The Sounds of Silence

I could almost calculate the seconds of silence against how much Jim’s cock would grow, and in his case, it grew plenty; we had certainly not been led to my cuckolding him over any size inadequacy on his part. Mostly it had been my insatiable need for a variety of dick, as much when I was first fucking as now ten years later, that had set this taut arraignment between my new man and me…any man and me, actually. But me coming to Jim’s bedroom, like this, him lying naked, still, hard and face up on his bed trying to peak at me as much as smelling my latest man’s cologne circle him, added a special thrill to my usual stepping out.

Some men took to my fucking other guys, some guys simply broke up with me over it, but Jim had embraced my needing sex from other while dating someone steady to an entirely different level. He wanted to hear detailed accounts of where I had been, with whom and how exactly the sex had progressed.He revel in his powerlessness to stop me and wanted to pay for it in the act of contrition of hearing every dastardly detail. But the moments just before telling the long, lanky man lying here under me, the ticking dripping thrill of his cock pounding and my pussy growing wetter by the second as we just locked hard to each other and anticipated—me in the telling, him in the listening—was something I had never yet experienced.

Barry, my latest lover, a lanky 22-year-old Filipino college junior with deep-set brown eyes, a heavy accent and incredibly long-fingered hands had pounded me hard tonight. I wasn’t sure, even if I had wanted Jim inside me, that I could have really managed another fucking so soon after the hard one Barry had managed. He wasn’t as big as Jim, but it had been his youthful enthusiasm more than the size of his dick that had given me such a blistering fast and brutal ride and frankly had left me a little sore and thankfully him coming quickly.

I’d be sure to let Jim in on how jackhammer hard a man ten years his junior could be. “Ca…Claire,” Jim moaned while twisting to watch me finally flick off my bra. I smiled his way and gave each little pink nipple a tweak when my C Cups were freed. “Tell me already, come on.” I smiled even wider, sat next to him and leaned down to start my precise, detailed recitation of Barry’s prowess.

But something passed Jim’s deep beady blue-eyed gaze then, surely imperceptible if I hadn’t been so close, studying his handsome face at that second, thinking at that moment that maybe I should strip down completely, mount my boyfriend’s mouth with my aching pussy and tell him the story of Barry, so Jim could only moan at what I related. However, what I realized (or rationalized) from Jim’s look, his chin quivering, his cock bouncing and reddening, his wide muscular pecks falling and his smile spreading was that he…did…not…want…me…to…tell…him. He, as much as me, wanted the silence to continue this night. He wanted to conjure all kinds of possibilities of what the only woman who had ever cuckolded him (that he knew about) had been up to. In the infinite potential of not knowing, one can plunder depths so lifelike and depraved, even the wildest sex I had had in my years couldn’t match what could be imagined by this thirty-two-year-old man, I knew.

So I stood then, stripped completely, strummed my pussy a bit then sat on the bed next to Jim as he took his cock in hand, but didn’t dare jerk it (he was only ever allowed to do that when I completed my story) and stayed silent as Jim ached, grew harder and we both learned our lesson about the true power in the sound of silence.

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