Nylon Conquest Ch. 01 - Sex Stories

Nylon Conquest Ch. 01

... directly at me from the moment she appeared at the entrance. Never wavering her gaze from my face, she headed directly to my table. She stood there and gestured the empty banquette seat next to me. The hem of her silk skirt brushed the top of the table; those legs were staring at me at eye level. I looked up at her, tongue-tied.

"You going to buy a girl a drink, handsome?" she said.

I scrambled to my feet and blurted out something like: "Of course, please sit down."

As she settled herself in the tight space beside me on the banquette, a waiter appeared immediately. "Vesper, please," was all she said as she crossed her legs towards me with an audible swish of nylon. The rest of the night was a blur of drinking, conversation, flirting, and later, sex.

Three months later, we were married. There was a great sigh of exasperation among every single male (and not a few females) in the New York television scene when she announced our engagement. And not a few whispers on social media in the vein of something like: Why him?

I don't care. All I care about is that she is mine. All mine.

The sex is great. Better than great. Mind blowing. And that's completely mutual. Just as I worship Larissa's legs, she worships my dick. Without ego, I can justifiably say it's a beauty. Larissa has told me I have the most beautiful dick she's ever seen. A full eight inches and thick enough that she has to use both hands to hold it all the way around. And hold it she does. In every ...

... way imaginable. I'm in heaven when those pillowy thick lips of hers kiss my cock with gentle fast licks and kisses and sucks, little bites here and there, working her hands up and down and around my shaft as she prepares to slide it deep inside her hot, wet mouth. She works that narrow, long tongue of hers around and around as she slowly bobs and slides her mouth along the length of my shaft. When she's really in the giving mood, she takes her time, sometimes drawing it out for twenty, even thirty minutes. When she wants me to finally cum, she knows exactly how to push the tip of her tongue firmly into my glans, making me blast uncontrollably into her mouth as she drinks it all down and massages me for more.

My worship of her gives me great incentive to satisfy her every sexual need. While I did well on that first night, I've managed to learn my way around her body pretty damn beautifully. I know every little erogenous zone, every little pleasure point. When she's in the mood, which is usually, I can make her cum with my tongue in two minutes flat, or I can torture her for an hour, if that's what she wants.

It's pretty glorious thing when we sixty-nine. We're just a steaming pile of squirming flesh as we cum together.

Of course that's not why we're married. I think. Other than fantastic sex, I don't actually know what she sees in me. She's an extreme extravert; I'm an introvert. She makes millions; I have a job that I like, but it only pays about $150k. In Manhattan, ...