And then he moves and pulls away from her. His shoulder blades touch the wall, his hips are thrust forward, and his cock juts hugely and proudly away from his body. God, that cock—he’s wet with saliva. Glistening.
Her fingernails are painted silver, glittering like the lights outside the windows. Her fingers are thin, delicate and long. They wrap around his thick cock at the base, and slide up slowly to the tip, her palm engulfs the broad head, and then she squeezes and twists around the head and plunges her fist down. He thrusts into her hand, hissing.
“Fuck…” he growls. He reaches out and grabs her hair at the back of her head and jerks her face to his cock, shoving himself into her mouth. It’s a rough, violent, commanding gesture. I expect her to fight it or to say something, but she doesn’t. She only opens her mouth wide and takes his dick—all those long thick inches—right down her throat, and she moans in obvious pleasure as she does so.
But her eyes, oh…her eyes are on me. Gray, storm-cloud gray. Cunning. Not malicious, necessarily, but cunning. Wickedly intelligent eyes. Knowing eyes. Teasing, mischievous, sex-hot eyes. They don’t just flick over me and return to him, oh no. They peruse me. Roam. Search.
The girl next door definitely has another side to her.
She’s devouring me.
And she’s every bit as hungry and salacious as the blond man who was here so recently—here in this apartment…
…And in me.
She’s looking at me with open interest and I suddenly feel naked.
She’s missing nothing. Not my legs beneath the towel and certainly not my cleavage. A droplet of water from my wet hair slides slowly down my shoulder. Hungrily, her eyes follow its path down my throat, over my clavicle, between my breasts. She regards my face with interest, taking in my platinum hair and my glistening eyes.
I’m momentarily confused.
Why is she looking at me like that?
Why does her gaze make me feel so shaky and so unsure of myself?
Why does her stare heat me up in a way I have never experienced before?
It’s not the same way I feel when a man looks at me. It’s similar, but not the same. I feel the heat between my thighs. The fire in my core. The hunger. But it’s different. Softer, but somehow more….
I watch her lips wrap around his cock; my lips twitch, remembering, knowing how that feels. Her fingers slide and caress his thickness; my fingers twitch, remembering, knowing how that feels.
She switches hands, her right hand releases his cock and her left hand takes its place. Her right hand stretches out and snags the bottom edge of my towel. She tugs hard, enough that I’m pulled forward two short steps, enough that I’m within touching distance of them both.
They are both looking at me. Waiting? I don’t know.
He reaches out and untucks the edge of the towel.
Her fingers tug at the same time, and the thick white terrycloth falls and pools at my feet.
I’m naked.
Wet.
Droplets of water dip down my shoulders, between my shoulder blades, between my breasts. Yes, wet like that.
But also…wet.
One of his hands remains buried in her hair, and the other, now that my towel is gone, caresses my boobs. One, then the other. Caresses, cups, kneads. And then he tweaks my nipple. Flicks it. I gasp, and my breath catches. He bends down and to the side, a slightly awkward movement, and captures my nipple in his mouth. He sucks hard, and then releases it with a pop, and his tongue laps against my nipple.
I’m about to step away, but I feel a hand trail up the inside of my leg, from ankle to thigh, a light, teasing touch. Soft, gentle, feminine. I shiver and my nipples, already hard, sharpen into diamonds. My cunt, already wet, drips.
Oh god.
Why does this feel so good?
She does it again.
I look down, and watch. She’s still got those plump lips wrapped around his cock, and one hand is still slowly and even lovingly caressing him near the root, but the other is at my ankle, the opposite one now, and is tracing a path upwards along my leg. She’s tickling the side of my knee, the back of my knee. Up, up the back of my thigh, reaching between my legs to carve delicate fingertips over the back of my thigh, the inside, and then up over the outer edge of one side of my labia. She moves back down the other lip, down the inside of my thigh, around the back, down my knee, tickling the backside. Cupping my ankle now, palm against my skin, and roaming, sliding up my flesh, up the back of my knee, up the back my thigh, and then she’s cupping my ass cheek, small hands and long, delicate, soft fingers clawing into the fat and muscle of my ass. She pats it lightly, as if testing the bounciness, and then she goes to the other cheek, cups, claws, caresses, and skates down the back.
All the while, his mouth and hand are on my tits, alternating between them.
Holy shit.
I’m completely off balance.
Dizzy, flush with ache and pleasure and confusion. I have to steady myself, and the only place to put my hands is on him, and on her. So I do. I rest my hand on his waist, and on her shoulder, and regain my balance.
And god, the disparity in the sensation of touching them both is heady. Soft, warm skin and delicate, bird-like bones contrasted with solid muscle and hard bone and hot flesh.
I close my eyes and give in to the sensation.
My left hand flutters through thick sheaves of hair, soft skin, and slim shoulders, all unfamiliar. My right hand seeks the familiar: ridges of abdominal muscles, the hard round bubble of his ass, hairy thighs.
My left hand slips down and finds a warm slope of downy soft flesh, and a pebbled nipple. My throat closes, and my core clenches, and my heart trips, then hammers in my chest. I cup her breast, and the feel of this woman’s tit in my hand is utterly unfamiliar and alien, yet it makes me shiver and shudder. I don’t let go, I knead it the same way I like my tits touched; sure and firm, but gentle. I tweak her nipple the way I like mine toyed with, twisted, flicked, and pinched, and I hear a soft gasp and then her fingers find my inner thighs and slide up the seam of my pussy. She hesitates.
And then she delves in.
And the way she touches me…
I’m lost—
She just…knows.
She swipes and flicks and circles my clit with surety and familiarity, as if she’s masturbating herself. She knows exactly how I like to be touched, and it brings me to orgasm within seconds, heat rifling through me, twisting and knifing through my core. I gasp and rock against her fingers, and then she slips two fingers deep inside me and scours me for my wetness and smears it all over me. She begins touching me all over again with my own wetness, an unnecessary but delirium-making lubrication.
And all the while, he is worshipping my tits. Lapping them. Cupping them. Flicking my nipples, licking them. Kissing my flesh.
And me?
I toy with her breasts as if they were my own.
But now, I’m hungry.
And not just for his ass, his abs, and his thighs.
I open my eyes and she backs away, his dick falling free from her lips. My hand wraps around the thick mushroom head of his beautiful cock, and I stroke him. Her hand is at his root, and she strokes him. And he’s…god, he’s gone. Rapturous. In heaven. We don’t stroke him in unison. Our hands bump and collide, nudge, she meeting mine on the upstroke, mine meeting hers on the down stroke.
She leans toward me, her lips parted. Her eyes are on mine and I don’t look away; her gaze is a storm cloud glittering with lust.
Her lips touch my labia, and I cease breathing. I stare down and watch as her tongue slides out from between her lips and spears into my cunt and flicks my clit. A lick, just one, and I’m helpless. I lean forward, against her mouth, and she grins. She laughs, knowing exactly what I’m feeling.
I have no idea what comes over me, but I find myself burying my fingers in her hair—god, her hair is softer than silk and a perfect shade of scarlet, and so thick. I pull her against my pussy.
And she, willing, eager, hungry, lascivious, goes where I direct her. Her mouth mashes against my pussy and her tongue slides into me, and curls to lap up my dripping juices. She strokes my clit, and now she tongue-fucks me with the same familiar skill as she finger-fucked me. She eats me out the way I would beg a man to eat me, but I don’t have to say a word, don’t have to nudge or breathe hard to indicate she’s doing it right. She knows. She laps and licks, sucks and spears and slurps and I’m dizzy and delirious and wild, gripping her hair in one hand to hold her face against my cunt, and stroking his big glorious perfect cock with my other as I come and come and come like a wildfire blazing out of control.
I feel him thickening, throbbing and thrusting uncontrollably into our hands.
My eyes go to hers, and she knows as well as I do how close he is. She pulls me down, and I go to my knees. His fingers knot into my wet hair. Eager, now, I reach out and find her slit, and she widens her thighs to allow me access. I find her cunt wet and ready, her clit thick and plump and hard and I flick it as I would my own, reaching curling fingers into her slit to smear her wetness all over her throbbing clit. She moans, now, and the sound is so brazenly needy, so erotic, that I have no control over myself, no way to resist the urge to lean in, lean close, and take her mouth with mine. And fuck, fuck, she tastes like me, but her mouth is soft and her lips are wet and I also taste him, and that, Jesus, that’s what does me in, the taste of his cock and my cunt on her lips.
I kiss her and shove my tongue between her teeth and taste her tongue on mine, a vicious and horny and somehow sweet kiss, and then she breaks away to bury his cock between her lips, one hard hungry thrust, and then she backs away and glances at me to indicate to me it’s my turn, so I take him next. I open my throat and part my lips and fit his hot hard wet cock into my mouth and taste his pre-cum and her saliva, and I take him deep and hard for a moment.
And then I back off, and she takes over.
We trade, again and again, his fists in our hair, my fingers in her pussy, hers in mine, my lips around his huge throbbing dick and my mouth crushing against her swollen lips and I don’t know what’s what or who’s who. My only awareness is the combined taste of him and her and me, and the feel of her tight cunt around my thrusting fingers. Then I feel him tense and hear him growl, and his fists jerk in our hair, twice.
I’ve got him down my throat as he begins to let go, and then he pulls out quickly.
I watch his big rough hand clench around his cock and he takes over jerking himself, but she’s not having that, oh no, she goes after him with eyes wide and lips parted, and she takes his first spurting gush on her mouth, on her face, and then he pivots slightly and I take him in my mouth and swallow the hot salty musk of his cum rather than take it on my face, and then he’s backing away and I’m watching her take him down her throat and watch her swallow, and as she’s swallowing his cock and his cum, she’s bucking into my hand, moaning around him, choking as she tries to moan and come and swallow all the same time.
I shove my fingers deep inside her and feel her clench around me as she comes. I slide my fingers out of her and smear them in hard fast circles around her clit until she’s helpless to do anything but fall backward to the floor in the foyer, and I—god, what has come over me?
Who am I? Who is this person doing these things? Why do I fucking love this so much? Why am I going utterly mad, utterly haywire for the taste of cunt on my tongue, the feel of pussy around my fingers? I twist away from him and go to my knees and bury my face between her thighs, lap at her slit with my tongue like a dog drinking from a bowl of water.
“Fuck…fuck that’s hot,” he grunts, his voice guttural. Big hands grab her; grab me, lifting us to our feet. “Let’s take this somewhere more comfortable.”
My knees are shaking, she’s leaning on me for balance, and he’s got his arms around our waists, one of us on either side, leading us to his bedroom. My hands reach for him, roaming his chest, fondling his flaccid but still impressive cock. As my fingers slide up his chest I feel feminine hands collide with mine, and my fingers caress hers, tangle with hers, all this on the hard muscular wall of his chest.
And then we’re in his bedroom, all three of us crawling across the rucked, rumpled sheets, and she’s falling to her back, crimson hair splaying across the white sheets. Her creamy thighs are parted, spread open for me.
For one brief moment I find myself wondering who I am. Why do I feel these things, why do I feel this hot hunger for a woman, when only an hour ago I was glutting myself on cock and male muscle?
I am a puzzle to myself.
But I don’t fight it.
The mystery only heightens the eroticism.
*
I feel him somewhere behind us, near the foot of the bed, and I’m vaguely aware of a rustling of clothes. I can hear him breathing. But, for now, he is a silent presence.
She’s on her back, heels digging into her ass cheeks, head on the pillow, hair a scarlet halo on the white fabric. She has big breasts, not as big as mine, but large all the same. Firm. Real. High and tight. Her taut pink nipples are centered on small, dark areolae. Gravity has allowed each breast to fall to the side ever so slightly. Pale, pale skin, milk white and flawless, long limbs. Those fingers, delicate, small, are roaming her body, skating up her thighs, palms lifting and releasing her tits. Spine arching. Eyes wide, cheeks flushed pink, lips parted, tongue running over her upper lip, then her lower lip, tasting the corner of her mouth
She’s staring at me and then glancing behind me, over in his direction.
I crawl on my hands and knees toward her, a little more nervous now that we’re in the bedroom. I was lost to the heat of the moment, there in the foyer. But now I’m a little less sure of myself.
She lifts her hips, and my eyes are drawn to her slit.
Plump, pink labia, the tip of a prominent clit peeking out. Tight. Wet. God, so wet.
Something inside me shifts. Deepens. Sharpens.
My nerves fade away.
I crawl across the mattress toward her, and she reaches for me. She slips all of her fingers into my hair, tenderly, gently, affectionately, as if she knows me, likes me, as if we’ve done this before a thousand times, as if this isn’t new and alien. She’s slow and careful and insistent as she guides me between her thighs, guides my face to her core. She pushes my damp hair away from my face and smooths it over my shoulders and down my back, and then she cups the back of my head with both hands and brings me to her.
I begin slowly, tentatively with a questing lick with my tongue, up the outside of her pussy and along the seam of her tight lips. She gasps, a soft sound. And then I lick again, and again, still tasting the outside, exploring the length of her slit with the flat of my tongue, and now, licking from bottom to top, I stiffen my tongue and slide it against her clit, which is hard and begging for me. As I circle my tongue around it, she moans, grinds her hips against my face, and I hear a male grunt behind me. I feel the bed dip.
He’s directly behind me—I feel his heat, his hard body.
I’m on my knees, my chest against the mattress, and my ass in the air. He takes full advantage of my position, smoothing big rough hands over my buttocks, caressing the globes softly, reverently, then strokes down my thighs and back up, cupping my hips. Down again, and now his hand slips between my thighs and nudges them apart. I open wide for him, moaning against her clit as he dips a long thick finger into me. I flick my tongue against her clit, and then suck it between my teeth using my lips and tongue to create suction, bringing her to writhing, arching madness. I’m moaning too because his fingers are inside me, scissoring, and then gliding out, spreading my essence over my clit.
A moment of absence, and then I feel his hair soft against my inner thighs and his lips kiss my flesh, my thighs, and then his tongue mirrors what mine is doing, as if he can somehow see what I’m doing. Licking when I lick, sucking when I suck, flicking when I flick. It’s hard to eat pussy while I’m coming, but tha
t only makes it all the hotter, because I’m totally out of control, helpless, lost to this. I’m swiping my tongue around her clit in crazed circles and rocking my hips to grind my pussy against his mouth and I’m coming and she’s coming, we’re both screaming and thrashing, and now he’s pushing me forward and throwing me to my back beside her.
“Let me watch you kiss,” he commands. “Touch each other some more.”
I twist my head, heart pounding, cunt throbbing, gut twisting, the aftershocks making me shudder. She’s in the same straits, barely able to breathe, eyes heavy, her hair sticking to her temples, and her breasts heaving.
She’s the first to move. She slides closer to me, brushes her palms over my breasts on her way to cupping my cheek with a soft, tender hand. Then she pulls my face to her own.
Kissing a man is a study in the exchange of power. It’s a battle. Dominance versus submission. Kissing her is…a vastly different proposition. She kisses me to show me…something. To let me see something, feel something. To take something from me and, in so doing so, give me something in return.
Her lips are the softest, warmest things I’ve ever tasted, wet, willing, pliable, and plump. Eager. Moving on mine with ravishing passion, as if kissing me is delirium and madness and wonder all at once. I forget everything; forget me, him, us, the blond man from a few hours ago, so there’s nothing but her and me and the kiss.
I’m reminded of reality by the feel of a finger in my pussy, a thumb at my clit. By the way she gasps suddenly against my lips. I open my eyes and see him on the bed between us, his mouth on her pussy and his fingers inside me. I don’t know how he keeps everything straight, how he moves in such perfect synchronicity, his right hand tweaking her nipple, his left hand at my cunt, his lips on her clit, moving surely, unerringly, unhurriedly, driving both of us to the wrenching cusp of orgasm before shifting it all around and moving his mouth to my core and his fingers to hers and pinching my nipple so hard I whimper. And then, right when I’m a breath away from tumbling over the edge into orgasm, he switches it up again, and judging by the hiss against my lips, she’s as deliciously frustrated as I am.
The Black Room: Door Two Page 5