Author's note: This happens in some random point on season 8. Maybe it's a little weird, I don't know, but I wanted to let it out anyway, so I might as well post it here hahah It's loosely inspired by the song Where Life Begins, by Madonna. I hope it's somehow enjoyable.
Monica was always torn between considering herself a lucky lady or concluding destiny was paying its debt with her; her love life hadn't always been that great after all.
She had been a late starter, what with being teased for being overweight during teenage years and the tendency to over-romanticize every prospect of relationship. She had only "given her flower" away when she was over 20. Her sexual desire was constantly on fire though – she was fairly sexually charged, even before doing it, and sure, maybe she started late, but she was a fast learner. Not long after her first time she knew she was pretty good at it.
Yep, she was actually amazing at it. She knew exactly what to do to make a man go crazy in bed. She was good at all the stuff. It was like a natural talent or something. The hips movements were always sharp, sucking dick was both a fun and devoted activity, and she was able to try a variety of positions – she couldn't put her legs over her head anymore like Phoebe still could (wow, seriously), however, she was bendy enough.
Monica had felt pretty ill-treated by life though. Not only had she met a hoard of men who were terrible in bed, she had also had to endure what seemed like an endless dry spell that had lasted a year. Being that sexually driven didn't help – she had come to the point of losing the will to touch herself after a while, being too depressed to even try.
And then… London happened. Chandler Bing happened. Wow, who would've thought, really? He was always talking shit about himself, belittling his skills; she'd always thought he would be too awkward in bed. Maybe he had been awkward in bed up until that fateful day when she taught him a little lesson about female sexuality. She could never have guessed she would eventually profit from that class, reaping what she had unconsciously sown when in fact her teaching was supposed to benefit another woman.
The first night in London had been by far one of the best sexual encounters in her life. It was as if he had tried really hard to impress her – she couldn't be more flattered. He touched her right, with his fingers, with his hands, cupping her breasts both softly and thoroughly, his dick entering her through lovingly pointed movements (she almost felt like complimenting him on the spot, but that would've killed the mood) and, especially, oh so very especially, his mouth was a blessing.
Getting her pussy eaten had never felt that great before that moment. Well, she'd always loved that part, obviously. The thing is: the men in her life had never been that good in that particular area. She had been able to enjoy their effort most of the times, although mostly because she had been forcing herself to. What a surprise when she noticed that wasn't necessary with Chandler. She shuddered just by remembering the very first moment his lips had trailed down her body, reaching her navel, then lowering to her inner thighs, alternating between kisses and bites; she felt she was about to lose her mind the moment his tongue landed on her entrance.
The thing about Chandler was that he enjoyed doing that. She could tell by his eyes tightly shut and the ecstatic expression on his face just how much he loved that part. There was something especially hot about being with a man who loved your taste, and that's what she had with Chandler.
So they'd obviously gotten together – no way in hell she would ever let a man like that go. And they had dated and they had gotten engaged and they had finally gotten married in a beautiful ceremony. That little special something that fell on her lap (no pun intended) in London was now part of her life. That's why even after all the bad experiences in her love life, she felt somehow lucky. For sure, many women would kill to have a man like the one she had at home.
Monica rode the subway with her mind filled with such thoughts, and for a moment she wondered what she would do if someone with a mind-reading super power neared her – she would probably be embarrassed as hell; or maybe proud? She giggled at how silly she was being all by herself.
"There you are!" Chandler greeted his wife with a huge grin – they were a married couple who saw each other every day, but he always looked the happiest when they met after a long day of being apart because of work.
"Hi, sweetie", she smiled at him before having her lips captured by her man.
Monica had a very weird relationship with eating. It was definitely the biggest pleasure in her life. How ironic was it that her husband enjoyed eating just as much, in all the possible meanings the word "eating" might entail.
The small talking mixed with how exhausted she was made her mind drift. When she came home after a hard day of work, Monica could swear all she could think about was her husband's lips on her. It was amazing how she never had to ask. He could sense her needs and was always willing to give her what she wanted, looking as satisfied as her at the end. For a chef who worked hard on creating meals, it was nice knowing dining out could happen down below, in the comfort of her home sweet home. She chuckled by herself at her own silent dirty puns – Chandler's humor is rubbing off on me.
When she realized what was happening, she was already in her room, lying down on her soft mattress, fully dressed from the waist up, however everything from the waist down hastily taken off – panties still hanging on her ankles; said ankles at the end of a pair of legs resting on broad, soft shoulders. Said shoulders connected to velvety-skinned arms that ended on the smoothest hands ever with the softest fingertips that happened to be massaging the previously mentioned legs. The aforementioned upper limbs belonged to the man between her legs, who lapped on her juices as if he was eating the most delicious meal ever – macaroni and cheese? Nothing compared to this, she could tell by his hungry face. The noises that left her mouth in moments like that were akin to the ones she allowed to be uttered when she made herself those delicious oatmeal cookies allegedly from Phoebe's gradma's recipe. The satisfaction that came from eating was as intense as the one from getting eaten. It seems like my husband and I share an oral fixation.
Sometimes he would penetrate her with fingers while licking her clitoris. That was amazing too, but since what he really loved was eating her out, the most useful cutlery was his tongue. He had a very sensitive tongue; he couldn't stand hot food or anything too spicy. Her taste seemed to be good enough for him – actually perfect. One might expect the woman to be the one making all the noises; definitely not the case here. The magic touch was the mixing of psychological reactions with the physical ones. Ascertaining your man enjoys getting his tongue on you: that works wonders on itself. Actually feeling his moans causing vibrations against your entrance: oh yeah, that's the extra flavor. No need for fingers whatsoever.
It didn't take long for her to come. By the sated look on his face, if someone else walked on them, that person might take a guess and say he had come too.
She panted, the orgasm allowing the exhaustion from work to take its toll on her. Monica worried about Chandler's dinner though.
"Honey…" It was a struggle even opening her eyes "Are you hungry? I can make dinner for you."
"No no no, don't worry." Chandler kissed the corner of her mouth, then her forehead. "I just had a finger-licking good meal." He grinned at his own innuendo.
She wanted to smack him for daring to say such cheesy things out loud. Well, the smacking could wait until the next day.