9 comments/ 20899 views/ 15 favorites An Episode Of 60 Minutes By: unculbact I had her feet secured, and tied off her hands at the top of the bed. Not too tight, she’d need some wiggle room. Cotton ropes as always. Anything else is just too abrasive. And Stacy had such sensitive skin. “You’re silly.” “I know.” I replied. “When did you start getting into this?” “Play along. You’ll like it.” Stacy is thirty-six. I’d known her about a year. Single mom, three kids, worked as a nurse, met her at an art gallery opening I’d covered for a newspaper. Long dark-blonde hair, big blue eyes that always had a hint of mischief in them. Kept running into her after that, a girl at the paper was a friend of hers, so she’d drop by a lot. I barely noticed her at first, but we kept meeting, and talking. Stacy has a way of growing on you. I arranged to meet her at a coffee shop after work. Where she grew on me more. She has the cutest dimples when she smiles, which she does a lot. Stacy has such a warm smile. She pulled on the ropes. “This worries me.” “There’s a point to it.” “A point?” “You’ll see.” I kissed her, reassured her. “It’s something I planned for you.” “Planned for me?” Being a single mommy is hard work. I got involved with my first one when I was nineteen, my college French teacher. She was forty-three, worked hard, stressed, frazzled. Four kids, quite a burden. Perhaps most of all, she felt unappreciated. She never told me that, but I could tell. She was only my second lover, but my adolescent male senses nevertheless caught onto that need, so I worked hard at – well -appreciating her. Appreciating her a lot, the twenty-four year age difference meant she had lot to teach me, that I could appreciate. Usually in her office. Though she still gave me straight D’s in French. As a teacher, she had her professional pride, and I have no talent for languages. But I did learn that I had been blessed with the “Gift of Tongues”, which is a language all it’s own. I also realized that for a single mom, affection, intimacy, and adoration can be in very short supply. The weeks drag on. Work, kids, house, shopping, and crises both major and minor. With nobody to help or to hug. To tell you you’re pretty. To bathe your tired body in warm scented soap. Sometimes, not even anybody to talk to. It can be lonely. Now, here was Stacy. First I’d grown to like her, then to lust for her. Thinking hard about how to please her, I came up with a treat that I thought she would enjoy. After the coffee shop, it was to a play, then a dinner, then to her place. Not much in the way of preliminaries after that, we were both horny for each other. Now, tied up on the bed, I stared at Stacy’s nude, voluptuous body. Plump, fairly tall, big soft boobs, with pink nipples. Clear white skin, with a cute belly. I love kissing girls on their bellies. I leaned over, gave her a belly blow. “Phhhhttt!” She squirmed, giggled. Tried to reach down to my head, the ropes stopped her. ”This is why you tied me up?” “You’re catching on.” “You just like to see me all helpless.” I kissed her again, stroked the sides of her torso. “It guarantees I do all the work”. I sat up on my knees, it was a big, fluffy bed, plenty of room. I leaned over, took a good look at her snatch. Stacy has the prettiest pussy. The blonde hair around it was silky, soft. Her clit was only just starting to become erect, and was so cute. It was all very exciting, the whole thing so plump, and pink, and pretty. I kneeled there for a bit, admiring it. Then leaned over, pursed my lips and gently blew some air on it. Stacy twitched. “You ready for this?” I asked. “I guess…it’s not what I expected…” “I wanted to surprise you”. “Mission accomplished.” “Mission just beginning. You’ll love it.” I kissed her. Stroked her earlobes. Her earlobes were exquisitely sensitive, but my ministrations there were brief. I kissed her nipples. Gently sucked on them, pinched them between my teeth. Began kissing down her belly, which made her sigh. Kissed just inside her pelvic bone, down the front of her thighs. Then sat up on my knees. “Don’t stop now”. Her voice had gotten lower. “I’m not stopping, hun”. I reached down, picked up the timer I’d hidden earlier. “What’s that?” ”My little kitchen timer. I use it when cooking.” “Cooking what?” she asked. “Nothing today. It’s just to time me while I eat you out.” ”What?” I kissed her again. Whispered in her ear. “Pretty Stacy, get ready for An Episode of 60 Minutes. With no commercial interruptions.” “Huh?” I twisted the dial. “I’ve set it for one hour. That’s how long I’m going to be licking your pussy.” ”WHAT?!!” Sinful man that I am, I had been hoping to hear that surprise in her voice. “And I don’t stop till I hear the ding. No use begging me to stop either, though I like to hear it.” She looked at me. “No kidding. One solid hour between your pussy and my tongue.” Her face showed a mix of bewilderment and intrigue. “I don’t know if my poor little clit can take that much…” I gave her a grin. “We’ll see”. I started the clock, maneuvered onto my belly between her wide-spread legs. I slid my arms under her knees, forcing her legs up slightly with a push of my shoulders, which gave me good leverage. My hands began brushing her nipples. “You’re not serious…” Her voice trailed away as I began kissing the inside of her thighs, and I got a squeak when I lightly bit one of them. The timer ticked as I worked my way up to her sweet slit, kissing above it, around it, everywhere but on it, teasing her. Her pelvis began to move, her juices to flow. I watched as her labia began to swell, her gorgeous clit popping into view. I kissed and licked and teased, till I got a slight groan out of her. It was time. I gazed at her pussy and thought back to my junior year in high school. I had known nothing till I read a book by Desmond Morris, the anthropologist. “The Naked Ape” had detailed descriptions of female architecture, and intrigued, I followed up by reading “The Sensuous Woman”; and then “The Sensuous Man”. In 1973, nobody thought of these books as porno, so a boy my age could purchase them. I took notes, compared them with observations. And somewhere, in an old notebook, I still had the conclusion I had written down at age sixteen. “A Woman’s Body is like a Prize Violin. A Man should make it His Business to Play it Like a Master”. Thirty-two years later (Wow! Stacy would have been only four then!) I still hadn’t gotten to the bottom of the subject. But studying isn’t a chore. And looking at Stacy’s pretty pink sex, I knew that I had a first-class instrument to play. I pointed my tongue, and gently touched the tip of her clitoris. She stiffened, and gasped. We were about five minutes in. Fifty-five minutes to go. I began by using the flat of my tongue on her labia. Up, then down. Around and around and around. Her legs stiffened and relaxed, then stiffened again. Squeaks, moans and sighs, which always excite me. She pulled luxuriously on the ropes. Her hips began a rhythmic sideways movement as I brought the flat of my tongue on to her clit. It was as hard as a pebble. My hands pinched her nipples, then pulled gently up on them as I began taking long, wet licks, using the whole of my tongue, from the base of her clit to the top, then back down again. I put my neck muscles into it as I gave her wet, sloppy licks, expanding to include not only her clit but also her whole vagina. At one point, I realized she was about to come, so I pulled back a second, teasing her. She moaned in frustration, then sighed again as I dove back in, her tangy flavor (God, I LOVE that!) sharp on my taste buds. Her breathing began to come fast. I firmly held her clit down with the flat of my tongue as she came. Came hard. Came loudly, in that deep alto range that I find so exciting. Her thighs squeezed my head, her hips bucked up, ground around in little circles. Her silky pussy hair tickled my nose as she came, and moaned, and sighed. Then she relaxed. I drew back a little. I knew that in the moments after orgasm, the clit is usually too sensitive to touch directly. I mean REALLY sensitive, a fly landing on it would be too much. A certain amount of time is necessary to recover. But that doesn’t mean stimulation can’t be continued. I gently blew air on her clit, her lips. Her breathing slowed… “Intense…oh God…it almost hurt…” Well, she could talk again. Time to start over, forty minutes to go. This time, I began by tapping her clit with the tip of my tongue. Tap-tap-tap, tippity-tap, while inserting first one finger, then two into her vagina. Tippity-tippity tap, with light little touches on her clit while I finger-fucked her. My other hand mashed both her boobs down, giving them a good squeeze. She really thrashed around. Spreading her pussy lips with two fingers while continuing to fuck her (manual dexterity is a good thing to practice), her clit popped out to the point where I could tap the tip of my tongue right where it peeks out from under the hood, a very sensitive place indeed. I flicked the tip back and forth like a snake’s tongue, and the tapping there must have been maddening, for this time she shrieked as she came. Stacy is a pianist and a singer, and I noted that she could get into the second soprano range. She thrashed around hard, but I’m good with knots, and she didn’t get loose. While she came, I gently held the tip of my tongue on the tip of her clit, a moving target that I had no trouble following, for the tongue is the most limber part of anybody’s body. Exhausted, she collapsed. Twenty-five minutes to go. Again, I gently blew on her clit and pussy lips. She was needless to say, very wet, and I knew that this would be cooling to what was becoming a very hot pussy indeed. “Kenny…” No time for small talk, back to work. I brought both my hands down to her pussy, spread the lips wide, and began giving her a deep French kiss, my tongue probing as far as it could into her vagina. The flavor of the inside of her puss drove me crazy, and I drove my tongue in and out, in and out, licking around, up down. I stroked the labia with the pads of my fingers, and also began humming. I sing in the bass range, and that filled her sweet puss with vibrations. Her body stiffened, contorted, her back arched up as she thrust her pussy into my face, and she held that pose, the powerful sensations transfixing her with what I hoped was pure pleasure. And it wasn’t like her clit was being ignored. That’s what the tip of my nose was for. Her orgasm turned her as rigid as iron. Her muscles tensed, and she sucked air through her teeth Her back arched higher, her pussy slammed into my face, she began to buck up and down, the bed bouncing and squeaking. “AAAhhh!” Just what I wanted to hear. Her juices were all over my chin and mouth. Ten minutes to go. I blew on her puss, much softer than before, I knew it was getting quite a workout. “You’re tongue must be getting tired…” It was, but as Vince Lombardi would say, it was time for that extra effort, and I didn’t waste any of it on talk. Now that she’d recovered again, I licked my index finger and began gently inserting it into her asshole. So tight. I expected a protest, but heard only a groan. With my other hand, I began finger-fucking her again. I hoped she’d like my grand finale. First I kissed her clit. Then I gently sucked it into my mouth. Held it between my soft lips, with the tip of my tongue bracing it, and sucked. Sucked soft. Then hard. Massaged it with my lips. Stacy was too tired to thrash now. Around my head, on my ears, I felt first her thighs, then the bed vibrate as her whole body began trembling. There was even a tremor in her voice. “Ohhh…ohhh…ohhh…” This was the glory of it all, the true joy of cunnilingus. With her clit gently held between my lips, I could feel it pulsing. I can’t feel that with my fingers. The throbbing is too subtle. But with my lips, and the tip of my tongue, I could feel her clit pulse, the center of her woman-ness bursting with vigor, with joy, with life. In that pulsing, I could hear her soul. There’s no other moment in sex quite like this. Through her clit, her soul sang to me, and as she began to come again, the song her clit sang reached a crescendo. Stacy panted and trembled. Sobbed and giggled at the same time. Let out a deep moan that made the springs in the bed resonate. Cried out with lust, with relief, with joy. The timer dinged. I rested my head on her thigh, my tongue aching, like my muscles felt after a football game. A good ache. An athlete learns the difference between the good and the bad hurts, and this was one of the good ones. I could still feel Stacy trembling, hear her sucking in air, but much slower now. I got up on my knees, took in the scene, the pink flush on her belly and breasts, the sheen of sweat, her long hair disheveled and wet, her mouth plump and full, the lower lip showing the teeth marks where she had been biting to endure the intensity of it all. She opened her eyes, looked at me – really, more through me. I stroked her body with the palms of my hands. Her voice was a whisper. “That was…was…” I was impressed. She hadn’t once asked me to stop. That worried me slightly. Leaving a woman unsatisfied is the worst crime a man can commit. So I kissed her. Moved up onto her. My thick cock touched her pussy, and she twitched again. Her eyes were still glazed, but she collected herself enough to whisper some more. “Kenny…” “I have to. It hurts.” It did. The ache in my balls was urgent. Her pussy was receptive, and I could feel the inside of her vagina trembling as I slowly thrust into her. Her flesh engulfed me, caressed me - accepted me. This time, I groaned. The sensation…oh God, the sensation… “Can you feel my cock?” “Yes….” “Can you hear what it’s saying?” “Saying…” I looked into her eyes. “It’s saying it’s home. It’s where it belongs.” Her pussy squeezed my cock, confirming the truth of it all. Her face glowed with a bright smile that would have lit up the room if it had been dark. With my face up by hers, the ropes were loose enough for her to reach behind my head and grab it. And this time, she kissed me. And she didn’t let go of that kiss until I had shot my load into her. No matter how hard I tried to pull away to get some air, she kept her tongue rammed down my throat until I had emptied myself into her. Fair enough. I deserved it. I slipped off the ropes. We cuddled. She nestled her head into my shoulder. I hugged her, kissed her forehead, felt her warmth, her smoothness, her femininity. Her kids wouldn’t be back for another two hours. We had plenty of time. Stacy looked up at me, her bright blue eyes glittering. She smiled, her teeth gleaming, her dimples bigger than ever. Stacy has such a warm smile.