Just Go With It, Bae

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32


“Just go with it, bae,” she tossed over her shoulder as she rummaged through the junk drawer in the front room.

It was 2 in the afternoon and I had been standing in the middle of our loft blindfolded, naked, and holding a glass of red wine for 10 minutes. I would argue I was going with it.

“I know I interrupted your lunch with that tramp Taren but I just wanted some alone time,” she tapered off as she left the room again. “She’s been trying to fuck you or take your job since we met her so I’m not going to be apologetic,” she laughed from what sounded like the kitchen.

She was right, though. Taren always appeared in my office when a celebrity client was in the studio. Occasionally she’d land a conversation in my doorway with them, but they’d quickly assess her shovel was out for gold and dismiss her. So she’d move on to her role at the clinic hoping they’d see her professionalism as a cardiac practitioner – which was quite true. If only she hadn’t thrown her cleavage into the ring first.

“Taren is just trying to find a man,” I shouted in the direction I thought Vic would hear me. “She just needs a little help on her game. Maybe you can coach her?”

“You need to quit lying to yourself,” she noted from a direction I didn’t expect. “That girl is positively enjoying her freedom as an adult. I have no problem with that. I just don’t trust her near my man’s dick or my man’s money.”

I laughed because it was funny and the wine was starting to loosen me up. By now I had no idea which way I was facing. I thought I could feel the August sun hitting my left shoulder, but that could have been the reflection from one of our two floor-to-ceiling mirrors by the bookcase.

Being naked in our loft wasn’t out of the ordinary. We’d long gotten over the open windows on the street side because we were up higher than all of the neighboring buildings. We practically lived in our underwear last summer because Vic was product testing a new line of couples lingerie for her Fall article. Clothing optional was a given, but blindfolded was a new wrinkle.

“Well you know where all my money is – this damn loft – and I’m pretty certain she’s too scared of your ass to go after my dick,” I shouted toward what I thought was the kitchen.

“Whatever, Mr. Charles,” she shouted from what had to be our bathroom because of the echo. “Whatever.”

I could hear her moving from one task to another with an ease that understood that my afternoon schedule was open. She’d probably called the office and booked the rest of my day with Elliot. If she knew she only had an hour, she would have finished me, showered me, dressed me, and taxi’d me before I knew what hit me. But that day was different.

I never peeked from the blindfold. Sure I was curious, but I know how to enjoy Vic’s whims. My life would be variants of beige khakis and sensible meals if it wasn’t for Victoria pulling me into HER comfort zone. It’s not that it makes me uncomfortable to join her Sex Museum tour, but I don’t think I would have come up with the idea on my own.

“Have you finished your glass yet?” she hinted from the kitchen as I heard the refrigerator door open. “Or are you full from lunch with Taren?”

So I guzzled down half a glass of red wine and replied, ” Fill’er up!”

I could hear the wine bottle being placed on our oak table and the fridge closing. “In a sec,” she shouted. I wasn’t certain if the other noises I heard were from her, our downstairs neighbors, or the open window in the bathroom. Just as I started to make out a motorcycle throttling in the distance she cleared her throat and casually explained, “I’ve got two rules for the rest of our afternoon: no touching and no peeking, got it?”

“Whatever you say,” I answered with a nervous smile.

And that’s when I knew it was serious. I heard our wood floors being delicately tapped by a pair of black Louboutins – her only heels. She had five pairs of the Patent Pigalle because of an article she wrote on how high heels are simply tools fake agents porno for objectifying women. So their marketing team sent her 2 pairs with a hand written note asking that she kindly “shut the fuck up and go please her man.” She bought the other 3 pairs herself.

Her pace was slow yet clearly headed toward me. The sounds of the city were mute as each meeting between leather and wood cleared the room. Usually, there’s fun in the air, but with each step I could feel the ease of the wine leaving my body. My blindfold and empty wine glass were my only means of self defense. I was prepared for something. But what?

The steps continued closer to me and then circled me. I didn’t move. I barely breathed. Like a panther’s prey I was motionless as if the steps would soon pass me by. But unlike that jungle prey, my camouflage was poorly designed and I was hoping to be unapologetically mauled.

Then, after a couple of trips around my station, the heels stopped behind me.

I could feel my dick begin to swell, but I didn’t want the distraction. So I raised my wine glass to my side hoping to indicate my need for a refill.

The steps came closer and a hand was placed on my hip while my glass filled. Once the pouring ceased I put the glass to my lips and took more of a taste than a sip. I hadn’t mentally recovered from the green smoothie she served up a month before that was supposed to cleanse my insides. That shit tasted like it WAS my insides. So I wasn’t rushing a blind tasting here.

As I began to take a real sip I heard the bottle placed to my side, her hand still on my hip for balance. Then I felt her kneel beside me as her hands caressed my thighs, breath crossing my skin. I anxiously sipped from my glass as her fingertips traveled further north with each stroke. My dick tingled.

Then she stood and circled in front of me, heels gently defining her pace and distance. She stepped closer. I could feel her slowly inhaling me. I could smell her so vividly. The scent always reminded me of the hike we took near her parent’s home. She didn’t break a sweat, but it was the first time I smelled the animal in her. No perfume or lotion. Just her.

I was frozen. Smelling her and waiting for her next movement. Unlike her usual self, she was taking her time. Elliot must have told her I was free for the next week, she was moving so slowly.

Then I felt the back of her fingers on my dick. Not a shock to me, but he reacted by pushing back hastily.

“Does that count?” I joked, referencing the first rule. My answer was a not-so-gentle grab of my growing dick. I wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but it was followed by a teasing lick of the head. The grasp was tight, but careful, as I continued to grow in her clutch. Her licking continued until she had my full attention.

Then she began to suck me slowly. I honestly can’t focus when I’m in her mouth. My brain travels from “Make It Last Forever” to “Let It Flow” with every lick. And the sound of every lip smacking stroke makes my knees weak. After reading “Sex at Dawn” she always played with my auditory senses by vocalizing her likes and amplifying the sounds of our movements. Slurping at the dinner table is frowned upon, but in the bedroom it is all good. Those vibrations through my body were magnified by my lack of vision and desperate imagination.

‘Was she naked or dressed?’

‘Was her hair natural or straight?’

‘Was the TV on mute?”

My mind was enjoying the confusion when she slowly stopped sucking and started pulling my hands toward the floor.

“You want me to sit?” I questioned as I reached for the wood flooring. I felt a pillow below me as I began to sit, but she motioned for me to lay down. The floor wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t the most comfortable surface I could think of. She placed the pillow under my head, stood up and slowly walked away.

My brain was still spinning and my dick was still hard, but now I was curious to know what round fake angets porno two would be.

The heels slowly returned to my side, stimulating my dick with each step. She took each hand and placed the palms up with my arms completely outstretched.

Next I heard and felt her heels on either side of my ears. Everything was quiet for a minute while she just stood there. I wanted so badly to look but I simply laid there. Motionless.

Then I heard the sound of her pussy being stroked by her fingers. At first I wasn’t certain, but then she released that slight moan that meant she was well on her way. The rubbing was intense, fast, and rhythmic.

Next I felt her begin to squat – placing her freshly moistened pussy inches above my mouth. She was still stroking herself, but I assumed she wanted assistance. I began to reach for her clit with my tongue, lapping away any juice I could manage. Her other hand fell to my chest and she supported herself while she began to rock her crotch back and forth against my tongue.

And then she came.

An intense feeling of pride and pleasure went through my spirit as she tried to calm herself above me. Her orgasms have always been quick, efficient contractions that she could readily deliver, but I’m not sure she was ready for that moment. I wanted to ask if she was okay, but she was always okay.

Then I could feel her stand again. She stepped over my right arm to my right side, then kneeled beside me. My dick still engorged, she began stroking it slowly. Again, I didn’t move because I didn’t want it to end. Each stroke was measured and direct. I could feel the pressure mounting. She could, too. I couldn’t hold it much more.

And then she gently placed her other hand over my mouth while she placed her mouth over my dick. It was an awkward moment, but maybe she was about to bite my dick off. I was primed for anything now. I was also confused because Vic doesn’t swallow and I was about to nut. But I trusted she knew where this train was headed. So I just relaxed.

Until I heard Vic say, “Now, please.”

From a distance.

Like the kitchen.

While my dick was still being swallowed.

WHAT THE FUCK?! is what my brain screamed because my mouth was covered.

My dick simply gushed as hard as it had ever gushed before.

If Vic is in the other room, who the fuck is swallowing me right now? HOLY SHIT!

While I tried to play it calm, Miss MyDickinHerMouth was lapping up every drop of my cum, squeezing every last ounce.

I definitely wanted to look now, but I knew breaking the rules was not what our relationship was about. Trust was our bond. Undeniable trust.


And then this woman took her hand from my mouth and her mouth from my limp dick as she stood above me. I just laid there dizzy with questions as her heels slowly walked away. I wanted to ask if I could get up but I wasn’t certain I wanted it to be over. I really wasn’t sure what had just happened.

I had no clue that Vic wasn’t licking me and touching me and sucking me and stroking me. How could I not know after 12 years? My brain was on overdrive as lay motionless on our wood floor loft in the middle of the afternoon. I was floating.

Until the front door closing snapped me to my senses. I immediately took off the blindfold and yelled “Vic?”

There was no answer.

I jumped up from the floor and ran to the front door. I quickly opened it only to see Mrs. Goldstein entering her apartment. I was too busy trying to see if the elevator was going up or down to notice that Mrs. Goldstein was busy trying to figure out why I was naked.

“Sorry Mrs. G,” I halfheartedly shouted as I ran back through the loft to find out what the fuck had just happened.

And there it was. A note on the fridge.

“Hey Bae!

Three month undercover assignment in Montana. Needed a goodbye that would hold us both over until I get back.

Miss you already!”

Really! fake cop porno I would definitely remember this but I wasn’t sure I was ready for it.

Dazed, I grabbed my phone to text her. “Call me now!” I politefully texted – still naked.

I briefly thought about chasing her, but I had to trust her.

So I simply put on some shorts and tried to relax. I watched TV, sent emails, ordered takeout. I couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened. She had gone on undercover assignments before and they were no fun for either of us. Maybe she knew what she was doing. Maybe.

The next morning I got to the office early, still in shock. My partners noticed I was a little off, but I told them I almost got run over crossing the street. I just needed to relax. After seeing a few patients I was a little better. I buried myself in work and that seemed to help.

By the weekend I had decided that I wasn’t going to get any answers until Vic got back so I tuned it out. The weekend was chores and watching the game at Ernesto’s. Enough monotony to refocus.

Until Monday morning when I checked my email. I had a private invitation to a website that I thought was spam until I reread the subject line, “Just go with it, bae.”


I clicked on the link. It directed me to a Tumblr blog. It didn’t have a title and there was only one black & white picture – a glass of red wine on a table.

Our table.

Our glass.

Our red wine.

So I immediately followed the blog on my Tumblr feed – which is mostly medical related sites.

By the time I got out of the shower, there was another photo post. A hand holding a glass of wine. I rarely post myself, but usually place things in the queue so they continue to pop up even when I’m not active.

Had Vic been taking pictures of me and the ‘substitute teacher’. I gave this anonymous stand-in the name ‘substitute teacher’ in preparation for the knockdown-dragout debate we’d be having when she got back home.

By the time I got to work there were 10 more photos, each more explicit than the next. All of Vic and I, but no faces or identifiable marks or scenery. But all of the photos were from our goodbye party, because 1) I was wearing a blindfold and 2) our previous other photos were all poor angled selfies. These photos were all closeups but shot by someone else.

So there was the ‘substitute teacher’ and a photographer? My mind started to race again. I was ready to leave work and look for clues in our loft until Taren knocked on my door.

“Quick question! Are you and Victoria free for lunch this weekend?” she tossed with her face still buried in her phone. “I got a new man and I want to show him how an old, boring couple live.”

“Very funny and no thank you,” I started when Ernesto stuck his head in the doorway.

“Rounds at 10AM! Let’s go. Car’s waiting,” he barked.

“Gotta grab my jacket,” I told him, though I still needed to download our presentation. I was too busy looking at my Tumblr feed.

I was halfway finished downloading the file when Ernesto bellowed, “Car!” from our lobby. Annoyed, I looked up to offer him some sarcastic response about his exploits in time management, only to see Taren was still standing there. A little thrown, I simply shouted, “One minute!”

Mumbling to myself about how I should just take 2 weeks off so these clowns could enjoy life without me, I grabbed my laptop and my phone only to hear, “Now, please!” from my doorway.

“I’m coming,” I exclaimed as I caught myself. It was Vic’s voice.

I was confused like a Times Square tourists when I looked up to see Taren still in my doorway, nose buried in her phone.

“Now, please!” Vic’s voice exclaimed.

Then Taren pushed a button and put the phone to her ear as she walked away. “Sorry, I didn’t hear my new ringtone. Still waiting for my coach to get back in town to schedule our dinner. I’ll call you back after I return this stupid camera to our media department.”

I picked up my briefcase and slowly walked out of my office to overhear the last of Taren’s conversation.

“I told you they are a very busy couple. We will have dinner with them when they are available. It might be this weekend or this fall. I don’t know. Be flexible. Just go with it, bae.”

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Bir cevap yazın

E-posta hesabınız yayımlanmayacak. Gerekli alanlar * ile işaretlenmişlerdir