The Anniversary Stories (4 page)

But she placed her hand over
his mouth as he bent to kiss her.

Surprised he drew back and
stared into her suddenly serious eyes.

“Promise that you’ll never
tell Sydney about this,” she begged.  “If he found out that another man fucked
me, he would never forgive me no matter how hard I begged him!”

“He will never find out,”
John promised her.  He had no intention of telling the man anything.  As a 
matter of fact the reason why he hadn’t pursued a friendship with Sydney was because the man had become tipsy after three beers and accused John of leering
at Florence.  John admitted to himself that he had perhaps looked at her more
than he should have that day he and Helen had invited the couple over for a
barbeque to welcome them to the neighbourhood.  But it had been the way her
shiny jet black hair had rippled in the sunshine; the way she had thrown her
head back and laughed out loud and unrestrained when she thought that something
was funny.  Her vivacity had made Helen and her friends seem too refined—an orchid
in the midst of English roses.  He had been about to apologize to the man when
the man had sneered and said that he wasn’t worried, though.  Florence would
never let John fuck her, he had said, because he was a white man.

The man obviously felt threatened. 
Maybe he had realized that his wife fancied white men and had tried to
warn John off.  Whatever the reason John had stayed away from her.  In the end,
it had been she who had made the first move.  But John had secretly hoped for
this moment.

He laid Florence gently back
against the sturdy dining table, placing her feet wide apart to support her as
well as give him easier access.  His mouth watered as he gazed at the plump
folds of her vagina through the thin gusset of her black silk panties.  It was plump
almost to the point of obesity, the way that only pregnancy can fatten a
slender woman’s vagina.

Pushing her short maternity
dress upwards, he smoothed his hands over the curve of her belly.  How could a
man not enjoy a woman’s pregnancy? he thought in wonderment as he caressed her
rounded abdomen.  A friend of his had confessed that he hadn’t made love to his
wife in the last five months of her pregnancy because she had become so large
he had gone off her sexually.  The man had also confessed that he didn’t ever
want his wife pregnant again.  John had been shocked.  They were a couple he
and Helen saw regularly and the woman had barely gained weight, even well into
her pregnancy.

The media was partly to
blame, John acknowledged.  All those stupidly vain celebrity mothers-to-be
proudly showing their bumps while maintaining their size zero bodies.  He much
preferred a woman to obey the call of nature and nurture her body and her
unborn child.

Easing Florence’s high-legged
panties over the bump, he slowly rolled them down  her legs and off.  Then
sliding her feet to the edges of the table, he feasted his eyes, gazing in
wonderment at the tuft of silky hair covering her
mons pubis
and her
smoothly shaved outer lips.  Her inner lips protruded but curled backwards like
the petals of a rose.  Breathtaking!

Pulling a chair closer he sat
on it and prepared to partake of the meal set before him.

“Oh my God!”  Florence started in shock at the first flick of his tongue.

“You okay?” he asked, lifting
his head and peering over her bump to ensure that she was alright.

“I’m fine.  It’s just that Sydney’s never eaten my cat before.”

“What?”  John couldn’t
believe his ears as he ran the tip of his finger lightly over her clitoris.  A
21
^st
Century man who didn’t perform cunnilingus?  Impossible!

This woman needed to be
eaten, he decided, and eaten well.  Draping her legs over his shoulders, he
moved closer and got to work without further ado.

Her loud, throaty moans
immediately filled the room.

The kitchen door was now
closed, but John was conscious of the fact that there were no blinds on the
kitchen windows and anyone looking in could see them.  Sydney was not due home
for a while yet, but her noises of appreciation were so loud, if the man came
home early he would probably hear them through the adjoining wall.

But rather than try to curb
her exuberance, John worked at making her moan even louder, sticking two
fingers deep inside her and thrusting them in and out as he tongued her clit.

“Oh shit...I’m cumming!”  John
smiled secretly at what sounded like disappointment in her voice for coming so
quickly.  He would have liked to have gone on for much longer, her smooth
thighs snugly pressed against the sides of his head, his tongue caressing the
ultra soft folds of her flesh, his nostrils filled with the heavenly scent of
woman in full arousal.

“That was appetizer,” he told
her, supporting her legs with his arms as he got up and leaned over to kiss
her. “Are you ready for the main course?”

“Oh yes,” she responded
eagerly. So eagerly they both laughed.

Placing her feet back on the
edges of the table, he reached into his sweat bottoms and freed himself.

“I want to say hello.”  Florence tried to get a look at him, but fell back with a laugh as her bump obscured her
view.

John went around the table,
his erection bobbing in front of him.

“He’s a cutie!” she
exclaimed.  “Bring him and let me give him a kiss.”

John wanted to say that his
cock much preferred to be buried as deeply inside her as possible rather than
to be kissed, but he humoured her by moving closer.

“He’s so big,” she kissed the
tip and ran her soft hand up and down the shaft.  “How long is he?  Ten
inches?”

“No!”  John laughed.  “The
last time I measured him, when I was about nineteen, he was seven inches.”

“You need to measure him
again.  He’s longer than seven.”  She encircled him with her slim fingers. 
Again he admired the eroticism of their contrasting skin tones.  He felt his
erection expand further when she praised, “And he’s lovely and fat.”

Sitting up she tugged John
forward and he obeyed hoping that she would give his erection the promised kiss
so that he could get back to the temptingly plump moist folds that awaited him.

He shivered visibly when she
cupped his balls and suddenly took him deeply into her mouth.  Shock held him
immobile as she controlled her gag reflex and swallowed the head of his
erection.

He hadn’t expected her to go
down on him, assuming that if her husband didn’t go down on her she would know
nothing about giving head.  He’d been completely wrong!  She ate him like she
was a professional.

Soon he was making louder
noises than she’d been making earlier.

She ate him like she was
hungry.  Concentrating fully on his erection, she gave  him none of the teasing
eye contact Helen did when she was giving him head.  Helen handled him gently,
carefully cupping his balls and eating him delicately like she was eating an
ice cream cone—licking around the top, nibbling up the shaft, and only
occasionally taking him as deep inside her mouth as she could.  Florence, in contrast, was almost aggressive in her attention.  He tossed his head from
side to side, trying not to look down at her because each time he did it
brought him to the point of ejaculation.

He felt her pumping his shaft
as she sucked both of his balls into her mouth at the same time and rolled them
around her tongue.  He had to look down.  He needed to see her beautiful mouth
rammed full of his balls.  He needed to see her small hand wrapped around his
bursting erection.  He needed one more glance to add to his memories of this
incredible occasion.

He looked down and
immediately felt his control slippi—

He jumped in surprise as she
grasped his erection just below the head and effectively stopped him from
coming.

“I want you to come inside
me,” she smiled apologetically up at him, holding him for a moment longer to
ensure that he was under control before letting him go and lying back.

“Thank you.”  He grabbed two
folded kitchen towels and slipped them under her head to make her more
comfortable before kissed her softly and straightening.  He was grateful that
she’d stopped him from coming.  It would have been a forceful ejaculation—his
cum would have made a mess of the kitchen—but coming, surrounded by her snug
warmth, would be so much better.

He lifted her left leg and
sucked her toes into his mouth as he rubbed his erection repeatedly over her
clit.  She wriggled, and giggled, as he forced his tongue between her toes. 
She was already wet, but he wanted her dripping her juices down between the
crack of her behind and onto the table below.

“Let me know when I’m deep
enough,” he said, positioning himself against her when he was satisfied with
the abundance of lubrication.

He slid the head of his
erection carefully inside her.  Her body pushed it back out.  He spread his
legs and tried again, remembering at this most inappropriate of moments a tale
that Florence had told Helen.  She had claimed that some babies in the womb
blocked their mothers’ vaginal passages, refusing to let men other than their
fathers inside their mothers.  He had thought the notion peculiar and most
unlikely when Helen had related it to him, but suddenly he wondered if there
was any truth in the phenomenon.

“Press harder,” Florence told him, when a third attempt met with failure.  “You’re not going to hurt me
you know.”

He took a deep breath and did
as instructed.  Her vaginal walls enclosed him in a snug grasp as he slid just
over half his length inside her.

This was as far as it was
safe to go, he decided, withdrawing partially and then carefully sliding
forward again.  Her inner walls delicately compressed the head of his penis and
massaged the length of shaft inside her.  The portion left outside felt cold
although it was a warm day.  John wanted nothing more than to bury himself deeply,
to feel the massaging tightness along his entire erection, but he ignored the
devilish voice whispering in his ear and kept his strokes deliberately slow and
shallow, giving her just over half his length and then withdrawing.

It was enough just to be inside
her.

After all, half an entry
didn’t mean that she was half ‘fucked’ (to use Sydney’s word).

Idly, John wondered if the
man’s cock was bigger than his.

Did it really matter?

Surely it wasn’t the size of
the tool, but how it was used that mattered.

Then he remembered Sydney and Florence dancing to Arrow’s
Feeling Hot Hot Hot
, the only calypso song
he and Helen owned, at the barbeque.

They had danced in a way that
had made John hot under the collar.

Time to step up the tempo.

Imagining the song playing in
his head, John started to rotate his hips.

“Oh, yes!  Yes!”  Florence immediately moved her hips in counterbalance to his, pressing herself against
him.  And like a warm knife through butter, he slid effortlessly into her to
the crisp hairs of his groin.

Reaching out blindly, he
clasped her left hand tightly as he felt her movements become more frenzied. 
As soon as her tremors started, he released the mental grip on his control and
let the physical sensations overwhelm him as she climaxed and took him along
for the ride.

***

“P
erhaps I should have applied a little
more fake tan,” Helen remarked as she admired the way the honey skin tone
accentuated the sleek muscles of her right leg as she held it up to catch the
light.  “Now I understand why bodybuilders virtually paint themselves orange.”

“I don’t want an orange
wife.”  John caressed the smooth swell of her stomach.  “An orange wife would
give birth to an orange daughter.”

She smiled at the silly
comment and relaxed back against him.  Though he wouldn’t have minded twins
again, John was glad that it was a single child this time.  This pregnancy had
been much easier on Helen.  He was pleased that it was a daughter, too. 
Hopefully she will be as light a feeder as her older sister and maybe she would
leave a little milk for her dada.

“Wouldn’t it be mad if Florence sometimes pretended to be me for Sydney?”  Helen  laughed at the thought.

“It would be more than mad,
but I don’t think that Sydney is that kind of fellow.”  The man was as serious
as a heart attack.  But then who knew what couples got up to when they were
alone together.  He still couldn’t believe that Helen had pretended to be his
sister
the previous year and
he
had made love to her.  The thought still filled
him with shameful excitement.

“Nice West Indian accent by
the way,” he complimented.

“I didn’t get it quite right
though.  I sounded more Jamaican than Trinidadian.”

“Cat?”
he asked suddenly,
remembering the bizarre word she had used twice earlier.

“That’s what Florence calls her pussy.  At first I thought that she had a pet. She was always talking
about ‘washing her cat’.  Then one day I realized that she meant
bathing—washing her pussy.”

“And is Sydney
really
a vegetarian?”  John chuckled.

“Florence says that he
categorically refuses to eat pussies
or
cats.”  Helen giggled.  Florence was so outspoken she sometimes made Helen blush, but she was great fun to be
around.  And it was Florence who had advised her to have a herbal cleanse after
she’d confessed her longing for another child when Florence mentioned that
she’d missed her period and was expecting Sydney’s first child.  Helen had
followed her advice, thinking that at worst she would have given her body a
detox.  A month later she too had missed a period.

“Well, the man doesn’t know
what he’s missing.”  John kissed his way across the swell that kept his
daughter warmly protected and nourished and down to the place where she would
make her first appearance into the world in less than three months, if
everything went as smoothly as it had done with the twins.  “Well, my dear, I’m
a proud carnivore and I especially like eating little blonde pussies.”