I have a fantasy about a married man, Part 2.

I’m all about follow-up posts apparently this week.  Part 1 is here.  And who knew this would be more than a 2-parter?  Not me, certainly.  Enjoy!

He pushes the door open and I walk through, making sure to brush my breasts against him as I pass.  The room has two beds and a clean, modern look. I casually toss my purse on a chair and pull the curtains open.  The city sparkles below, the river curls lazily on its back as if inviting me to do the same.

He has kept pace with me and as I stand gazing out the window and kick my shoes off a beat later he is pressed behind me with his hands cupping both breasts.  I throw my head back and expose my throat to his mouth.  He nibbles my ear and traces his teeth along the chords of my neck, kneading my breasts, puffing deep-throated grunts along my skin.

I feel the bulge of his erection on my bottom and I press back more.  He bites me and I moan.  His hands slip beneath the thin cotton and free each heavy breast.  I moan louder.

He presses us both closer to the window until I must catch myself on the glass.  I hear him fumble with his britches and then his rod is caught in the folds of my dress between my legs.  I spread my feet just a little.

He falls forward on me and I brace myself under his weight.  He hikes up my skirt and finds my hot flesh, inflamed for him, dripping.  His fingers gently part the folds and dip inside, his cock is still safely tangled in fabric.

“Jesus Christ, you’re wet, Hy.  I thought you made this shit up.”

“No.  I never make it up.  It’s real.  And it’s for you,” I manage to answer.  His fingers begin a brutal rhythm and I start to shake a little.  His cupped hand is filled with my ejaculate and my dress suddenly feels like burlap, my hand prints have become sweaty smears on the glass.

Apollo seems to feel similarly about my dress and pulls it up and over my head in one motion.  He’s still fully clothed.  When he enters my pulsing slash, we haven’t yet kissed.

He pushes in slowly and an inch more when his pelvis reaches my buttocks.  I pant gently letting that filled-up feeling wash over me and tingle up over my shoulders and down to my fingertips.  He begins to move, his hands tight on my waist.

“Apollo – ” I start to say.

“Hy, don’t speak.  Not a word.”

I shut my mouth and begin to whimper as his pace increases and I hear his breathing become labored.  I wish we were on a lower level so a passerby might see me pressed against the cool glass wall, but find my view of his reflection a pleasant consolation prize.  He’s gazing down at me, his face transfixed with pleasure.  I rock back and pivot my hips just a little.  I feel him swell inside.

His balls swing and smack my vulva with each pump and I reach back and gently pull on them.  I have one shoulder pressed against the glass and the awkward position heightens my arousal.  I can’t move.

He pulls out and pulls me up to my full height.  He begins to dip down to take my mouth with his, but kisses my jaw instead.  My hand is wrapped around his wet cock.  He runs his hands up my body, pinching my nipples hard as he passes them, to rest his hands on my shoulders.  He gives a warm squeeze, then I feel pressure.

I lower to my knees and his bobbing meat glistens in the sun streaming through the window behind me.  I lick the head and taste my cunt.  I grab the base and impale my face on him, begin to move, do my thing.  He involuntarily pushes his hips forward and groans.  I lap and slurp and stroke like my life depends on it.  Like sucking his cock will turn back time, fill my bank accounts with money, solve world hunger.

He is lost to my ministrations.  My pussy cries happily, my juices running down my thighs as I taste precum and feel him grown then recede and grow again beneath my tongue and lips.  I press my finger to his perineum, slide it back to his anus.  It constricts and he thrusts almost angrily at my face with his hips.  I push a little further, just the tip and his thighs are like brick walls on either side of my face.  He begins to tremble.

He’s close, I know it.  I want so badly to taste his seed, to feel his beautiful, thick cock spurt into the back of my throat.  To look at him with his cum glistening on my lips, my face flushed with exertion.  I want this so badly.  I dive down harder and concentrate.  This is going to happen. My pussy pulses, little mews escape my throat, tears begin to run down my face and then he roughly breaks us apart, grabs me by the arms and throws me roughly down on the bed and undresses as he climbs up over me.

16 thoughts on “I have a fantasy about a married man, Part 2.

  1. Pingback: I have a fantasy about a married man, Part 1. « A Dissolute Life Means…

  2. I love the meta moment: “No. I never make it up. It’s real. And it’s for you,” in a work of fiction. Also this sentence: “Like sucking his cock will turn back time, fill my bank accounts with money, solve world hunger.” Absolutely priceless. The visuals your writing conjures are certainly hot and bothersome, but it’s when you turn out the phrases just… so… that’s when you really get me.

  3. wonderfully explicit with sensuous, graded shades of heightened imagery. Love it. Makes an old married man wish very much he was the one in the story.

    Mike

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