Whatever Your Heart Desires


By Cherysse St. Claire

 

I had never had a problem with men before I met my husband. I never allowed men to become a problem. Throughout high school, college, then after, men flocked to me. Tall or short, muscular or slender, boisterous or introverted – I attracted them all. I made them crazy with desire for me – and still do. I am not a saint. I am not ashamed to use my looks, sensual sapphire eyes, long, shapely legs and killer body to get what I want. My many admirers have called me everything from “boy toy” to “sexpot” to “drop-dead gorgeous” to “suicide blonde”. I don’t mind a bit. If I ‘used’ men along the way to advance my career (real estate), provide creature comforts, or to just have good, nasty sex, well, they used me, too. Whenever things started to get too complicated, or when I simply got bored, I moved on to the next. I offer no apologies and have no regrets.

Then I met Danny Davis. I am not going to sit here and tell you he was or wasn’t my type because my ‘type’ had two arms, two legs, and a nice, meaty cock to fill me up and make me cum on demand; everything else was negotiable. Danny had all of that, packed on a firm, slender, five-foot-seven-inch frame. I learned during the obligatory, ritualistic ‘small talk’ phase of our mating dance he was a freelance writer. With his long legs, he had been a natural for Cross-Country in high school and college. He continued to run after graduation, which, later on, helped explain his phenomenal endurance. I have a taste for pretty people and Danny was very pretty, more than any man had business being. Those glittering, seductive green eyes of his could swallow me up without a trace. I just had to have him – and did.

You always hear men brag about their ability to ‘go all night’. Danny just did the deed. As he was ripping the clothes from my body, he purred he would give me “whatever your heart desires.” I desired a lot – and got it. God, we fucked like animals that first night. He took me in every hole and every position I could think of. He literally reduced me to a mass of trembling, babbling, incoherent gooseflesh by dawn. Of all the men I had had, he was the first to put my needs, my orgasms (I lost count) ahead of his own. When I finally begged him to stop, that I just couldn’t do it again, he held me in his arms, cuddled with me, while we watched the sun come up. There was no way I was gonna let this be just a one-nighter!

The days passed. Danny turned out to be a lot more than just a good lay. He was smart, funny, romantic, spontaneous, unprepossessing. He made me laugh. He made me cry – happy cry. He made me think. We usually shacked up in my home, rather than his apartment (let’s be real; real estate agents can afford to live better than freelance writers).  He adored my house and took as much pride in it as I did. Whenever he stayed over, he would invariably pick up, clean, even vacuum around the house while I was at work. In any other relationship, that alone would be worth the price of admission. With Danny, there was so much more. He could even cook, and didn’t mind spoiling me with dinner on the table when I walked in from a hard day selling homes. Being with him just felt so natural, so right. I was addicted, and he was my fix….

He teased me relentlessly, shamelessly with his raw sexuality in a thousand different ways. I say “shamelessly” as though it was a conscious, deliberate act on his part. The more I got to know him, the more I believed it wasn’t. He appeared to be genuinely unaware of the effect he was having on me – and on other women I noticed noticing him wherever we went. They weren’t casual glances, either. I know when a tigress is sizing up a cut of USDA Prime; been there, done that. I am also fully aware of what said tigress’s next step will be. Did Iget possessive of this marvelous hunk of manflesh? Uh-uh, Honey; I got downright territorial! Imagine me, Kristen Connor, liberated girl-about-town, all but dragging this poor, sweet, accommodating boy to the altar, just to make certain no other bitch could get her claws into him!

I warned him up front, before we exchanged vows. As much as I wanted, needed him in my life, I wasn’t going to promise to be a one-man woman. Then and now, if an attractive cock dangles itself in my face, I am going to rise to the occasion. I did, too. That first time, it wasn’t so much the pain of betrayal that registered in my husband’s eyes as it was the sense of disappointment. Whatever his personal feelings, he accepted me, for all my flaws, and never said an unkind word about it. To his credit, he never had to.

Gradually, I came to realize none of my lovers came close to satisfying me in the ways Danny did. Sure, I got off - in a purely physical sense. None of them touched me emotionally, none even tried, the way my husband did. For all my protestations of wanting and needing him, I finally understood I loved him, in a way I had never cared about another person in my life. I didn’t give up my trysts completely, but went to great lengths to make Danny understand they were just sex – almost always a one-shot fling – and nothing more. There was never a possibility I would want it to be more. Danny had ruined me for other relationships in the best possible way.

I was deliriously happy for four years. The tension began to rise during the fifth. It wasn’t that the sex had gone bad, stale, or become increasingly infrequent; far from it. Danny was still the most skillful (he had had me as a teacher), considerate, attentive lover I had ever had. Gawd, that talented, tickling, tantalizing tongue of his! He could lave me for hours, taunting and teasing my nipples, pussy, clit, and all over my body. He had the lightest, most delicate touch, too – unless he was pinching, nipping, and sucking my sensitive nipples, which he knew would launch me into orbit.

The piece de resistance was that eight-inch cock. It had a flaring, bulbous head and fattened out really big towards the base. When he was filling me up, he regularly brought me to the most gut-wrenching, mind-blowing multiple orgasms. I just kept cumming and cumming like there was no tomorrow. That was because the man was like a fucking machine; he never stopped.

That was the problem; he never stopped. I know what you are thinking. Are you insane? How could that be a PROBLEM? Simple. He never stopped because he never came, not once, in all the times we had intercourse. I couldn’t even make him cum orally – and I am no slouch when it comes to giving blowjobs! Oh, he could get himself off. He usually did that later on, when I wasn’t around – unless I insisted on being there beside him, sharing it with him. If I asked him what he had been thinking about when he came, he invariably replied it was how happy I made him. Yeah, right.

For his part, he never complained, never held it against me, never seemed to give it a second thought. He didn’t have to; I did. I loved my husband, truly, madly, deeply, and wanted with all my heart to return to him the gift of sexual and emotional fulfillment he had bestowed upon me. Despite my best efforts, I was unable to do that. I had never had a problem getting a guy off before. Now here I was, married to the most incredible, wonderful guy on Earth, and I couldn’t make him cum. For the first time in my life, I had performance anxiety – and it was making me an emotional wreck!

I was rushed one morning. Danny had already left for an appointment with one of his regular clients and would be gone all day. I was running late for the office. Today was a ‘triple-witching day’; I had to pay the electric, cable, and cell phone bills. We were set up to pay our bills via online banking, so I sat down at the desk. Danny had obviously used the computer that morning, probably to check his e-mail. He must have been either distracted or in a hurry, as I was at that moment; he had left the machine up and logged into his account. Danny never did that. He belonged to the school of thought that you shut down the machine when not in use to save electricity and prevent unnecessary wear and tear on the hard drive and monitor, not trusting ACPI to do the job. Since I was in a hurry, I simply accessed the Internet through his account, rather than logging off and signing on under my own - a first for me.

I opened the browser, clicked on Favorites, then clicked the link to the bank’s web site. The bill paying took about five minutes. I was about to close the browser when a thought occurred to me, something that had subconsciously registered while scanning the Favorites directory tree. I clicked on Favorites again and there it was; a folder named Dark Desires. Be honest. Wouldn’t you be curious enough to want to know what such a folder might contain? I was.

After about twenty minutes, I called the office to say I wouldn’t be in that day. After that, I browsed the bookmarked websites for a couple of hours. Danny had set up the subscription sites for automatic login, so I was able to surf their content freely. There were several story sites bookmarked. Some of the story and author links were highlighted, indicating he had recently accessed them. I read those first. Acting on a hunch, I browsed Danny’s Documents folder next. That provided enough reading material for several more hours. Eventually, I tired of staring at the screen. I set up the Favorites and Documents folders to be shared across accounts, shut down the computer, and went out for some fresh air.

At least, now I knew. That the situation existed, and other women had had to face it, was not exactly news. I had just never had to confront it before on a personal level. After reading the stories and browsing members’ forums, I also had a wide spectrum of the reactions of other women facing similar situations.

More often than not, the first reaction of these women was a sense of betrayal. I could see their point, but for some reason, could not share it. Glass houses, I thought at first; I was in no position to cast the first stone.Unlike me, if Danny was guilty of anything, it was a sin of omission; something he hadn’t revealed about his ‘dark desires’. Other women had used that easy excuse to gain a sense of moral superiority, regardless of their own transgressions. I wasn’t ‘other women’ – and recognized the cop-out for what it was.

These same women had allegedly responded to their partners’ revelations in a variety of ways. Some were ludicrous and patently fiction. Others were hateful in a way I could never feel towards the man who had given me so much. Still others were beyond bizarre. A precious few were genuine erotic turn-ons. When I recognized the latter for what they were, I realized this new scenario held at least the possibility of being a positive experience for both of us.

I had a lot to sort out while I walked. I examined how I felt, how I thought Danny must feel, what, if anything, I wanted to do about both, and how that would affect our relationship. Most importantly, I had to examine what really was important; to me, to us and about us. I could have dwelled on the subject for days, weeks, months, as had some of the women I had read about. That I didn’t need to should have immediately told me something about me.

As I approached the house on the return leg of my walk, I had a pretty good handle on how I felt and how I would approach this. Before I committed to anything else, I needed to administer a little test. The garage door was now open. Danny’s car was parked next to mine. Before he had left that morning, we had toyed with the idea of going out for dinner after I got home from work. Sorry Sweetheart. I have a different agenda for us right now….

Danny was standing by the coffee table in the living room when I entered. His suit coat was still draped over his forearm and he had not yet removed his tie. He couldn’t have arrived more than five minutes before. My husband beamed a smile my way.

“Hi, Sweetheart,” he called. “I saw your car. Did you get off er….”

That was as far as he got before I reached him, pressed firmly on his chest with both hands and backed him across the room, through the doorway, down the hall, into the master bedroom, and flat on his back on the spacious California King bed. Without uttering a word, I all but ripped the clothing from his body. Mine were added to the heap on the floor moments later. I then licked and sucked his already-semi-hard dick to its full glory. Still silent and staring intently into his eyes, I climbed aboard, impaled myself on his fantastic fuckshaft and rode it for all I was worth.

“So, does this mean you’re happy to see me?”, he inquired glibly.

“Oooo, yeah, Baby,” I purred. “I have missed you so much today. I was a bad girl, Sweetie. I played hooky, stayed home, surfed the Web and found a lot of hot Adult sites. I looked at pictures, streamed audio and video, read stories, and scanned the member forums. It all got me so hot, I couldn’t wait for you to get home to give me some relief.”

“What the Hell were you looking at that got you like this?”, Danny asked incredulously.

“Alternative Sex, Baby,” I cooed. “Really hot stuff, like I’ve never seen before. Man-man. Woman-woman. Threesomes. Gang-bangs. Bondage. There were even some gorgeous, sexy T-girls.”

I could feel his cock lurch inside me. I paused my verbal seduction to take a deep breath, never breaking stride on his magnificent love pole.

“Sweetie, those girly-boys were so fucking hot,” I gushed. “Some of them had really big tits, tiny, hand-span waists and full, luscious asses. They looked as good as any of the porn goddesses we watch in the bedroom. They dressed the same way; real slutty, the way we like. Their cocks were big and beautiful, too, Lover. Some of them were just like yours. That was such a turn-on!

“I watched streaming video of T-girls fucking genetic girls, T-girls fucking guys, and T-girls being fucked BY guys. Gawd, I almost creamed in my panties right then and there. Baby, please don’t be offended by this. I had this wicked image in my head. It was you, as a T-girl. You had great big tits, a tiny little waist, full, flaring hips and a big bubble butt. You were dressed in a scoop-necked, cropped tank top that showed off your big boobs and belly ring, a tight little leather miniskirt that didn’t even cover the tops of your stockings, and killer high heels, just like the porn stars wear. You looked like an absolute slut. You were made up like a slut, too.

“There you were, lying on the bed just like you are now. I was riding your cock, just like I am now. I was saying to myself: ‘This is so good, this is so fucking hot, I don’t ever want it to end.’….”

I had been fingering myself even as I rode his cock. My finger was drenched, slick with pussyjuice. I reached beneath me and slowly, carefully inserted it into Danny’s tight, puckered little hole. I worked it in and out as I spoke.

 “Then I thought: ‘Why should I be the only one having fun here? I should bring home a man, a real stud, and he can do us both. I would love to watch my baby get fucked by a guy with a great big cock. Better still, I could bring home two studs. That way, my girlfriend and I could get fucked side by side’….”

I thought his first blast was going to blow me right to Mars. The subsequent six were just as intense. My torrid, stream-of-consciousness monolog had already brought me close to losing my mind. The really wicked thing was, envisioning Danny as a T-girl, doing the things I had said he was doing, really had turned me on! His eruption was all it took to push me over the edge – and it was a long, long fall….

It began in the pit of my stomach, spreading outward with the force and speed of a tsunami. All I could see was stars exploding behind my eyes. All I could hear was a roaring in my ears as blood rushed to my brain. All I could feel was the waves of ecstasy washing over me, engulfing me, pounding me from the inside out – and Danny’s magnificent cock, gushing its molten lava deep into my pussy. For all the men I had had, for all the sexual freedom I had enjoyed, I had never before felt so fulfilled, so empowered, as I did at that moment.

If anyone had seen Danny and me cuddling together in bed, they would have sworn we were freezing to death. We both trembled uncontrollably, long after the waves of our shared orgasm had faded, so intense had the pleasure been. I felt my lover’s seed seeping out of me, trickling down the inside of my thigh. In my mind, it felt like gallons oozing out of my love nest. I had administered my little test and elicited a positive response. Positive? How about ‘off the charts’? Whether Danny had ‘passed’ or ‘failed’ now depended upon how I perceived the ‘question.’

One point was undeniable; we – both of us – had just experienced the most intense sex we had ever had. I had anticipated Danny’s response to my verbal seduction; I had not anticipated my own. Gazing into my husband’s gorgeous emerald eyes, I realized there was a side to my own sexuality, in addition to his, I had never suspected to exist. Of course it would be Danny, of all my lovers, who would reveal it to me, show me a level of pleasure I never knew existed. I owed it to both of us to explore it. I felt butterflies in my stomach as I realized I had just answered my own question – and charted our course.

We addressed the pile of clothing hastily discarded on the floor, hanging up or tossing into the laundry hamper as required. Danny helped me change the sheets as well. The event marked another first for us; that we had to. We were like teenagers experiencing First Love again. At the time, I could not possibly have been happier.

We showered together, taking turns soaping and washing each other. We showered each other in soft, tender kisses and caresses, too. When we were clean and patted dry, we returned to the bedroom to dress. It was mid-evening. We both knew we would not be going out again. Simultaneous glances toward the big bed affirmed where we would spend the rest of the evening and night – at least, after a little supper. We would dress accordingly.

A long lowboy dresser extended along most of one wall of our bedroom. It served us both; Danny on one side, me on the other. He had stepped to his side, opened the top drawer and reached for a clean pair of briefs. I intercepted his hand, slipping my naked body between my husband and the dresser. With a little smile on my lips, I slid the drawer closed with the backs of my thighs. Taking him by the wrist, I took two steps to my left – to my side of the dresser. I opened my top drawer, glanced down briefly, then withdrew a pair of sheer black nylon bikini panties. I slipped two fingers from each hand into opposite sides of the waistband, then held them up for my mate’s inspection. I raised one eyebrow and smiled, challenging him with my sapphire gaze.

“Indulge me,” I purred.

We were at a crossroads. Our relationship could go either way; down the same road we had already traveled, or in an entirely new direction. I had hopes, but took nothing for granted. The choice was his to make. There was uncertainty in Danny’s eyes, perhaps just a touch of fear. I countered with my smile, exuding a aura of certainty and serenity I did not feel. In truth, I was just as uncertain and frightened as he.

My love accepted the proffered panties, bent down, slipped one foot through, then the other. He slowly, carefully raised the panties up his calves and over his knees. I paused his efforts at mid-thigh, taking the time to gently tuck his ‘package’ between his thighs. If my suspicions were correct, it would be springing to life again sooner, rather than later. Until then, I wanted him – her – to present a smooth front. Once that task was complete, I helped him snuggle the waistband up over his hips. The tight, sheer fabric clung snugly to his taut, firm buttcheeks. Through the filmy material, it did appear he had a pussy, rather than a good-sized ‘clitty’ and family jewels.

I chose a sheer red nylon-and-lace peignoir for myself and slipped into it. I then took Danny by both wrists and led him across the bedroom to my huge walk-in closet. I slipped into the floor-length sheer red nylon and lace dressing gown that matched my peignoir, then slipped my feet into red marabou-trimmed mules with clear Lucite five-inch stiletto heels. Normally, we were about the same height. In these slippers, I towered over my husband, lending me just the right air of authority.

I selected a black silk mid-thigh-length kimono and silently held it open for him. He yielded without a word, turning to allow me to help his arms into the sleeves. I slipped the smooth fabric over his shoulders and turned him to face me. Wrapping the two halves around him, I cinched the belt with a sharp, authoritative tug, holding the wrap firmly in place. I then stepped forward and kissed my mate lightly on the lips.

“Thank you, Danielle,” I purred sensually. “Now, would you accompany me to the kitchen? I believe we have both worked up a bit of an appetite.”

I took ‘her’ arm in mine, turned, and made for the door. My stiletto heels click-click-clicked on the hardwood floors of the bedroom, hallway, living room and dining room, then the tiled floors of the kitchen. I hadn’t offered ‘Danielle’ pause, any opportunity to interject. Nor had ‘she’ attempted to, accepting my authority and ‘her’ feminine appellation without protest. My heart soared. I felt ten feet tall.

We prepared a platter of Cheddar and Jack slices, crackers, grapes and strawberries. I opened a bottle of Chablis and fetched two wineglasses. We placed everything on a tray which ‘Danielle’ carried as we returned to our bedroom. I sincerely hoped it would not be obvious my heart was hammering madly in my chest. We had taken a small first step, but a significant one. I had no idea how long this journey would last or where it would end, and would have to make up the rules as we went.

I could sense the danger here. One misstep, a single word misspoken or taken out of context could lead to disaster. Despite the risks, I was looking forward to this brave, new future with renewed optimism – for us, our relationship, and me personally. There was still uncertainty in those emerald eyes, a touch of fear. Was it just my imagination, or was there also a flicker of… hope? Only time would tell.

End of Part One

 

since 10/17/04