THE SMALL MAN

Chapter 1

Let me begin with an apology.  It's very difficult for me to type this, since I have to jump from key to key to do so.  I guess you could think of it as similar to the "hunt and peck" system, although what I'm doing is slightly different than that.  Whatever, it's sure to result in more than a few errors, so please forgive me in advance for those.

I suppose some background should come first, otherwise you'll never understand most of what I'm writing about.  Of course, it'll help me get my thoughts in order, and that's always a good thing in an author, isn't it?  Okay, here goes.

I'm sure nearly everyone reading this story would be bored to death if I went too far back in history in describing my marriage, so I'll start about five years after that event.  By then, my wife, Sharon, had assumed virtually full control of anything and everything that happened between us, and that was just fine with me.  I'd never been the pushy type, and since I was raised in a home where my mother was noticeably in charge, such a thing just seemed natural to me.  I have to admit that most other men in the world would find that particular arrangement unacceptable, but I'm not in that crowd.  Sharon liked being in charge.  I didn't.  Pretty simple.

Probably the main thing that led to that turn of events was the fact that she had much more education than I.  She had been awarded her Doctorate shortly before we started dating, and since I never went beyond my undergraduate degree, she was much more in command in our relationship.  Again, it was a pretty simple thing.

When her being in charge started to extend to our sexual relations, it was again just something that seemed very natural.  Her degree in Cultural Anthropology allowed her to quote chapter and verse when it came to sexual matters in other societies, and when she said that matriarchal societies were unquestionably the best, there was no way for me to dispute it, even if I had cared to.  To the contrary, I liked it better when she directed our sex, and as the months passed, it just seemed "right" that she should be the one to decide when, where, and if we had sexual contact, and if so, what my role would be.  She had always preferred receiving oral sex, and in a short time, I came to prefer giving it.  To us, that was just the way things were meant to be.

I have no doubt that many men will not understand how exciting it can be when a woman uses her man as her sex toy.  Unlike those men, my own preference is to be used in such a manner, and to receive orders and commands from my wife as she directs my efforts to please her.  Even in the first year of our marriage, she began to spend more and more time sitting on my eager mouth, and if my penis were ever allowed to penetrate her, it was with the understanding that, as soon as I had climaxed inside her, she would again sit in her rightful position as she enjoyed her own satisfaction.  Again, it was just very natural for us to do it that way, and in a very short time, I began to actually crave the wonderful taste of our mixed juices, and the way they literally shot into my mouth as she had her own orgasm.  Unless you've tried that particular type of sex, you have no idea what I'm talking about; if you have, you don't need my explanation.

There were two other outcomes of that type of sex that seemed entirely natural to us, but, again, probably would not to others.  You see, Sharon enjoyed being orally stimulated for hours at a time, and in the usual course of events our activities would be interrupted by her need to visit the bathroom in order to relieve the pressure she was feeling in her bladder.  Neither of us welcomed those interruptions, and one night that problem also was resolved in an entirely "natural" way.

As sometime happened, after she'd been riding my tongue for an hour or so, Sharon lifted up that particular night, saying, "Keep your motor running, honey.  I'll be right back."  She then got off the bed and walked to the adjoining bathroom, where I could hear her relieving herself.  As I lay there anticipating her quick return, for some strange reason I became more turned on by the second.  By the time she flushed the toilet and came back to bed, I was so overcome with lust that I couldn't stop myself from placing both hands on her hips and almost forcing her back in place atop my face.

She told me later that I started moaning almost as soon as she sat down, and then seemed to be trying to speak.  All I remember is her lifting up again, then looking down at me and asking, "Is there something you're trying to say?"

I was too far gone in my extreme arousal to give any thought to my answer, and simply gasped out, "You taste so good!"

She replied, in a matter-of-fact tone of voice, "There's more where that came from.  Do you want it?"

In answer, I again gripped her hips, pulling her back in place, while crying out in an emotion-laden voice, "Please."

For the first time ever in our relationship, she allowed me to taste in full what she'd been teasing me with for so long.  When her hot, bitter golden nectar splashed on my tongue, then seared my throat as I swallowed it, I was in paradise.  It was almost as if I had been waiting for that to happen all my life, and now that it had, it was wonderful beyond description.  I loved serving her in that manner, and given the strength of her orgasm less than a minute later, I was sure she loved it just as much as I did.

That night established the pattern for our love-making activities for ever after.  Sharon slowly trained me to accept her entire output without making a mess in our bed, and I came to find it so exciting that I would literally beg her to allow me to serve her in that manner.  She never refused me, and in fact seemed to become even more aggressive as she gave me mouthful after mouthful of her wonderful nectar.  It seemed we had both found our true roles.

I mentioned there were "two outcomes," and I've already described the first.  The second, which again seemed entirely natural to us, will probably offend more men that did my description of the first.  Oh, well.  If you're still reading, then I'm still writing.  You can always go on to another story if you care to.  Won't bother us in the least.  However, for those of you men who know your true place in this world, I can guess you're feeling a tightness in your chest similar to the one I've felt for a long time now whenever I think of providing my services.

In the natural course of events, Sharon became more aggressive and demanding of my oral services.  She began to require that I provide them all the time, and by that I mean every day of the month.  I sure your imagination can fill in the blanks, and if you're still with me, then you probably share my fascination with such a natural part of womanhood.

I'll never forget the first time Sharon required that particular service of me.  She had been away from home for several weeks, on a field trip to South America, where she was a participant in an small expedition that would make first contact with a recently-discovered village.  By the time she returned, I was literally and figuratively out of my head with sexual need.  You see, I have not been allowed, for several years, to give myself the type of relief other men enjoy routinely.  While others can simply masturbate whenever they choose to, I have been forbidden to do so.  Sharon never overtly threatened me to achieve that outcome.  Rather, she just mentioned once that she thought men who jacked off were saying their women weren't enough for them.  She also said, "If I found out any man of mine had been choking the chicken, I'd leave the little bastard."  That was all it took to make me keep my hands out of my pants.  There was no way I could live without her, and I'd never willingly do anything to harm our relationship.  'Nuff said.

Anyway, by the time she returned, as I said, I was almost crazy with repressed lust.  I picked her up at the airport, and then as we drove home, tried to hold up my end of the conversation about what she had done on the expedition.  I truly don't recall much more than vague impressions about her findings, though, other than her saying the new village was one dominated by women, and then describing how much more desirable that type of society was.  That information just seemed to add to my arousal, and I'm sure it was more luck that skill that saw us safely to our door.

As soon as we stepped inside our home and closed the door behind us, Sharon placed both hands on my shoulders.  That was entirely usual, and it was our signal that she needed my service.  As usual, I dropped to my knees.  I fumbled with her shoes, helping her step out of them.  My trembling hands found the fastener of her slacks, then quickly pulled them down.  Soon her panties joined the pile on the floor, and she stood over me in all her feminine glory.  I love that part, seeing her looking down at me in expectation, knowing that in just a few seconds I'll be providing the service we both love.

As soon as she stepped out of her panties, I fell backwards to the floor and lay there with my mouth open, as a signal of how much I needed her.  However, instead of quickly lowering her crotch to my waiting mouth, as she usually did, she straddled my head, then stood there with her legs spread, allowing me to gaze with rapture at the sight that is far beyond Nirvana.

To my intense disappointment, I could see something in her treasure that had always signaled that I would not be allowed to serve her that day.  It was a pretty simple thing to have such importance, and I'm sure you've already guessed that it was a small white string.  You see, Sharon had always avoided oral sex during her period, and even when I had begged her to allow me to do it, she had just said, "Not now, honey.  Surely you can wait a few days, can't you?"  Of course, I always could, even though I definitely didn't want to.

On this occasion, though, she didn't seem a bit reluctant.  Instead of just gathering up her clothes and walking away, she continued to straddle me, swaying her hips very gently as I watched in fascination.  Then, inch by inch, she began to bend her knees, bringing that wonderful part of her body ever closer to my eager lips and tongue.  It surely required at least an eternity for her to lower herself enough that her lips brushed mine, and all that time I was exerting a very great amount of willpower to stop my hands from grasping her hips and drawing her to me.

At last satisfied that she had teased me long enough, she settled in her familiar place, allowing me to taste her so-very-exciting juices for the first time in more than six weeks.  I feared that I would pass out with excitement then, but was finally able to calm myself enough to stop licking her and to open my mouth in preparation for performing my duty.

With a sigh of satisfaction, she began furnishing my drink.  I would have sighed if at all possible, but by then my mouth and throat were otherwise occupied.  It was obvious that she had been saving herself for me for several hours, and her need was great.  Not nearly as great as the thirst I had developed for her, though, because when the last drops were long gone, and I had licked her clean, I still craved more.

I think it was then that my lust-fogged brain realized that she was moving her treasure in a short circular motion over my lips and tongue, and had been doing so for some time.  That had always been a signal that she was also aroused, and there was no doubt in my mind that it meant the same thing right then.

Her engorged clitoris was pressing vigorously against my upper lip, and her opening was centered over my tongue.  Over and over I licked her there, feeling the string dragging over my tongue, and savoring that particular essence of womanhood that I craved.  Finally I couldn't control myself any longer, and I began to suck her opening with all my might.  She allowed me to do that for several seconds, then scooted back and sat on my chest, looking down at me with an expression on her lovely face that was a blend of both curiosity and arousal.  She asked softly, "Did you enjoy what I brought you, sweetheart?"

I didn't find it at all easy to utter my answer, and had to clear my throat a couple of times before I could croak out, "Yes.  It was wonderful."

She chuckled softly, then asked, "Would you like to do it again tonight, and maybe get a bigger reward?"

There was no doubt whatsoever that we both knew what she was talking about, and it meshed with my long-time fantasy so strongly that I couldn't stop myself from blurting out, "Please!  I want it so much!"

In response, she just smiled in satisfaction, then stood, gathered up her clothes, and walked from the room.  Over her shoulder, she said, "I'll get one all ready for you, honey."

I don't know how long it took for me to emerge from my semi-conscious state, but when I did, the first thing I realized was that my hardon was trapped down one leg of my jeans, and was aching and throbbing more than ever before in my life.  The second thing I realized was that my own need to pee was very intense, at least equal to what Sharon had been feeling just minutes before.  That need was what was required to get me to my feet, and headed for the bathroom.
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The rest of that day passed very, very slowly.  About the only thing I could think of was what would happen in our bed that night.  Again, it took every bit of my concentration to engage in conversation during dinner, and then afterwards as we watched the news on TV.  By 10:00, I was literally in tears with the frustration I was feeling, and had just about made up my mind that I was going to beg Sharon to come to bed with me.  Fortunately that wasn't necessary, because just at that moment, she stood up from the couch and pulled me to my feet beside her.  She said, "Let's go take a shower, then get to bed, shall we?  I'm tired from all the activity today, and just can't stay awake much longer."

That invitation was the answer to my prayers, and it was almost more than I could do to not drag her down the hallway to the bathroom.  Once there, I tore off my clothes, then did my best to remove hers slowly, marveling at the beauty I was unveiling as each garment hit the floor.  I love to see my wife in the nude, and could easily spend hours undressing and worshipping her loveliness.

As soon as we were both ready, I stepped into the stall and started both shower heads running.  Our shower stall is quite large, being over 4' wide and 6' long.  It has a head on each end wall, and is just right for a shared shower.  Sharon and I have spent many happy hours in there, and it's usually where a night of lovemaking gets its start.  I was sure that purpose would be served again that night.

Continued in Chapter 2