Estelle Ch. 05

I woke first, rolled out of bed being careful not to wake her, went into the bathroom, sat and peed not wanting to make any more noise than necessary, washed my hands, rinsed my mouth with her classic Listerine, wondering what marketing genius had allowed something the color of piss to be marketed as mouthwash, rinsed with water, and tiptoed back to bed.

Light was filtering through the sheer drapes, and her hair put a strawberry blonde halo on my sweet angel.

Estelle is one of those people who sprawl when they sleep. She had kicked the covers off, and the way her left leg was kicked out, her ass was showing, and the way her pussy peeked out from thick thighs was so inviting, I thought about taking her right there.

But I exercised heroic self-control and eased back into bed instead.

And once again, the question hit me hard. "Can she really be The One?" I thought, just looking at her.

And liking, no, and loving what I was looking at.

I think what pushed me to that final, "Yes, she could," answer was that damn pink skin. It wasn't her apple cheeks, although they were so cute you wanted to pinch them. It wasn't that soft, very lightly cellulite-dimpled skin on her upper arms, although I loved touching it and feeling the softness there. It wasn't her breast, heavy, soft, and blue-veined, although I did love nursing like a hungry baby.

It wasn't any one thing, and it was all things. As I watched her sleep, snoring softly, almost purring, and drooling a little, there it was again. "Yes, she could be The One for me."

She stirred a little, and I could tell she was waking, so I bent forward, kissed her cheek softly, and pulled back. I wanted my smiling face to be the first thing she saw when she woke.

She smiled and put her hand on my chest, not pushing but holding me away as I started leaning forward for a wakeup kiss.

"Morning breath," she said, using her other hand to cover her mouth.

I laughed, caught the hand covering her mouth with mine, pulled it away, and simply overpowered her for the first kiss of the morning.

Her breath was no worse than anyone else's after a night at a restaurant and bar. And I liked the special intimacy of feeling her resistance crumble and then her arm around my neck, pulling me into the kiss.

It was a good kiss. It lingered, and my hand lightly caressed the soft skin of her side, waist, and hip before I felt a sudden tension.

"What?" I asked, breaking the kiss and leaning far enough away that I could focus on her eyes.

"Please don't hate me," she said, her eyes down as she refused to meet mine.

"Why would I hate you?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"David," she started, stopped, swallowed, and started again.

"David," she said, "I loved it. I loved it when you asked for my bra. I loved it when my titties were swinging when I came back and gave it to you. David, I ADORED thinking that everyone was looking at me, wondering what kind of a slut would do this."

I started to say something like, "It's okay," but she stopped me with a fingertip to my lips.

"Let me say it all," she said.

I nodded, holding her eyes.

"David, when that young man was dancing with me and his hands were, you know," and she giggled, "What do they call them? Russian hands and Roman fingers?"

I nodded again, saying nothing, holding her eyes.

"David, if he had said something like 'I want your mouth,' I think I'd have dropped to my knees right there. Hell, I WANTED him to say something like that," she said and seemed to wind down with that last word.

"And?" I asked.

She looked, and here's one of those words you see but never use. She looked nonplussed at that.

"And don't hate me," she said.

I laughed then, well, more of a soft chuckle.

"Hate you?" I started, "Estelle, I'm proud of you. I'm proud you enjoyed it. I'm proud that other men OBVIOUSLY want you. And I'm proud that I'm the one you come home with."

I'm not sure, still, if she was just over-emotional or if it was some sort of pent-up need, but her eyes reddened again, and I was struck by how her face changed when she cried.

I kissed her, a good kiss that had to work around her soft sobs.

I held the kiss, feeling her relax into it.

I released her then, smiled, and said, "By the way, if you SHOULD decide to drop and gobble, I'll still bring you home and be proud to be seen with you."

She laughed at that, a loud, full laugh.

"But," I added after a dramatic pause, "I might spank your pretty ass when we got home."

Her eyes got big.

"Just for THAT," she said, and play punched me in the chest, "I think I will."

She paused, holding my eyes, and things changed as they sometimes do. Suddenly, she was serious again.

"Would you really?" she asked.

"Really, what?" I asked, although I had a pretty good idea where this was going.

"Kiss me, still love me, if I did something like that?" she asked.

"Yes," I said simply.

And she was crying again, pressing her face against my chest, wetting me with tears and snot as I comforted her, holding her, brushing that cap of her hair, and talking to her in a soft voice.

"Yes," I said again, "Yes, I'd hold you and kiss you and tell you how beautiful you are and then I'd make gentle love to you."

I grinned then, my best worlfish grin, and said, "But first."

I kissed my way down her body. I stopped at each nipple, not just sucking but truly suckling, taking her nipple, areola, and some additional tissue into my mouth, latching on, and massaging her nipple against the roof of my mouth as I nursed.

But I didn't linger. That was just casual foreplay.

I kissed my way down, probing her belly button with my tongue, and then farther.

At her soft, almost downy thatch of pubic hair, I blew softly and kissed, drawing soft sounds from her.

I moved quickly then, moving so my knees were between her ankles, and used my hands on the inside of her knees to part her legs before I leaned forward to kiss and blow some more.

I inhaled her faint, pheromone-laden womanscent, relishing it like the wonderful perfume was.

She sighed a soft, "Oh, Daviddddd," drawing out the final sound as I used my fingertips to part her labia and my thumbs to lift her clitoral hood, exposing her completely before using my lips to kiss and suck.

"Oh DAVID," she moaned as I felt her delicate inner lips filling my mouth as I sucked the tender, sensitive tissue, taking my time, enjoying the sensation and taste as well as the image of what she would look like later when she was still swollen and dangling.

I felt the first rush of her building orgasm in the form of her thick, hot nectar on my tongue, and I eased the pressure, denying her climax. I pulled back slowly, drawing the delicate petals with me and pulling a soft groan from her.

I released her, smiling at the way the stretched tissue dangled now. I kissed those delicate lips and said, "Beautiful," softly, but loud enough that she could hear.

She giggled and said, "Again, please."

I bent and took those beautiful lips into my mouth, tasting her excitement, letting that core of placiosexuality that is the essence of my success with women run free. I wanted to give her pleasure rather than seek pleasure myself. I wanted to revel in her ecstasy, my own irrelevant. I wanted to exhaust her from the pure physical joy I gave her. I wanted to take her to paradise, to bathe her in pure sybaritic hedonism, to make her surrender to her body. I wanted to make her cum until the pleasure merged into pain, all the way to agony, and then back to pleasure until she couldn't do anything but gasp for breath and whisper, "No more."

I pushed gently, not forcing but encouraging her to part her legs wider, to pull them up toward her breasts, to expose herself completely. When I had her positioned as I wanted her, I used my fingertips on her labia and opened her. The inner lips were swollen and dangled, and I moved my hand so my fingerprints rested on them and I spread her even more until I could see her cervix, pink and shiny with her excitement. Her cervix looked like a tiny mouth, so I bent forward, pursed my lips, and kissed it.

Her body jerked at that, and it retreated.

I smiled, looked up at her across the rise of her belly and breasts, and said, "Push. I want to kiss it."

Her eyes were big, her smile wide, and she murmured a soft, "Oh God," as her face turned red, she grunted softly, and her cervix peeked out.

The tiny opening to her uterus, her womb, beckoned, and I kissed it. I felt tension in her body, but this time it didn't disappear into her body like a prairie dog popping into its hole. I kissed it again and then used my tongue to trace that tiny portal that, when she was young, would allow sperm in and then hold it so she could be fertilized.

When I covered it with my lips and sucked gently, she cried out and her body jerked, taking it away from me.

"Push," I said softly, looking up at her across the roundness of her belly and breasts, "let me hold it."

"DAVID!" she cried, her hips thrusting, her pussy running, thick white cream running in a thick rivulet down the crack of her ass.

"Push," I said again, holding her open so I could see her cervix deep inside that beautiful portal of love.

"OH GODDDDDDD," she yelled, and for an instant, I could picture her at the instant she delivered one of her babies. Her face was red as she held her breath and pushed.

"Breathe," I said, watching as her cervix peeked out, followed by her uterus. It was pink and shiny, smooth and firm, and absolutely beautiful, the core of her very femaleness on display.

I supported it with my hand as she slowly relaxed.

"Breathe," I said, again, "Relax. Let me hold it now."

"Oh, Jesus, oh, Christ, oh, God," she was sort of chanting as that tension slowly left her body.

"Relax," I said again, as I bent forward, very lightly kissed her cervix, and then blew softly.

The scent here, this close to her core, was strong and slightly different.

And the pheromones worked. I was so hard I ached and throbbed so much I could feel each beat of my heart.

She shuddered when I kissed her there. It was firm and warm and slightly slick from her natural lubricant.

"Relax," I said for the third time as I gently stroked it.

When I touched her clitoris, three things happened at once. She cried out a loud, sudden, "YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS." Her uterus disappeared back into her body like a magic trick. I was holding it, blowing softly, and then it was gone. And she came, a sudden blast of thick white cream that spattered onto my face, blinding me as the thick, salty proof of her pleasure burned my eyes, forcing me to close them.

I kept the pressure where I was touching and felt her cum in waves.

When my eyes cleared enough that I could see again, I watched as her cervix peeked out with each wave while I kept her going until she grabbed her pillow, covered her face, and screamed her final orgasm for the morning. Her body clenched. Her uterus prolapsed again. Her legs kicked. Her hips thrust.

And she collapsed, spent. Her uterus disappeared with that David Copperfield magic again. She panted in that weird Lamaze breathing we've all seen, on television of not in person.

And she whispered, "Oh, God, oh, God," over and over while I moved up and began covering her face with kisses.

When her ecstasy had passed, she pushed me away, rolled up onto her side, and smiled.

"You're a mess," she said, touching my cheek where her white nectar was thick.

I just smiled.

"Let me join you," she said, and before I could protest, she started squirming down the bed.

She pushed me onto my back, her hands pushing my hip, and took me into her mouth.

I tried to hang on, to make it linger for her, hell, for both of us, but it had been a pretty intense encounter, and in just a few seconds, certainly no more than a minute, my control failed.

My ejaculation was powerful. There was plenty of pent-up need to work with. I felt her pull off at the penultimate moment, and felt her hand stroking, as I groaned my release and cried out her name.

She held me like that, gently stroking until I was fully soft, and then moved to lie beside me.

"Now we match," she said, and I suppose we did. Her face had a thick line of my semen running from her hairline, across the bridge of her nose, and her cheek where it sagged, a thick teardrop hanging, stretching until it fell onto the pillow between us..

"Will you still kiss me?" she asked, and her face told me it was a real question to which she wasn't sure of the answer.

I kissed her, softly, one of those tender brushes of the lips.

"Yes," I said.

I kissed her again, harder, my fingers in her hair now.

"Yes," I said when I broke the kiss.

She kissed me, hard.

"Yes," she said.

We settled, then, cheeks on the pillow, lips lightly touching.

I'm not sure which of us dozed off first, but I slept the sleep of the just.