It’s Sunday; I’m sitting up in bed. I’ve been eaten, fucked and then fed tea and toast with peanut butter. Yummy – my favourite.
A flock of birds are carolling loudly in the trees at the bottom of the garden.
The man has gone out alone with the dog for an amble through the woods that hug our fences. The cats are, I suppose outside somewhere sulking that daddy didn’t invite them to go on the walk. They’ll probably work out their disappointment by killing a few of the birds, and littering the lawn with their dismembered corpses. Vicious – vindictive creatures.
I would normally go walking too, but today I cried off. Why? I don’t know. There’s just something eating away in my brain and I just wanted to be alone for an hour or so.
Going back to this morning – I have to recount that this week he wasn’t the only one who has spent time lathering my vagina with his tongue. The other man, who you’ve heard of before flew into town on Thursday; which required me to make a trip to my secret locker to don the blonde disguise. I’m not like superman, who just puts on a suit and a pair of thick rimmed glasses; mine consists of a ruinously expensive close fitting wig, coloured contacts, make-up, and a complete change of wardrobe, down to the underpants. It’s taken me a while to become proficient at making the change, but I’m pretty sure my own mother wouldn’t recognise me when I have finished.
The taxi driver raised an eyebrow as I climbed in the back, pulling down my knee length skirt to hide the stocking tops. “Where to, Lady?” he asked. I could see in his eyes that he was giving me marks out of ten and coming up with Hooker.
This man likes what he likes. And what he likes is to eat pussy. He prefers me standing and leaning forward against a wall, while he sits on the marble floor between my spayed legs and tongues me.
It’s every girls dream to be fed on by a pussy hungry Canadian in a semi darkened room, while the traffic rolls by just a few feet beyond the wall on which she is leaning, and police sirens scream in the distance. Isn’t it ladies? I could be wrong.
Anyway, back to today.
It’s been my observation that different men eat pussy differently. Take just these two as an example; Thursday’s man, ate pussy in a worshiping manner. He was paying it homage, as if it was a little wet god and he was a supplicant. He was patient and gently and quiet as he slowly moved back and forth and round and round like a gourmet, missing nothing, waiting for the hot discharge that was his payment for the many minutes of reverent attention.
Today, my man ate pussy like someone who owns the property eats pussy; rougher, quicker, noisier, concentrating mainly on my clitoris, like a starving man who hasn’t eaten for a month; demanding that I cum and be quick about it. I did, but with less of a flood.
Afterward they both mounted me from behind, sliding quickly into my well drenched vagina, one inside a condom, and one not; taking a hold of my hips and going to work with masculine and aggressive frenzy. Both of them raining blows on my ass with the palms of their hands.
The Canadian is gone now; probably for ever.
I wonder if he is that worshiping when he is face to face with his wife’s little wet god. Does he act as supplicant or owner?