A Taste of Something New

She couldn't hear clearly what Derek has been saying. In the bathroom, cleaning his teeth, he's eagerly telling her about an upcoming merger that his bank's financial services arm is handling. It's a huge one, Derek says. The merger could have drastic effects—both good and bad—on the city's economy, which could reverberate throughout the state and the country at large. It's Goliath swallowing David, and his bank is working to make David somehow on equal footing with Goliath.

"A lot of money is moving from one place to another," Derek's saying, wiping the toothpaste froth off his chin. "And a lot of people might find their tenure on shaky ground. But if we could make Silverstone agree with the terms, we could reduce the bad numbers."

Derek proceeds in sharing with her the technicalities of the merger, confident that she will understand the details based on the broad strokes. But Sophia's attention stopped at "Silverstone": she's trying to come to terms with the newly-realized fact that the Silverstone arm reaches far and wide, while her experience of it, so far, is one in the form of a delicate hand, perfect teeth, and a way of laughing that is not fully man yet, but no longer boy, either.

"It's getting crazy," Derek's saying. "Schaffer has formed a special team to handle this take-over—yes, it's more a take-over, but we tell the PR dogs to keep referring to it as a 'merger'—as carefully as you would try to defuse a bomb. And guess who's leading the team?"

Sophia is in a trance, but the tail-end question shakes her out of it. "I'm sorry, what?"

"It's not a 'what', but a 'who'. It's me, honey!"

"It's you what?"

"Leading the good dogs!"

Sophia shrieks. "Oh, my God!" But pieces of a puzzle snap in place in her mind. "But wait, is it good or bad?"

Derek slumps on his side of the bed. "Well, it should be good. Good for me, if I don't botch it up. Good for many people, too. But the wild card here is really Silverstone. We still have to identify something to serve as a leverage to make them agree to our proposed terms."

Sophia recalls Brad's business card in her purse—might it be a good leverage, whatever in hell that means? She's thinking of showing it to Derek and letting him decide what to make of it—and then break the news that she might be spending time at school on Saturdays on account of a new tutorial load. Two birds in one stone. But night time is not usually the best time to cram with too much information—one presented and the other listened, is how they've always spent these evenings to avoid too much unnecessary excitement. Even the most urgent pieces of news—a promotion, a death, a friend's wedding—is related on a relaxed note, as if excess emotion has been leached out, and what's left is something bland, neutral, and entirely reasonable.

"Which means," Derek is breathing down her neck. "I might have to put in hours on weekends. But don't worry—that's only as long as we're trying to hammer out the details of this whole looming mess."

"Why are you calling it a mess, already?" Sophia's smile is tinged with wifely belief in the powers of her husband. "You're heading the team. I'm sure you'll be brilliant, as usual."

"Oh, thank you very much, Mrs. Masterson." Derek snuggles beside her, his erection hard and warm against her hip. "And while you mention it, how about a 'pre-reward' for the impending board room awesomeness of your husband?"

Sophia faces him, the space between them perfumed and warm with communication. "And what reward would Mister Masterson like?" She reaches down and caresses him. "What would this bad boy like to do?"

"Surprise me," Derek says.

With that naughty grin on her face, Sophia strokes his cock. Positioning herself for a better angle, she starts sucking him, her tongue lapping him up in the most sensitive places. The sound, the moans she makes reassure him that she's all his, the totality of her, this thing of gentle beauty, is for his own consumption. The privilege to do anything with her body, as she is with his, further drives his need to a quick ripeness.

But without warning, Sophia looks up and whispers, "Fuck me in the mouth."

Tides of lust gleam in Derek's eyes. Theatrically, Sophia licks the tip of Derek's cock—he recognizes the scene from a recent porn video they watched, and he realizes that, as usual, Sophia has been committing every hardcore porn scene into memory and is now re-enacting it—before taking its entirety into her mouth. She moans in only that muffled way a woman with a penis in her mouth could moan. He begins thrusting into her wife's mouth—gently, slowly at first, then the thrusts become deeper, faster, his shaft appearing and disappearing into Sophia's lips like the pistons of an engine. Sophia takes his hand and guides it to the back of her head—an unspoken command to "ram it harder." He hesitates—he has always worshipped Sophia's lips, and his instinct tells him those lips, despite her command, must be fucked with care. But he sort of gives in, and soon he's pounding that mouth with a clipped intensity—hard enough to satisfy Sophia's wish, but not too hard that she would choke or bruise her. He slows down when Sophia makes gagging sounds, but her wife kneads his thighs, prodding him to go on, and harder. So he lets go and obeys—Sophia meets his gaze as he thrusts deliriously. "I'm coming!" He grunts, and Sophia responds with her muffled assent, as if saying, yes, it's alright, unload in my mouth.

Then the world, at least from Derek's perspective, implodes into a delicious, delirious blackness, his senses peak for a millisecond, before tumbling down in the freefall of the inevitable denouement. But Sophia's still cleaning him up good—she continues sucking on his shaft, licking hungrily, like a thirsty, sweat-drenched beautiful animal whose subsistence depends entirely on what comes out of that cock. She has swallowed everything, but she seems to want more. But Derek is spent—this is one of those rare times when Sophia lets him come first, at the expense of her own satisfaction. It will take Derek at least half an hour to bounce back.

With that self-satisfied look on her face, Sophia says, "You like it?"

"'Like' it?" Derek catches his breath. "That was...fucking incredible."

The unspoken understanding: this is a deposit in the Favor Bank. Next time, Sophia may "cash" it: he may have to let the woman have her orgasms as often or as many as she wants (Sophia's multiple orgasms are legendary—23 in one night was the last count), in whatever kinky way she may want it done. And that excites him—even now, in this languid, post-orgasmic state, Derek eagerly anticipates a new fantasy, probably derived from a new porn flick. His mind clarifies as desire ebbs, and his thoughts crawl back toward the vicissitudes of the merger, and how he might end up gaining everything—or losing half his life.