Submitting to Her(23)

Squeezing her breasts like this - was this what had happened after tennis?

Quiet sighs became little gasps and moans, my hands toying around her breasts a while before I eventually moved down again, over her stomach and down to her thighs.

I could smell a hint of her arousal in the air, even above the scent of coconut. I had to try my best to keep calm as I coaxed her thighs and calves from the front, then subtly edged open her legs again, so my caresses along her inner thighs could reach all the way up, and nudge the sides of her pussy, so sweet and pink beneath her little patch of dark hair.

She said: "I love the way you touch me, Jones."

Oh God, how wonderful did it feel to receive praise from my Mistress? I wasn't sure I liked thinking about her with that particular label - it was attached to weird, fetishy things - but how else did I refer to her status? Goddess, perhaps. I certainly intended to worship her to the best of my ability. Her power over me made it thrilling to receive a complement, because it was an outward sign that I pleased her.

"I love touching you," I said.

"Well assume you have permission to touch me wherever you want this evening," she said in that wonderfully relaxed, blissed-out honey tone.

Left hand continuing to slide over her thighs, my right now concentrated on her pussy, two fingers in particular rubbing down either side of her rose-blush lips, teasing her, coaxing out those deep moans that made the hairs rise on the back of my neck.

Then all pretense seemed to slip away, and I was using both hands to touch her there. And a finger slipped inside her slippery folds, penetrating her pussy.

"Oh God," she shivered, and I couldn't help but think of a certain tennis player in college, now even wishing this was the way it had gone back then. So hot. I wanted my beautiful Goddess to have had this kind of pleasure before me, though that selfish part that still pulsed inside wanted me to be the best she'd ever had, of course.

One finger became two, and as her moans encouraged me onward, my massage had turned fully into more. My fingers sought out the heat and the wetness, focusing the pressure around her clit and then inside her soft pussy.

I wondered if I had actually learned something from the long process of massaging the rest of her body - I was touching her in a way I'd never really touched a girl before - slower, more sensual, responding to the rhythms and motions of her body and her breathing.

She was so wet, and at last, I couldn't resist any longer, and now my lips touched gently down over her clit, my tongue slipping out to dip into her wet folds, and Zoey's moans turned suddenly deeper, more chesty.

Pushing up her thighs for easier access, she didn't stop me - almost seemed to expect it, lying there on her back, eyes closed, mouth open as she sucked in oxygen, responding to my own mouth now fastening upon her sensitive flesh.

"Oh, Aiden Jones, what are you doing to me…"

As I licked her, her head tilted back and she seemed almost to be in pain, hands gripping the towel beside her as though coping with agony. Yet her breathless moans were so candid to the overwhelming pleasure flowing through her body, making me wonder if my massage had somehow tuned her up, emphasizing the sensations from my tongue.

How strange it was to consider that when I'd been with other girls - the one-a-week dates that Zoey had jealously alluded to - I'd rarely given much oral sex, if at all. It hadn't ever been because I didn't enjoy it, even with girls who weren't as incredible as Zoey. Somehow, it felt to me as though something had been overlooked in the process. I'd always been so keen to get that notch on my bedpost that I'd simply rushed on by, while my dates had always been the kind of girls that had just wanted to please me, and be used by me.

To really appreciate this, time needed to be taken - and that time was not only the guy's to take. The woman had to be able to lie back and relax, enjoy it, allow her partner to spend the time.

I felt I needed more time to perfect this, once again considering the need for research to become a better man, a better lover. Yet with a plaintive cry, she was shuddering through a wonderful climax, and my time slurping her juices was ending.

"Oh that was incredible," she sighed as I picked myself up, stood up straight as though ready to serve her further. "You know, Jones, normally Tuesday and Thursday nights, I go to the gym. I could do with this kind of massage afterwards."

"I'd love to, Ma'am," I said.

She smiled, sat up on the table and reached for me.

"Sit down on the couch for me."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"And pass me the oil - I think you deserve some payback."

I did as she asked, and Zoey now sat on the floor in front of me, pouring out some of that coconut oil into her palm.