by Gael Greene
The smallest movement woke her every time. Damn it. Barney tried for a moment to recapture the teasing image of his interrupted dream. But Debra’s questing knee chased the images away. I can’t even groan in my sleep, thought Barney. Can’t turn over, certainly can’t get up and take a leak without knowing she will start, stretch, sigh, moan, cry out...and, from the dimmest blurred instinct that moved her hand long before her brain came fully awake, reach out for me.
“What have we here?” cooed Debra, coming alert with instant possessiveness.
“We” indeed. Barney’s pretty, freckled, myopic explorer, Debra. What have we indeed, insatiable wanton. What did she expect to find between his legs? A piano? In her sleep now she went down on him, waking with him in her mouth. Barney was thinking about the clock radio set to activate in minutes. And the hospital-board meeting this morning. He would have very little time to touch base with his staff in the Emergency Room. And there was the laundry to drop off on Columbus Avenue. No one warns you about the dumb details of divorce. Oh well, hell. It felt good. Barney gave in to it. How could a dirty aging young man resist? For a moment he was distracted by Debra’s artistry. God, she could suck cock. For a woman born hating the morning she certainly had vast inner resources for sucking cock. He watched her turning herself on, still in a semisomnolent state, rubbing her pussy on his knee as she made love to him. No disgusting slurping sounds, just pressure and touch. Exquisite interruptions, little teasing licks. Then a sudden capture. Barney could feel the back of her throat. He shuddered. Barney heard her crying, heard his moan, felt himself close to coming but decided to hold back. He lifted her off his cock. Threw her onto the bed, pushing her knees back to her shoulders, opening that cunt already wet, always wet, that wonderful slippery welcome, changing the angle slightly.