a solo Ginger Rogers singing and dancing ‘Heaven. I’m in heaven…’ (You’re asking where was Astaire, right? Well, it was my sleepiness that was causing this euphoria, not yours! If I wanted Fred to be with Ginger — and that was my prerogative — my sleepy state just had me focused on Ginger’s gams!), she asked, ‘Could we have dinner again tonight?’
Having had three extraordinary orgasms in her lovely smiling mouth tonight I would probably had said yes to having dinner with her in Lyon, France, at one of the world’s finest restaurants if that was what she wanted.
‘Sure,’ I said, half-awake, ‘how about that little place across from the gym. I need to get a workout in after work ’cause I know I won’t be able to do it in the morning. How about you?’
‘Yeah, I don’t think I’ll get there in the morning either. That sounds great.’
That settled, we drifted off to sleep. The last thing I remember was her putting her hands over mine and pushing them firmly against her breasts.
I said it before, but I’ll say it again: Heaven.
# # #
Because she had more time than I in the morning and there was a late October rain drenching the city, she opted not to go for an early run and, while I hopped in the shower, she went into the kitchen to take care of juice, coffee, and something light to eat.
She was in a pair of sweats as I walked in putting on my tie. There was a glass of orange juice on the kitchen table, a pot of very dark coffee that smelled wonderful like a full-bodied, medium-dark roasted Kona, and some dry whole wheat bread, lightly toasted — just the way I like it.
In a couple of minutes I’d scarfed everything down. Looking out the window at the thermometer and seeing it hovering around 40 degrees Fahrenheit or 4 Celsius I was seriously thinking about calling in sick. I was in a terrific smelling kitchen. I was clean, warm, and dry. There was a baroque oboe concerto on the radio (Was it by Albinoni?) and I had a delicious cup of black coffee in my hand.
Throw in the fact that there was this bright, adorable, funny, and charming young woman here who asked for so little from me, and why would I ever want to leave? I felt like Eliza Doolittle in that ‘room somewhere.’ Yes, it would be ‘loverly.’
As I mused on the pros and cons of calling in sick and what I had to do at the office today, Simone said, ‘You know, maybe you need a nice quickie to get you off to a good start this morning. I’ve always felt that a quickie helps me get my day off perfectly….’
She paused for a second as I tried to change gears, thinking about what time it was.
‘With all the pressure you have now with work and school, maybe you need to take a few minutes for a quickie blowjob in the morning before heading off to work. How does that sound?’
I let that sink in — for about 7 milliseconds. I then stood up to unzip my trousers. (Did I really call them ‘trousers?’ Who says ‘trousers?’ Funny word.) Simone waved me over to her and before I knew it she was slowly massaging my cock with one hand, caressing my balls with the other, and sucking on my head with such force I was sure it would detach from the rest of my dick. She seemed to be trying to siphon out my cum!
Nevertheless, I had to hand it to her, whatever she was doing (whatever she always did, it seemed) she had me hard as a rock and extremely excited in three or four minutes. In five I was ready to come.
‘Oh,’ she moaned, jerking me now, directly aiming onto her tongue which was licking around my head, ‘come on, baby, give me a mouthful. I need it, Ed, I really, really need it.’
Phrased that way, it would be rude of me to deny her the requested mouthful. Even though I was a little sore from the previous night’s three blowjobs I somehow managed to feel a strong climax coming on and she knew it.
She increased the pace of her jerking movements. Simone always knew what she was doing. I mean, most guys probably get pretty used to knowing how best to masturbate, but she was better at jerking me off than I was! How was that even possible?
Before I knew it, I was almost screaming obscenities of pleasure as I could see spurt after spurt of extremely thick semen shoot up onto the roof of her mouth and then drop down onto her outstretched tongue. I never remembered coming that thickly, but I generally don’t notice too often. Regardless, I was very pleased with what I could see, both the quantity and the quality of the cum — in addition to the same features (i.e., quality and quantity) of the orgasm and its depth.
Simone again had seemed to know that I was about to climax and she went into orgasm mode at the exact second my first major shot went airborne. Her body trembled, but she remained focused on getting me to my happy place. It was pretty neat how I could see her unencumbered breasts, under her extra large long sleeve T-shirt moving the material in a delightful, jiggling fashion. I could even see her erect nipples occasionally poking at the thin cotton. That contributed to my orgasm and seemed to make it last longer too.
Eventually, we both came down from the plateau in the stratosphere and I rested one hand on the back of her chair.
‘Wow,’ she said, after swallowing her mouthful, ‘that was great. Your cum was so rich and thick and creamy. Who needs food or even dessert when there’s cum that tastes so good right here?’
With the emphasis on here she shook my rapidly shrinking cock and then swabbed the head a while longer with her tongue and lips to get any semen that had not made it all the way out.
She now looked happy and relaxed, like she’d just had a massage. It made me wonder if there were males who catered to women looking for ‘happy endings’ during a massage.
The sound of my zipper quickly snapped me out of my new career goal ideation and I realized that she had put me away, tucked me in, straightened my tie and was handing me my briefcase. She was very efficient.
On my way out the door I said, ‘That was terrific. We should do that every morning.’
She smiled and said, ‘I’ll see you at the gym after work, OK?’
‘Sounds like a plan,’ I said and pressed the elevator button. I thought about walking down the stairs, but I had a hard-on already and it would have been too uncomfortable in my delicate state.
Simone could do that to you.
# # #
In the month or so that we’d been seeing one another I’d gotten used to men and
even women ogling her. She was tall, slender, had enormous jugs that one had a hard time imagining could be real, especially given her slim frame, short blond hair, crystal blue-green eyes, and an adorable smile. Who wouldn’t stare?
There were several things that made her a little different and that threw off many of those with their preconceptions about her. Judging her by her cover was not in any way doing justice to the book that was Simone.
First, there was her lack of guile or even any sort of game playing. It wasn’t that she was ‘in your face,’ it was that she didn’t suffer fools for long or lightly. Over the years she’d obviously gotten used to the staring, but she drew the line at rude behavior and often managed to have something funny to say to people that made them feel at the very least awkward.
The other thing was her intelligence that I thought was really starting to blossom at that time into a new thirst for education. She told me she’d always been a reader, but with only a high school education she felt like the proverbial kid from the other side of the tracks. She just needed some more confidence in her abilities and I knew she could attain whatever goals she might set for herself. The plan she mentioned the other night about beginning to take classes at the community college would be great.
It was now Friday evening. We’d met at the gym, had our workouts, showered, and walked across the street to the restaurant, a small, simple but romantic Italian place with some lighter northern Italian fare in addition to the more traditional heavy red or cream sauce dishes.
The dinner conversation was aimless yet warm as we ate and drank a bottle of a relatively inexpensive Barolo (well, as ‘relatively inexpensive’ as a Barolo can be) that complemented the meal perfectly.
Simone looked terrific, her blond hair and smiling eyes sparkling in the candlelight, in a greenish-grey (She called it ‘jade,’ but I’m color-termed challenged!), V-neck cardigan over a long sleeve tank top. Surprising to me was that this was atop a relatively short black skirt and not her usual jeans. But it wasn’t until she got up to go to the ladies room that I noticed her long, lean charcoal stockinged legs were encased in a pair of black leather boots that began just below her knees and ended in stiletto heels. (No wonder she’d seemed even taller than usual on the walk from the gym.) Even with her pretty but conservative outfit she still managed to make most heads turn in her direction, both going and returning from the lavatory.
As she sat down again her gold necklace sparkled in the candlelight too, but when the little heart-shaped pendant flopped out and then back between the tops of those two magnificent breasts I became envious. Though it took me a moment or two before I could refocus on our discussion, I managed to forget about the hard-on in my shorts and return to our postprandial conversation.
‘Ed,’ she began after the table was cleared. We were sipping on the last of the Barolo and perusing the dessert menus. ‘In the last few years I’ve moved a couple of times. Stable relationships have not been my strong suit.’
She said this with a tad of sarcasm, but it was clear this was coming from a candid and serious place.
‘There’s some stuff I just can’t talk about, but I’d like to be honest with you about myself. You see, though it’s only been a month or two, I’ve begun to have strong feelings for you.
‘Now, I don’t want to scare you off and I know you’ve got so much going on in your life that the last thing you need is a little bit nutty and uneducated girl — me — putting even more pressure on you. So, please understand that this is just in the interest of honesty in our friendship, OK?’
I agreed. While my hard-on had become a soft-off, there was another part of me, a place in my soul that actually touched me. She had actually touched me. I guess it was typical of me (you know, the y-chromosome must cause it) to emotionally disregard most of the feelings I’d developed towards her and mainly just connected with the adorable, sexy, and extraordinarily sexual babe.
‘Well,’ I said, ‘Simone, I appreciate your desire for candor. I’m not very good at talking about my feelings, but I’ll do my best to be as open with you as I can.’
‘Thanks,’ she responded, ‘I really appreciate it.
‘Some of what I’m going to tell you may make you go running for the exits!’ Then, after a pause, she began again.
‘Ed, let me ask you how many women you’ve been with,’ she said to me bluntly. ‘I mean, you’re in your late twenties, successful, you’ve gone to college, you’ve been in the corporate world for six or seven years. You’ve traveled a bit.
‘I know we’ve never really talked about it, but if I asked you with how many women you’ve been intimate would it be under ten, between ten and twenty-five, over fifty?’
‘I, uh, um’ I responded, somewhat aghast. I’d been with a good number of women I figured, but fifty? Not even in my wildest dreams! What was ‘a good number’ anyway? Was it five, ten, twenty? I did a quick count and my total was probably two dozen — thirty tops, especially if you include some of my crazy college years, polluted by a prior pal with a proclivity for potent pot.
I suddenly felt a tiny, but distinct chill accompanied by a commensurate excitement. Was she going to tell me that I was only the second or third man she’d been with? Or, was she, on the other hand, going to tell me that she was way up in the two or three digit (It couldn’t be four, could it?) category?
Just considering that, grossed me out about her, made me feel a tad less significant in the manhood department, and simultaneously turned me on.
Who said men are simple? We may be childish, but we occasionally rise above ‘simple.’
‘I’d rather not say specifically, but it’s probably between twenty and thirty,’ I finally answered her. ‘In college I dated a lot of different women, but in the last five or six years I’ve had an average of one or two steady girlfriends each year. I’m not necessarily looking to sleep with every woman I meet. At some point, when my career settles down and I’m done with school I’d like to find ‘the one’ and get married, have kids. You know.’
She eyed me for a few moments, seemingly pondering what to say. To my surprise she appeared to change the subject.
‘Ed, my mom died in an accident when I was a very little girl. I don’t have any memories of her, just some photos from before I was born. My aunt helped my dad raise me for a while but then she moved away. Dad was good to me, but distant. After a while he began traveling for business. A neighbor or two stopped by every so often, but I was alone most of the time. When my dad was around he seemed always to be depressed or lonely and consistently laconic.’
She stopped, thinking about things. I was thinking about how depressed this conversation was making me.
‘Well, this conversation has really raised my spirits. Thanks so much,’ I said, trying to lighten the mood. ‘Oh waiter, one kabob skewer, please. I don’t need a plate, just shove it in my eye.’
Finally, I got a little smile out of her and even a chuckle.
‘OK, OK,’ she said, ‘you don’t want to discuss this. I get it.’
‘No, it’s not that,’ but of course, it was that. I didn’t want to discuss it. Was I crazy? I just wanted to go back to my place and let her have her way with me.
‘You probably just want to have sex, don’t you?’ she asked me.
‘Du-uh!’ I answered. ‘You’re the sexiest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. You make me laugh. And I think you underrate yourself because you’ve never gone to college. You may not have a degree but you’re so bright and well read. I’ll bet you’re smarter than 99% of the people in my MBA program. I’m glad you’re looking into taking some classes.’
By the shine in her lovely blue-green eyes, it was clear she liked everything I said. After a moment, though, she turned
serious.
‘Ed, sometimes I think my breasts are like a binary star system. It’s like they even have their own gravitational field.’
That made me smile and laugh. I was glad to see her lighten up.
‘One of the things I’m trying to say, but just can’t seem to get out is that, though I know I’m pretty young, I’ve had a lot of things happen in my life. I had no real female role model. I learned about sex from health class, a boyfriend, a girlfriend (no, not that way), and some of my dad’s porn. Generally, though, I grew up alone and didn’t learn too much about the world, bad people, good people, or anything. My body just began developing in grade school and by the time I graduated high school I had the biggest bust around.
‘Do you know that Steve Martin movie Roxanne, the one that’s based on the play by Edmond Rostand, Cyrano de Bergerac? Remember the scene in the bar where he gets challenged to come up with a bunch of gags about his ridiculously long nose?
‘Well, sometimes I feel like him. A freak. With my figure, I can get all the attention in a room, but it’s not who I am. It’s my outside, it has nothing to do with me, what I think, feel, care about, or even my sexuality.
‘It’s really hard to explain,’ she said, pausing to rearrange the little flowers in the tiny vase next to the table’s candle.
‘Anyway, back to Roxanne: I can probably name at least a half-dozen names for boobs starting with any letter you give me in five seconds flat. (No pun intended!)’
This conversation, though of humble beginnings, was now moving into the area of the Simone I knew, the one that made me happy.
‘All right, let’s start at the beginning: A,’ I said.
And with that, in less time than a seasoned professional — like myself, can unhook a bra, she said, ‘Airbags, alps, amazons, artichokes, avocados, and apples.
‘Fruit and vegetables are pretty common. I get those a lot!’ she added, smiling.
‘OK, B’
‘Balloons, bongos, bra busters, B-52s, Baskin & Robbins, and Ben & Jerrys. That was easy.’ She took a sip of water as I stared at her graceful and talented throat, wondering how far I’d actually gone down it. And, then I wondered how many others had…
‘Here’s a few more,’ she continued, setting down the glass, ‘while we’re on the ‘B’s: Bra stuffers, bazongas, bazookas, bazzumes, Betty & Veronica, boobs and boobies.’
I was very impressed — and laughed so hard I almost peed in my pants.
‘C’ I said.
‘Cans, cannon balls, casabas, cowabungas, cantaloupes, chi-chis, chesticles, and coconuts,’ she spit out in about three seconds.
She’d gotten a little loud and with my laughter we had most of the restaurant looking at us like we were nuts. The waiter came over and asked if everything was OK. We decided to forgo dessert, but ordered two espressos just to get our mini-hysteria under control.
‘Ed, I’ve heard them all. Sometimes men or women will say them looking at me unable to help themselves. Other times they’ll whisper to their neighbors, under their breath.
‘I’ve seen a man turn to his wife, say something like ‘Did you see the rack on that?’ only to get whacked upside the head with the wife’s handbag. When you’re built like I am you have to brace yourself for some of the rudest and oddest behavior.
‘I saw a guy drive off the road while I was out running one day. Fortunately, he wasn’t injured and didn’t hurt anyone. Having large breasts is one thing. But, having breasts like mine is a strange phenomenon. Everyone assumes you’ve had them done and that you did it to be in show biz, adult entertainment, porn, whatever. Few people, at least initially, think you’re a real person.’
The espressos arrived and I sipped mine straight as she rubbed some lemon rind on the rim of hers, then tore it slightly and dropped it in the hot, black aromatic drink.
‘So, at some point when I was nineteen, I started hanging around with a group of ‘older’ guys in my hick town. They were mostly in their twenties, no college, just like me, nor direction, ditto.
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