110 - No Boundaries

Mommy and Me

April 5, 2012

Just a quick note this time around while Mommy waits for Daddy to get out of the shower.  We just got back from having a casual dinner in the hotel restaurant, where we played something Daddy calls ‘Game Face’ while we ate.  It’s an activity that he made up on our first actual date and, for some reason, he thought it would be fun to play it again this evening. 

‘Game Face’ is a lot like acting school, I guess you would say.  The basic premise is to not let your facial expression reveal what your actual conversation is about.  It can be very useful if you’re having an argument that you don’t want anyone to know about, but you’re stuck in a crowd.  Don’t worry though, we weren’t arguing.  Daddy was just being silly.  He thinks he’s much better at the game than I am.  He is, but I’m improving so I’d rather not admit that to him. 

Overall, it’s been another nice day on vacation.  Santa Monica Pier was fun.  Your brothers flew like trapeze artists, played in the arcade and even did a bit of fishing off the pier.  Your daddy was such a good sport about indulging Mommy in what SHE wanted to do that she’s going to have to be extra nice to him tonight.

“What the hell?  You had better not be leaving our sexual exploits as your ‘legacy’ for the twins.”

Sheridan’s ink pen slid across the page in an ugly blue mark as she jerked with a surprised gasp.  Spinning around as far as the cozy armchair would allow, she scowled at the man who had just snuck up behind her.

“Jesus, Jon!  You scared me!”

“When are you going to let me read that thing?  I’m suddenly a little concerned at what you’ve been writing in there.”

If his tone had been accusatory or sharp, she would have bristled and snapped at him, but it wasn’t.  His face was relaxed as his tone and his eyes carried a spark of benign curiosity. 

“Whenever you want.”  She offered him the open book.  “You can have it right now.”

He never glanced toward the journal.  His attention remained fixated on the front of her shirt, where the journal had been.  It hid the femininely pink scrawl across her new white night shirt.

“Later.  What’s the shirt say?  I will do …what?”

She bit the inside of her mouth as she closed the journal, putting it on the chair-side table as her feet slid from the chair’s seat cushion to the floor.  Taking a step back, she held her arms out so that he could read the oversized garment that fell to the top of her thighs. 

I will do all manner of depraved,

dirty, slutty and shameful things

to be your “good girl”

His right eyebrow crept up his forehead and she noticed for the first time that he was wearing nothing but a pair of gym shorts.  Hands propping on hips that were just short of being left bare by the drooping waistband of those shorts, he drawled, “Well, now I know what prompted that little scene at the fortune teller’s stand.”

“You like it?” she asked innocently, exercising full authority over her facial expression in an effort not to grin with delight. 

For his part, he chose to remain aloof, folding his arms over the pectoral muscles that she knew were well defined under the coating of salt-and-pepper chest hair.  “It’s just a t-shirt, baby.”

“Oh.”  She rearranged her arms to mimic his pose.  He liked it.  She could see the wickedness seeping from his pores as he mulled over a thousand ways to make her live up to the promise.  “Then I assume you’re not interested in my offer.  That’s probably for the best.  I’m pretty tired, so I’ll just go on to bed.”

His arm shot out like Indiana Jones’s bullwhip, curling into the crook of her elbow and reeling her into the muscle-laden confinement of his arms.  “Don’t even think about it,” he cautioned.  “I’ll sue you for false-advertising and breach of promise.  You owe me depraved, dirty, slutty and shameful, Mrs. Bongiovi.”

Lifting her chin, she adopted a look of boredom.  “It’s just a t-shirt, baby.”

“Okay, fine.  It’s hot as hell.  You’re a sex kitten, but I’ve never thought of you as dirty or slutty – or willing to go with depraved or shameful.”  He bumped his hips forward, pushing the tell-tale hardness of his interest into her leg.  “It’s opened up the kinky Pandora’s box of my mind.”

“You’re an idiot,” she observed affectionately, resting her forearms atop his shoulders and pushing her thigh into his erection.  “I’ve told you what it does to me when you say ‘good girl’ during sex.  For YOU and that rush, I’d be all of those things every single night.”

A muscle in his jaw jumped in time with the much harder muscle she was now rubbing with her leg. “So long as I tell you what a good girl you are, you’d wear fishnet hose, stilettos and shiny vampire-red lipstick?  Then drop to your knees and beg to suck my cock for the sole pleasure of tasting my cum?”

For him, she would do that and more. 

“Yes.”

His hands slid below the swell of her buttocks and he forced his thigh between hers.  The hard muscles rippled against her satin-sheathed mound as he demanded, “You’d lick every inch of my balls while humming ‘Let’s Get It On’?  You’d hump my leg, begging me to fuck you and, when I refuse, you’d get yourself off while I watch?”

Her panties should not be damp.  She was a refined woman.  She had higher morals and standards than to degrade herself like this.  And if it were anybody else in the world speaking to her in such a manner, she would walk away without a second thought.  She might have even walked away from him for saying those things at one point.

But not now.  When he put the wedding ring on her finger, she gave herself over to him and the cocoon of their marriage completely.  His words weren’t degrading, and she knew that he never intended for them to be.  

Her body was his.  His body was hers.  The two of them together were free to explore without judgment or remorse.  To test their boundaries.

Even though she’d tied herself to this one man for the rest of her life, somehow she’d never felt so free.

“Call me your good girl and I’ll do anything you want,” she breathed, another rush of desire assailing her when his eyes dilated.  “Anything.”

“And you will.” 

His wide hands pushed through the sides of her hair, sifting it through blunt-tipped fingers.  Heavy lids nearly cloaked his eyes as he singed her skin with a mere look. 

“Tell me, then.”  Her voice was a tiny sound, like a breeze blowing through the French doors.  “What can I do to please you, love?”

Fingers that were splayed clenched into fists and he tipped her head back, bending to nip at the cord in her neck.  He used his knee to the soft cotton tail of the suggestive shirt higher up her thigh and she shivered at the coarse hair assaulting her smooth leg.

“You call those damn articles of yours erotic fiction.”  Even though his breath was hot, it felt unreasonably cool against her damp skin.  “I wanna know what that erotic mind of yours can come up with when true porn is your objective.  Tell me a bedtime story, Kitten.”

“As you please, but shouldn’t we be in bed for that?”

He was silent, staring at her with barely restrained lust in his eyes for a long moment before bending at the waist and scooping her up, striding into the bedroom and dropping her lightly on the bed.  “Get naked.  I want you to act out the story too.  Be my own private porn star.”

The nipples of her swollen breasts hardened painfully at the mental picture painted by that decree.  There was no testing boundaries tonight.  There were no boundaries – not in her mind anyway.

She stripped away the shirt as he dropped his shorts to the floor and crawled onto the bed.  Leaning himself against the headboard, Jon wrapped a loose fist around his cock and stroked once, swiping the bead of moisture from its tip. 

Her breasts swayed heavily as she crept slowly toward him on her hands and knees.  She saw that his face was a study in concentration as he kept close tabs on her every move when she slunk closer and closer, finally rising part-way to her knees.

“Once upon a time,” she began, cupping the weight of one breast in her hand and pushing the rigid tip between his lips.  “There was a rock star...”

Even, white teeth nibbled at it as the denial came from a deep grunt in his chest.  “No,” he mumbled around his treat.  “No rock star.”

Everyone else’s fantasy was his reality.  That was okay, she got it. 

“There was a wealthy old man...”  She gasped when he bit down a little harder.  “...who liked having sex with younger women.”

He released the nipple, leaving it glistening as he protested.  “Fucking younger women.  This is porn, baby.  Use the nasty words.”

“He looooved fucking hot, young women,” she obliged, pushing the other nipple in his mouth and heating up at the deliciously dirty dialogue that was building in her mind.  “When he didn’t have one in his bed, he jacked off thinking about their tight, wet... pussies.”

“And mouths.”

“And mouths.”  Her fingernails traced down the center of his chest, following the happy trail of hair down to his straining erection.  “He loved their mouths almost as much as their pussies, especially when...” 

She gently disengaged herself from his lips and scooted around on her knees, bowing to kiss the bulging purple tip. 

“... they sucked his stiff cock into their mouths and ran their tongues up the silky shaft...”  Hers took a corresponding swipe up his underside.  “...and licked that salty drop from the slit.  Mmmmm........”  The clear pearl of arousal disappeared with one lash of her tongue. 

His head fell back briefly when he groaned, “Fuck, yeah.  Keep going.”

“There was one younger woman in particular that caught his fancy.  He loved to mark her as his by biting every inch of her creamy skin...” 

On and on she went, outlining the life of a sexual addict for whom enough was never enough until he met his match in a beautiful erotica writer.  She would engage the man in concentrated research for each and every one of her sex scenes, doing it over and over again until it was exactly the way she wanted it to be.

It was unlike anything they’d done before.  There were no reservations, only trust and pleasure that built, mounted, and expanded until he finally rasped, “God, you’re such a good girl.  You’re my good girl, aren’t you, Kitten?”

That sent her into another dimension, dragging a growling, snarling Jon with her.  The intensity of her release might be attributed to the fact they hadn’t been alone together in days, but she felt more sated than she could ever recall. 

Jon must be feeling pretty good himself, she thought when he curled around her back, snugging his arm up under her breasts.

“Do you know how much I love you?”

She chuckled softly, glancing over her shoulder at him.  “A good orgasm makes you romantic.”

“I’m serious, Sheridan.”  He scooted back, encouraging her to roll toward him.  There was still a sheen of sweat on his forehead, and the hair there was soaked, but he wasn’t thinking about how he looked.  He was looking at her and she was a little surprised to see his heart in his eyes.  “This life of ours is all kinds of fucked up and it didn’t really start out the way I would’ve wanted.  I wanna know that you aren’t keeping some crazy idea tucked in the back of your head, thinking that this was about the babies and not you.”

Gently pushing on his shoulder, she continued to push until he was on his back and she could climb up and straddle his hips.  Sheridan found her balance and laced her fingers through his, pressing their palms together against his chest. 

“I know you love me,” she assured him with a soft smile.  “You’re a very persuasive man, but even you couldn’t have convinced me to marry you without knowing that.  Do you know how much I love you?”

His reciprocal smile was warm enough to melt better.  “I only act like a self-involved schmuck.  I realize you gave up life as you knew it to be with me.”

“Good.  I’d hate to think I married a moron.”  Feeling a hard flutter in her abdomen she grinned and brought his hands to cradle her belly.  “Can you feel that?”

Sparkling eyes danced with subdued excitement and he wiggled his palm just a little to resituate it.  “I’ll be damned.  I can finally tell they’re moving.”

“That’s their way of saying they love you, too, Daddy.”