A Predilection Toward Perfection

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Doggystyle

And the Lord said “Let this mouth suck cock”, and it was up to me to find a way to make that happen…

Well if it didn’t happen that way, the editor should have ordered an immediate rewrite along those lines.

The first time I met Denise, I hardly registered her name, or even noticed her tits (which were monuments of magnificence in their own right) – no, it was her mouth which held me enthralled.

You see I firmly believe that all women – except the unlucky few who really got beaten with the ugly stick – have ‘something’. For one that something will be her legs, for another her hands, or breasts, or ass. For Denise it was her mouth, and from the moment I laid my eyes on those lips, I knew that the gates of heaven would be closed to me until the moment I found a way to experience the delight those lips promised.

Now before you scoff, allow me to enlighten you to the specifications of a perfect mouth:

Firstly, you want full lips, and the definition of full is between those of your older sisters best friend (the one your mother doesn’t approve of, but you father is always ogling while sporting a goofy smile) and the models sported by the imitation miss Croft (whose lips are as real as her breasts).

Secondly, a cock sucking mouth is small – a mouth that could take two cocks at one time simply has no appeal.

Thirdly, cock sucking lips are naturally dark red – An accomplished fellatrix never leaves lipstick smears in her wake.

And the final element? The eyes above the perfect mouth: the difference between your average gotta-sit-down- cause-my-legs-can’t-carry-me blowjob, and a now-I-am-ready-to-die- because-I-have-experienced-heaven experience, can be found in the eyes above the perfect mouth – eyes that will be looking into your very soul as they take you through the pearly gates – eyes that will be dancing with delight, knowing that their owner has delivered perfection.

(PS: Should you die at that moment, the smile on your face will be sure to send you straight to alternative accommodation, so lose it before you meet the gate keeper)

When I looked up from the impish smile playing around those perfect lips, I saw dark eyes already dancing with delight. It was over right then and there – on a scale from 1 to 10, she scored 12 – and I had not even reconnoitred the territory south of her chin.

Of course it is never that simple, and in this instance the obstacles to my conquest were obvious and immediate.

The first was my father – who was introducing me to the second – all 6 ft 7 inches of her husband. This bastard wasn’t just big, he looked as if he could eat nails and spit bullets, and he almost instantly confirmed this impression by hefting a fully assembled V6 motor off the back of a delivery truck, and onto an assembly bench in the workshop my old man was running. (he also walked the twenty paces between the truck and bench as if he was carrying a six-pack)

But what is a man to do when destiny beckons him onward? A man makes a plan…

In the course of the months following our first meeting, I got to know Denise and her husband fairly well. Heinz turned out to be as mean as the proverbial junkyard dog, but once he accepted me as part of the scenery, he was cool with me. I guess the fact that he picked on the fact that I thought that his boss was an asshole helped, and the bitch-slapping I handed to a punk bothering his younger sister, certainly didn’t harm my rep either. Not fucking her the very same night, even though everybody at the barbeque could see her practically begging for it, elevated me to the status of friend. Pretty damn ironical isn’t it? But I can’t claim all the credit for that move – ever heard of a city called Troy, and a certain gift left by the Greeks besieging that city?

But just in case you are still confused as to my true character, allow me to set you straight – bitch slapping that punk was a pleasure – being cooped up in a suit all day is tough for a guy like me, and the opportunity to anonymously let off some steam on some witless twit, is fun. Putting him in his place was easy as well – almost every wannabe tough guy I meet makes the mistake of thinking that suit equals soft – idiots! I paid my way through law school cage-fighting on Thursday nights – and even if I didn’t need the money, I would still have done it, because I enjoyed it.

So dufus didn’t read the signs, and ten minutes later his friends were on their way, with him on the back of their truck, while the big man was taking me and the rest of the awed crowd for a spin on his boat.

As for not fucking the girl – she would be available whenever I wanted her – but for now she was an investment earning me the trust of the gate keeper, and a glance or two from the treasure that sent blood rushing straight into my slightly smaller testosterone brain…

My opportunity to make my move came a year after our first meeting. It was Heinz’s birthday bash, and by now I knew the routine. Since the weather was lousy, this would not be a lake outing – we would all gather at his place, and just kurtköy yeni escort hang around drinking and partying the whole day.

Etiquette required that the inner circle of friends, as well as the hangers-on, and the business acquaintances be invited. I was firmly entrenched in the first category, while my father was in the last (and he only just made it into that class as he no longer managed the workshop – it was now sublet to Heinz by the owner of the garage, thanks to some behind-the-scene suggestions, and a contract drawn up by you-know-who – isn’t it fun being a real SOB?)

I spent my day in the usual way – quietly sussing out the company from a corner, or exchanging a few polite words here and there with the regulars, or the odd day visitor stupid enough to think that I would give a shit about anything that came out of their mouths.

But most of the time I was waiting for opportunity to present itself.

Life, as war, is all about rhythm. There is an ebb and flow to all things, and once you attune yourself to that, you know you will get your chance. This was no different, and today I could feel the current was with me.

Watching Heinz, I could see the faraway look in his eyes as he tuned out the animated conversations swirling around him. The big guy was almost as interested in their shit as I was, but I had the advantage of not having to pretend. Raising my glass to him as he caught my eye, he mouthed a silent ‘fuck you’ at my grin. If only he knew…

Denise sought me out towards the late evening, mock reproval etched all over her face.

“That was now the second woman that I had to take for a cold shower before I could reintroduce her to her husband and quietly send them packing – have you no heart?”

“Its not my heart she was interested in – besides her hubby should thank me – tonight the missus is going to be all hot and bothered.”

“You are absolutely shameless!” Denise laughed, plopping down on the ground next to my chair.

“Of course I am” I replied, ” but I didn’t do a damn thing as far as those bitches were concerned. I was parking here, minding my own business – they invited themselves over here, they started making conversation, and they got themselves wet.”

“And that is all you ever do, isn’t it?” Denise joked – but the was something more…

“Have I not always behaved myself around your guests?” I asked.

“You don’t have to do anything, and you know that!”

I smiled quietly. She was right.

You guys think that women go for men based on love? You are as stupid as you look. In essence women are prostitutes. Now please don’t get riled up ladies – I don’t mean that as an insult. The fact is that women are pragmatic – when they pick a male to mate with, they pick him on the basis of his ability to provide for mommy and the next generation she intends to spawn. It is a subconscious thing, and if the majority of females were not programmed that way, our natural resources wouldn’t be so overtaxed thanks to the population boom.

The fluff you pick up in clubs is usually a mixture of desperate shelf stock with overdue expiry dates, and girlies with IQ’s as low as their self images, and a desperate need to believe that sex equals love. They serve as biological alternatives to masturbation, and sometimes pay us back with a nasty disease or the occasional paternity suit.

But why does your wife want to fuck me? Simple really – you are a good guy, a considerate lover, and a good provider. You satisfy her genetic programming. But if your wife is a real woman, and she looks into my eyes, she sees all of those things you can never be – she sees danger, she sees a touch of craziness and she sees that indefinable something that promises that while you and a thousand others are falling to flaming arrow and flailing sword, protecting her undisputed virtue, I will be fucking her in the ass while she screams for more.

She knows that I have that power over her, and that is enough to send her scurrying to the toilet and frigging herself into a coma.

“And do I do that for you Denise?” I asked quietly, looking deep into her eyes.

“You know I am immune to your charms sir!” she laughed, “besides, you know better than to try your luck while Heinz is around!”

The hell you are immune! I smiled to myself, but if she wanted to believe that…

“So is your immunity to charm the only reason why he beats you up, or does he sometimes do it for the sheer hell of it?”

Denise stared at me for a full three seconds before she responded:

“Fuck you!” she spat, her cheeks flushed with anger, before jumping up and storming to the kitchen.

The kitchen – not to her husband out on the patio. I smiled. So ends round one, and it wasn’t a bad one to have in the books…

It took a full thirty minutes for Denise to collect herself and launch a counterattack of sorts.

“You really are a bastard!” she grated, handing me a refill and retaking her seat on the ground, for lack of alternative.

A response kurtköy sınırsız escort was not required.

“How the fuck did you know?” she almost hissed.

“I know guys like him, and I know girls like you. I know him, and I know you. Do you really need me to continue?”

She snorted derisively. “I should have known – you don’t know shit!”

Was she trying to rile me up?

“So you want to know what I know? Okay, since you insist – you don’t qualify as a slut because you are too afraid of Big Nasty to fuck around – but that doesn’t change a thing honey – because you are in for it tonight, aren’t you?”

Denise did not need to say a thing. I sat forward, looking deep into her eyes.

“You are going to get it tonight, because he has been drinking all day, and later when we leave, he won’t be able to get it up, and then the smacking begin. It is so predictable that you might even have begun liking it.”

“Fuck you!” she hissed, anger sparking from her eyes “I don’t like it!”

“Then why don’t you do something about it?” I asked evenly.

Again the eyes answered. I laughed softly.

“Let me guess – true love – with a good dollop of ‘without him I can’t survive since I am a worthless shit’ and plain old fashioned fear that he will kill you if you ever leave. Very predictable.”

“As if you are not predictable!” she countered. “”Don’t think that I don’t know what you are doing!”

“And what am I doing?”

She was quiet, not breaking eye contact, but still not prepared to verbalise it.

“What am I doing Denise?” I pressed.

“You know what!”

“Then say it!”

“I don’t deserve you doing this to me – what have I ever done to you?”

I laughed softly. “I’m not doing anything – we are sitting here as friends, discussing the fact that your husband slaps you silly whenever he can’t get it up.”

“Please don’t make me do this!” she implored.

“Have you ever known me to make anybody do anything against their will?”

“Yes you bastard!” she stormed, “If you want them to, that is exactly what happens – like you are doing to me right now!”

“Then get up and walk away” I snapped. “Go be a good hostess to your other guests!”

The tears were shallow in her eyes, “Please understand, I really love him, and it isn’t his fault, and I really want to be with him, and I really want to be only his…please don’t make me do this, I don’t want to do it!”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t be asking me to assume responsibility for your actions – but just to be clear – are you asking me not to fuck you?”

She really didn’t have an answer to that.

“You seem very tense” I said, reaching out and kneading the muscles of her left shoulder, “maybe you should make yourself comfortable here in front of me, and I can take care of that for you.”

“Please don’t do this” she pleaded, but the quickening breath at my first touch, and the hardening of her nipples under her vest told a totally different story.

“Suit yourself” I shrugged, sitting back.

Denise looked stricken. She almost furtively glanced towards her husband out on the patio, happily chugging down beers with the last of the little people who never seemed to know when they had outstayed their welcome.

Then she scooted closer and rested her back against the chair between my legs.

I smiled. Whoever said women loved bastards, got it spot on.

She was as stiff as a board, but I could see her pulse hammering in the exquisite hollow below her jaw.

“Relax” I whispered close to her ear, raising goose bumps all over her, “It is not as if he has not seen me give you a shoulder rub before.”

Which was true – the big man was by now used to her plopping down in front of me for a neck rub, while we the two of us were sucking cigars and tossing back schnapps. What can I say? I love the exquisite pain of a prolonged seduction, and the knowledge that this campaign was almost over, had me wound as tight as a spring.

As she relaxed I placed my drink on the table next to me, and started kneading her shoulders. What little of her resolve remained would succumb to my touch – now it was only a matter of not scaring her off or boring her to death.

“You really are a magnificent creature” I said softly – and she was.

I earlier introduced you to the magic of her mouth, but incredible as it may seem, Denise had much more to offer than just that. The angelic mouth and eyes were framed by dark blond hair hanging down to the middle of her back. A regime of hard work and healthy eating, ensured that she carried no fat on her lean frame. Looking down on those slender legs and spectacular calves, I could just imagine the pleasure of ripping those sweat shorts off her, and plunging into what had to be a perfect pussy….

But those legs stood in the shadow of a pair of perfect breasts. Forgive me one chauvinism, but the good Lord certainly knew what he was doing when he fitted breasts to a woman. There is no man on earth who is immune to the kurtköy sarısın escort charm of a slender woman with big gravity defying breasts – unless of course he isn’t a man at all, in which case the bitch will be green with envy. Denise had beautiful breasts – they had to be at least a very full C cup, and the way they moved I knew that they would not be flopping all over her belly the moment they were released from the confines of her white bra. And unless the horsemen of the apocalypse intervened, they would be liberated tonight…

Denise chose not to respond to my words, but I didn’t mind.

Firmly kneading the honey coloured skin of her shoulders and upper back, I allowed my fingers to slip under the straps of her bra and vest. She tensed up, but there was no resistance – only a quickening of her breathing and a re-puckering of nipples.

And if I could see that through her bra and vest, they had to be spectacular…

“He isn’t a bad guy you know” she said quietly.

“Never said he was” I replied, my hands gently working her neck muscles.

“I don’t want to leave him.”

“Then don’t” My hands were now guiding her head backward, allowing it to come to rest on my hardening cock.

“I don’t want to cheat on him either” she replied, obviously feeling the bar under her head.

“That is your choice isn’t it?” I replied, not allowing her head to escape the confines of my hands.

“I won’t fuck you” she said with determination.

“You seemed to have expressed some reluctance in that regard”

Denise suddenly giggled, breaking the growing tension “You really are incorrigible!”

“And I am surprised you can still say that word after a fully day of partying!”

She laughed, relaxing totally.

“As long as you know it won’t be happening” she repeated.

“Will it make you feel better if I solemnly promise not to fuck you tonight?”

Denise tilted her head further back, searching my face for something. Finally she broke the silence:

“So your undertaking only covers tonight?”

“That’s the offer on the table” I replied.

“I guess that will have to do” she replied lightly, relief – and maybe just of tinge of disappointment and something more – evident in her voice.

“So now that you know your virtue is safe, how about losing the bra so that I can do a decent massage?”

“Jesus!” she started, “You know I can’t do that – there is a house full of people, Heinz is ten yards away…!”

“Yes, you can do it” I interrupted, “And more importantly, you want to do it.”

“You are crazy! Heinz will see us, and then we will both be dead!”

I laughed.

“He can’t see shit from where he is, nor can anybody else. Besides, by now he is so drunk that I could probably fuck you on the floor in front of him, and he wouldn’t notice.”

She giggled again, now caught up in the game:

“I am pretty sure that he will notice that!”

I went along with the game, my fingers slipping the straps off her shoulders, “Well I guess you are right – with every thing I would do to this spectacular body of yours, he would have no choice but to notice all the screaming and panting…”

“And so modest!” she interrupted, “What makes you think you are that good?”

“The fact that I could make you cum, sitting right where you are, without even touching your delectable little pussy.”

“I doubt it!” she shot back.

“Then why don’t you put your money where your mouth is, lose the bra, and find out?”

Instantly the tension rose a few notches. I could see her squirm, and I knew she was turned on. She turned a bit, allowing her a better view of my face – but now the side of her head was resting in my lap – or rather on top of my dick, which by now was as hard as teak. She had to feel it – hell she had to smell it! – and she was not moving away.

“You are crazy!” she whispered, her voice hoarse with excitement.

“And then some!” I replied, looking deep into her eyes as I very deliberately slid my hand from her shoulder, down her chest, and into her bra.

Whether it was the magic of the moment, or just he fact that she didn’t believe I would have the gall, Denise made no move until I cupped that luscious orb in my left hand.

“Jesus!” she exclaimed, but it was too late to save her soul now. My thumb closed on her nipple, squeezing it firmly against the side of my palm, and she came with a shudder that must have rattled the window frames throughout the entire house.

Now I wish I could have taken credit for that result, but not even I am conceited enough to believe that was my work – she must have been as high as a kite on the eroticism of the moment, or maybe it was the risk she was taking, but whatever it was, it was enough. Enough for her, that is, but I was still far from satisfied.

It took her a couple of moments to collect herself, but I didn’t mind, after all I did have my hand full, so to speak.

“Holy fuck, I can’t believe that just happened!” she finally exclaimed.

“Seems you lost the bet” I quipped.

“I don’t recall actually accept your terms” she responded, “Nor do I even recall you mentioning a prize.”

I moved my hand to her other breast, this time trapping her nipple between thumb and forefinger, before rolling it firmly too an fro. From the feel of it, her nipples had to be as long as the first digit of my forefinger.

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