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I came and came again. “Oh Simon, oh Simon, oh my pussy. My pussy. Give me your cock, please. My pussy needs it.”

“I don’t think . . .”

“Simon, my mouth, let me please you with my mouth. Let me try.”

He was reluctant. He was embarrassed that he couldn’t get hard anymore.

Not only can I be persuasive, but as you know, I know my way around cocks. My lips, tongue, mouth, even my hands caressed, played with, kissed, licked sucked Simon’s uncut manhood.

It took a while; a while I didn’t mind spending, but “Nanci, you’re a miracle worker. You’ve raised it from the dead.”

I smiled. Yes indeed, Simon’s cock was standing tall; over six inches tall. Not as long or as fat as Herman Monster, but certainly big enough to satisfy my mouth, and if Simon wanted my pussy. It wasn’t as perfect as Boyd Lambert’s (Part One), but whose was?

“Simon, you have a gorgeous cock. I don’t know why you didn’t think it didn’t work anymore. I giggled, “or maybe that was just an excuse so you could eat my pussy.”

Then I started. My lips slowly went down his shaft. After years of practice on my husband’s Herman Monster, there was no doubt I could swallow it all.

Simon Dunfee got the best blowjob I’d given in over a decade. Simon Dunfee got the only blowjob I’d given in over a decade. As I bobbed up and down, up and down, I realized that I hadn’t lost my touch.

Simon and I attended the fashion shows we needed to attend and got our work done, but as I’ve said before, I do my best work on my knees. I reveled in the realization that I was the Hollywood blowjob queen again or in this case, the Montreal blowjob queen. His cock seemed to respond; not sometimes every time.

To be fair, if there was a thing as a King of pussy eating, Simon would have worn the crown. When I wasn’t on my knees servicing his cock, he was on his knees servicing my pussy. He loved rubbing his face in my mangy bush. “It tickles my nose.”

I’d pull his head out from my pussy, “Simon, it’s time you tickled my clitoris.”

“Oh right, but your bush is so much fun.”

I was scheduled for three days. It might have been fate. A massive blizzard hit Montreal. The city was used to major snowstorms; streets were cleared and the airport opened no matter how severe the storm.

Not this time. Nothing moved. Streets were blocked; and even if they opened the airport, there was no way to get there: maybe dog sled.

Since the fashion show part of the winter carnival was over, Simon and I spent most of the time in bed with one or the other on our knees. He insisted on trying to fuck me.

I was fine with it although as you know I preferred his cock in my mouth. My fear was that he wouldn’t be able to get it up without the incentive of my mouth. “Simon,” I said, as he started to mount me, “remember, I’m fine with sucking your magnificent cock, if . . .”

And then he was in. “Oh Nanci, your pussy, oh your pussy. It’s all the eating it that makes me so hard.”

“Fuck me, Simon, fuck me like you haven’t fuck anyone in a decade.” He did. It was glorious. Remember, it had been since Herman was alive. I hadn’t forgotten how to move my ass. I was sure that Simon was satisfied and if he wasn’t, you just know that my mouth was prepared to make sure he was.

When the roads and the airport opened, Simon and I said good-bye. We hoped to run into each other again, but neither one of us expected that would happen.

Six months later, there was something on the news about Vancouver; I don’t remember exactly what it was but it made me think of Simon Dunfee. I called his office.

“Nanci, I was just thinking about you, too. The company just received its first order from one of the designers I met with in Montreal.”

“Anything else about Montreal you remember?” I giggled. We chatted about fashion, etc. and then hung up.

Fifteen minutes later, Simon called me. “Nanci, a month from now is a big holiday weekend I was wondering if you could get away?”

“What are you thinking?”

“There’s a wonderful resort near Denver, and looking at some flights, each of us could be there in under three hours.”

“And I could be under you in four hours,” I laughed.

“I think we’re on the same page. What do you think?”

I arrived first; check in and made sure there was a key left for Mr. Dunfee.

After a long hit bath, I was lying on top of the bed when Simon arrived. Of course, I recalled what Simon liked. I didn’t do any grooming down below. I wasn’t wrong. Simon put down his bag and was rubbing his face in my bush within minutes. “Does it still tickle you nose?” I giggled.

“I don’t know about that but it’s still lovely.” Simon didn’t quit for an hour. He only quit because my pussy was begging to get fucked.

Later that night, there was a blowjob. “Simon, you have no problem getting hard.”

“Nanci, it has to be your tasty pussy.”

“Or maybe you’re anticipating what my mouth does to your cock.”

“Oh, I’m sure it is.” He pushed my head back down.

We had a fucking, pussy eating, cocksucking weekend.

Over the next two years, we found ways to see each other a few times.

In between, I was celibate, although masturbation was not uncommon.

Things changed one day shortly after I’d returned from a long cocksucking weekend with Simon. I was just in that kind of mood. I was in the mood to have his cock in my mouth all weekend. I rarely got off my knees. I mean I had a reputation as the Blowjob Queen of Hollywood to maintain.

My phone rang. “Hello, may I speak with Nanci Darden Goldfarb, please.”

“This is Nanci, who’s this?”

“My name is Sarah Dunfee. Mrs. Sarah Dunfee. Simon is my husband.” My heart was in my throat. Simon vaguely mentioned a wife, but it sounded like it was past tense or I wanted to believe it was in the past.

Not that I thought about marriage or even a monogamous relationship.

“Ummm, what can I do for you Mrs. Dunfee?”

“You can tell me exactly what you’ve been doing to my husband.”

You just know that I wasn’t going to tell her. I couldn’t tell her. Could I say, “well Mrs. Dunfee, what I do is let your husband eat my pussy and fuck me, and it goes without saying that I suck his cock.” No, I wasn’t going to say anything about that. I wasn’t going to say anything about anything.

I stuttered, “Ummmm, I-I-I. . .”

“Mrs. Goldfarb, I think you misunderstand. I wasn’t being accusatory or interrogating you. Ever since he was at the fashion show at the Montreal Winter Carnival he’s been as frisky as a teenage boy.”

“Oh?” I smiled, thinking of Simon and our first nights together.

“He hasn’t been like that in years, and he hasn’t been able to, well you know, perhaps as well as I do. So, I’d like to know what you did to Simon and how can I get my husband back.”

“Ummmmm, I-I-I. . .” “As I’m sure you know, Simon will be attending the Dallas Fashion Show, and I know you won’t be there. Might I suggest that on my way to New York, I make a stop in Hollywood and you and I can discuss someone we have in common?”

It was a disaster. Sarah Dunfee was persistent. In a nice way she demanded the details. The details of what turned her husband on. After thirty-seven years of marriage, she didn’t know? How could that be?

Sarah didn’t know that Simon loved to eat pussy. She tolerated giving him blowjobs but hated every minute of it; “and Nanci, the taste, EWWWWWW.”

“Sarah, if you don’t give your husband what he wants and needs, he’ll keep looking for women who will.”

“Women like you. Nanci, don’t you think it’s a little too late for me?”

“It’s not too late for Simon, which means it’s not too late for you.”

TO BE CONTINUED

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