Sue Needs To Call A Cab

Sue Storm had heard of multiple orgasms the way that some people had heard of the Northern Lights. Something that existed, somewhere far away, but that she had never experienced. The timing to travel to the orgasm country never seemed right. Something she could only experience vicariously, by proxy, through porn and erotic literature.

Nairobi had not just seen the Northern Lights. She was a tour guide.

Her tongue was relentless, her timing impeccable. Just as the beautiful blonde cried out from one peak, Nairobi was already stimulating her further, sliding a finger into the tight twat as her tongue twiddled the climaxing clit. Sue Storm, to whom an orgasm was a less frequent event than an encounter with Galactus, found herself utterly unprepared for the sensual ****. Her mental defenses crumbled, her ethics tumbled, and just as she thought she caught her breath as pleasure surged through her body again, Nairobi squeezed in another finger and found her G-spot.

The soundproofing in the massage rooms was excellent. The cashier at the counter smiled as she counted the minutes going by. After an hour, there was a surcharge for every additional fifteen minutes.

Sue Storm did not exit for two and a half hours.

Nairobi surprised her, after Sue had gotten dressed. Barely able to stand on wobbly legs, muscles that felt like wet noodles. The dark-skinned young woman's skin glistened with sweat, she was breathing hard, her breath smelled like pussy. And she threw her arms around Sue Storm's neck and drew her into a deep kiss, the tongue invading slyly, wrestling with the Invisible Woman's own. Sue Storm's knees almost buckled, but invisible **** fields formed braces around her legs.

When Nairobi finally broke the kiss, she stared into Sue Storm's eyes and whispered.

"And that is how your husband should be eating your pussy every night. It's a crime he doesn't."

Sue Storm's heart pounded as she walked, stiff-legged, supported mostly by her invisible **** fields, to pay the surcharge at the counter. The woman behind it smiled; she'd already called Sue a cab, and as Sue walked to it, she was grateful to collapse into the leather seat. She told the driver to take the long way around Central Park to the Baxter Building as she massaged life back into her legs.

Guilt crashed down on her as she realized what she had done. What she had allowed to happen. There was no denying that what Sue had just experienced was something more than just a harmless happy ending. And the worst part of it was, now that she had experienced it, Sue knew she would never be happy with Reed's perfunctory, pathetic attempts at cunnilingus ever again.

Amateur hour was over. Sue Storm needed her cunt eaten by a pro.

The question was, how to broach that topic with her husband.