Recovery was slow. She hates sitting around doing nothing. Maybe she pushed herself too much too soon.
It was my birthday a couple of months after the op. We’d booked ourselves a dirty weekend hotel break, to start getting ourselves back to how we wanted to be. So, when the physio admitted that 6-8 weeks was a “best case” scenario, and it could take three to six months to recover… We were not impressed.
But I had noticed a change in her attitude. She was smiling a lot more. There was still pain, but different – manageable, and expected due to the op. She had a bounce in her step, and the lights were back on behind her eyes.
One morning she made a point of making me notice she was wearing a thong. I couldn’t remember the last time she wore sexy underwear – or drew attention to it. “Don’t get any ideas,” she said, “I just felt like it today.” But I couldn’t stop staring at her ass all day in those tight jeans. When I tentatively grabbed at her in the kitchen, expecting the usual brush-off or irritated snap in response, she instead wrapped into my arms and crushed her body against mine.
“I’ve missed you,” she said, snaking her arms behind my head.
“Welcome back,” I breathed, as our lips met and we fell into the first French kiss we’d shared in weeks. My hands stroked across the tight denim on her peachy ass, and my cock almost exploded. It was the most action it had seen for ages, other than at my own hand. The prospect of actual sex was real, tangible…
Suddenly the future didn’t seem so bleak.
///
I heard the hotel bathroom door open. The tie felt tight over my eyes, but it meant my other senses were heightened.
“Hey, lover,” she purred. I heard a dull flutter – possibly a red dress falling to the floor – and felt the bed move as she climbed onto the end. “God, what a cock,” she moaned, as I felt her crawl up towards my groin. “Fuck, I want that inside me so bad.”
“No…” I said. The surgeon had been most insistent. She was still healing – there were stitches, and we could easily cause damage, or infection.
“I know, but… I’m so horny…” she whined.
My cock twitched, impossibly becoming even harder, hearing her talk in a way she’d not spoken for so long.
“I’ve got to… Just…” she panted, and I could feel her breath on the damp tip of my dick. Felt her deft fingers close around my base and her lips wrap around the head. I so desperately wanted to see her face as she slid her mouth along my hard length… I reached for the tie, but heard her muffled reproach, and put my hands back behind my head.
Even back in the day, she wasn’t a great fan of giving head. Certainly she never instigated it. She had a problem with the sticky mucus getting caught in her throat and choking her. But that said, if she was turned on enough – like that last desperate time in the shower – then anything goes. When we were using her vibrator in foreplay, or if I were fingering her in just the right way, she’d beg me to “do whatever you want” – which was code for me to kneel over her face so she could eagerly swallow my cock. She’d go absolutely savage on my dick, spit and saliva everywhere, stopping herself breathing so she could fit me right into her throat and meet my balls with her lips. She’d be squirting and spitting, primeval with pleasure, and it would last right until she came like thunder or I leaked too much precum, at which point she’d push me away, gasping.
Which made this all the more extraordinary. For her to have initiated oral was unprecedented. She must have been driven utterly wild by desire… which was not the woman I’d known for many years. My heart lifted with the hope that this might be a permanent return of the horny angel I fell in love with.
Sadly, the blowjob didn’t last. “You didn’t want me to stop, do you?” she asked.
“No.”
“I know. And do you know what – I didn’t want to, either. Part of me wanted to know what it would be like, to feel you spurt off in my mouth. To watch your face as I took your load between my lips. But then this would be over, and I don’t want it to be over.” She kissed my cock, and I could feel her panting breath on my damp skin.
Since there was no appropriate yes/no response, I said nothing, although I may have moaned slightly.
She kept talking. She hadn’t been much of a talker, before. Other than a bit of grunting, and the usual “oh yeah oh god oh fuck” kind of thing. Neither of us had gone in for dirty talk all that much since our mouths were usually busy on other things. But today, for some reason, she felt the need to express desires I didn’t realise she still had. I wasn’t complaining.
She squatted over my hips, and I felt her lower herself onto my erection, flat and hard against my abdomen. Slowly she nestled my hardness between her soft shaved lips, rubbing against me. She began to rock back and forth, wanking me between her pussy lips, her saliva having made me slick and slippery.
“Do you remember doing this when we were kids? Grinding our jeans together so I could leap back off if your mum came into your room suddenly?”
I remembered. She was such a fucking tease when we were teenagers. I’d begged her, over and over, to wear a skirt or dress so she could just sit on my cock. But I’d never have tucked myself away in time when my ever-suspicious mother crept up the stairs. In the cinema, however, it had been a different matter. How we never got thrown out, I have no idea.