Pussyholic, that would describe him quite well he thought.
His meeting with Suzanne was therefore fortuitous for both of them.
She had a pussy that craved attention. A neglected pussy, neglected for twenty-eight years and several months or at least lacking the attention it deserved. That was the way she saw it.
Simon’s love and fascination for the female pubic area was, as he saw it, perfectly normal. A cunny gave him and his cock, exquisite pleasure so he thought it only right and natural to repay in kind. He wondered if he fixated too much on the oral pleasuring but nobody ever complained.
They met at a book signing. He wrote novels with a strong erotic theme. His publisher arranged the signings; it was part of the contract. Simon attended them philosophically. Most of the people who came to the signings were women and he couldn’t help enjoying their blushing enthusiasm for his creations. But now, three hours into the four-hour session, he was looking forward to making his escape. He glanced at the clock, fifty-five minutes to go and the flow of people had slowed appreciably. Maybe he would get away on time.
He looked up as another book was slid in front of him. “Hi,” he said.
“Hello,” she said. “Suzanne, can you write, ‘To Suzanne,’ please?”
He smiled and opened the front cover. It was a well-worn, hard-back copy, probably second hand. Yes, there was a pencilled-in, reduced price in the corner of the front cover. She was tall and brown haired and maybe a little over weight. His heart gave a little bump. She was rather lovely. She wore a skirt, he liked that, skirts were getting ever rarer he thought a little sadly.
He wrote ‘To Suzanne, with love, Simon H.’ He always added the ‘with love,’ if he found the woman attractive.
“Did you enjoy it?”
“Oh yes!” the words came out as a near silent breath.
Simon picked up the book to hand it back but noticed a protruding bookmark. He opened the book and smiled.
He glanced up. She was blushing scarlet. “I see we have the same favourite part.”
She started to speak, hesitated and then said in a rush, “I fantasise about your reading that to me aloud.” Her hand flew to her mouth, her embarrassment obviously acute.
“I’m flattered, I’d love to read it to you,” he said. He realised too late he’d spoken rather in haste.
He sat and signed the occasional book while she browsed the shelves through the store. He realised that he had a date of sorts at eleven o’clock. The hands crept round towards closing time. He looked around. She was sat in a chair, in a corner, reading.
The shop manager phoned for a cab and waited with them as the remaining staff went about closing up.
He got her a wine and himself a beer. “I’ve only dated a reader once before.”
“How was it?”
“A disaster.” He laughed, remembering. “But I didn’t read to her.”
“Are you going to read to me?”
“I said I would.”
Suzanne crossed to the sofa and sat down, book in one hand, wine in the other. Simon followed her, took the book from her and sat in the armchair facing her.
He put his beer down on the table at his elbow and opened the book at the bookmark. He read the first few lines to himself and glanced up at her. It hit him then she was dressed just like the girl in his book. A lacy white blouse and the black skirt that showed her knees. She wore hose and black pumps with maybe three-inch heels. He felt his cock stirring.
He began to read aloud. To his delighted surprise she did exactly as the story told. She crossed her legs, right knee over left and almost imperceptibly began tensing and relaxing her thighs. Her hips squirmed slightly. He could see the back of her right thigh to the point where it met the sofa’s cushion. More to the point he could see that she wore stockings, the dark top contrasting with white flesh. Now his cock was more than stirring.
Suzanne’s eyes were closed as she listened. She didn’t realise how obvious was the movement of her thighs as she worked them, one against the other. But she was aware of what the movement was doing. She’d been horny forever it seemed. She’d denied herself release ever since she’d read of the book signing but now she was riding a wave as his voice read. How often had she read this chapter of the book, followed word for word, action for action, always reaching the same exquisite conclusion. But his books were like that, incredibly erotic. Then, the chance to meet the author of so many of her orgasms.
Her climax was approaching, uncoiling inside her like a tight-wound spring. He stopped reading; she stopped moving and opened her eyes. He was staring at her, smiling.
‘Oh God,’ she thought, ‘he knows I’m doing it.’
Blushing she uncrossed her legs and sat, feet on floor, knees together.
Struggling for composure she said, “I’m sorry, please go on.” She gestured at the book.
She longed to get her hand up her skirt, to finish what she’d started. God! She was so horny.
He began to read again. She listened, he read very well, unhurried, his phrasing somehow bringing out the meaning so well.
She moaned softly as he reached the part where the girl in the story slid down in the sofa causing her skirt to ride up and expose her thighs, her panties. Damn it! She could hardly do that could she?
Her eyes met his. He stopped reading again and looked at her, an eyebrow raised. His meaning couldn’t have been clearer: Was she going to follow the story or not?’
She gasped, shocked, realising he did actually want her to act out the story. Suzanne almost shook her head, almost said no. But she did neither. This was why she’d gone to the signing. Gone with the silly, futile, dream-world hope of just this happening.
She eased forward, moving her ass across the cushion towards him. The fabric held her skirt and slowly more and more leg emerged. She glanced down; there were her stocking tops, peeping out.
Simon clenched his teeth, fighting the smile. She was going to do it. His cock swelled and his grip on the book tightened. She was going to do it.
Her ass was at the edge of the sofa and her bared thighs were in plain view.
He looked down at the book and read, “Maureen let her thighs fall open.” Suzanne’s thighs opened too and there was the gleam white and Simon knew she’d worn little cotton panties, just like Maureen.
Just as the cushion’s fabric had held her skirt so had the skirt held her panties and now they were uncomfortably tight across her pussy. She needed to hook a finger in either side of them and ease them away from herself but she was held by the story. There was no way Suzanne was going to stray from it and she prayed he wouldn’t either.
She knew the next move of course; she knew the plot word for word. He should get up and come to kneel between her feet.
Simon got to his feet, still holding the book. It hurt to stand, his erect cock was trapped inside his briefs, this discomfort hadn’t happened in the story. He moved across to her and knelt and put the book on the sofa beside her.
“Perhaps you’d better read for a while, my hands and mouth will be occupied if I remember the plot.” He didn’t need any prompts from his book but this was a delightful game to play.
He reached into his pants and eased his cock straight. He felt the slickness of his own precum on his fingertips.
Simon put his hands, palms down, on her thighs just above her knees. The rough smoothness of the nylon was a turn on as always, there was surely nothing like tight stockings on soft flesh. She picked up the book and began reading, the tremble in her voice betraying her arousal. He followed her words with his own actions.
He slid his hands up, up slowly, to her stocking tops in time with her words. His fingertips found the warm skin of her thighs and slowly he let his hands explore until they were on her hips. His wrists and forearms had taken her skirt higher. He breathed the scent of her, a heady mix of perfume and the heat of her arousal. Her cotton-clad mound was inches from his face.
He turned his head and rested it in the nakedness of her lap.
Suzanne’s insides seemed to melt. She looked down; Simon’s eyes were closed. His beard tickled her thigh and she could feel a hint of stubble on his cheek. She wanted to touch his face. His hands were high on her hips, his arms along her thighs and the book told her what he’d do next. Her ex’ had never done anything like this to her in four years. Her pussy seemed to almost ache with need. She glanced at the book and took a deep breath.
Simon turned his head and slowly pressed his face into the warmth between her thighs. He heard Suzanne’s sharp gasp.
He breathed in, slow and deep, savouring the wonderful scent of her. He wasn’t sure what pheromones were or if they had a smell but his body knew and he felt his already rigid cock swell and grow. His lips formed a kiss and he pressed them into the cotton of her panties. He could feel her softness yielding against his lips.
In response she thrust forward and opened her legs wider, offering herself.
Simon sank lower, his ass on his heels, letting his mouth slide down deeper. They were wet; her panties were very wet. He heard her make a little mewing noise above him and she breathed out an ‘Oh God.’ Oh fuck yes!’ The exact words in the story.
She had never felt so happy, so ready to burst with joy. She’d known it could be like this, had dreamed of it, had tried to make it thus with her hands and with toys. But now it was being done to her by another, done the way she knew it should be done. She thought she might die from it and didn’t care at all.
His face between her legs was driving her insane and she still had her panties on and his cock was two feet away. Even so, she was having a meltdown.
He stopped nuzzling her and lifted his face. Protest parted her lips and she realised she let her hand and the book drop to the sofa.
“Can’t we just …?” She wanted to beg, ‘Can’t we just fuck and forget about the book?’ But she knew that would spoil the whole thing somehow. With a sigh she raised the book.
Simon slid hands up and around and carefully slipped his fingers into the front of her panties, He pulled the fabric into a narrow strip that he guided between her pussy lips. She craned her neck to watch. Her panties covered her not at all now and her plump pussy lips were divided by the tight-stretched strip of cotton.
Suzanne knew would happen next and held her breath. He lowered his face again and her whole body tensed in anticipation. He opened his mouth and gently bit her left labia. It didn’t hurt, not quite but the sensation of his teeth doing that, doing it there! He was biting her pussy, pretending to eat her. She brought her free hand to the back of his head and ground herself against his mouth.
Come back one week from today to read Part Two of this sexy story.
Julius’ other sexy stories published here on Every Night Erotica can be found here.
Julius says this about himself: “ I love writing what I call smut, been writing it for years. Sometimes, to me anyway, written erotica is more arousing than visual. If others get a charge from my stories, that’s a bonus. So, let me know what you think of a story, good or bad. I promise to reply.”