Napoleon mon amour, Part 13: “It was great. Jaat khaali,” I answered with a smile that deliberately revealed too much
December 25, 2006
I saw him that Sunday. He was not supposed to call until Monday. But since she suddenly had to go to work he was freed up to see me. And moi, the ever accommodating mistress, was delighted. He picked me up and we went to lunch. I acted a bit distant but could not hide a certain lightness that comes with having been naughty. Now, the truth is I don’t feel like I owe Napoleon, my love, any loyalty. Not only does he live with another woman but he is the type, as I mentioned early on in these series, who will not hesitate for a moment to fuck someone else should the opportunity arise. So being disloyal to him is an oxymoron and in fact to use Islamic parlance, not only halal, meaning legitimate, but even vajeb, absolutely necessary.
To my delight I realized this summer that with all his libertinism and echangism, he is fully capable of ordinary jealousy. It is much more subtle form of jealousy. He is most jealous of people I consider intellectually interesting. Sure of his penis, he doubts instead his rather solid but less tested intellect. But this summer when a male friend of his flirted with me consistently over a long period, my beloved lover, our own Iranian Vicomte de Valmont actually became insanely jealous. It was odd to see this kind of reaction in a man whose greatest turn-on is to see another man fuck his woman. But we are all human and men are even more competitive than most women and sooner or later they all become possessive.
I like telling him about my escapades away from him. Largely because they work erotically. And this last one was with a woman which meant that he would not only not mind but actually reward me for it. In a big way!
When he picked me up he had not a clue what I had done at the party. He thought I had spent another weekend thinking about him, waiting for his call. But noooooooooooo. Pas moi. The ever pro-active, post-feminist, single mom with a mighty pen!
We went to our usual restaurant in the hill behind our residence and had a great lunch of Truchia which is a blette (a locally grown spinach-like herb) omelet and rose wine. When we came back to his place and settled on the couch he asked me, “So how was the party aroosak?” Now, anyone who knows me knows that I am the furthest thing from an aroosak (which means doll, like Jack Nicholson used in that movie about the old playboy!). Not only do I not remotely resemble one now, but I did not even when I was a little girl. And surely anyone who can eat pussy the way I did the other night is not exactly an aroosak. But, you know, I am too old to fret over feminist semantics and realize that his calling me ‘aroosak’ is meant as a simple term of endearment that he probably used on his last Iranian girlfriend who probably fit the role a bit better than me. Anyway anything but a ‘fat bitch’ works for me. No, even that in the heat of sex is fine!
“It was great. Jaat khaali,” I answered with a smile that deliberately revealed too much.
“Oh? That good. Tell me.” He put his arms around me. He was jealous I can by now tell afraid that I fucked a guy with a better kir!
I told him slowly and with relish. I finished my story. He put my hand on the prominent erection packed beneath his jeans. I get wet touching it. There are very few pleasures more delicious than touching a good hard-on under jeans. Sticky Fingers album cover is what I think each time I do this.
I start rubbing his penis. Just the right pressure. Not too hard not too soft and with an relish that only real desire can provide. A touch confident in its intentions one that says, “I really love doing this.”
But I don’t let him unzip or slip my hand in his pants. I want to keep it dry for longer. His face drops to my cleavage and he seeks my nipples. I grab one breast squeeze one nipple between my fingers and take it near his mouth and quickly back as he tries to nibble it. I do this teasing several times until he can’t take it anymore. With a grunt he slips his hand in my pants and in the crack of my rather round and smooth koon and pulls me up so my breasts are smothering his face. The stubble on his face pricks my skin and makes me shudder. I kiss his neck and with my tongue I lick his ear and penetrate it with circular motions.
“meekhaam kireto bokhoram.”
I put my mouth on his pants and cover his penis. He lets out a cry. Takes out his penis. I move away my mouth. He moves his hands into my kos. One push. I let out a cry. “cheghadr kheesi azizam.”
“kireh toro meekham.”
He takes me by the hand. “bereem onvaar meekham bokonamet.”
I follow ever the obedient slave.
I take my pants off but leave on my bra. Two kids breast fed and forty something years my boobs look better staying safely tucked in the bra. If I want to expose them I take them out over the bra where they are still supported.
He kisses my boobs lovingly, hungrily like they were the last pestoons left on earth! He bites the nipples and I say “aiy khoobeh. Doost daram pestoonamo gaaz meegeeree.”
“Joon, azizam, alan meekonamet taa taah.”
“nah aval meekham kir bokhoram.’
I make him turn so that his penis is on my mouth. I take it in slowly sucking the top, moving my tongue in a circular motion and moving down while keeping the grip of my lips tight. He lets out the biggest groan of pleasure. So sweet to hear. As Paglia said, fellatio is an art from. And despite the negative press actually the most empowering sexual act a woman can perform. The man is totally, completely, even dangerously, at the mercy of the woman giving a blow job. I love holding inside my mouth this organ that is so full of life and grows to the rhythm of my head, lips and tongue.
When he can’t take it anymore and I want to feel him inside my cunt. I pull my mouth away and he climbs me. His erect and almost exploding penis finds my kos almost on its own. One big trust and I scream.
“joon. Kosamo pareh kon.”
“enghadr meekonamet natooni raah beree.”
“Kiret khaili khoobeh. Meekhastamesh.”
“Zanah ro meekardi kir meekhasti?”
“Kire toro meekhastam azizam.”
“joonam beeyaa begeeresh male toste.”
He turned me around put his hand on my kos and started to rub it while penetrating me from behind. This is my favorite position. Because my clitoris can be easily manipulated while I am being penetrated.
“beeya azizam kiramo khees kon.”
As I was coming he penetrated me even deeper pounding my orgasm inside me. I could feel his balls touching the entrance of my kos. A few more thrusts and Napoleon, my love came to the usual:
He pulled out his penis from my kos and shot off a big stream of warm come all over my back and the crack of my koon. Comment