THE SMALL MAN

Chapter 2

We washed each other, and as usual it was accompanied by lots of giggling and sighing.  She seemed to especially enjoy spending lots of time washing my cock and balls, almost as if trying to ensure that I'd be even more aroused than usual.  Believe me, I was far beyond that point by then, and it took every ounce of my self control to keep my penis from spurting.  Sharon has always known, it seems, just exactly how much stimulation I can stand before my balls explode, and that occasion was no exception.  Time after time, she brought me to the brink of orgasm, then would take her hands away just in the nick of time.  Damn, that's frustrating!  At the same time, though, it's a feeling that I dearly love, and I'd never do anything to make her stop doing that to me.

At last we were both washed and rinsed, and I was anticipating her orders to turn off the water and open the door.  Instead, she just looked at me intently for a couple of seconds, as if trying to judge my state of mind.  What she saw in my face must have satisfied her, because she then said matter-of-factly, "Before we get out, honey, I need to pee."  That simple expression of her need had always been our signal that I was to fall to the floor and prepare to serve her, and that time was no exception.

I quickly lay down on the floor of the shower stall, placing my head in the center and away from where the two streams of water were falling.  Sharon straddled my head, then as she had done earlier that day, began to sway her hips seductively as I lay there entranced.  I stared in fascination at the wonderful sight above me, seeing nothing but her treasure and the small string protruding from it.  Just when I was on the verge of begging her to lower herself to me, she placed two fingers of her hand alongside her vagina, then used them to spread it.  Before I could understand what she was doing, she began to release her golden nectar!

Never before had she done that particular thing.  It had long been my fantasy to have her do exactly that, but I'd never worked up the courage to ask for it.  Of course, that occasion was the first time ever I'd served her in the shower, which undoubtedly made all the difference.  Just think of the mess it would have made if she'd done that to me in our bed, or in the living room.  :)

It took a split second for her to adjust her aim, and for me to move my mouth to the correct place, but we quickly coordinated.  In no time at all, I was once again completely lost in the ecstasy that always comes when I provide that service, and I was sorry when it ended all too soon.

We both then rinsed ourselves one final time, turned off the water, and stepped out.  We toweled off as quickly as possible, then raced each other to the bed.  It seemed there was no reason for foreplay that night, and as far as I was concerned, nothing could have been truer.  Sharon's own arousal was displayed by the condition of her magnificent nipples, which had been hard as rocks ever since I had lathered them in the shower.  Now, as she rested on the bed on her knees, pointing to the bedspread where she wanted me, they seemed to be even larger, even harder than ever before.  I was sure she was just as far gone in lust as I was.

I quickly lay on my back where she indicated.  With no hesitation, she swung one leg over my head and settled in place.  Although I didn't need any further confirmation, the extreme hardness of her clitoris on my upper lip told me that she was indeed just as hot as I was.

She centered her opening over my mouth, then hissed, "Lick it!  Hurry!  You said you wanted it, now do it!"  So I did.  Over and over my tongue traced the outlines of her treasure, capturing her very special flavor and bringing it to my waiting mouth.  Again and again, I plunged it as deeply as possible into her, loving the taste of her essence of womanhood.  Time after time I felt the string on my tongue, and tried to somehow pull it out even farther.

I'm sure that would have gone on until the end of time if she hadn't broken into my reverie, saying, "Bite the string!  Do it, damn you!"

My befogged brain had trouble understanding what it was she wanted, but at last it cleared enough to issue orders to my teeth to close.  She was obviously waiting for me to do that, for just at that instant she lifted very slightly, as if trying to judge if I had followed her orders.  I could feel the small string slipping away, and jammed my tongue against the back of my teeth to capture it more securely.  That apparently did the trick, and she continued to raise her body, stopping when her treasure was about 3" above my mouth.

She whispered, "Let go," and I obeyed by opening my mouth once again.  That was her signal to continue lifting her body, and she did so until she was several inches above me.  She looked down at me, asking, "Can you see it?"

By then, my eyes had no other reason for existing than staring at the wonderful sight visible between her legs.  It was literally the answer to my prayers to see the little reddish-brown cotton cylinder there, projecting about 1/2" and looking for all the world as if it were checking the surroundings to see if it was safe to come out the rest of the way.

I must have nodded my head in answer, for I was far beyond speech by then.  Whatever the reason, Sharon then lowered herself to me once again.  As soon as she was in position, she hissed, "Bite it!  Hold on!"  Again, I followed her orders.

The wonderful sensations I experienced as my teeth gripped the little cylinder, and my tongue caressed it, simply exploded in my brain.  Over and over again I licked the tip of the thing that was projecting inside my teeth, feeling the string sliding over my tongue.  I wanted with all my heart to relax my bite just enough to allow the entire thing to be sucked inside my mouth, but even in my ecstasy I knew that I had to wait for her orders before doing anything.

She said nothing, merely lifted up once again, withdrawing my prize from her treasure, and leaving it entirely in my possession.  I made my eyes focus on her face, so far above me, and could see that she was staring intently back at me.  Her own throat must have been as tight as mine, because she had difficulty speaking as she hissed, "God, that's disgusting!  You're nothing but a dirty little pervert, aren't you?"  Since I was unable to respond in any way, I just lay there reveling in the sensations that flooded over me.

After almost a full minute of looking at the sight I presented, and telling me how disgusting and perverted I was, Sharon said, "Take it to the bathroom and flush it.  Bring me another one.  Hurry, damn you!"

Her orders were enough to clear my befogged brain slightly, and I got up and made my way to the bathroom.  I turned on the light and stared at my reflection in the mirror, again almost passing out with the rush of lush that struck me.  The little reddish-brown cylinder that was sticking out of my mouth less than an inch, and the streaks of the same color that stained my lips, presented a vision that was so close to my longtime fantasy that it brought tears to my eyes.

At last I remembered Sharon's orders, and raised the toilet lid and leaned over the bowl.  It took every ounce of my willpower to make my teeth open and release my prize, and when I pressed the handle downward and watched the water swirling round and round, it required even more willpower to not rescue my trophy before it disappeared from sight.

That part done, I hurriedly rinsed my face, then yanked open Sharon's drawer in the cabinet.  The box of tampons was already open, and I chose one quickly and returned to the bedroom.  Sharon was still resting there on her knees, waiting for my return.  What made the sight even more arousing than ever was that the fingers of her right hand were buried in her crotch, and I was sure she was, in her words, "keeping her motor running."

She said nothing at all, merely pointed at the spot beside her that I had so recently vacated.  I literally threw myself down on my back, almost unable to breathe as she once again mounted my face.  Her clitoris was even larger and harder than it had been just seconds before, and given the way she ground it into my upper lip, I knew she was very near to climaxing.

Before I could even begin to use my tongue, she began whispering intently, "Lick it, you little pervert!  Get your tongue in there and lick me clean!  Eat my cum, damn you!  Suck it out of my cunt!  Hurry."

I did my best to follow her instructions, but whether or not I did so, I'm simply unable to recall.  My own lust had reached the point by then that my brain was virtually shut down, and my memories of those precious minutes are unclear.  What is clear, though, was the wonderful taste of her juices.  I was sure at the time that the only thing that could keep me alive was swallowing as much as possible of the essence of her womanhood, and so that's exactly what I tried to do.

That my efforts pleased her became obvious when she locked her thighs around my head, then did her best to crush it.  With almost superhuman force, she pressed her crotch against my mouth, then hissed, "Oh, God!  Yes!  Eat it, you fucking pervert!  Oh, God!  Oh, Jesus . . . H. . . . Chrissssttt!"

I'm sure many men share the special feeling of pride I have when I make my wife cum.  As far as I'm concerned, it's the highest purpose of a man, and when it happens, it makes my chest swell and my throat tighten.  I love that feeling, and wish I could have it more often, as I'm sure most men do.  I was just selfish enough to wish that I could join her in orgasm, but had by that time been trained to delay my own pleasure and place hers ahead of mine.  I had accepted that I didn't need to cum every time we had sex, but still . . ..

Just as I was at the verge of losing consciousness because of the intense pressure of her thighs against my skull, coupled with the way her crotch had cut off my ability to breathe, she began to relax.  She slumped forward, supported by her outstretched arms, and sat there gasping for breath.  After almost a full minute, during which time her breathing became more slow and even, she moved off my face and lay beside me.  After another short space of time, she turned toward me, kissing me on my forehead and saying softly, "I love you, husband."

After staring pointedly at my lower face, she said lightly, "Now go wash your face.  You really are disgusting, you know."  While I struggled to get off the bed once more, she laughed in amusement, then quieted as I left the room.

When I turned on the lights in the bathroom once more, the sight that greeted me in the mirror was mute evidence of why she had sent me away from her bed.  When I had looked in that mirror several minutes before, only my lips had the reddish-brown stains.  This time, the entire lower half of my face had them.  From my chin to my nose, and from cheek to cheek, the evidence of what I had been doing was displayed for all to see.  Far from thinking it disgusting, as Sharon had said, to me it was my "red badge of courage," and I loved it.  Left to my own devices, I would never have washed it away.  Sharon's orders had been specific, though, and that left me no choice.  I carefully rinsed, then soaped and scrubbed away those marks that I so loved.

When I returned to bed, Sharon was already under the covers, and the torn paper packet on the nightstand told me she had already used the new tampon I'd brought to her.  She lifted the covers, indicating I was to get under them with her, and I hurried to comply.  Soon we were hugging and kissing, and her subdued actions and responses told me she was completely satiated by her orgasm.  I tried to not press my painfully-distended cock against her, because she's told me many times that she doesn't want me to do that after she has cum.  Still, it was a very difficult thing to resist.

After several minutes, she told me to turn off the lamp on the nightstand, and I reached over to do that.  When she told me to roll over, facing away from her, so she could snuggle up against my back, I knew any hope of further sex was fruitless.  That's always the signal that she's ready to go to sleep, and I was sure it would be the same that night.

However, much to my surprise and pleasure, when she pressed up against my back, her nipples were still hard, which definitely meant she was not all that sleepy.  Further confirmation of that fact came when she began to pinch and pull my nipples, then to drop her hand to my crotch and squeeze my balls while grinding them together.  I loved it when she did that, and the extreme arousal that still dominated me then just added more fuel to my fantasies.

After she tired of those games, Sharon placed her hand on my cock, then bent it straight down.  She said, "Lift your leg a little bit, would you, honey?"  When I complied, she tucked my penis between my legs, then told me to keep it there.  The added pain of having the thing bent so sharply, then trapped between my legs, was almost the last straw, and I was afraid I'd be unable to hold off any longer.

She began to caress my abdomen then, saying how much she liked it smooth.  I had shaved it right after the dinner dishes had been cleared, in anticipation of what we would probably be doing later, and knew it definitely didn't have any stubble yet.  Sharon has insisted I shave regularly ever since we first has sex, and has always complimented me on how good it feels to her to not have "that bramble bush" pressing against her tender skin.

As she caressed my crotch, she said softly, "I really like the way it feels when your little dick isn't in the way.  It feels so much more natural, somehow.  I think that's the way husbands were meant to be, don't you?"  My throat was so tight by then that speech was beyond me.  In answer, I tried to grunt affirmatively, and must have succeeded, since she said, "I'm glad you agree with me, honey."

She was quiet for a long time, and only her erect nipples against my back, and her caressing hand on my abdomen, told me she hadn't fallen asleep.  At last she placed her head against my shoulder, and whispered, "Did you like what we did tonight, sweetheart?"

It took several attempts before I could form intelligible words, but finally I answered, "It was wonderful.  It was just about the most-exciting thing you've ever made me do."

She was silent again for several seconds, then said, "I really liked it too.  I don't know why I haven't made you do that from the first time.  That climax was just about the strongest I've ever had."

Again she lay there in silence for awhile before continuing.  "What do you mean, 'just about'?  Was there something else you wanted me to make you do?"

I was unable to think, or even to recall what I'd said a few minutes before.  She must have lost patience with my refusal to answer her question, for she jabbed her fingernail painfully into the sharp bend of my penis, then said forcefully, "Answer my question, will you?  You said what I made you do was 'just about the most-exciting thing' ever.  What else did you want?"

As understanding swept over me, it was embarrassment more than arousal that tightened my throat.  However, it was far beyond my ability to ignore her question, and I at last stammered out, "I wanted you to . . . to make me . . . eat it."  After I forced out those words, my face felt as if the flames of Hell were burning there, and my eyes were flooded with tears of shame.  I waited to feel Sharon's hand in my back, shoving me from her bed while screaming at me to get out and never come back again.

Instead of doing that, though, she gave the back of my neck the sweetest kiss it had ever felt, and then whispered, "Okay."

The relief that flooded over me right then was the greatest I've ever felt.  It was overshadowed by one other thing, though.  Her simple four-letter word held so much promise, and spoke to my longtime fantasy so directly, that I just about passed out as wave after wave of lust rolled through me.

As Sharon rolled to her tummy to begin her night's sleep, she said sleepily, "Good night, honey.  Please don't jack off tonight.  I want you nice and horny in the morning."

I lay there as quietly as possible for what seemed an eternity, listening to the sound of her quiet breathing, feeling her slight weight on the mattress, and loving the warmth that radiated from her lovely body.  When I was sure she was deep in sleep, I very carefully rolled over to face her, then just as carefully extended one toe until it just barely touched her leg.  It probably sounds pretty corny to you as you read this, but that simple contact was very, very pleasing to me.

Continued in Chapter 3.