Free Crush by Cecile de la Baume Page B

she begged eagerly, deeply aroused by his hoarse voice and curt orders. It made her shiver with masochistic submissiveness, assigning her a role as sweet as it was painless.
    —Here! Take it! he demanded, his stern disdain adding spice to this delectable exercise.
    She proceeded. Propelling her tongue orbit-like around his prick as though licking her chops, she gluttonously lapped up the drops oozing from the furrow of his glans. Narrowing her lips, she suckled at the crown of his cock, tonguing the ridge etched down its length.
    —Yes, that’s right, suck me hard, David spurred her on, lurching into her mouth, his hands flat on her head, sustaining and prolonging Amélie’s voluptuous inspiration.
    Amélie impaled herself onto David’s stiff rod, retracting his foreskin with her fleshy lips. Guiding his length down her gullet, she squeezed him between sucked-in cheeks, licking the tip of his prick wedged against her palate. Then she drew back, smoothing out the loose tunic of flesh wrinkle by wrinkle while she fingered the weight of his balls, rolling them in her hand as if testing them.
    —Oh, that’s so good . . . You’re a real fine little tart . . . Go on! gasped David.
    With her tongue, Amélie took the pulse of David’s desire, adapting her pace to the reflexes of his penis. When hislarge balls grew suddenly compact under her fingers, she glanced up. Countering his sudden dizziness, David firmly grasped the sides of the desk. He let out a yell, his knees buckling. She felt the spasms of his cock in her mouth, the spurting of his cum down her throat.
    She sucked him tenderly holding his hand, waiting for the troublesome vulnerability of his uncontrollable emotions to subside. Then like a drinker after downing a foamy pint of beer, she wiped her lips with the back of her hand.
    —You killed me! he groaned, reeling.
    —My poor darling, whispered a falsely compassionate Amélie. You have exactly two minutes before your next appointment. I’m leaving now.
    She pulled up panties and stockings, with the quick precision of one who, although aflutter, never lost her faculties. She looked at David, haggard, his trousers bunched about his ankles, and her own detachment struck her as a triumphant, heady whiff of freedom, a new independence defying her addiction to David. She added before leaving:
    —No hard feelings, I hope, my angel? Call me.
    She headed toward the door; David stopped her:
    —Amélie . . . I love you.
    She turned around as she was about to cross the threshold of his office. She smiled at him. Light-headed and sated, she savored the taste of his semen lingering in her mouth. Outside, it was a beautiful day.

CHAPTER FIVE
    —You must be kidding, you’re not serious, are you? was Amélie’s response to David’s telephone call at her office announcing the following news:
    —No . . . yes . . . well . . . I’m moving next week.
    It was quite unexpected. David had spoken to her of the house at Saint-Germain-en-Laye he had bought for his family. It remained empty after the departure for Morocco of his former wife and son. He used to say he’d sell it, and now he was moving in!
    —You’ll see, it’s a beautiful house . . .
    He went on praising his property with all the smooth sales talk of a real estate broker, listing the various advantages of suburban existence, particularly west of Paris, with its spacious houses and conveniently close shopping malls.
    Amélie couldn’t help spotting the clichés in his chaff as if she were drawing up a detailed inventory. Her own fiercenesstroubled her. She saw herself as a once-domesticated hunting dog, returned to its true nature. Was she disappointed? With David living outside of Paris, they’d see each other less frequently. Or was she vexed not to have been consulted? Cutting remarks were clogging the back of her throat. She kept herself from voicing them, back pedaling so as to reestablish a climate of loving goodwill.
    After all, she reasoned, David was