I worried that he was trying to cancel on me when I got this text:
So fucking exhausted :-(
So I assured him that fucking tonight was not a requirement. I thought, “Hmm, it’ll be nice just to make him dinner and chill, watch A Game of Thrones maybe…”
Butter-poached sea bass, braised kale with bacon and onion, and a roasted cauliflower with caramelized yellow onions and goat’s milk puree were on the menu. He’d mentioned before how impressed he is at my cooking skills and I wanted to really knock his socks off.
While chopping crispy bacon bits he walked up behind me and hefted my braless breasts into his hands. I arched my back and pushed my bottom into the warm curve of his groin and fed him a piece of bacon. He squeezed my breasts. I fed him another piece. He pinched my nipples. “Nothing better than breasts and bacon, no?” I stated.
I turned around and took his scruffy face in my hands. “I love your 5 o’clock shadow,” I purred before I dipped my mouth to his. It was salty, like mine. Bacon-y. He took a hand off his face and put it on his bulging shorts. He was huge and hot.
I took another piece of bacon, “SIT,” I commanded. He grinned and complied. I straddled his legs and pressed my pubis into his face. He opened his mouth and breathed hot breath through the cotton of my dress.
I came back to reality then and finished dinner. We ate, laughed, watched a couple of A Game of Thrones like I’d hoped. When the second episode began he came to sit next to me on the couch, our thighs pressed along the length of each other, his arm over my shoulder. I absent-mindedly stroked his erection; he casually held my right breast.
When the second show was over he teased me for trying to have sex after all. I assured him it wasn’t on my mind. Then I pushed him back on the couch and cooed to him about being so tired; how awful it must be. I breathed on his shaft through his basketball shorts and I pulled the tip of his cock out from under the waistband and I licked.
My hair tumbled down around us, slick and cool on our hot skin. I pulled off his shorts and my breasts strained against the flimsy top of my dress as I dragged them on either side of his erection and pink, wrinkly ball sack. He groaned and said how good that felt. I licked him from stern to stem and gently rolled his testes around in my mouth, spit slid under his sack. Then I started to move on the shaft with my hand gripped tight around its girth, my mouth dancing on the head. I drank in his salty precum and groaned with delight. God I love to suck cock.
Somehow, we ended up in my room. Maybe he brought the candle, I don’t know, but he was gloriously naked and I was not. He shoved me roughly down on the bed and crawled up my length. “I’m not going to fuck you,” he said with a grin.
“Good. I don’t want you to,” I boldly replied.
He peeled off my panties and pulled my dress up over my head. I stretched out under his gaze: rounded valleys of warm, cream-colored skin against stark white bedding. I felt myself melt into the down comforter beneath me. This is where I wanted to be.
He made to mount me and I dodged his naked shaft. He slid it in the fold between my plump upper-thigh and my swollen vulva. I got wetter and kept wiggling my hips away. He left me for a minute and proudly revealed a string of golden condoms he’d smuggled into my apartment and dropped them next to my head.
“But we’re not fucking,” I reminded him.
“Nope,” he answered as he rolled one on.
He fell back over me and butted the head of his cock against my hole. I scooted up the bed a few inches and continued to kiss him back, passionately, with every fiber of my being. I feel for you, I screamed through my kisses.
His mocking thrusts were becoming more insistent. I moved away again, closer to my metal headboard. I was losing ground.
His hands ran all over me; I squeezed his buttock’s flesh in my hands, lightly scraped my fingers on his tender skin and spanked him. He chuckled as he moved closer and I ran out of room to run all together.
“You have no where else to go,” he growled in my ear. And then his cock was peeling me open and he was sliding in. I felt his pressure deep inside of me, practically in my throat. He went slow — oh, so slow — and I grasped at him with my cunt, sucked on him like my eager mouth did, and as I did I slowly and sweetly drenched us and I began to cry.
I felt exposed and raw. This was too slow, too obvious. I felt like he could plainly see on my forehead a marquee of my feelings for him. I’d turned down sex on my second date with the man from Tuesday night the night before because I simply couldn’t imagine it being any better than what it was with him. “I am so fucked,” I thought as he watched me in wonder lose my shit beneath him.
All I could think to say was “Ohfuckohfuckohfuck,” or “Ohshitohshitohshit,” interspersed with “Neighbor, I fucking love your cock.” I felt helpless and devoured as my g-spot sang and my arms and legs became lead. I pulled his head down to my breast and let him suck while he rocked into my core; taken at nearly every angle a single man can.
He hooked my ankles up on his shoulders and began to press into me with gusto. My pussy smacked and squelched with my passionate releases, his tempo increased further. I tried hard not to keep covering my face and instead focused on his mouth. That sweet, bow mouth with the dusting of faintly red shadow.
I pivoted back on him and pushed against my wall with all my might as he pegged me to the bed. I could sense his cock swell inside of me, could hear him lose his breath along with the manly moans that began to escape him. And then he was riveting into me and crying out and I couldn’t help but expel my own shouts and moans of pleasure with him.
A minute later, as he is wont to do, he began to move inside of me again. I had given up all hope of any sense of control and let him do whatever he wanted. He spanked me and pinched me and I just kept crying helplessly, happily.
Finally, he was through with me and he rolled onto his side and pulled me into his big spoon, a heavy arm draped over my waist, his hand nestled between my breasts.
We talked for a while, about what I couldn’t tell you if my life depended on it. All I know is that his cock, still mostly hard, found its way into my eager mouth. He came close to cumming again a couple of times, but wasn’t able. It’s usually his custom to not cum at all during sex. Or so he’s said. Certainly, there have been several encounters of ours where he hasn”t. I do my best to not feel as though I am unskilled; I, of all people, know that you don’t have to orgasm to truly and deeply enjoy sex.
I felt gorgeous and relaxed with him right then. More so than before and so I grabbed my Hitachi and stood on the floor with my knee hitched up on the bed, the candle flickering to my left, my lovely neighbor splayed out before me. I turned it on and pressed it against my mound. He slid closer, under me, and reached his fingers inside.
Immediately, I bucked against his hand. He stroked his finger against my channel’s padding and I strained not to loose myself so soon on him. I told him to hold still and I would move against him and the blinding light, the intensity of pleasure that cracked through my cells caused me to shiver for minutes and minutes more when I was cradled in his arms. His chuckles puffed onto my neck as he held me.
I’ve never been split in two like that before. I reveled in it, the hormonal surges reminded me of when after I pushed out my baby I lay on the hospital bed, teeth chattering, and comparing it to all the times I’d ever done Ecstasy. It was like that last night. I couldn’t think. I wanted to tell him how I felt about him. I wanted to lock all my windows and doors and never let him leave.
However, I didn’t, but I also didn’t escape totally unscathed. I jokingly told him my social security number and a deplorable fantasy I had the other day about a client. ” I am not allowed to think of clients in a sexual manner,” I told him, “I feel horrible.” He assured me it was ok if I did. I told him he should leave his friend’s birthday party early tonight to come and fuck me and “do absolutely whatever” he wants to me knowing full well he’ll never do that. He’s taking the-girl-who-won’t-touch-him and I think he always has hope that might change.
The point is, I didn’t give a fuck how obvious I sounded. It was a Herculean effort on my part to say only those simpleton things. Logically, I knew it was the oxytocin, so I was saved from irreparably damaging this magic thing I have going on with a babble of stupid words, but I still said stupid shit. — ARGH, I’m sure I could fill an entire blog with the stupid shit we say after a bone-jarring orgasm. But still, he praised me, wondered at me, and kissed me, and then he began to spank me. So hard I felt his hand prints like a sunburn on my bottom and flanks. I begged him to ice it and he obliged. The water cooled my bulging, raw pussy lips and wrapped around my waist to end in a tepid puddle under my belly.
He suggested we watch another episode of A Game of Thrones after that and I ended up falling asleep I was so spent. Granted, it was late, but I had nothing left to give. Even to the fucking TV at that point. He woke me up with a laugh and I sat upright for the last 7 minutes, embarrassed and longing for my bed. He stood up, noted the time (1:15 am) and said it was bedtime. I agreed, kissed him, gave him a smack on the ass and said goodnight. I didn’t even care I was going to sleep alone.