Oral Sex and Madame X
Sugar daddy… set me free
Sugar daddy… come for meC.J. Bolland, “Sugar is Sweeter”
Peggy-with-the-pigtails, sans pigtails, sat at the end of the bar sipping an apple martini, her slender nose buried in a book about meat and sex and feminism. She greeted us with a smile, both innocent and youthful, and the three of us fell into easy conversation. I was in high spirits: there was none of the pressure, no matter how slight, of a date; none of the obligatory kung-fu of seduction. We were simply enjoying each other’s company, trading stories about family and travel and so on.
And then the women kissed. If the two of them were lovely as individuals they were even lovelier as a single writhing mass, a tangle of limbs and parted lips and flowing hair and heaving breasts. Before I could clear my throat or fiddle with my hands or shift uncomfortably in my seat, Leslie broke the tension: “Now I wanna see you guys kiss.”
Peggy and I grinned at each other, brought our lips together in what I assumed would be a tenuous and polite tap-dance of tongues. Yet she didn’t so much kiss me as consume me, grabbing my head and mashing her fresh face into mine. Pleasantly surprised, I pressed my body against her, pushed deeper, harder. As the girl’s silky tongue slid over mine all I could think about was how that tiny metal stud might feel against the head of my cock.
Jen was in town so we headed over to Madame X where the party was already in progress. She was there with 120, a mustachioed gentleman and a few other friends of hers. When we all went out to the patio for a smoke I struck up a conversation with the mustachioed guy and complimented him on his bold taste in facial hair. “Oh this?” he responded. “I’ve had this for thirty-five years.” At the time his response didn’t really register with me—he didn’t appear to be all that old.
Before long everyone in Jen’s group left aside from the older gentleman, who seemed fascinated (naturally) by what was going on between Les and Peggy. We had an amiable discussion that somehow brought us to the topic of drugs, continuing further to the topic of what we would say to our theoretical children about drugs. “Actually, I have a daughter,” the gentleman said.
“How old is she?” Les asked.
“She’s twenty-six,” he responded.
Peggy laughed. “That’s a year older than I am. So, um, how old are—”
“I’m fifty-six.”
I just sat there rubbing my temple in shock. “Give me a minute dude—you just blew my mind. I mean, most of the women I date are around your daughter’s age.”
Soon the two vixens abandoned all pretense of making conversation; they sat on padded stools, facing each other, Peggy’s legs spread wide, her black panties just barely, temptingly visible under her skirt from my vantage point. They kissed and their hands roamed. The older gentleman looked at me and smiled: “You should jump in.”
“Naw, gotta let that shit marinate. Guys who think they can just jump in come out red-faced and empty-handed.” The girls chuckled when I said this but continued snogging, and when the gent took leave of us (“Looks like you’re gonna have fun tonight,” he said, grinning ear-to-ear) they still couldn’t tear themselves away from each other. I guess I couldn’t blame them.
The plush, velvet-red back room of Madame X was empty by now; it was our own semi-private bordello. I grasped Peggy’s pale, smooth outer thigh, sliding my hand under her skirt. She pressed her lips to mine, then bit my lower lip hard enough that a day later Leslie would comment on the small bruise. (“Bruises are lipstick kisses that don’t rub off,” Les had said in Seattle.) I ran my other hand up Peggy’s inner thigh and teased her labia over the silk that guarded what little remained of her modesty. Leslie reached for my belt and within seconds her lips were wrapped around me, our playmate watching us and purring. My fingers found their way under Peggy’s panties, then inside her, and as they pistoned in and out the girl rocked in her seat and gasped. When someone walked by I leaned forward in a lame attempt to disguise a situation that was obviously getting out of hand, yet this only made me want to push the limits further. My head fell into Peggy’s lap. And I tasted her…
“I don’t want to go but I have to go,” she was saying.
I protested. “But you’re so wet.”
“I know.”
I stood up to put my cock away but for a moment it hovered there, twitching, inches from Peggy’s face. She licked her lips and took me into her mouth, all wetness and suction and heat. I heaved a shuddering sigh. Her tongue ring had fallen out earlier so I would have to wait to fulfill that particular fantasy of mine.
Les and I walked her to the PATH station. “Now I’m frustrated,” our playmate said.
Les kissed her cheek. “It’ll be that much better the next time.”
“We’ll have to get together on a weekend night.”
“Oh you bet we will.”
More: Exhibitionism | Threesome | Peggy | Jen | 120
