Free The Obedient Wife by Carolyn Faulkner Page A

fingers, she was coming loudly to her second completion, and didn’t show any signs of stopping.
    He stood there as he tried to catch his breath, marveling at her, wishing male anatomy allowed for such feats of sexual prowess as achieving ten or so orgasms at a clip without so much as breaking a sweat.
    As he climbed into bed beside her, tugging her up to his side from where she had collapsed into an incoherent lump at the end of the bed, holding her tight as she shuddered her way back down to Earth within the safety of his arms, still marveling at her whole-hearted response to him and her infinite capacity for pleasure.
    He’d admitted his envy of that component of being a woman - and only that component.  He was too much of a man to covet much of anything else about being female.  Ginger had tried to explain to him that it was wonderful, but - at least as far as she was concerned - that it really was a law of diminishing returns.  Her first orgasm was always the best.  When she was single and able to bring herself off any time she liked, she still stopped at about five orgasms, simply because her body became progressively more and more sensitive, to the point that there really wasn’t much of an explosion or culmination - just more, less satisfying, muscle spasms.
    But as many times as she reiterated that point to him, he still found himself endlessly fascinated by just the mere possibility of long strings of orgasms he knew he’d never be able to have.
    For him, unfortunately, they’d met too late in life for that - not that he’d done much of it even when he was young.  He figured he could count on one hand the number of times in his life that he’d been able to cum twice in a row, and the instances had diminished considerably the older he got - even with the love of his life.
    But Ginger was another matter.
    Even now, he couldn’t keep his hand from wandering down between them to let that curious finger of his part her lips and find the little nub of flesh he’d been seeking.  He knew that sometimes, when she’d cum a lot, she needed it fast and furious to get there again, and sometime she needed it slow and very, very light.
    He went for light first, and was rewarded by a deep groan.
    “ Nooooooo ,” she whispered raggedly, but she knew better than to close her legs to him.
    “Oh yes, Lovely.”  He buried his face in the curtain of her hair, breathing deeply of the perfumey scent of her shampoo.  “You know how much I love to make you cum.”
    “But I just . . . ! ”
    He didn’t answer her almost complaint, just continued to avidly read her face and every movement of her body, but mostly her eyes, which she locked with his while he made subtle adjustments to the pressure and speed of his bold caresses after adding a dollop of lube to his finger and replacing it, right where it had been, and picking up the thread of her arousal as if he hadn’t missed a beat.
    “You know I’m going to have to do that to you again, don’t you?”
    “Do what?” she asked.  Arousal made her deeply stupid.
    “Have you go out in public wearing your little friends.”
    “Public?” she parroted back to him, trying for alarm but not quite reaching it through the layers of pure arousal he was conjuring in her.
    “Yes.  I think the next time we go have dinner with my parents you’ll be humming along the entire time.”
    She wanted to argue with him - well, as much as she ever could.  She wanted to protest - loudly - and do her best to change his mind, but every bit of her body was tensed and readying itself for the orgasm he was hurtling her towards and it couldn’t be bothered to spare her the brain cells necessary to do that.
    All she got out was a soft, “No,” but it sounded more like she was protesting his caresses than his devious plan.
    “Oh yes, my love.  You’re going to be sitting at the Olive Garden,” which was his parents’ favorite restaurant, “in one of those maroon and wood chairs