Compatiable Natures Part Two — Olivia London

If you missed Part One of this sexy little tale read it here.

She began to take him in with all of her senses.  Nothing tasted better than his cock.  The touch of his hand on hers was a fusee triggering every impulse toward desire.  The smell of his skin before and after lovemaking so intoxicating it left her breathless.  Her same old same old brand of soap was now special having used it to lave her lover’s genitals.  She loved watching him get hard in the shower, her haunches spiraling down as jets of water pelted her back while she gave his erection the full measure of her throat, each lingual pull on her man’s cock leaving her yearning for more.

Hearing Desmond’s voice made Beth instantly wet and if no one was looking she’d dip a finger into her fluvial bounty all agog for the future reward of his touch.

And of course the sight of him was enough to drive her mad altogether.  She carried his picture around wherever she went.  There was no such thing as a bad day anymore.  One look at his handsome face and her heart was instantly buoyed.  He was the capper putting an end to all pashes she had had before.  How could she ever love another?

Love.  She didn’t always trust the word.  But she must be in love; she had never felt like this before, never wanted to give of herself so wholly and completely to another person.

She loved being with someone she could learn from; Des was a teacher, after all.  He not only taught her new words, he shared with her the etymological roots of those words.  For example, when he was promoted from staff to full-time instructor he came home cock-a-hoop.

“What’s cock-a-hoop?” she had asked.

“I’m feeling elated and triumphant,” he explained.  “It comes from the Middle English phrase to set cock on hoop, or to drink festively.”

She could think of plenty of double-entendres in reply, but instead, she hooked her arm in his and suggested an evening stroll.

She too was doing well in her career so she insisted on treating Des to a slap-up meal at one of the many intime establishments in North Beach.  They dined at a restaurant called Poco Casa.  They both thought it funny that an eatery calling itself ‘Little Home’ would serve such big meals.  When Beth left half her order of mushroom risotto the chef caromed to their table and asked, “What’s the matter?  You don’t like my cooking!”

Beth apologized profusely saying she had had a late lunch (not true: she just wasn’t used to eating like a trencherwoman) and begged for a To Go box.

Afterward, they popped into a bookstore across the street with more tiers than a wedding cake; it was the biblio version of a nightclub.

They were pouring over books in the poetry section when a broad-shouldered man wearing a black leather jacket and skull earrings strode past them leaving a contrail of testosterone in his wake.

Beth shook her head but Desmond took his girlfriend’s chin in his hand and asked, “Am I manly enough for you?”

Oh, heavens.  She loved this man with all heart and soul.  He wasn’t just a man: he was the answer to everything she dared hope for. 

“Are you kidding?  If you had a tan you could be the Marlboro Man.  So what if you don’t smoke and prefer wine to whiskey.  And you hail from New England instead of lasso country.  Okay, so you’re not the Marlboro Man but you could definitely beat up anyone in this bookstore.”

They took a look at the remainder table – bane of writers everywhere but often a cornucopia for discerning readers – and made some purchases before leaving the book emporium.

When they got home, Beth put her leftovers in the fridge and turned to see her lover scowling, arms akimbo.

“Beth, you promised you’d clean the oven before my parents’ visit next week.  It looks like someone tossed a hand grenade in there.  And you left used dental floss on the bathroom sink after I told you a million times how much that grosses me out.”

At the first hint of disapproval, Beth felt she carried a hamster’s wheel in her stomach and she could feel an animalcule scratching to get out.  She could never be an actress.  Her face, just an hour earlier could have lit up a stadium.  At the mere thought of turning off Des, her countenance morphed into a swath of sorrow.  To her great relief, he took her in his arms and stroked the back of her head.

“That’s okay, Beth.  Life is too short to worry about ovens and floss.  Forget I said anything.  I’ll just put my parents up in a hotel.”

“C’mon,” she said, leading him to her favorite room in the apartment.

“Beth, darling.  Don’t feel like you owe me sex just because you made a mess again.”

“I know that.  We just never got around to ordering dessert.”

He kissed her and murmured endearments at her throat, the sound of his voice the tintinnabulum of the angels.

She sat on the edge of the bed and unzipped his fly, letting his cock spring free from the masculine maw of underwear and trousers.  She melted to her knees giving Des something to remember in his old age, the afterlife and the next life beyond that.  She gave him the entire samsara of fellatio delighting in the propulsion of her own tongue and its power to please.  She heard a tremolo of moans, a whir of erotic sounds above her head as her lips lolled at the tip of his penis while her glossa skated around the rim.  Beth grasped the back of her lover’s legs for support as her whole body pulsed with the rhythm of deep throat, her lips stretched like a hoop at the base of her lover’s cock.

She could have genuflected forever paying homage to that magnificent life form, until all the flavors of cock packed her mouth like a dariole mold.  She clung to her lover’s lingam like a cliffhanger needs ballast, the sturdy support of its beam ample measure for her bottomless desire.

There was no stopping her.

Again she let her languet laze over the tip of his full-throttle erection, a rich taut lobe that deserved to be licked and kissed for the span of a matinee double feature.  She lavished the length of his shaft using everything in her tender toolbox starting with deft economical strokes then segueing to finer balletic moves.

She sucked him with abandon, sucked him with untrammeled glee until all his vibratory rapture rocked through her entire body zipping from the crown of her head to the happy spaces between her toes.

He lifted her to his chest right before he came.  She held her lover’s cock in her hand and pressed into his shoulder as Desmond’s ejaculate refined itself into a web of philter over her knuckles and fingers.

Before going to bed they shared a bottle of wine and some crackers, heedless of the crumbs.  They talked about the things they might do to celebrate their first year of living together.

Desmond seemed happy but Beth had to know for certain.  She squared her shoulders and braced herself lest she run into a wall of painful truths.

“Are you sure you want to be with me, Des?  You know I can’t cook.”

“I’ll get a second job so we can order take-out every night.”

“And you know cleaning isn’t exactly my forte.”

“We’ll hire someone to help out.  Lots of students put themselves through school cleaning after busy, fornicating couples.”

“Oh, Des.  I knew from the minute I saw your face we’d be compatible.”

They tipped their wine glasses and said in tandem, “Sláinte.”

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Read Olivia’s other sexy stories published on Every Night Erotica, here.

Olivia London is the author of the story collections San Francisco Lovin’ and San Francisco Bliss: California Erotica, both published by Renaissance E Books and available from Amazon.com.  Titles available frome Xcite Books include Lesbian Love 3, Healthy Addictions, Woman Friendly and the erotic paranormal story Soul Bumping.  The author may be reached at olivialondonstories@gmail.com