“You love it, Jeffrey,” she would breathe huskily, the words rolling off her lips and enveloping me in a fog of desire as her fingers caressed my hair and provided a subtle pressure on my scalp. “And I aim to take full advantage of it. A boy like you, a true Frenchman, is a rare delight.” Mrs. Brown was a saucy little blonde divorcee who rented me a room and a bath during my last semester of graduate school, almost twenty years ago, and I’m sure that to this day, a sexy smile makes her lips curve when she thinks about me. My memories of her are equally fond and precious.
In 1970, the Southern college town was loaded with ripe, nubile coeds suitably inspirational to provide abundant plying of my lusty addiction. Yet the fertile field proved a mirage. Most of the alluring maidens were earnestly pursuing MRS. degrees. While my initial qualifications being in the right program (business), appearing presentable (my socks matched and my eyes were more or less evenly aligned) and having the right pedigree (former high school jock status) gained me frequent dates, my inevitable attempts to give head were rebuffed or, at best, unenthusiastically tolerated.
I was branded perverted or accused of being disrespectful or allowed a few fast, tentative licks before being impatiently hauled up to commence with the “good stuff.” As a whole, the blushing maidens were just too shy, too inexperienced or too narrow minded to appreciate my erotic obsession. But Mrs. Brown, a wise thirty six at the time and ex wife of a local good ole boy who thought eating pussy was the vile practice of lesbians, was tailor made for me when she came into my life.
Mrs. Brown quickly became much more to me than a landlady. She’d traveled extensively in her privileged youth, and many evenings she ignited my imagination with tales of New York, London and Paris. She was well versed in art, literature and European history, and our almost nightly talks became a ritual I craved. We became friends, then confidantes as she weaned me from beer in a can to wine in crystal. She complimented me on my maturity, and we even halfheartedly fantasized about dusting off the backwoods dirt of the hick college town and striking out for a rich, varied life together in some distant cultural center.
A lot of it was nothing more than the wishful thinking of isolated, aroused people just waiting for the right excuse to tumble into bed. What was vividly real, however, was the vast, enlightening difference between bedding Mrs. Brown and the hurried, awkward mating with sorority house coeds. And the first night Mrs. Brown invited me into her bed, I realized just how grand eating pussy could be when the act was appreciated and encouraged.
We stripped each other on that long ago evening and eased into a snug embrace, the moonlight filtering through the window and painting our nudity with pale, soft hues. My passion ignited as I ran my hand over her pleasingly plump, firm breasts and down over her warm, smooth belly to the silky cluster of sweet, damp curls covering her pussy. I knew I wouldn’t be able to resist kissing my way to the moist, furry center of her, where my caressing fingers dallied.
When I began the erotic journey of a lifetime, nibbling my way across her breasts and belly, I heard her startled little gasp and immediately tensed in expectation of again being stymied or stalled. My excitement surged when, instead, her lithesome thighs parted. A subtle shifting of her hips made her silent invitation a blaring announcement of her assent.
“Yes, Jeff! Oh, yes!” she breathed, her voice light and soft as cottonwood fuzz floating in a summer breeze, just as my lips grazed her fleecy vaginal covering.
My cock was rigid as I kissed the insides of her thighs. A low, lusty sigh of pleasure escaped my lips, and I was filled with raunchy anticipation. Her fingers lingered on my sinking, bobbing head, again signaling her ready acceptance of my oral intentions. And now I heard her soft sigh of happy surprise as my lips were drawn to the moist wonder of her womanhood.
I gazed directly into her vulva before aiming my tongue between the lips. Slowly I slid the tip of my tongue up and down the spicy crevice, spreading her outer lips more with every stroke, thrilling to this delicate splitting of her labia and the tasting of her precious nectar within.
At the same time, Mrs. Brown spread her legs even wider, raised her knees and, with a not so subtle pressure of her fingers on the back of my head, she pushed my face tighter against her wet pussy. We both swooned now as I really began the feast I craved.
I devoured her, gluttonously licking and sucking and kissing the quivering folds and petals of her mysterious sex until, when I was near the top of her slit, she throatily breathed the single word “There!”
My lips caressed the hard little bud as I pushed my face even tighter against the mushy sweetness of her cunt. Instinctively I tongue whipped the magical bud, then sucked it gently, focusing my attention on it and treating it like a sensitive, responsive nipple. Spurred by her squeals and moans of ecstasy and the increasing undulations of her hips and pelvis, I continued my ad libbed manipulations of her clit until she clutched my scalp, clapped her trembling thighs against my head and shuddered violently. Amid her breathless cries, her lovely round ass bounced up and down on the bed. A glance up through her curly tuft revealed her undulating belly, her breasts rising high and proudly and her lovely, passion twisted face. Her head moved from side to side and her short blonde hair swished over the starched white pillowcase. She was gorgeous.
“French me!” she wailed at the very peak of her involuntary gyrations. “French me!” My stiffened tongue drilled straight into her soaked vagina, pushing through the engorged petals, which split apart and seemed to suck up my tongue. Mrs. Brown’s immediate gasp grew into a quivering shriek that seemed to spark an electric jolt in my rampant cock. The deep, throaty cry continued as her humping became a desperate, demanding action designed to meet each rapid thrust of my tongue, to intensify the tantalizing friction of her pussy robbing against my pressing mouth. Then she gave a final hoarse yelp and her whole sexy body arched and stiffened momentarily before she suddenly collapsed and went limp, wilting like an overheated flower.
Her legs fell open, freeing my head, although I couldn’t resist continuing to sample the delightfully tangy juices that clung to every delicate tissue of her cunt like a sugary glaze. Besides the sounds of my leisurely licking were Mrs. Brown’s soft whimpers and murmurings until, eventually, as my tongue continued to stroke and lave her pussy, her breathing became heavy and her voice husky as she sighed, “Your turn.”
She ignored my embarrassment when she discovered that I’d ejaculated while eating her. With calm precision and expertise, she brought me back to urgent, throbbing need with her mouth. Nibbling and licking every inch of my cock and balls, Mrs. Brown had me on the brink of another orgasm when she rolled onto her back, threw her legs up and guided my cock into her slick pussy. We fucked with the fury of intense passion, savagely thrusting and humping until we came within seconds of each other.
My remaining months with Mrs. Brown were all too fleeting. It was a golden time in which she took me under her wing and provided an education for a young man.
We made weekend forays into the closest big cities to tour museums and watch art house movies. Steamy French films were our favorite. The English subtitles would go unnoticed as I gazed mesmerized at the erotic love scenes with the urbane, sophisticated players, especially when the debonair man would go down on the alluring lady and make her come unglued in a frenzied passion.
And Mrs. Brown, with a smug smile, would fondle my erection through my pants in the darkened theater and purr that I was her sophisticated lover, a real Frenchman, capable of rendering any woman of my choosing mad with passion and adoration.
Aroused beyond belief, we would hurry back to our motel room and emulate the sex scenes. But nothing was ever better than having her in the throes of orgasmic ecstasy, moaning loudly, grinding away at my face and whispering her urgent pleas for me to French her, to be her Frenchman. At those moments I felt truly powerful, a genuine seducer of sophisticated women worthy of my sensitivity and capable of appreciating me notions that Mrs. Brown had instilled and reinforced during the hours I had ravished her pussy with my tongue.
Eventually, we lost contact, and I followed my career to New York. A five year marriage, more a professional arrangement than one of bliss, ended predictably in divorce. There were other women and casual relationships, mostly forgettable and uneventful, as the years rolled by, bringing an increasing absorption in work and career.
Then Colleen, earnest and intense, the down home molasses still slowing her words, walked into my office. Her dark, brown hair curled just to her shoulders, contrasting deliciously with the creamy white flesh and delicate, lovely features of her youthful face. She was perhaps five foot five and could’ve been called petite if not for the voluptuousness of her shapely hips and generous, full breasts.
A perfect blend of naive innocence and devastating sensuality, she was ripe for the bursting with the proper patient assistance, that is. She was obviously unaware of her natural beauty and of my instantaneous attraction to her.
Unassumingly and confidently, she gave her presentation, though it was difficult for me to concentrate on anything except her full lips, the alert, intelligent gleam in her blue eyes and the natural feminine grace of her motions. I could visualize kissing my way down her lovely body, burying my head between her luscious thighs and feasting on the fragrant, frothy wellspring of her succulent womanhood. I longed to unlock the treasures of her femininity and feast on her essence.
Somehow I managed to sound professional and to obstruct my erection as I invited her to lunch.
The next few weeks were a whirlwind of hectic activity, both professionally and personally. Colleen and I spent our days working closely together. Our nights and weekends, however, became a cultural swirl in many ways reminiscent of my graduate school days with Mrs. Brown but now I found myself cast in the role of teacher and guide tutoring my delightful and eager pupil, conducting the education of a young woman.
At twenty six, Colleen had been consumed with her career ever since her divorce a few years before. Her professional rise had brought her to New York and, eventually, into my office. After business hours, however, the confident young woman seemed to hide, to become overshadowed by the innocent, shy small town girl. It was that innocence and shyness that extended into the bedroom. Cautiously and patiently, I waited until the third time we went to bed together before I attempted to eat her luscious pussy.
My excitement overwhelmed me, added to greatly by my conviction that she’d never experienced this intimate form of lovemaking. I wanted everything to be perfect.
Colleen was nervous even as I undressed her that particular night. She seemed to sense that something different was going to happen. And although her pinkish nipples were taut with anticipatory arousal even before I sucked and tongued them, I recognized the brittle tension of fear slipping into her.
I lingered at her breasts for an unusually long time, loving the pleasure of delighting her nipples with my lips, tongue and fingers while also attempting to lose her fear in a fog of erotic stimulation. When at last I began to slowly and tenderly kiss my way down her stomach, she gasped and tensed. I kissed the top of her dark, lustrous triangle and hesitated.
“What are you going to do?” she breathed.
“You know,” I whispered.
She trembled when I again lowered my head, and it took supreme self discipline for me not to ravish her enticing, beautiful cunt. Instead I licked slowly along the insides of her thighs, moving from one to the other gingerly, tentatively letting her feel the sensations through her tension. Patiently I continued this process, until she gradually opened her legs wider for me.
At last I slowly licked around her pussy, tracing the outline of her pubic triangle with the tip of my tongue and closing the outline more and more with every revolution until my mouth was on her puffy vaginal lips. Again I proceeded slowly, licking my way along her wet and delicious slit until her squirming and writhing became so uncontrollable that I had to grasp her hips with my hands, open my mouth wide and suck her cunt vigorously.
Suddenly she was like a tigress unleashed. Her timid little sighs became husky wails. The tremors in legs became wild spasms. The sheer ecstasy she felt must have completely defeated any lingering fear and nervousness. She began to hump her pussy against my face and clutch at my hair, her inhibitions shattered by the tremendous surge of electrical pleasure that blasted her.
There was no mistaking her orgasm, nor the subsequent series of orgasms triggered by the first one. Her joyous wails grew hoarse and ragged, and then, when I found her clit, sucked it between my teeth and tongue whipped it, her cries became shrill and piercing. Her sexy body seemed to sizzle as every muscle convulsed and pulsated. But nothing compared to her reaction when I drove my tongue into her slick vagina.
Colleen’s deep, throaty cries continued and her whole body shuddered with enough intensity to practically loosen my lip lock on her pussy. Her climax was explosive and contagious, as her shuddering sent erotic pulsations rippling through me. Her ecstasy became mine it passed from her to me and forever joined us. And for the second time in my life, my own orgasm was sparked by the sensation of igniting a woman with my mouth.
I lay between her thighs for a long time afterward, leisurely lapping at her, soothing her lust seared cunt. I treasured the sound of her soft, purring whimpers and her caressing touch as her fingers lazily fluttered through my hair, petting my head. I could have stayed right there the whole night, devouring her vibrant femininity, cherishing the sight and taste of her, but I would have missed the radiant, lusty gleam in her eyes that signaled a
bright recovery. A new dimension to her sexuality had been discovered, and Colleen had loved it.
In the weeks that followed, Colleen became almost insatiable in her desire for cunnilingus. She was like a kid who, having tasted ice cream for the first time, now couldn’t get enough. Of course, I didn’t complain, especially since her newfound addiction to oral sex cut both ways. Eagerly, wantonly, she applied my techniques for eating her to her oral craving for my cock. And, always the perfectionist when faced with a challenge, she persistently practiced her cocksucking until she could effortlessly deep throat my whole erection and gulp my ejaculate without hesitation.
Colleen and I have now been together for a year. Our relationship has evolved from teacher and student to that of husband and wife. And to say my bride is overjoyed by my unquenchable desire for oral sex would be an understatement. There is no shred of the nervous, shy innocent now when Colleen assertively straddles my head, positions her lovely ass over my face and lowers her pussy onto my mouth. It has become our standard prelude to lovemaking, and, quite frequently, it serves as the main course, as she often opts to lean forward with her face bring me off with her mouth.
I’m sure Mrs. Brown would be pleased to know I’ve found a woman who truly appreciates my oral talents. She might even agree that me capturing a beautiful and brainy young woman like Colleen was an ultimate French trick.
