Hearth VIII

Bill was incredibly relaxed. A full-body massage from Laura’s loving hands, a glorious round of head from her equally loving mouth had left him without an ounce of tension in his entire body. Even his bones felt relaxed, a wonderfully strange sensation that he thought he could easily get used to.

No one had ever come close to doing for him what she had done tonight. He had never had his needs treated with such consideration. He had never felt more loved or wanted.

As her head lay on his belly, Bill massaged her scalp and raked his fingers through her hair. Her breaths were blowing soft and warm across his skin, while her fingers played idly with his groin, twirling through the dark hairs around his cock, stroking his softened length, his balls, sometimes dipping down to graze fingertips over his inner thigh. Her touches were imbued with unmistakable affection. He liked feeling that. He liked feeling her soft and warm against his side, touching her hair, stroking the smooth skin of her cheek. He liked feeling full of love for her, liked loving her.

Hearing her let out a soft little sigh and watching her nuzzle against him as if she was settling in for the night, Bill murmured, “Come up here.”

She came, but not before gently cradling his cock in her hand then bestowing soft kisses along his shaft and a slow, lingering one to the head. If he’d been younger, he’d have been hard in an instant, but at his age, his cock responded only the slightest bit. But that was all right. Her kisses had not been given with the intent to arouse, they were rooted in something much deeper than sexual desire, and only an idiot would have thought otherwise.

The way she’d held his cock, the way she’d kissed it made him feel as though that part of him was precious to her, adored even. Admittedly his experience was limited, but he could count on one hand the number of women he’d been with who hadn’t been either repulsed or indifferent about his cock. Most had treated it as little more than a tool for their pleasure. They hadn’t wanted to really see it or touch it beyond assessing his arousal and putting him in their pussy. He’d actually paid for special attention to address certain desires and needs in the past, but there hadn’t been anything about that that made him feel good about himself, and it had been too mechanical of an act with a “professional” to be truly fulfilling.

Contrary to what some people might think, men needed their bodies to be appreciated. It was difficult to stay aroused when a woman looked at his cock like it might bite her or, worse yet, as if it were somehow filthy just because it was a cock. It’s true men’s bodies were different than women’s but they weren’t all that different in how they expressed their desire, albeit men’s reactions were harder to hide. It was also difficult to stay aroused when a man had to continually ask for what he needed or, worse yet, when he figured out that a hand job or oral pleasure was dished out to avoid intercourse itself, a way to pacify not satisfy. It made him feel like he was mundane household chore, like washing dishes or sweeping the floor or cleaning out the gutter, and not a living, breathing human being with actual needs, wants, and feelings — even if he was uncomfortable voicing them.

That’s how things had become with Carolanne over the years. The first couple had been good but then his sexual needs had been reduced to a footnote in their marriage. Finally, when she’d begun rejecting his attentions to her needs even, he’d given up altogether and just took care of matters himself. Going solo was good for releasing tension, and it felt good, but it wasn’t any more fulfilling than the few “professional” encounters he’d had after the divorce.

Tonight, though, Laura had made him feel desired, sexy, and he hadn’t had to ask for anything. She’d just given and then asked him what he wanted, how he wanted her to finish him off. He’d told her in no uncertain terms, and she hadn’t flinched. She’d taken care of him with obvious enthusiasm, and he knew she would have done it regardless of what his choice had been.

As she rose up the bed, Bill turned onto his side and wrapped her in his arms as she settled beside him. She leaned in for a quick, soft kiss before letting her head fall to the pillow with a contented sigh. She smiled at him and he smiled back, his hand slipping up beneath her hair to caress the back of her neck. She all but purred whenever he did that and now was no exception, letting out an elongated hum and blinking slowly.

“Thank you, Laura,” he said softly, eyes holding hers, imploring her to understand how special tonight had been for him. He watched her gaze grow a little glassy, her smile soften as she shook her head.

“I enjoyed every moment, Bill,” she breathed. “You don’t have to thank me for any of it.”

Touched by her generosity, Bill eased his hand around and cradled her jaw in his palm. He lifted his head and leaned toward her until their lips. He kissed her slowly, tenderly, not drawing back until she let out a thready hum. He whispered to her then, in the space between their mouths, grinning brightly, “Wake me early. I want pussy for breakfast.”

She giggled. “I’ll set the alarm a little earlier.”

“Make it a lot earlier. I’m going to be really hungry,” he countered then lowered his voice, fingertips skimming along her cheek, “I want you to smile all day.”

Her voice was breathless when she responded, “You think I’m actually going to be able to sleep now?”

He nodded, grinning, feeling incredibly happy to the point of giddiness like any man in proper love. He thought maybe he was turning into a cliche, but he could care less. He was content and adored her, and he wasn’t ashamed of that. “You will because you’re going to turn over, and I’m going to tell you a bedtime story.”

“Oh you are?” Her eyebrows rose a little, her eyes dancing with the mirror to his feelings.

“Yeah, I am,” he replied then released her from his embrace, stretched, and turned off his bedside lamp. He watched Laura set her alarm then douse her lamp as well.

In the darkness then, he spooned up behind her and wrapped an arm around her, but instead of seeking out her hand with his as he normally did, he slipped his hand down and cupped her sex, just held her, then touched his lips to her ear and began his story.

“Once there was this really old man who met this beautiful woman with long, red hair…”

“I had blond hair when we met,” she interrupted, clearly amused, but he shushed her with a pat of his hand to her pussy and a laughing, “Who’s telling this story?”

When she just giggled, he continued, whispering softly until she fell asleep.

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