Unnatural Instinct: Free

31.

I've never done this before. I've heard about it—some of the men have talked about it in whispers—but I never thought I'd actually do it. And I certainly won't tell anyone about it. According to the leaders' teachings, this is not the way it's supposed to be. It is not something a man should do, but I'm going to do it anyway—for you. Nobody needs to know.

There's only one thing that's important to me—and that's getting you back.

I think it's working. You give a little groan I've never heard before. You suck in a breath as you twist your hips against me. I lean my elbows against your thighs so they're flat against the bed and you're completely open to me in a way you've never been before. I like the look of you like this. It's not something I expected—to get pleasure from something like this. And yet, it's not a complete surprise. I've come to learn over the past couple of weeks that your pleasure is my pleasure.

You gasp as I lick you slowly from the bottom of your slit to the top. You taste better than I expected, sweet and salty. I lick you again and again until you're moist against my mouth. Then I start jabbing my tongue at your clitoris, that little nub of skin that used to confuse me, that still fills the village men with doubts and uncertainties.

I grip you more tightly as you squirm beneath my grip. I almost laugh. This is what I want—to make you happy. I don't want you like that woman Wanda and the others who have also been 'cleansed'. I want a partner with some life. I doubt those women know pleasure like this. I doubt any woman in the village does. Strangely, it makes me feel more of a man, giving you what you need, what you want.

Releasing your thighs, I spread open your lips with my fingers, then dive in. Your hips buck as you sit up, then you fall back down with a gasp. I stifle a chuckle as I twist and curl my tongue inside you. You're rocking against my face. I grip your knees to try and move with you, and as I do I can feel the strain in your thighs. This might be it. This might actually work. For the first time I might actually make you orgasm. Over the past several nights, I've tried and tried, doing it the traditional way, using my fingers. Nothing has worked.

Not until now.

I pull my tongue right out, then thrust it deep inside. You shudder, jerk, then cry out. And I can feel you—I can feel inside of you. The walls of your womanhood contract around my tongue. Your hips buck against my face. Then it's over.

Pulling out of you, I lick my lips. I take a moment to catch my breath before getting to my feet with a groan. My back is aching and the hard wooden floor has left dents in my kneecaps. I give them a quick rub as I gaze down upon you.

You're sprawled out on the bed, naked and beautiful. I've closed the windows and curtains for some privacy but the sunlight still gets through and it makes your skin glow. You're glowing. Your arms are up by your head, your thighs still wide open. I can see the sheen of my saliva and your cum along your inner thighs. You're panting. Your eyes are half-closed. And that's when I see it—a real smile. It's only small but it's real, with real crinkles around the corners.

It makes my heart pound. Maybe the leader was wrong. Maybe I really can have it both ways—to have the perfect, dutiful wife who also adores her husband. I just need to work on it.

I continue to stare at you, enjoying the moment. Then you open your eyes, see me watching, and the real smile slips behind your fake one.

The moment is gone.

I want nothing more than to finish what I started. My cock is pressing so hard against the front of my pants that it makes my whole body ache. But I don't. I know you won't want to. Not with me—yet. So I exit the room, content to leave you with your good feelings. I hope you remember them. I hope that whenever you see me, you remember them.

I work hard throughout the rest of the week. Every day I do the same, pleasuring you, trying to make you happy. And it's not only the sex. When I talk with you, I'm always respectful. When I ask for your thoughts, I'm not dismissive. I tell you I love you, that I care for you. I even help you in the kitchen.

For a time, I think it's working. More and more I see that real smile. More and more you really look at me, not from the side or with that distant gaze. And yet, you still haven't reached out to touch me yourself. You still haven't asked me to join you in bed. And you still haven't told me you love me without me telling you first.

But I won't give in. It's only early yet.

The next Friday we make love. I take it slow, knowing you prefer it that way. You don't tell me, but I can see it in your face. I'm seeing more and more in your face. You might not say much, but I'm getting to know you better.

I'm finally getting to know you.

I push in deep and from there I rock against your hips, gently, taking my time. There's no forceful thrusting like I used to. Though it's taking some getting used to, I'm starting to prefer it this way. I feel closer to you. I kiss the nape of your neck because it makes you shiver. Then kiss your lips, sliding my tongue gently against yours. I murmur your name in your ear.

I can feel the pressure building in my balls but I resist the urge to finish too quickly. Not until you're ready. Not until you're done. After a minute or so, I feel your body tense against mine. You twist your fists into the sheets as you arch your neck with a gasp. Your breasts press up against my chest and I can feel your heart thudding madly against your ribs.

Almost there.

I push in deep, again and again, this time allowing myself to lose control. I grunt, then gasp just as you suck in a breath. I can feel your vagina grip my shaft tightly, clenching and unclenching, clenching and unclenching. I cannot believe it. We've come together!

We hold each other, panting, still one person as we enjoy the hot, throbbing throes of our mutual pleasure. My eyes prickle with moisture. I can't explain what I'm feeling. It's something new.

I kiss you and hug you and smooth my hands down your back as we rest on our sides together, our bodies, breath and heat intertwined. I thread my fingers through yours as we gaze at each other. You're really looking at me, not through me as you once were. You're not smiling but there's something about your eyes that makes me think that you want to.

It's good enough for me.