Eyes closed, no peeking, Lois.
And then, oh, then, I hear him creeping into the bedroom.
He’s a big boy, so it’s hard for him. But he’s limber and determined – I hope – so he manages. He manages exactly as I had described. No foul-ups. No half-baked attempts.
I’m already wet. My nipples are hard points beneath the silk of this flimsy shift thing I know he likes – hey, I have to give him something, right?
I’ll admit it – I’m worried it won’t give him a rise in quite the way I’d like. It wasn’t so long ago that his watch snagged my hair while we were really fucking each other like lunatics, and it didn’t hurt and it wasn’t a mood-killer for me, but it was for him.
Of course, he recovered quickly. He’s a horny fucker, and no power on earth can make him lose it for long.
But I suppose wondering if he will adds that extra tension. He could lose it. He could call the whole thing off.
But even as I’m thinking so the covers at the end of the bed stir. The mattress dips just a little. I can hear his breathing, just a touch unsteady, and I wonder what I look like to him: dozy and contemporary, just waiting to wake up into chick-lit land, or Renaissance and romantic, hair spread dark and thick across the pillow. The turn of my cheek, one dewy eyelid closed.
I don’t think I’ll look lovely, exactly, but soft. Inviting, maybe. I tremble at the thought of myself.
It’s just as I imagined – the stranger, finding my bedroom door open. Unable to resist slipping into my bed. Doing things to me while I’m still oblivious. Of course in real life I would probably notice right away, but in the fantasy . . . oh, in the fantasy I want to stay oblivious for as long as possible.
When his big hand closes over my ankle, I almost give a little scream, it’s so real. Fantasy shifts into reality and back again, leaving me unable to hold on. I had thought that I might break, and laugh, but that’s not the case – he’s too quiet. Too stealthy. Too good.
His hand slides up, to my knee. All these little sensitive nerve endings glitter and stand up in its wake. His breathing gets heavier and heavier, making a hot cocoon beneath the covers, and the nerve endings appreciate that, too.
Now his hand is on my thigh – two hands on both of my thighs. He pushes them apart so that he can make his place between.
I cheat, and help him. I have to. I’m about to burst with excitement, not just because of the scenario but for the little present I’ve made for him. He probably won’t be able to see it in the dimness under the covers, but he’ll feel it soon enough.
I wonder if he’ll feel it with his hands or with his mouth. Suspense isn’t agony, it’s ecstasy.
And then his fingertips just ghost over the plump purse of my sex. His reaction is immediate and involuntary, as is my reaction to the sound he makes: a long low groan that forces my hips to lift.
I’ve heard him groan like that before, with that note of surprise and almost despair in it. Like he’s sinking right down into a pit made up of me. He did it back when we were just friends and fooling around, and I felt his erection rutting up hungrily against my thigh, and decided that what he should get in return for this accidental over-excitement was a lovely long blow job.
Though it didn’t last long at all. I still remember his apology with joy in my heart and a rush and shiver in my sex: I’m sorry, I’ve just been so horny all weekend, watching you tease me in those tiny clothes.
The clothes weren’t tiny, and I hadn’t known I was teasing him. But I was only too happy to oblige, once all his cards were on the table.
And look how obliging I’ve been here now. I don’t think it’s one of his particular kinks, but all men like a bit of bare pussy, don’t they? Easy access, I suppose. Or maybe he’s wondering if I’ll ask him to do the same thing, and that’s what’s piquing his interest.
He strokes me softly, reverently. Tests out this new exposed flesh.
I’m betting he wants to look, but that’s not allowed, just yet. I’m meant to uncover him, not the other way around, so he has to be content with mapping my denuded pussy with his fingertips.
And his tongue. He licks me suddenly, first down one side, and then the other, avoiding the slit in the centre. But it’s OK, because he really doesn’t need to hit dead on the target right away. My new bareness is very sensitive and likes his lapping.
I squirm for him. I squirm, and he parts my pussy lips with just the tip of his tongue, made hard and pointed. He opens me up. He’s just trying me out.
I think he might be waiting for me to demand more – he usually does – but he won’t get it this time. He has to make me come alive, he has to make me wake up. This isn’t about teasing.
Or, at least, it isn’t about teasing me. I think it’s already getting pretty hard on him. And I’m sure of it, when he presses his mouth right against my pussy suddenly. His thumbs tuck into that notch where my thighs meet the beginnings of my mound, and his fingers spread wide, holding me firmly and wholly.
And then his tongue slides and parts and rubs against me, making spirals and twists right where I’m wettest, dipping into my aching-around-nothing hole before making its way up to my clit. My clit that can hardly stand it. He groans again, his mouth vibrating against my aching flesh, and I know why. It’s because my clit is like a bead – it’s stiff and standing up and waiting for his slippery caress.
He gives up his licking for just a second so that he can feel it with his fingers. He strokes gently, curiously, and hot sparks flash over me. He knows I can hardly take it when he touches the tip, the place where my clit is barest and most exposed. But, oh, it feels so good that I only just bite back a moan.
And then he laps back and forth, nice and quick, and eases his long fingers into me, and I come for him, just like that. I almost praise him by name when I do, too. My hips buck and my teeth chatter and I cream for him just the way he likes.
But now comes the best part.
I’m not a very good actress, but it isn’t hard to squeal and try to shut my legs. And I can’t be that bad because, when he shoves the covers off and I feign fear and demand to know who he is and what he thinks he’s doing, he looks hurt and torn.
Torn, I think, because he’s hugely aroused. I guess my bare slippery pussy guaranteed that.
‘No, don’t,’ I tell him. ‘Don’t.’
In response, his expression suddenly flashes into irritated. Sulky, even. It works well and, even better, he snaps at me, ‘What’s the matter? Didn’t you like that? I think you did, and now it’s my turn. That’s only fair, right? That I get my turn.’
It’s exactly what I told him I wanted him to say, but there’s real conviction in his voice. It makes me shiver and shake anew. It makes my legs want to fall open instead of fighting against his big hands as they force them back apart.
‘You can’t even help wanting it, can you, huh? Look at how wet you are. How flushed. Has no one ever made you come with their mouth on your pussy?’
His cock bobs when he gets that one out. I once told him that very thing, after the first time he went down on me. It made him crazy for it. It made him want to do nothing but eat out at the restaurant of Me. It made him say things I’d never heard a man say before: ‘I love licking your clit. I love the taste of your cunt.’
The word ‘cunt’, used by a man to mean something gorgeous and powerful.
I shake my head, mute with arousal but pretending I’m mute with confusion and fear. Who is this brute who has stolen into my bedroom and found out my secret heart?
And so on.
‘Turn over,’ he says, and he does it with as much firmness as he can muster. It’s enough to thrill through me. It’s enough for me to stumble over a timid tremulous little ‘but I . . .’
And then he grabs me, and flips me over.
Of course I know he’s capable of it. He’s six foot four. His hands are bigger than my head. He can swim a length of a pool in about five seconds. But still it’s overwhelming. I actually gasp. My
legs flail.
‘You love it,’ he says. ‘You love it.’
I want to scream in reply: ‘Are you fucking kidding me, beefcake? I love it so hard I want to fuck you all over. I want to have sex with your face. I want to tie myself up and leave myself at the foot of your bed.’
My great big silly soft-hearted beefcake.
‘No-oo-oo,’ I whine, while my juices leak down my bare thighs and I urge my bare ass back at him. My pussy is split and totally open to him, but he pins my wrists to the mattress anyway. He tells me, ‘Yes. Yes, now you’re going to get fucked.’
Oh, God, I’m dying. I want to beg him to fuck my cunt but I can’t, I can’t. That’s not what this fantasy is about! It’s about getting a cock shoved into me by a sexy stranger, a stranger that I’ve been perhaps teasing on purpose. In the hallway. On the stairs. Flashing too much of my tits. Bending over in front of him.
That sort of nonsense that I’d never do in a million years. Except with my beefcake.
He breaks character ever so slightly when he does shove into me. I feel him go unsteady against me and a weird throaty noise comes out of him. ‘Oh, my God,’ he chokes out – because I’m so wet and swollen. Tight around his cock, hugging it. At the best of times, he’s almost too big for me.
Here’s where he’d usually ask if I’m OK. Or tell me exactly how it feels. But instead he burns out just two words: ‘Take it.’
Really, there’s nothing I can say to that. I just sob into the pillow, twisted from the inside out, clenching desperately around his prick. I want to work myself back on him but that would spoil the agony of suspense and all this beautiful tension but, oh no wait, I don’t care. I need to come again so badly that I’m rubbing my tits against the mattress and trying to get my hands free and imagining nothing but him hunkered down over me with his dick lodged in my bare pussy –
Jesus fucking Christ.
Within the space of his first couple of forceful thrusts, I’m coming. I think I say the word ‘please’ about seven hundred times, and try to stretch myself off the bed. Out of the apartment. Into another universe. Clacky noises catch in my throat, noises that kind of sound like crying, and even though he keeps fucking at me – I don’t think he could stop even if he wanted to – I can feel him slowly descending into concern.
His pace slows a bit. Slows, but gets shakier and shakier.
‘Good show,’ I croak at him, and then he manages to rein himself in completely. He vibrates against my thighs, however. The hands that he lifts off my wrists and rests lightly on my ass are sweaty and trembling.
‘Are you OK?’ he asks, and then on the ends of a tremulous breath: ‘Jesus.’
‘Did you like that?’ I try, even though I know the answer is half no.
He hesitates.
‘I liked . . . how you reacted.’
‘You want more, big boy?’
‘Yes. Yes.’
‘You want to fuck my bare pussy?’
‘Ohhh, Jeez, Lo, you’re deciding to talk like that now? You’re gonna make me go off.’
‘Isn’t that what you want, though? You deserve to, don’t you think?’
‘I . . . maybe.’
He sounds a little guarded, a little deep with laughter. Tread softly, chief, you never know what you’re going to have to say ‘yes’ to next.
‘Only maybe? Maybe doesn’t cut it. I tell you what. I think you . . . shouldn’t come just yet. How about that?’
He almost ruins everything. Almost.
‘You can’t be –’ blurts out of him before he can stop it. But then I hear him get control of himself. He swallows. He strains once, against me.
‘Yes,’ he says.
I can’t say it’s always been one of my fantasies. But I do love it when he gets so worked up that he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Secretly I think he loves being teased – he always comes so hard when I get him into a frenzy – but this is pushing his limits.
‘Take deep breaths,’ I say, as I make him soap my breasts and clean my pretty pussy. He looks sour when he’s at my tits, but he can’t stop himself gawking when he’s washing my bare folds.
I see a hint of a wondering smile when he touches my pouting labia, even when he has to readjust his erection to stop it aching, to stop it being so uncomfortable. He presses down on it and rubs the heel of his palm over it and hums for me.
By the time I get out of the tub, his cheeks are bright pink and he’s leaking through his boxer shorts.
‘I bet you really want to come,’ I say, and he groans and rolls his eyes.
‘You’re killing me.’
I think it’s time for the other thing I had lined up for him today.
‘Go in the bedroom,’ I tell him. ‘And bend over the bed. Starkers.’
He presses his lips together – so frustrated and full up with curses for me – but his eyes are bright and laughing. And when I finally follow him in there, he has done exactly what I asked.
He looks creamy-perfect and masculine, so masculine, in the dim light of the bedroom. He’s a little thick, really, and not so defined that he could be called truly perfect. But the way he looks sends me, anyway. It’s the big gangliness, I think.
‘Come on and do whatever you’re going to do, then, gawker,’ he says.
I wonder if he’ll be so happy to demand that when he finds out what I’ve got planned.
I think he might be. I think he wants it, secretly. Or not so secretly. But he’ll probably balk when it gets to later developments.
‘Legs apart,’ I say, and he obeys with a rueful little chuff.
I stroll behind him and he follows me with his eyes, complaining all the while that I could at least put something less sexy on – something other than the little silky shift thing again. I tell him I will, soon enough, and that doesn’t make him any happier. He probably knows it means he won’t be coming in the very near future.
And then, as I’m getting what I need out of the bottom drawer – our goodie drawer – he startles me. He just comes right out with it – or close enough.
‘Are you going to fuck my ass?’
How he sounds melts me. Nervous, hoarse with lust, beyond his own limits. He keeps his hands flat on the mattress but I can see him tearing at himself as the need to touch his cock rises. It must be unbearable. It’s unbearable for me and I’ve already had two huge orgasms.
‘Is that what you want me to do?’ I ask and he shakes his shaggy head.
‘Today isn’t for me.’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘OK. Maybe it is a little,’ he says, and then he laughs. I ache to hear it. ‘But it’s more about you asking something of me and I just give myself over to you. Unquestioning. Without saying if I want it or not. Isn’t that what we agreed?’
‘I guess it must be. But then again I know I could push you further than you’ll ever try to push me.’
‘Don’t be too sure, butt-fucker,’ he says, and now it’s my turn to laugh. ‘Go on. Go on, I’m sure. I’ve always been sure, with you.’
It’s something like lightning inside, to realise someone feels exactly the same way about you that you do about them.
I run a tender hand over his back, and he shivers for me. He shivers and says, ‘I know, I know,’ and unaccountably it’s those words that make tears prick behind my eyes.
Fucking hilarious that it happens while I’m holding lube and a butt plug in my hands.
‘Be gentle with me,’ he says, in this silly fainting-damsel sort of voice, and then we giggle.
‘I promise I will,’ I tell him, as I slick him up and make him slippery right between his delectable butt cheeks. I’ve stroked him there before, pressed my finger right against his perineum or wandered a little further around. Once, in the bathtub, I slid right inside without even trying, and watched as his eyes went cartoon-wide. And then lust-slitted.
But this is different, and he can’t stay still for it. His hips jiggle and he bucks against my exploring hand, sometimes s
ighing, sometimes whining. I’m already aroused again from bath fun time, but the way his ass flutters around my intruding fingers only makes it worse.
He feels slick and smooth and strange. I explore, searching for something that might be his prostate, but I don’t really feel anything when he jerks forward as if he’s been jabbed and begs me for more.
That’s enough of that, I think. Now for something bigger.
Although really it isn’t all that big. It’s maybe the size of two fingers, and it’s more the coolness of it that makes him protest, rather than the size. As I work it into his clenching ass, he keens and chokes out just how cold it is – for me.
And then it’s seated all the way inside him, the ridged base preventing it from disappearing. It parts his butt cheeks just a little, looking like a small blue jewel between the pink.
‘Very nice,’ I tell him. ‘Very pretty. Now stand up.’
He does so after a few deep breaths, slowly. Awkwardly. He turns to face me, equally awkwardly. Sweat has gathered at his hairline. That pink flush has spread all over him. He squirms around, though I think more because he’s testing it out than because it hurts.
But I ask how it feels, just to be sure.
‘Uncomfortable,’ he says, and then, after a swallow, ‘Good.’
But his reaching-for-the-sky cock tells me that much.
‘OK,’ I say. ‘Now we get ready for Jean’s party.’
His eyes flutter closed.
‘Yes,’ he says.
He actually swaggers into the party. Sort of like John Wayne. If John Wayne had a butt plug in his ass.
I like the sideways cant to his walk, and the look permanently on his face. As if he’s trying to process a very difficult maths problem but oh, it’s a pleasure to do it. Once or twice, as we’re mingling in what looks like a ballroom, he makes a sound he shouldn’t. Before turning it into a cough.
For once, he is otherwise silent on the matter. Though I suppose it would be difficult for him to say, ‘Let me come’ in a room full of swanky people. Even if his eyes tell me that very thing. They can’t seem to stop staring at my cleavage, which I have made full and voluptuous just for him. I’m wearing his favourite dress – the one that clings and makes my bottom jut, and disappears right down to there.
The Things That Make Me Give In Page 6