r/eroticliterature

It was my third date with a really, really good guy. I wasn’t used to those. I was used to guys who had put me down, been more interested in my body than \*me\*, or guys who just generally weren’t someone I clicked with.

But he…he was different. He made holding hands sexy. His love language was clearly touch because he never stopped touching me somehow; his hand around my waist as we walked, touching my leg gently as we sat next to each other, absentmindedly tracing patterns on my skin. All the time, and always in the sweetest way. We had effortless conversation.

At the end of our date, we were talking about music while sitting in his car after driving to his house. He asked me to show him some of the music that inspired me, but the auxiliary cord in his car had frayed (back in the day), so I pulled out my earbuds and we each put one in one ear. With these in, our faces were close together. It was impossible not to feel the chemistry and he slowly kissed me.

His hands found their way to my face and softly caressed my cheek with his thumb, and then they moved down and back to comb my hair with his fingers spread, resting along my scalp. The sensation of his hand on the back of my head, the softness of his lips, warmth of his tongue… mmmm. I still shiver thinking about it.

He pulled back for just a moment and I realized his earbud had fallen out. His nose was an inch from mine and he invited me inside.

Without talking, we walked inside and sat close on the couch, the tension still tantalizingly hanging in the air. I was looking around his cozy living room when I felt his thumb on my chin, drawing it to him. His lips melted into mine and I knew I was lost to him tonight.

Tender kisses turned into wet kisses, and turned into more passion. We breathed deeply into each other and his hands explored my bare shoulders, trailing down my arms to interlace his fingers with mine. He held them briefly, pulled back to read my face, and lead me down the hallway towards his room with a wink.

My stomach flitted with butterflies. Still holding my hand as we got closer to the bed, he turned towards me and wrapped his hands around my waist. I could feel him hard under his pants as he pulled my hips firmly against his own. I exhaled in his ear as his lips graced my neck. He kissed down one arm, then lifted it up over my head slowly. His other arm lifted my other hand, and he left them hanging in the air while he pulled my shirt over my head.

I felt so exposed standing there in my black lacy bra, slightly nervous. My hands instinctively moved to touch my chest, as though to hide my emotional vulnerability. His thumbs tugged my jeans down, watching me wiggle out of them and revealing my matching lacy underwear. He watched my face and smiled as I took my turn undressing him.

I stood, an inch away from his warm body, and my hands trailed up his sides to find his firm chest. His strong hands drew my hips against his own, closing the small gap between us for the briefest of moments before we moved onto his bed.

We laid together on our sides, looking at each other in the faintest of light coming through the mostly-closed window covering above his bed. He moved some hair that had fallen on my face as we laid down and drew my face to his, kissing the tip of my nose. Kissing my lips. Kissing my neck. Hands warm, covering my nipples with his palms. His cock hard against my thigh. We pulled each other’s underwear off as we kissed, giggling, and knowing this would be wonderful.

His fingers moved between my thighs and I opened my legs, allowing his fingers to find my wetness. I wrapped my hands around his hard cock, anticipating how he would feel inside me. As I moved my fingers to the tip of his dick, his fingers delved into me, a moan escaping from my lips. He smiled, loving the sound he knew he was just for him. I started stroking him as he fingered me, alternating between going deep and then swirling my clit with my wetness.

He mounted me and I wrapped my legs around his. Sitting upright, he lined his cock up with my pink pussy, and looked me straight in the eye. We both were savoring the first moment of penetration between two new lovers. With his tip just barely touching me, he leaned over me on both his forearms. He looked deeply into my eyes, stroking my cheek, while slowly pushing inside me. He slipped in so easily with how wet I was for him. I ran my fingers through his hair to pull him close to me, and we kissed with knowing smiles into each other.

He started slow, us both still glowing in that first moment of penetration, but our hips found harmony as we moved together. Deeper and faster, until thrusting became passionate pounding, and soft moans became louder and more desperate.

He sat up, still inside and thrusting, and his hands massaged my breasts. My fingers circled my clit with his cock pushing in and pulling out of me, and my orgasm came crashing over me. His thrusts slowed as my panting subsided, but he kept watching my face to see if he should continue or stop for a bit. I wrapped my legs tighter around him, inviting him to stay inside, and he gently and eagerly continued.

He was a skilled lover, knowing how to touch my body so that I’d tingle, with the right angle for his dick to hit my g-spot. We were both getting close to cumming together; the pulsing of my pussy on his cock moments before had gotten him so close, but he held back. Not wanting it to end, I mounted him sitting upright and grinded hard on him. Rocking my hips, I moved slow, but at a pace where we both were satisfied. His hand reached up to my bare breasts and traced down my stomach, where he gently pressed, signaling me to stop moving. My eyes had been closed in pleasure so I looked at him, and he was smiling. So much tenderness in his eyes. He simply said, “I want just a minute. I just be a part of you.”

I melted inside, it was the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to me. Here he was, deep inside me, caught up in the moment of being one with a new lover, savoring the sensations.

I lowered myself so we were chest to chest, resting on him. His hands slid up and down my body, slowly exploring my soft skin, from my thighs and up to my shoulders. He kissed my neck while I nibbled on his ear. Then, looking into each other’s eyes, he began to rock my hips for me, setting the pace.

I sat back up, continuing to let him move my hips. I was on top, but he was in control. He reached one hand to my breast and rolled my nipple between a thumb and forefinger. The pleasure of it sent my head back. I leaned back with one arm behind me on his leg for leverage, my other hand on my free breast. I massaged and pinched my own nipple while he worked my clit. Slow grinding became faster thrusts, and I got lost in the moment of his cock deep inside and the sounds of our bodies together.

Another orgasm built in me, and wanting him to cum with me this time, I moved faster, leaning forward with my tits were in his face and the head of his cock hitting my still-throbbing walls. He grabbed both breasts, sucking hard on one while rolling the other nipple between his fingers. That was just what I didn’t know I needed, and my pussy began to clench around him. Feeling me get tighter on him, he said with the faintest grip of self-control, “can I cum inside you?” “God yes”, I panted. He moaned loud as he kissed up my neck, the sound sending vibrations through me. Suddenly, he cried out with ecstasy as his cum shot deep in my pussy. I felt his cock pump his seed into me and I came hard on him, collapsing on his heaving chest.

We were breathless. We were speechless. All we could muster were giggles of disbelief and slow, lazy kisses.

Part 2 -

You have had enough. You are getting impatient. But I tell you it will be worth the wait. Don’t be so greedy.

Your dick twitches and you become achingly erect, unable to control your urges, begging me to suck you off with a messy, wet, sloppy blow job. But that’s not happening….yet. You want to negotiate, you ask me to sit on your cock and ride you in the good boy chair. You’re not ready. I tire of your whining. I put the hood over your head, you laugh, I tell you to behave.

First I take the scissors and cut four equal and generous lengths of rope. I don't ask for permission, there is only one rule and you know it - obey. I tie your upper arms tight to the chair to ensure you feel confined. Then your wrists with just enough slack that you can twist and pull against the restraint. I like to watch you struggle, it makes me love you more. You are so handsome when you struggle. Muscles straining, anticipation rising. It’s really hot.

For a moment, I feel generous, and I pause, get on my hands and knees then deep throat your cock…a few times, up and down, up and down, up and down slowly, then I lose my self control and bob my head faster, gagging, making your cock a sloppy mess, until you moan loudly and shake. I love sucking cock. I can sense how close you are to exploding. You breathe harder and I can see your heart beat outside your chest, you inhale the hood in and out through your mouth. So confined and vulnerable. Perfect.

I rest my hands on your knees. I press myself into your body, grabbing your shoulders, straddling your hips, pressing my swollen tits into your chest. I kiss your neck, you tell me no hickeys. Fair enough.

I stand up, get behind you, I put my hands on your shoulders, lean over, wrap my arms around your upper torso and my long hair falls across your chest. You can’t see me through the hood, but I’m smirking as I watch your cock twitch. It makes my cunt flood with wetness. I’m getting off on this power trip.

Arms, hands, secured tightly. Check. Now your ankles. Your boxers are stretched between your legs, getting in the way while I kneel in front of your gorgeous cock. I take the scissors and cut the shorts in half, too bad, they were nice. I tear the fabric into strips. I wrap them around your ankles and tie them as tight as possible to the chair leg. How’s your circulation? We’ll wait and see, but I don’t really give a fuck. Caring too much kills the vibe.

Surprise! Now you are helpless. I don’t think you expected this. What can I say? I’m a hopeless romantic.

I think you like my work. I notice you leaking. I can’t resist your pre-cum so I get back on my knees and place my hands on your thighs, gripping them tight so that my nails dig into your skin. When you wince, I dig them in a little deeper as I kiss your inner thighs, my head rubbing into your groin, you feel my silky hair against you again. You can still smell my fragrance, your favorite. I suck on your lips for a second before I lock in on your cock. Gently gripping right below the rim of your tip, your precum oozes slowly onto my thumb. Bringing my hand to my mouth, I suck it off my fingers. You taste delicious. Clean, saline and sticky, exactly how I like it.

Good boys get their cocks worshipped and you have been very very good ever since you walked through that door. So I get on my hands and knees at your feet…my legs spread wide, your cock in my face, and I take a vibrator to the base of your cock, up to the head and this drives you wild. I then take that vibrator to my clit, my cunt is throbbing while I completely feast on your cock. I am so feral, I forget that I might be taking things too fast. I can see the tension in your arms struggling not to cum as I gag repeatedly on your cock jamming all of you inside my throat.

I then take your balls into my mouth as I apply oil to your shaft and stroke you gently with my long nails as I suck, lick and obsess over your nuts. I’m blissed out right now. As I lightly massage your balls and stroke your greasy cock, I jam my thumb in your ass. Do you like that? You shake your head up and down under the hood, yes. I knew you would because you love your ass teased and penetrated while massaged. I love playing with your ass while sucking your cock. The intense pleasure takes away all the worry, stress, pressure, all that remains is us.

I love to spoil you so I push my thumb in harder and as I release the grip on your nuts, I begin to stroke your cock faster, sucking the tip harder, sloppier, you can hear my mouth slurp. You are now shaking, your cock is pulsing and you take short breaths, moaning louder until it sounds like you might explode. I keep going and begin to circle my thumb inside you and I can feel you flex and the tension build. Your cock is starting to pump from the base, your balls are tight and you are now pulling against your restraints. Then POW!

I slap your balls and stop everything. Ouch. You are laughing as you writhe in pain because I know you kinda like it. I stand up and press my toes against your crotch. You naughty naughty boy, I never said you could cum. I go and make a gin and tonic. Are you thirsty?

I sit on your lap, the only thing between your cock and my cunt is the crotch of my lacy panties, but the wetness can be felt on your thighs as I slide up onto your lap. I take off my cami, oil up my tits and rub them against your chest. My hard nipples are pressed against your collar bone and I pull up the hood just enough to show your beautiful mouth, I want to kiss you deeply but I refrain. I put one hand under your chin and guide your mouth to the rim of the glass and give you small sips of my G&T. Then I kiss you very lightly at first tasting the gin, then with my tongue and I’m tasting your breath. I’m in total control and you love it.

I take off your hood. You gasp, blink and start to laugh, you think this is a silly joke. So I take one of your socks, shove it in your mouth and wrap bondage tape around your head to shut you up. Now you are gagged, bound, sweaty, and very erect - you look sublime. I want you to drool for me.

I get back on my knees. I’m going to worship that thick, meaty, beast like my life depended on it. I spit on your cock and grab it with both hands and pump it up and down, up and down, looking you in the eyes with deviant thoughts. You try to hold your gaze but you are losing your fucking mind. You are unable to think, you are my hot, brainless sexed up boy toy. When I begin to slowly deep throat your cock, so deep I gag so hard I almost puke, your muffled moans get louder. My saliva is pooling around the base of your cock and I need to catch my breath, I’m gripping your knees and coming up to kiss the tip, sucking it, licking the frenulum with short fast strokes as one hand pumps your shaft. You are moaning louder, writhing about, flexing every muscle, I suck faster. Your groans get menacing, frustrated. I look back up into your eyes as your engorged, pulsing, angry dick is too fucking close to the edge. Fuck it. I’m setting you free.

I want you to anger fuck me like the dirty slut that I am. I hurriedly take the scissors to cut your leg restraints, and once your hands are free you rip off your gag, throw it across the room, grab me by my hair, shove me violently on the bed, flip me on my stomach. Tear off my pretty panties, my cunt is already pink, swollen, wet, ready. Holding me down at the small of my back you shove your knee between my legs until I’m spread wide. You spit on my ass, slap it so hard I cry out loud, that really hurt! Then you just use me, pounding me hard, hands death gripping my hips, fucking me as if you just broke out of prison on a long sentence. I’m in for a real treat.

Nice to meet you.

So I've known Jake since freshman orientation. We were in the same orientation group and bonded over hating the icebreaker games they made us do. He is an average looking guy, like he’s not ugly but not model hot either. He has a bit of fluff on his belly/waist, but I always found that cute. He has brown hair, he’s a little soft around the middle and funny as hell. We've been friends for two years now, strictly platonic or at least I thought so until this beach trip.

It was me, Jake, my roommate Tara, her boyfriend Kyle and our friend Marcus. We drove out to this secluded spot Tara knew about, like an hour from campus. It was one of those hidden coves with rocks on both sides but not a real beach, more like a clearing by the lake. We had the whole place to ourselves.

We spread out blankets and cracked open some seltzers. It was hot as fuck like ninety degrees and I was wearing this yellow bikini that I knew looked good on me. Jake kept looking over and I would catch him and he would pretend he wasn't which made me laugh because I liked the attention.

"Someone's gonna get burned," Tara said, tossing me the sunscreen. "You didn't put any on yet."

"I was waiting for someone to do my back," I said giving her puppy eyes. "Please?"

Tara rolled her eyes but she climbed on my lap and started rubbing sunscreen on my shoulders. Her hands were warm and she was being thorough with it getting under my bikini straps and rubbing slow circles on my lower back. I made a moaning sound because it felt good and I heard Jake clear his throat from where he was sitting.

"Your turn," Tara said as she finishing up so she tossed the bottle to Jake and "Do her front side because I'm gonna swim."

She ran off with Kyle and Marcus followed leaving me and Jake alone on the blanket. I looked at him I said to him " Are you up for it?"

"For what?" he asked me

"Putting sunscreen on me, unless you are scared." I said it like it was nothing like I wasn't already feeling butterflies in my stomach.

He laughed… I know that nervous laugh that he does when he's uncomfortable and he says "I'm not scared Melly, come here."

I turned around to face him and pulled my hair over my shoulder. He squeezed sunscreen into his hands and started on my shoulders by rubbing it in. His hands were bigger than I expected, it was warm although it felt a little rough but he was being careful with it like he was afraid to touch me.

"You can go lower because my stomach needs it too" I said.

Then he moved down and started rubbing my stomach with his fingers brushing the edge of my bikini bottoms. I was watching his face and he was watching his hands with his tongue poking because he was trying to concentrate. I thought it was cute and I liked how nervous he was.

"Turn around, so I can get your back side he said to me.

So I turned and pulled my hair up and he started on my shoulders again and I felt his fingers trace all the way down to my spine slowly like and when he got to the hook of my bikini he suddenly paused. When I saw he suddenly stopped, I told him to keep going, then he unhooked it. I let the straps fall forward and I heard him breathe very hard. His hands started moving lower as he was rubbing sunscreen on my lower back then he was daring to go to my sides almost touching the sides of my breasts.

“You’re really soft,” he said it quietly so I looked over my shoulder at him and I told him “ you think so? You should feel the rest”

I said it as a joke but then as I was standing up to pull bikini top off completely and tossing it on the blanket, Jake’s eyes opened very wide and he looked around like as if someone might see but we were alone.

“Skinny dipping, who’s in?” I asked my friends

Tara came running from the water screaming “Fuck yes.. Come on!”

I looked at Jake and he was just still sitting there staring at my chest, so I asked him if he was coming and he told me that I was crazy . I pulled my bikini bottoms down and stepped out of them standing there completely naked under the sun in the afternoon. The air felt really amazing there so I ran towards the water and my boobs were bouncing everywhere when I dived in the water.

When I was in the water, I raised my head up to look at Jake and he pulled his shirt off with his shorts but as soon as I saw him hesitating, I called him a chicken and he told me “Fuck you,” then he pulled them down.

He was an average like, completely average or maybe even on the smaller side but I didn’t care in fact I liked it because it made him more real and more approachable and less intimidating. I couldn’t help myself so I found myself staring at it as he walked into the water with his dick swinging left and right.

He finally got to where I was and we were both in the water close enough that our legs kept brushing over each other under then Tara and the others later came out of the but we were there in our own bubble. He moved closer to me and said "Can I touch you?” he asked me in a very quiet way so that the others wouldn’t hear.

I didn’t answer him but I just took his hand and put it on my waist. His hand moved down grabbing my ass and I moved closer so I could feel him getting hard against my leg and I liked it because it felt like it would actually fit without hurting.

“You’re smaller than I expected,” I told him as a tease and I noticed that the reaction on him face changed for a second so I added and said “ but I like it because big ones hurt.”

We moved to a more secluded area, closer to the rocks.

He groaned all of a sudden and I don’t know what came over him, he pulled me close to him and stared kissing me. His hands were everywhere on me, my back, my ass, my tits. I also couldn’t hold it in anymore, so I reached down and wrapped my hand around his dick and I was rubbing it slowly. I was waiting for him to put his dick in me but he was not feeling confident and he felt a little reluctant to do so and I couldn’t hold it in anymore waiting for him to do. I felt like if he isn’t going to do it then I’m going to do it myself so I grab his dick out and put it in my pussy myself.

He didn’t expect it tho but seeing me doing it gave him the confidence he needed and he continued by himself from there.

“Fuck, Melly, I’ve wanted this for so long.” He said it to me as he was breathing uncontrollably

“Why didn’t you say something?”. I had to ask him and he told me “I thought you didn’t see me like that.”

I laughed and also told him “You’re an idiot.”

The waves kept splashing around us and I could hear Tara still being loud in the background but I didn’t give a fuck because I was just feeling Jake with his hands grabbing my tits and his dick moving in and out. It felt strange with all the salt water and it removing my wetness and my natural lube, which made him being on the smaller side all the better.

He said to me as he kept thrusting in and out “Fuck you feel good and your pussy is so fucking perfect.”

“Don’t stop because I want you to fuck me harder” I told him that as I was moaning

After he heard my moaning sounds he liked it and he kept going faster with his hips hitting my ass and I reached down to rub my clit. It didn’t take long until I came hard with my legs shaking as my pussy was squeezing him and he groaned and bit my shoulder to stay quiet.

“Shit I’m gonna come,” he told me and although he told me he was gonna come, I still told him to go ahead and do it because I didn’t care.

But he pulled out and I felt him shoot it on my lower back. He was panting and said “ Fuck, Holy shit”

We stayed like that for a minute or so to catch our breathing with his hands were still squeezing on my tits like they were stuck there.

I turn around and said to him, “ So do you wanna put sunscreen on me again later?”

He laughed “You’re gonna kill me.”

We later went back to meet the others like nothing happened but I couldn’t help but kept smiling at him all day and he kept blushing. I knew definitely that we would be doing that again

This is a sequel series to “My Girlfriend Left me Alone with her Roommates.” Parts 1-4 are recommended before reading this.

Part 1 - Sauna 

An alarm chirped through the morning air, slicing into Michael’s consciousness as his brain desperately tried to disperse the fog around it. Soreness stiffened his body as it begged him not to leave his warm bed. 

He groaned. 5am on a Saturday was a hell he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. Slowly, he scooted himself to an upright position and grabbed his phone off the nightstand, silencing the still yammering alarm. 

Everything inside of him prayed that the job would be cancelled, that there would be a message from his supervisor advising the crew to stay inside on what was predicted to be a disgustingly hot day. Those texts never came even when he wished with all his soul. 

But this time was different. Michael’s heart skipped a beat as the green iMessage icon next to “Randy Supervisor” dotted his screen. Received 11 minutes ago. 

“Short day today. Kid’s got a baseball game at 1pm. Let’s knock it out quick.”

Not quite what he was hoping for - he had wanted to curl up back into his bed and disappear from the world for the next 8-12 hours. Then he’d meet the girls out somewhere for drinks to cap off a perfect Saturday of doing absolutely nothing. 

A pipe dream, perhaps, but one he played in his head every weekend he had to work. 

Ever since he had taken a new position as a roofer, Michael had been working nonstop. Originally, he had handled contracts and communication with vendors. It wasn’t glamorous but it paid well and he was learning a lot under the guidance of the lead contract specialist, Helen. 

Helen was an incredible teacher and he adored working with her; a recent victim of a failed marriage stemming from her husband’s infidelity, the two bonded over their relationship issues and love of the local Chinese place. 

Life had a different plan, though, and Michael took a more laborious position to help keep the roofing crew from collapsing. He was now making overtime on the weekends and in the evenings helping Helen with contracts on top of his regular work but it left him exhausted. 

Mentally, physically, even spiritually. Exhausted. 

As he contemplated how different his work life had been over the last couple months, his mind wandered to his personal life. 

Things had been an insane rollercoaster ever since he moved in with the girls. He had been kept busy enough that nights at home with everyone present were few and far between but they managed to find a night to celebrate one month of him being there. 

Another wild night of carnal desire that had left him feeling buzzed and high on life. The orgy had ended with him and Elba cuddled on the couch again, Rylah and the others giggling as they gave the two some privacy. 

His thoughts of that night fizzled as he forced himself to get dressed and head to the kitchen. Water, a coffee filter and coffee grounds made their way into the coffee maker. Michael barely felt like he was the one doing it, more like an invisible force guiding his hand as he moved on autopilot. 

“Another Saturday job?” Blaire’s half concerned, half teasing voice filled the quiet room and he turned to face the blonde as she descended toward him. 

He nodded as she stepped off the last stair, completely forgetting she woke up this early on purpose. She was a runner. He hated running. 

“Yeah. Short one today, though, thankfully.” 

She perked up at this, a wide grin splitting her tanned face. “Oh! Maybe you can join us at two in the sauna. Emelia just got her massage therapist certification and we reserved a room for the afternoon. Would probably help… whatever this is.” She gestured at his broken posture. 

He chuckled. She was the only one who wasn’t afraid to give or take shit. Certainly a byproduct of her being raised with two older brothers. 

Michael tilted his head and contemplated her offer for a moment. Upon hearing his day would be cut short, he desired nothing more than to crawl back into bed and slip into a deep sleep. But Blaire was right, a sauna and massage might be exactly what his body needed. 

“Okay. Sure, yeah okay. I’m in!” He tried to sound enthusiastic. It’s not that he wasn’t excited, his body just seemed to deny any sort of happiness at this time of day. 

Blaire, conversely, perked up even further. “Awesome! Emelia will be so excited, see you later!” She winked and made her way out the front door, her toned backside forcing her jogging shorts to their limit. 

Yeah, he’d definitely be going. Time to get this shitty morning over with. 

_

Sweat beaded up on Michael’s brow, skin glistening with a sleek shine. 

The Florida sun and the humidity that came with it, even this early in the morning, were unforgiving. The only saving grace was the side of the roof Michael was working on faced west, putting him just outside the direct beam of the gaseous overlord in the sky. 

He climbed the ladder to the slanted roof, a large bag of shingles slung over his shoulder. Sliding the bag off onto the surface of the roof, he got to work replacing the old set of shingles that had been ripped apart by a recent storm. 

Pop pop pop.

The sound of his nail gun as new shingles replaced their broken counterparts. 

Pop pop pop.

His mind started to wander to the night he had celebrated a month of staying in his new apartment.

Pop pop pop.

Warm bodies surrounding his. Emelia and Blaire sharing a passionate kiss, then bringing him into the fold. 

Pop pop pop.

Rylah’s mocha curves pressed against him, eyes full of lust. 

Pop pop pop.

Elba’s electrifying use of her body and the synergy they shared. 

Pop. Pop. Pop. 

The intense climax that brought the night to an end as his body shuddered against hers. 

Pop. 

Pop. 

Pop. 

He tried to push the thoughts of that night away so that he could focus. The work before him was mind numbing but it would quickly reach par with complex mathematic equations if his blood went somewhere it shouldn’t. 

Sarah. He hadn’t hardly thought about her in the last month and hadn’t talked to or heard from her in the nearly two months since that first night, the one that started everything. 

She was already becoming more of a distant memory each passing day, a dreamlike sense of his past instead of a tangible anchor of his life like she had been for years. 

Michael wondered how she was doing and if she had any luck with a new apartment with graduation season just around the corner. She still had a year left but these last few months of the semester were brutal for new housing. 

He thought about the favor she asked him when they aired everything out. If she hadn’t reached out about it yet maybe she was doing alright. 

His thoughts turned to his new roommates, about Emelia specifically. He was grateful that he’d be getting some time to spend with her today because she was the only one he wasn’t entirely sure where he stood with. 

She had always seemingly followed Blaire’s lead, had interacted with him occasionally - both during and outside the sexual encounters - but it was always the least out of everyone in the group. 

Not sure what to think of how she viewed him, Michael continued his work, practicing lines in his head to perhaps break the last bit of ice that existed between the two. 

Before long, the sun was beaming overhead and he was dripping in sweat, eagerly finishing and bidding farewell to the rest of the crew. A relaxing afternoon awaited him and that was one thing he refused to be late for. 

_

Sweat beaded up on Michael’s brow, skin glistening with a sleek shine. 

Trading being hot outside for being hot inside did carry a level of irony he was painfully aware of but happy to revel in. Inside his muscles weren’t aching. He could feel them loosen the longer he sat in the hot haze of the sauna. 

Inside also had two stunningly gorgeous women - a tall, tan goddess with the toned body of an athlete and a short, pale skinned figure with curves for days. Both beautiful, both scantily clad in small swim suits. 

Emelia’s bikini in particular looked like it was struggling to stay together, large breasts pressing the strings to their absolute limits. Her cream colored skin spilled over the tight fabric, trying to escape the tight confines. 

Michael tried to avert his gaze from them, not wanting Emelia to think he was just objectifying her. He also wanted to avoid incurring the wrath of Blaire who, while sexually promiscuous, was incredibly protective of her girlfriend. 

He knew he was on Blaire’s good side - it had been that way since the beginning - but he didn’t want to jeopardize that standing. Or to violate Emelia’s trust. Was he overthinking it?

“Man it’s hot in here!” Emelia exclaimed while waving her hands in her face, beads of sweat hanging mercifully like morning dew from her milky skin. 

“Yeah, beats the sun though.” Michael agreed with a slight chuckle. 

“Oh yeah, I bet. How’re those muscles by the way? Need me to massage them out yet?” She smiled with a genuine look of kindness sparkling in her eyes. 

“Don’t lose out on that offer,” Blaire chimed in. “She’s good. Like way too good.”

“Oh my gosh Blaire stop!” Emelia blushed as the compliments showered on her. “But yes, I do have experience if you’d like.”

She turned back to Michael, directing the second part to him. He met her gaze, looking into her eyes. Without the black lipstick and heavy eyeliner she looked significantly different. Softer, more approachable but perhaps those were just in his imagination. 

He felt like he was really seeing her for the first time and it made his heart skip a beat. This was it. This was the bonding moment he needed to truly understand her. 

She had reached out and gently placed her hand on his bare thigh, a gesture that needed no extra context. 

“Of course, I’m ready when you are.”

The steam seemed to increase around them, swirling in the air as a slight tension built between the two. He hadn’t anticipated this being so… charged. No matter what happened he was here for the ride. 

“Alright, let’s get a move on then.” Blaire lazily leaned forward and the two of them followed her out of the door. 

The exit from the sauna led directly into a massage parlor, dimly lit and full of essential oils clinging to the air. Eucalyptus. Maybe a hint of lavender, too? 

Michael breathed heavily as the atmosphere of the room washed over him. His body was incredibly lax from the sauna and slipped into a further state of tranquility as Emelia’s hands slipped over his shoulders. 

“I’ve got just the massage package for you. Here.” Her voice was essentially a whisper as she guided him to one of the tables, motioning him to the padded rectangle. 

There was a headrest at one end with an opening, designed to let clients put their face on for long periods of time while being able to breathe. 

“Lay on your stomach this way.” Emelia’s voice gently guided him. 

She wanted his face on the opposite end of the headrest where his feet should go. He was puzzled but did as she said. She was the expert, after all. 

“Oh and if you want the full experience, take these off too.” She cooed and gently tugged at his swimming trunks. He looked down, then back up at her. 

“It’s nothing we haven’t seen before, get on with it.” A snarky tease from Blaire who, as Michael turned to see, was also shedding her swim gear. Her tanned naked form stood in front of him for the third time in the last two months, medium perky breasts proudly presented, completely shaved from the neck down. 

He obeyed, swim trunks softly hitting the ground, nude form on display as much as Blaire’s. A slight flush hit his cheeks and he realized that this was the first non-explicitly sexual time he had been naked in front of them. 

He wasn’t dull - he understood the inherent erotic nature of the setting and what was being asked - but this was the first time they weren’t immediately getting down to business and it made him slightly self conscious. 

A mostly flaccid member wasn’t exactly the most confidence inducing thing to display to two beautiful women but he did his best to ignore it and soak in the moment. 

He and Blaire both lay next to each other on parallel tables, closing their eyes as Emelia lathered her hands in oil. Then she went to work. Michael almost let out a moan as her hands gently pressed into his back, loosening any remaining tight knots his muscles were stubbornly harboring. 

She swapped her hands over to Blaire, then back to him, and back again. They glided across his skin with precision and care, working down to his battered thighs all the way back up to his tense shoulders. 

Before long he felt lighter than he had ever been in his life, breathing in the deep, comforting aromas of the room, surrendering his body and spirit to Emelia’s touch. 

Ten or so minutes passed as Michael floated outside of his own body when he heard a shuffling noise. Cracking an eye partially open, he saw that Blaire had risen from her table, oil covered body moving to the counter behind him. 

Something soft hit the floor lightly, hardly making a sound. It was Emelia’s bikini top which was quickly followed by her bottoms. A wave of red washed over Michael. 

He didn’t have time to dwell on the implications because Emelia had shuffled past him and gently grabbed his ankles. 

“Move down a bit. That’s right, just like that.” Her quiet, gentle voice guided him as he shuffled awkwardly down the table. Then a cool bit of air informed him why she wanted him where he was. 

His legs stretched far past the boundaries of the table so that his member now hung freely through the head rest, the hole meant for his face now fully exposing him. 

A ziiiip filled the air as Blaire undid the zipper to the duffle bag she had brought with her, Emelia still massaging his skin. Her hands grew bolder and began to explore his erogenous zones, targeting sensitive areas with her slick hands. 

Then, with a gentle but firm press, he felt two rounded, soft mounds of flesh press into his back. Emelia’s breasts glided over his skin with a soft pressure that felt incredible. Her nipples hardened as they pushed into his skin, soft moans escaping her lips. 

A twitch below as Michael felt himself slowly being physically invested in the moment. His breathing increased again as a pair of lips gently pressed against his now swollen head. 

A hand gently gripped the base as the lips continued to make out with his tip, slowly pushing past the most sensitive part to take on more of his shaft. 

Fuck. Blaire had surprised him. He hadn’t heard her sneak under the table but his positioning made much more sense now. Those sneaky minxes planned this. He let a soft grin form on his face - Emelia had to be the one who planned this, too. What a pleasant surprise. 

Emelia continued to rub her oily tits on him, the two of them joining in a series of soft moans as she peppered in kisses on his neck and back. Blaire softly and slowly stroked and sucked his shaft, her tongue joining the fray to tease the underside of his head. 

Michael lay there and let the two have their way with him, savoring the skin to skin contact from Emelia and the direct sensual pleasure from Blaire. He soaked it in until finally Emelia issued another soft command. 

“Blaire, scoot over. I’m ready.”

“Yes ma’am.” Blaire’s voice oozed with lust, leaving saliva coating the length of his dick. 

She slinked out from under the table and stood behind him, placing a hand on each of his thighs. Michael stole a look over his shoulder and saw her behind him with her purple strap on waving in the air. 

“Uhhhh…”

She rolled her eyes as if offended by the suggestion of my hesitance. 

“Don’t worry mister, it's not for you.”

“Look, I wouldn’t be offended if that’s what you wanted, I was just making sure.” He quipped back at her. 

“Mmm I don’t think you could take me. I’m a generous lover.” She said back. 

“Well both of you are gonna take me so focus up.” Emelia said in a gentle but commanding tone. This side of her was exciting. 

She gestured for Michael to flip onto his back which he did, member springing up in the air and lazily floating back down to lay parallel above his stomach. Her hand wrapped around it, pulling it skyward again and stroking his oily shaft. 

Her hand glided over his hard member, wrapping and twisting with more precision than she had during their first encounter. Wait. Had she been practicing? 

She left go of his twitching member, teasing the head before climbing on top of him. Her thick thigh straddled his waist, her large breasts now hanging in front of him. Pink, puffy nipples capped white mountainous mounds of flesh as she breathed out. 

Warmth and wetness pressed against him, her folds grinding on his shaft. The two of them let out hot, labored breaths in sync, their eyes locked. She lifted her hips into the air and used her hand to push the head of his cock against her tight opening. 

“This is my first real one.” She said a bit nervously but quickly regained her composure as Michael’s eyebrow raised quizzically. 

“Listen it’s not a big deal but I want to do it the way I want to do it. I’m safe, okay? Just go until you finish inside me.” Her words were confident and full of need. He could feel her desire radiate from her words, her body. Their flesh connected. 

Michael felt the warmth and tightness of her walls wrap around him and let out an involuntary grunt of pleasure. Emelia gasped out loud, slumping forward onto him. Their oily skin collided as her virginity was given up - outside of the strap on Blaire was currently boasting, of course. 

He was her first real experience and he reveled in it; not as some form of conquest but the ultimate form of trust. Michael knew where he stood with her now. It was more than he could have ever expected. 

She grinded her hips slowly, somewhat hesitantly, gaining some traction and speed as she got used to it. Her body shivered against his and he placed his hands on her hips to gently guide her. 

Michael realized how much just two months of sun had done to him - his skin was much closer to Blaire’s now, contrasting greatly against the whiteness of Emelia’s curves. 

“How’s that?” Her soft tone was received like a warm embrace. 

“Good. Really fuckin good. You sure it’s your first time?” 

She giggled, moving her hips automatically now. “Well I’ve had practice before. Speaking of, I think I’m ready darling.”

The second half was over her shoulder to Blaire. Michael could just catch a glimpse of the purple phallic appendage shimmering in the light as Blaire finished applying a clear, viscous substance to it. 

Lube. He had assumed that duffel bag was full of massage… stuff, oils, towels, that sort of thing. Lube and a strap on were not at the top of his list. But like he noted earlier - they had planned this all along. 

A new sensation of tightness greeted his erect shaft as he felt a pressure from the wall above Emelia’s pussy. Something equally stiff pressed against him, something he never experienced before. Her back door had just been unlocked and entered. 

A moan escaped from Emelia’s lips that was far more primal and deep than anything Michael had heard from her before. Her gentle and soft nature quickly fell to the wayside as her eyes bore into his. 

“Fill me up. Please. Fuck me.” She begged between breaths. 

Michael knew words weren’t needed in this moment. He gripped her hips and thrust upward into her, clearly connecting with her sensitive spot as she let out a slew of curse words to punctuate the moment. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck right there.” 

He kept rolling his hips up into her body, a wet smacking noise sounds as her thighs received him over and over again. Blaire had found a rhythm as well, pumping into Emelia in an alternating pattern as he did. Her hips crashing into her girlfriend’s backside creating a one-two pop as Michael and Blaire both drilled into Emelia. 

Pop, pop.

The sound of wet, oiled skin colliding in a frenzy of passion. 

Pop, pop.

Michael felt the pressure from Blaire’s faux member against his real one, an unrelenting second force that ignited his senses. 

Pop, pop.

Emelia had fully let go of herself, moans and cries of pleasure filling the room without abandon. She begged Michael to thrust deep inside her. She pleaded for Blaire to keep fucking her ass. 

Pop, pop.

Blaire talked dirty to her, asking if she liked having both her holes filled up, asking if she wanted Michael to cum inside her. She moaned yes to both. 

Pop, pop.

Michael did his best to hold out but the weight of Emelia’s tits pressing against him, the pressure from the double penetration and how relaxed his body felt - he couldn’t do it any longer. 

“Fuck, I’m getting close…” 

Emelia’s eyes widened and she looked directly down at him, whispering, “Do it. Cum inside me, cum inside me…” she said over and over, stroking his face. 

It happened before he could think about reacting. His balls tightened as he released. He was plunged so deep into her that every pulsating twitch stretched against her tight walls, sending ripples of renewed pleasure down his length. 

Thick, hot liquid poured out and filled her insides, coating his shaft as it trickled out of her. Emelia moaned in ecstasy as she was filled up, body tensing and relaxing on top of Michael. 

She let out a huge relieved gasp and let her weight go slack on top of him. 

“That… was great… perfect. Just perfect.” The words were whispered into his ear and made him slightly blush as he tried to take the compliment head on. 

“Thanks for being my first.” She said cheerily. Michael felt a deep satisfaction. He was glad he went to work today. He was even more glad he chose the sauna. 

_

Sarah sat at the edge of the bed in almost complete darkness. A lamp on the corner of the desk held a faint, small yellow glow that cast ominous shadows across the floor. A snore sounded behind her and she rolled her eyes, hiking up her jeans around her waist. 

She finished redressing herself and stood there for a moment, phone open, light illuminating her unsatisfied face in the darkness. A single contact stared back at her with an intense gravitational pull attached to it, a name she had looked at just once over the past two months. 

Lie. A half truth, that is. She had thought about texting Michael almost a dozen times. Most of them were the regular pains of a messy breakup, instinctually wanting to text someone she had spent years of her life communicating with. 

No emojis, no personalization, nothing to show that he had once been the most important contact in her phone. Just Michael. It stared back at her in the darkness. 

These nights, the ones that plagued her with loneliness and poor choices; she was drawn to that name, drawn to the possibility of something better. 

Was it healthy? No, in no world was what she was doing in the slightest bit healthy. None of this was. Having sex with strangers, pretending they were Michael, envisioning her face in Elba’s ass just to get off. 

She felt disgusted, unable to reconcile her actions. But she didn’t care. If she was going to keep doing this she wanted to experience the real thing. 

Clicking on his name, an iMessage prompt appeared, a blank text conversation at her fingertips. 

Hey. 

She stared for a moment before erasing the three letters. Hey? Is that how she wanted to start this? Minutes passed as she stared down at her screen blankly. 

Sarah sighed. 

_

A text popped up on Michael’s phone as he folded his laundry, basking in the sunlight of the lazy Sunday afternoon. 

He was prepping his clothes for tomorrow morning, setting aside the shirt, pants and everything else he needed to brave the sunny rooftops when his phone dinged. 

It was across the room on his nightstand and he noted to grab it once he finished, opting not to get sucked into scrolling social media before finishing the task at hand. 

His thoughts wandered to the day before as he folded. The sauna, the massage parlor, he and Emelia unsticking their oily bodies from one another. The girls giggling while offering him a monthly subscription to their massage services - all inclusive, of course. 

Michael felt a smile grow on his fade as he recapped the day’s events. A perfect reprieve from his string of rough weeks and a better segue into the quiet, lazy Sunday. These thoughts dissipated as he finally made his way to his phone. 

It wasn’t a text. It was an email. From Helen. The subject line and body simply read:

Overtime

I need you. Office @ 5:30? 

Ah, fuck. There went his Sunday evening. 

END PART 1

A sequel to my most popular post so far this month.

---

Stephen and I reached the bottom of my condom stash so much faster than I thought was possible. We had 37 months to do it, but it barely took us 2. Which is to say, we were having a lot of sex.

A lot a lot.

And it was so, so good. Good enough that he hadn’t brought another girl home in weeks–although the fact that we lived together and I was almost always horny and willing helped too, I am sure–which meant he wasn’t going through his own boxes of condoms. And there were no new “lucky last ones” to add to my stash.

With only one left, this luckiest of luckies sitting proudly on my nightstand, I took Stephen out for dinner as a bit of a commemoration for a task that once seemed insurmountable. The hostess was, of course, a girl I’d met in the hallway between Stephen’s room and our bathroom, and our waitress was too, but they were sweet about what very much appeared to be a date (to them, at least).

“How is your shrimp alfredo?” I asked him.

“Really good. How is your chicken?”

I’m sure he saw me picking at it. It wasn’t the chicken’s fault. I was just nervous. I had never been on a real date–not that I’d call this one, but it was close enough to kill my appetite.

“It’s fine,” I said, taking a deep breath. If I wasn’t going to eat, I might as well get straight to the reason I brought him here.

“I wanted to talk to you about these past months, and I, uh, wanted to thank you, for taking a chance with me, for all you’ve done. I’ve learned a lot about myself, had a lot of fun, it’s just been such a crazy journey. I really didn’t think you’d do it.”

“Why not?” he asked with a half-full mouth.

“I’m your nerdy, awkward roommate. What guy wants that over the kind of babes you bring home? I don’t look like them, I can’t do what they do.”

“You underestimate yourself. You’re sexy. You’re a good partner too. You take an active role. You’re fun, curious. Sweet. Horny. Did I say sexy?”

I blushed hard. “I feel sexy. It’s a new thing for me. But, I am liking it.”

“I don’t think I had anything to do with that. Maybe I was there when that switch flipped for you–”

“You were! I remember it! Our fourth time, Sunday night of that first weekend. I was doing meal prep in the kitchen–tuna salad–and you came up behind me and asked me if I wanted to.”

“Oh yeah. You were in your apron, so focused on what you were doing. Your butt was eating the one side of your shorts and half your cheek was hanging out. I just– Something came over me.”

My stomach did little flips and my cheeks got hotter.

“No one had ever… And… you… right there… pressed against the counter… your hand tilting my head back… your kisses… your fingers…” Broken as my words were, if I kept going I knew they’d break me right here in the middle of the restaurant. “The times before that, I felt like a princess who got her wish. It was all proper and sweet and caring.”

I bit my lip and my eyes closed. My cheeks felt like they’d burst into flames and I swore I was leaving a puddle on my chair. “But that time. I felt like your toy, the exciting new one that you wanted for so long, you knew everything about it before you even got it, and now it was waiting at home and you spend all day at school or work thinking about it, looking forward to coming home to finally play with it.”

“And that was, good?”

“Yeahhhh,” I said, my words feeling like an orgasm. “I loved it.”

“I wish I knew that sooner. Before we were down to your last one.”

“It wasn’t the only time I felt sexy, or the only thing I enjoyed. The first time I was on top, the following Thursday, before bed. What I remember most was your eyes–god–your eyes, your face. Your hands guiding my hips.” I stopped for a breath and lost my train of thought. “Whew…”

“Do you always feel sexy? Often? Sometimes?”

“In bed with you? Almost always. Outside of that? More often than not, lately.”

“Right now? Because, you look very sexy.”

Tonight might have been the first time I truly knew I was sexy.

While I often tried to dress up a little before inviting him to my bed, I normally still looked casual. A dinner date was an excuse to try harder, to do more. I had bumbled around in my bathroom trying to figure out how to apply the most basic of make-up and not look like an absolute clown, whittling down my planned look until I wondered why I was even bothering.

But I knew I looked great in my brand new emerald dress. And I was sure he’d enjoy what was underneath it even more.

“I feel it too, yeah,” I admitted with a smile. “I actually feel confident–especially in the bedroom, but not just there–I feel like I can do this. Be sexual. Outwardly, not only in my thoughts and private time. I can date and have sex!”

“I think you had it all along, but I’m glad you realized it,” he said, though his tone was off and I couldn’t figure out what it was. “You deserve all of those feelings.”

“And tonight, I am thanking you for that.” I reached across the table and took his hand. I gave it a squeeze and gave him a smile that glowed from my core. “Maybe we should take the rest to go, so I can get to my next, uh, expression of gratitude.”

I didn’t let go of his hand until we got to my room. Our path there was littered with little kisses and longer ones. Knowing looks. A general touchy-feely-ness that we’d never really had before. Having such a connection felt nice, and it only got better when he started undressing me.

He did it slowly.

His lips followed every reveal of what was under my dress, trailing the zipper down my back, then circling me as he let it slip down me an inch at a time. With his face buried in my monumental cleavage, he unclasped my bra, but held it there, only slightly loose, and let his mouth push it further and further until he’d covered my boobs in open-mouthed kisses.

His treatment of my ass was similar, though my underwear hid little of it in the first place.

It was as if he was studying his favorite parts of my body, and I didn’t mind at all, though I flinched every time he approached my crevice. Like a gentleman, he refrained from further exploration, soothing me with a squeeze of my hand and a whispered “I know. I won’t. Don’t worry.”

Stripped, I backed onto my bed.

Watching him disrobe is a worthy reason to break our record-breaking hand contact. Every time he strips down, he seems sexier. Now he plays along, shaking his hips and taking his time as a way to tease me, and I never can stop myself from giggling. I always tell him “go faster” but he knows that means his pace is just right. It feels like he’s offering himself for my approval, as if I might at any moment refuse him.

When he gets to his underwear, it sparks a feral part of me. Every time. He slows way down and taunts me harder until his cheeks come free and I can’t stop greedy little paws from reaching to squeeze them. He says there’s a lust in my eyes that drives him crazy. I have no idea what he’s talking about.

Usually when he turns around, I dive at him mouth-first to swallow him whole. This time, I pulled him down for a kiss. Both hands around his neck, I held him there and channeled all my thanks–all my feelings–into the longest, hardest, wettest kiss we ever shared.

Truthfully, I was still trying to swallow him whole, just starting from his tongue. I wasn’t successful, but it felt really nice.

I’ve kissed my way up and down his body plenty of times. I’ve had him in my mouth to completion once or twice too–side quests of opportunity that complemented our larger mission. But for the first time, my lips wrapped around his shaft and it didn’t feel like practice anymore. Perched on my hands and knees, my fingers gripping the edge of my mattress, I took him deeper, deeper still, filled with the confidence of knowing what he likes and loving the way my mouth can make him feel.

I no longer worried about the spit dripping down my chin or collecting on my boobs. I was free to watch the pleasure on his face with wide eyes. My body sang with enjoyment of his every groan as my tongue glided and curled, tracing, pressing along his length.

“Roll over,” he told me. “Hang your head off the side.”

A moan ripped out of me as he straddled my face and thrust into my mouth.

This was different. Exciting. I felt like his little toy. Immobile but not powerless. All my focus channeled into working him with my mouth as glee bubbled through me. I could even squeeze his butt like I do whenever he’s on top of me. The way his cheeks tighten up with each stroke makes me weak.

This position was a revelation I couldn’t believe I had never thought of.

I felt him shift and lean and his body met mine. Then his tongue fell flat, hot, wet on my mound.

As pronounced as our height difference was, he couldn’t quite manage to reach his lower destination and remain in my mouth. But his balls were right there now, right on my face. His ass too, which didn’t bother me as much as I’d expect; it was as cute as the rest of him, actually. I busied my tongue on his balls as his dick smeared wetness over my face, as his tongue played its own game in my lap.

Once his tongue flicked me over the edge, I couldn’t hold back any longer and pulled him onto the bed so I could straddle him. I ground my vulva against him, delighting at the way his tip poked out from my mound at the bottom of each stroke, his bare skin glistening with my wetness.

Out of his own haste, he thumped our last lucky condom between my boobs. I made him wait a few more strokes and watched his face contort. He’s too adorable when he gets needy, and knowing he wants to be inside me that badly makes my chest heat up.

I unwrap the condom and put it on him–something I think I’ve gotten good at–then watch his face as I ride him and rub my clit. I’ve gotten much better at that too. It barely takes me any time to reach my peak, which tonight was already my second. He smiled so big looking me up and down, his hands roaming over my body–my clit, my nipples, my butt–all his favorites. Everywhere he wanted.

Leaning down, I kissed him and he asked me if there was anything I wanted. Normally, I would have shook my head and continued on top of him until he burst, but the way he used my mouth earlier made me crave something that was… more.

“I want you to give it to me,” I said with a guilty grin. “Harder than usual, if that’s–”

He spun me onto my back and pushed between my thighs. I saw a different side of him in the way he took over, the way he moved against me. We’d had sex many times before, but the only word for what happened was that he fucked me–really fucked me.

It wasn’t the pure physical vigor that changed; it was the intensity in his eyes. The snapping of his hips was a statement that I was his, not to use but to own.

I watched his face intently, trying to catalog his every flinch and wince and staggered breath. No matter how many times I’ve watched it, it never gets old, only more satisfying. I felt fuzzy and almost weightless as I watched his face and body pulse with the pleasure coursing through him.

The sharp comedown emphasized how hard it hit him–so much harder than I’d ever seen. The room turned melancholy as he discarded the condom and lingered on the bed next to me. He lacked his friendly chatter and I felt unusually detached.

I clamored to regain what I felt like I had just lost, swinging an arm and leg over him, kissing him, grinding against his hip lightly enough to not be demanding but firmly enough for him to feel how wet I still was. I even caressed his flaccid dick and ran my fingertips down his balls–something he usually enjoyed. On the surface, all our closeness was still there, but it felt superficial.

“I hope you know how appreciative I am for everything, how sweet you are, how sexy I find you. I should have told you that sooner–the sexy thing–maybe not the first time we met, even if it was true, but, much sooner.”

“Really? You felt that way?” he asked, his head recoiling in surprise.

“Oh yeah. You are objectively handsome. Plus you had the mystique of all your female attention. You had this beautiful girl draped on your shoulder when I showed up to tour the house, and I assumed she was your girlfriend, but the second time I came by, it was someone else, even more pretty.”

“Huh.”

“I guess I can tell you now that I used to try to picture what I would hear at night or whenever.” I felt myself flush. “Did you… ever…”

“Picture what you were up to?”

“Nevermind, no, I don’t want to know,” I buried my head against his shoulder.

“I think you do,” he said with a little grin, looking into my eyes. “I… used to think you were cute. I was always fighting my instinct to check you out. Or at least not get caught. I always found it kinda hot when I’d find your underwear in the bathroom. I still do. And it made me think about what you looked like underneath. I was so excited when you–you know–asked me. For sex. But it was just so unexpected. I had thought about it, but never what I’d actually do.”

“So was the sex worth it, to finally get a look underneath?”

Laughing, he replied, “Sex with you was a much bigger reward. I was not prepared for it. At all. And getting to know you, more, better, has been– I feel lucky. Funny how that works.”

“Lucky, huh?”

I had been thinking about what he said months ago about what happens after you’ve used your last condom–how if you want to do it again, you have to rely on whatever luck remains from the last one.

“You should put it in me,” I said in an easy tone.

“Wasn’t that your last one?”

“Uh huh.”

“I have more. In my room.” He sounded excited again. Eager like he used to be.

“I thought we could try without. Bare, if that’s ok with you, see how much luck we have from all of those lucky ones.”

“You trust me to pull out?” he asked.

“I would–I trust you with, like, everything–but that’s not what I want, you pulling out. You could, just, stay.”

“Yeah, um, ok! Are you sure?”

“Do you think I haven’t been wanting this for a while? Thinking about it practically every time we do it, and when I’m all by myself…?”

“I bet you even planned out the position,” he teased.

“Of course. Sit up.”

He realized immediately what I was asking for when I got on my knees, turned away, and backed up until I reached him. His hands were on my hips before I got there, and his tip was already at my entrance.

The only other time we had done it this way was a little awkward, not due to logistics but because of how emotional it got. It felt heavy, far too intimate for where we were in those early weeks, but tonight, after a date and disclosing how long we had been fantasizing about each other, it felt right.

I sat up and leaned into him until my back was tight to his chest. Our faces were inches apart, gazing over my shoulder at each other, watching our reactions as I let myself down on him.

“Oh my god,” he breathed. His face looked as overcome as I felt.

“This… is… soooooo good. I don’t know why we didn’t do this sooner.”

I moved in the slowest of bounces. He kissed my neck while his fingers traced my belly, clutched my chest.

My head fell back against his shoulder. My hips grinded against his hand. His teeth pressed into my neck.

This was better than any fantasy I’d had. The feeling of him was incredible to the point of being unbearable. My bouncing quickened, seeking more of that heat, that satisfying fullness, that last bit of stretch at the bottom of every dip.

I felt myself clenching. His fingers flicked my clit while my own pinched my nipples until I hissed and an orgasm sent me reeling. My bouncing became a grind. His arms tightened around me as he gave me the longest, most passionate kiss. His hips took over beneath me, pushing himself in and out.

I lost myself in the swirl of sensations and feelings and emotions. Our second rounds are always so much more intense, so much hotter and longer, and I always orgasm so much more, but never like this. Everything about it felt like more than all I’ve had and maybe more than I could handle.

My fingers slid under his, setting my own pace and pressure on my spot that wouldn’t stop buzzing. His fingers found my mouth. I tasted myself for the millionth time but it was so much better off his fingers than mine.

I was clenching again. Maybe I never stopped. But it was harder now. So much harder.

His hands grabbed me by the hips. His hips bouncing me in his lap. My boobs slapped against my body, against each other, I think one even grazed my chin. It was a blur. I was limp. A slave to him and this incredible feeling.

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck,” I babbled.

For the first time, I actually felt him finish. My eyes went wide. Jaw slack.

I tried to absorb every moment of it but the feeling wouldn’t let me. It was too overpowering.

And he was still inside. I was still grinding. My fingers still flicking.

Another orgasm jolted me forward. I collapsed backward. Against him. Tight in his arms. His lips already waiting for mine. For the sensual kiss that I’d waited my whole life for. The one from fairy tales.

I opened my eyes slowly, lids heavy. He was barely still inside me, his tip caught in my endless clench.

“You should stay,” I pleaded in a whisper.

“Stay?”

“Sleep here instead of your room.”

“Is this turning into something else? Not just a mission to empty your nightstand…”

“Maybe it could. Maybe it already did and we’re only noticing now. If you wanted. If you could ever give up those other girls.”

“The ones that have been nowhere to be found since we started…?” He huffed. “I always said I would, for the right one. If I ever met her. If I ever figured out who she was.”

Even I could tell what he was saying. It was written all over him. It was wrapped around me.

Now was not the time to push.

I didn’t have the energy to do anything more than curl up and drift off to sleep.

And I wanted him to be here for it.

“You should stay then. Here. With me. Pass the time until you find her.”

It was supposed to be a quick hike. Just me, my situationship, and a chance to stretch our legs before heading back into the city. The clouds overhead said otherwise, but we were stubborn. Or maybe we just needed an excuse to be alone together.

We were halfway up the trail when the sky broke open. At first, we laughed it off, letting ourselves get soaked, running for cover under the trees. But the rain got harder, colder. By the time we found a little wooden shelter near the overlook, we were dripping wet and shivering.

 "Great idea, huh?" he said, shaking his hair out like a dog.

“You just wanted to see me in a white tank top,” I teased, squeezing the hem of my shirt, water dripping down my thighs.

He didn’t deny it. Just looked at me with that grin that always made my stomach flip.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” I muttered, sitting on the bench inside the shelter and pulling my hoodie tighter around me.

He sat next to me, close. Too close. Our knees touched. I could feel the heat coming off his body despite the chill in the air.

His hand slid onto my thigh casual, but not. I looked at him. That look was back - the one that always turned innocent moments into something else.

“You cold?” he asked, voice low.

I nodded. He leaned in, lips brushing mine, soft at first. Then deeper. My cold skin melted under his hands. He pulled me onto his lap, hoodie forgotten, his hands under my wet shirt, fingers finding bare skin and hard nipples.

“I’ve wanted to do this all day,” he whispered against my neck, breath hot, making me shiver in a different way.

“Then do it,” I whispered back, grinding against him.

He unzipped his pants just enough, pulled a condom from his pocket always prepared, I guess, and slid it on. I pushed my soaked shorts to the side and sank onto him in one smooth motion, both of us gasping as I took all of him inside.

The sound of rain on the roof, the smell of wet earth, our ragged breathing, everything felt primal. My hands gripped his shoulders as I rode him slow, letting him hit deep, deep enough to make my toes curl.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, lips on my neck, one hand slipping between us to rub my clit.

I bit down on his shoulder to keep from crying out as I came, thighs trembling around him. He didn’t last much longer, hands gripping my hips as he spilled into the condom, his head buried in my shoulder.

We stayed there a while, catching our breath, listening to the rain calm down.

Eventually, he helped me off his lap, tucked himself back in, and zipped up with a smug smile. “Still think it was a bad idea?”

I grinned. “Worst hike ever. Let’s do it again next weekend.”

Well I guess I shouldn’t call Henry a nerd; he was actually much too cute to be called a nerd. And he could’ve even been hot if only he knew it. 

He was also tall — like really tall; definitely a good six feet or so the last time I had seen him, which now suddenly made me wonder if he also had a tall cock…

My pussy clamped and sobbed out another wave of its juicy tears, pleading me to find out.   

The only serious critiques of this kinda-but-not-quite-because-he’s-cute-and-maybe-even-hot nerd were his rounded glasses and always too carefully combed hair.   

But surely I could take his glasses off, and the hair thing could easily be taken care of. 

And maybe I — and by consequence, my pussy — had rightfully owed him… 

He only had my snapchat in the first place because I had once gifted it to him; he had earned it, fair and square, by doing all the things he was always so willingly doing for me. 

He was always very worried if I needed help with any of my assignments, he always let me copy off of him whenever I wanted, he always gave me every single page of his notes, and he always offered and even wrote most of my essays. 

He also actually looked at me, like into my eyes, and that was a very nice change from all the horned-up remarks and starving stares that always followed me wherever I went. 

His eyes too would flick frequently and hornily down to the little braless nipples engraved into the thin fabric of the tiny tank tops and tube tops always struggling to conceal them. But soon those eyes would be back and looking right into mine, before darting somewhere else — like the ceiling, or the window, or the wall — with nervousness.   

Even though I usually appreciated all the validation and attention my passion for sucking and fucking had obviously brought me, Henry’s eyes made me feel something different; they made me feel not just craved, but worshipped; like a sloppy-pussied goddess seeping divine wetness. 

Sometimes when I’d approach him, there to pick up my freshly written paper — and after I’d hug him tight with genuine appreciation, purposely pressing the bust of my tits against his chest and allowing him to feel them squished against him, as somewhat of a thank you — I could even see him dropping down to his knee, and then taking my extended hand to kiss it.    

That didn’t mean, however, that I wanted to fuck him — right? 

If I had wanted to fuck him — if I had wanted to allow him the pleasure of my pussy’s oozing and finely ribbed walls clamping airtight around his cock as my phat, cakey ass clapped against his lower abdomen and my big, bouncing tits danced beautifully on my chest — then I definitely would’ve already done so.

He was just too shy and too soft, and he always looked too fucking terrified. 

And don’t forget maybe even hot, my still moistening pussy reminded me — tingling and pulsing hungrily around the four fingers it now pretended were his potentially long, tall shaft. 

Yes, and also don’t forget he’s a nerd and that I probably wouldn’t ever even be considering this if I wasn’t four fingers deep and without cock or cum for two whole weeks, my brain snapped back. 

Just imagine if word was to somehow get out that I’d stretched myself so wide with my four fingers and worked myself so wet with imaginary cocks slamming into each and every one of my holes that I was then left with no choice but to pump my desperate pussy with both nerd cock and nerd cum just so I could finally go to fucking sleep.  

Henry who? they’d ask. 

And I’d have to tell them. 

Wait, you mean the neurotic nerd? 

Again, though — nerd wasn’t fair; maybe smart, and definitely quiet and timid, were the better, nicer words; maybe it didn’t matter that he wore stupid t-shirts and spent his Fridays and Saturdays sitting in movie theaters or thumbing away at PlayStation controllers. 

None of that mattered one bit to my soaked, screaming grip… 

All that mattered right now, in this moment, was that he had a cock. And that there was a very high likelihood of that cock being tall just like him. 

And what if no one ever even found out? What would be the downside then?  

What if it could remain a mystery forever that I had fingered myself to this point of such sloppiness, to this point of my pussy craving even the cock and cum of that one tall nerdy guy with the round glasses and combed hair who did everything I'd ever asked?

Yes, if it stayed a secret then it would be okay.   

Another ding.

Bold. That now made three. 

And this boldness made my pussy twitch.  

Was he dying to finally discover the tightness and torrential wetness of my goddess-like pussy seeping with all its divinity?  

Or were all these late night notifications unrelated to my little hole’s current needs?   

I don’t think he’d ever snapped me a single time in all our years of knowing each other, not even after I posted a full body nude on my story post-breakup one night (I put a 🤤 over each of my nipples and a 😻 over my pussy, don’t worry) calling for anyone and everyone to “hmu” if they were ever “tryna gimme some 🍆”. 

As a result, just about every snapchat I ever got from that point forward was to fuck. It seemed like every single guy on my contact list had at some point “hmu” to “gimme some 🍆” — like literally every single one, and most of them immediately. 

I even had to tell the majority of them that they’d have to wait, some for as long as a few weeks, because there was only time for so much 🍆 in one day. And the list, as you could probably imagine, was of course ordered according to attractiveness. 

But after however many weeks went by, I eventually got them all in — every single one that ever “hmu” — and then I started the rotation over again from the top, with the exclusion of those that I never had any desire to have inside of me again, and the addition of all the new recruits from other platforms like Tinder and Instagram.  

Out of everybody on that long, prestigious list, however, Henry was certainly never one of them. There was never even an inquiry.   

Yet here he was, now, late on this Friday or Saturday night, snapping me three times in a matter of minutes as I lay with my four fingers still stuffed into my little leaking entrance.

I had to at least open them, so I wiped the hand that was previously dedicated to working my clit and used it to move the mouse over his stack of messages in the top right corner while the gangbang/spit roast still played on my MacBook’s screen. 

But again… Did I really want to fuck him? 

And was he even wanting to fuck me? Did he have the courage to fuck me?

I knew he had definitely undressed me with his mind — revealing one by one my big, perfectly perky tits, my phat, perfectly proportioned ass, and finally: my hairless, glistening, and perfectly pink pussy. 

And then more than likely — in that dirty, nerdy mind of his — he’d probably asked me nicely more than once to spread it open with my fingers and make it blossom. 

And as I held it open for him — wide, wide open, in its full, shining, perfectly pink bloom —he’d probably plunge his tongue right into it, then through it, and into the depths of the tiny little period-sized hole of darkness at its blossomed center — tasting the sweet saltiness of my sex — before replacing his tongue with his throbbing cock. 

I mean, why else would a guy be so nice? 

Why else would he be so willing to do all those things for me for four long years?  

He might’ve even had some massive, heart-aching crush on me — as if that was up for any sort of debate; as if that wasn’t a fact. 

Of course he wanted to fuck me. The opportunity would've been simply too impossible to pass up.  

I just couldn’t imagine him, with that permanent look of pure fear and crippling self-consciousness always plastered all across his face, taking out his cock and fucking anybody; not even nerdy girls, and most definitely not me. 

I would’ve been shocked if it somehow turned out he was anything but a virgin.

He was definitely a virgin.  

But maybe he wanted my pussy — this pussy he made blossom with his mind, this pussy he plunged his dreaming tongue into — to be the first pussy his virgin cock ever felt… 

Maybe he wanted to put those nervous, worshipping, virgin eyes — the ones that really looked at me, and only occasionally down at my thinly veiled nipples — on skin they’d never explored…       

Something about that realization suddenly put the motion back into the four fingers still filling my flooded entrance. 

My hips started to writhe again, my eyes rolled back in my head, and my mouth fell open — dropping the slobbery remote right onto my tits. 

Had he lost his mind? Did he so badly want his first pussy to be my pussy that he’d risk the shame and embarrassment of almost certain, obvious rejection? 

My pussy had hoped so…  

It suddenly clenched around my fingers and released yet another wave of creamy moisture — crying more desperately than ever for this kinda-but-not-quite-because-he’s-cute-and-potentially-even-hot nerd’s cock, making me gasp and throw my head back — as I continued to massage the thin little ribs of intense sensitivity lining my drenched and aching walls. 

Any cock — even this probably virgin cock ready for its first pleading pussy to be my pleading pussy — would have worked just fine. 

More than just fine.

It would have accepted quite literally anyone, anything, anywhere; it needed to be filled with as many virgin inches as he had to offer and pumped full of his thick, hot ropes of virgin cum. 

But why his cock? Why his cum? 

What was it about this virgin cock that now made such a mess of me and my pussy? 

I thought about propositioning a more trusted cock whose performance had already been well tested and proven and ignoring the poor virgin Henry all together. 

But where was the fun, and the thrill, in that? My pussy argued. 

I actually hesitated in my single life so far to suck or fuck the same cock more than once. The second time was hardly ever like the first time, and even if it was, it was still always down hill from there.

You probably couldn’t call it boring, exactly, but it was definitely stripped of the excitement that went hand-in-hand with the anticipation and surprise of newness, with the build up of his cock’s big reveal, and with the wettening validation of witnessing yet another guy grow rock hard from just the sight of your full tits and their quarter-sized nipples swinging back and forth for his widened, worshipping eyes.

That worship, that worshipping look in their eye — that legitimate shock and speechlessness that pours over them when you first reveal your body, so soft and smooth and delicate, yet so ready to be fucked rough and hard — as their cocks continued to grow, and leak, was my favorite part. 

That moment I went to slip my top over my head, or remove my thong, on the brink of unveiling the nakedness of my tits and my ass and my pussy to him for the first time, was the moment I officially started to gush — all in anticipation of that worshipping look that typically preceded the stiffening and leaking of his cock; because that look confirmed immediately that all of this was the best they’d ever seen; the tits, the ass, and the pussy; or, even if it wasn’t, their expressions didn’t argue much.  

And suddenly, as long as they still had that worshipping look, I wanted them to do whatever they wished to do to me for however many hours they wished to do it for. They might’ve been the ones doing the fucking, but it was me, my body, in full control, casting its new spell over them. 

The second time, however, that look was usually gone. 

The staggering size and shape of your beautiful tits and the bubbly roundness of your plump, peachy ass and the vice-like grip of your little pussy flooding with all its juices were no longer new. There was other newness out there to be had next. And with a lot of the older, more experienced cocks, you sometimes wouldn’t even get that look at all in the first place.  

But imagine the look, imagine the worship, in the eyes of a virgin, I thought… 

Imagine first the look in his eyes when he sees not just the nicest nakedness he’s ever seen, but the only nakedness he’s ever seen; when he runs his tongue around his first nipple, when he slaps his first cakey asscheek, and when he traces his finger along the seeping slit of his first wet pussy. 

Then imagine his squeal as his twitching cock feels its very first feminine touch; me slipping my hand through his waistband and into his boxers, grabbing him firmly by his virgin shaft.

And imagine it throbbing against my tongue, and coating my mouth with the enormous globs of virgin pre-cum squeezing out of its tip, like toothpaste out of its tube, thanks to the tightness of my lips bobbing up and down on it, bringing it nearer and nearer to the entrance of my airway, and extending my tongue to work it around the shaft and maybe even graze the balls.     

And then, finally, imagine his worshipping virgin cock buried deep into my frequently fucked pussy, pushing deeper and deeper than anything’s been for so long, almost two whole weeks, with the exception of only the large-sized zucchinis from the fridge. 

But Henry’s cock — his throbbing, worshipping, virgin cock — would be real; it would be flesh; it would be warm and surging with virgin life; and most importantly it would be attached to a virgin, with that virgin look of worship in his eye. 

This whole thing now became less about Henry, and more about the virgin. I wanted to offer my pussy and all of its sweet slime up to someone for their first fuck; I wanted to be the first hollowed out hole they emptied their cum into; I wanted to bask in the gratification of unleashing the biggest and most powerful load of their entire life: the first one induced by the grip of a real life, sopping wet, and very pink pussy; and I wanted to be watched and savored the entire time by those worshipping virgin eyes while I did it.  

Luckily for Henry, it was becoming evident that he would soon be that virgin.  

A sensation instantly shot up my spine, fantasizing once more about his virgin thickness and his virgin inches sinking deeper and deeper into my absolutely sobbing fuckhole, hollowing me all the way through. 

I pushed in deeper, reaching desperately for my ceiling and wiggling my willing fingers. 

My pussy sloshed and splashed, spitting again all over my sheets. 

My toes curled. 

My back arched. 

And as my jaw snapped open so wide that I could hear it crackling, my mouth released a moan so loud and so agonizing that I had to cover it with my free hand. 

And just for fun, I took that hand and drilled its fingers into my throat, gurgling with satisfaction.

I gagged violently and let the spit spill out of my mouth in long, slobbery strings that covered me and the two big blessings mounted on my chest.

I took one of the slobbery strings from my tits and spread it in circles around my microscopic little asshole that winked in agreement. 

I pressed gently into its center and sighed with relief. 

Would this virgin know how to fuck any hole of his choosing the way I wanted him to? 

If not, then I would teach him. That definitely wouldn’t be a problem. 

I clicked my laptop’s mousepad and opened his snapchats. 

The first one, however, was not of Henry. 

It was of this guy named Cam: Henry’s closest friend. And he flaunted a bottle of tequila. 

Cheesing over Cam’s shoulders were the painfully average in every single way Alex and Connor. Average heights, average builds, average faces, and probably average cocks.

Cam, however, was slightly below average in height — as well as a little on the thicker side — and I wondered for a second if that probably reflected in his cock — and if so, would it maybe be a good little cock for someone’s little ass — before I read the caption:

COME GET FUCKED UP!!!!

I looked closer; Henry was nowhere to be found.  

The timer ran out and the three faces disappeared. 

I opened the second snap: a blur of chaos and what I could only guess was the flash of Henry’s hand stealing his phone back. 

Hm. 

I cupped my tit with my free hand and tugged at my nipple in thought. 

Why couldn’t he just be alone?

None of these three others were cute with the potential of maybe even being hot like Henry. And all of them were very much nerds. But then again, the only thing that put Henry in that slightly higher tier of kinda-but-not-quite nerd was his potential hotness, and his potentially tall cock. 

But I could only assume, that they — these three others — were also virgins… 

And virgins — specifically that virgin worship, that validation of their hypnotized virgin eyes and pulsing virgin cocks, and massive amounts of pent-up virgin cum — were precisely what my deprived and probably nonsensical pussy was drooling over.   

It twitched against my fingers, begging them to resume their stretching penetration, and my teeth dug into my lower lip.

Ugh…

Maybe I would just let them drool over me, over all of this tittage and all of this ass and all of this pussy — soaked with all of its wetness. 

Allowing all of them to fill my hungry holes with their virgin cocks would be me simply going too far; like way too far. 

That could not happen.

But the very thought, and the overpowering yet imaginary sensation, of one of them in my mouth, while another was in my ass, and yet another (the longest and the thickest one, of course) was deep in my pussy — giving it the stretching and hollowing it cried over for the past two weeks, and sending its flood of fluids splashing all over the insides of my thighs, as they all savored me and validated me and made me feel like a fucking goddess with their worshipping eyes — polluted my mind.  

My pussy twitched again.

Stop, I told myself. You’ve just gone too long without cock. And you’ve stretched yourself too wide.  

These were nobodies I was playing make-believe with; nerds. 

I would die if anybody had found out that I let them, and probably even begged them, to fill me to the brim with however many inches of cock they had and however many explosions of cum they could produce. 

I didn’t just fuck anyone…  

The cocks that usually “hmu” to “gimme some 🍆” on snapchat were only in my contacts in the first place because I had actively or at one point found them attractive in some way — and I therefore had no hesitation about offering my sweet little pussy to be filled by their ready cocks.  

However, they had all given up on this sweet little pussy until my grounding was over; I had to turn them all away too many times. 

Sorry, I’d say. I’m still locked away in my room.   

But tonight my pussy was pleading me to make a run for it, a great escape to go out and get pumped with virgin cum; Henry’s virgin cum.   

And maybe I’d even let his friends, those three others, watch me get pumped with his cum; let them worship me, and my tits, and my ass, and all of my spewing holes.

Maybe I’d even let them get close, as close as they wanted, and let them put their worshipping, virgin eyes wherever they pleased. 

Maybe, just maybe, I’d let them touch; no, I’d let them grope, with their virgin hands, the heaviness of my tits, and the cakiness of my ass; I’d let them spread my phat cheeks and spank, and spank again, and jiggle their fullness, and pinch and pull on my pink nipples, like mesmerized virgin maniacs wearing underwear soaked with their own virgin excitement; I’d let them probe my little forbidden asshole, lubing it with my oozing pussy’s concoction of cream and wetness, as their friend pounds his virgin cock into my screaming pussy — his overflowing balls slapping against my slit with each and every pump. 

And maybe, if all went well, I’d even let them unleash their own virgin cocks, and stroke them with their virgin worship. 

I’d let them shoot their streams of cum all across my bouncing, in-the-middle-of-being-fucked nakedness, and splatter against whatever part of me they’d chosen as their target.

Coat me, virgins — my smiling face, my dancing tits, my twerking ass — in your virgin cum.   

Watch it drip down my neck and my stomach and all down my thighs. 

Watch me bring these cum-covered tits to my mouth and lick them clean with my tongue. 

Watch me drop to my knees and beg for some more. 

The more I thought about it, the more my pussy convinced me to let them, these four virgins, take their turns; it told me I wouldn’t be able to withstand their stares; whether I truly wanted them to fill all three of my holes or not didn’t matter; I would simply fail to resist all of that worship and wide-eyed craving; all of that stiff, leaking, yet to be used cock, all right there in that one room, dying to unleash their first and most powerful loads into whatever hole I assigned them.  

No one will ever know, I reassured myself. 

And with that — after one, big, final thrust and wiggle of my fingers — I finally freed my hand from my mess of a pussy, wiped it clean, and opened Henry’s final snap: 

A drunken selfie; him this time; his glasses cocked all crooked and his hair disheveled. 

I looked at it closer. 

The hair really did make a difference… 

I read the caption: Hey sorry… They’re drunk.   

That much had been obvious, and I couldn’t help but giggle.  

Clicking on my camera now, I suddenly saw myself and all my saliva-soaked nakedness barely lit by only the illumination of my laptop’s screen. 

The oblivious virgin certainly needed something visual to understand what I wanted and how desperately I wanted it. 

How bad my pussy desperately wanted it, I mean… 

I then positioned myself on my right side and centered myself in the frame, before taking my left arm and using it to cradle my tits and cover my nipples; those had to remain a mystery until I could see his reaction in person; all of their reactions, actually.  

I made a cute face — sticking the tip of my tongue out of the corner of my mouth while simultaneously looking up and to the left — and took the picture. 

My hair was a bit of nightmare, and if you looked long enough and hard enough you might’ve been able to make out the streaks of spit, but I sent it anyways, with the caption: 

All gooood! 

He opened it instantly. But there was a long pause. 

Surely he was showing it to Cam and Alex and Connor. And surely they were holding some sort of vote to decide what to respond next. 

Until: Ding. 

I opened it; another selfie. 

It said: Oh wow… 

I smirked. Here we go. 

I worked up to my knees and sat back on my heels, seeing on the screen my poorly lit tits bounce up and down and sway side to side above my skinny torso, then bunched up the comforter between my legs in order to conceal my pussy’s slimy, parted slit.

I leaned forward, the heaviness of my tits now hanging below me, and quickly turned on the timer setting before snapping back into position. 

This time, for this photo — sitting on my heels and with the view of my slit strategically blocked by the bunch of comforter — I cupped each tit with both of my hands, and pursing my lips into a duckface, I smushed my bustiness against my chest. 

I captioned it: Tryna fuck? 

He responded immediately, probably in total shock, and clearly before he could even think to consult his trusted comrades: What??? 

I stretched out flat now in front of my computer, my two jiggling asscheeks faced up.  

I looked inquisitively into the camera, fist to chin, and snapped another photo. The outer third, or maybe half, of one of my smooth, bare asscheeks was visible in the frame, but it wasn’t too much. 

I sent it anyway, with the caption: Have you ever fucked anyone before, Henry? 

He opened it. But there was a pause even longer than the first.  

I sent another one; but in this one my face was intentionally more interrogative: 

Tell me the truth, Henry… 

He finally replied: No… 

I knew it. 

I sent another, smiling playfully, curiously: And what about your friends?   

His reply: Cam says he got a handjob on New Year's but idk. 

Even if it were true, handjobs never count. 

I popped into a squat and rolled back onto my bubbly ass, sitting with my knees up in front of my tits and under my chin. 

I then spread my legs wide to reveal the shining pinkness of my pussy’s insides to the camera — still gaped slightly from all the stretching — and I licked my lips in anticipation of what it was about to do to their hungry cocks. 

After scooting forward until perfectly front and center, I took the trusted fingers of my right hand and covered, barely, my shining pinkness — seeping with wetness now at just the sight of itself.  

The phat of my ass squashed underneath me, my smooth, firm thighs extended each way in a v-like formation, and the plumpness of my pussy’s lips peaked around my shield. 

It was perfect. 

I captioned over it: Can I come over? 

Sent. 

Opened. 

I waited. And waited. 

I could imagine them all — all four of these frantic, freaked out virgins — running around the room, and crashing into each other, in an absolute panic. 

He finally responded: We’re down. 

And he sent me the kid Connor’s address: the location of these four virgin cocks, and these eight worshipping virgin eyes. 

The thought sent chills down my spine, and my pussy cried out for me to give my fingers back, but there was cock and cum to be had. 

All the cock and cum my desperate, pleading pussy could possibly ask for…

Four of them...  

So I hurried out my bed and to my bathroom, grabbing a towel off its hook and wiping up the sloppy mess pouring out my pussy and down my legs.

Submitted for image #3 of the May contest.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I stared at my phone.

My thumb hovered over the screen before I finally started typing.

“I think you sent this to the wrong person.”

The bubble popped up. Disappeared. Popped up again.

“No?”

I swallowed.

“Are you drunk?”

“It’s 9 a.m.”

My foot bounced under the table, fast enough to rattle my knee against the bottom of my desk. She wasn’t serious. There was no way she was serious. This had to be a prank. She’d never sent me a picture like that before. But messing with me? For sure in her playbook. Or she’d hit the wrong contact and was playing it off. 

Either way, she probably did want to hang. 

“I’ll be over in twenty minutes. I just got out of the shower.”

I locked the phone. 

A second later I caved—unlocked it again, pulled the picture back up. Because, Fine. It wasn’t as though I’d never thought about it. I wasn’t dead. She was gorgeous. But she’d always been firmly, categorically, do-not-even-look-too-long off-limits.

Nope. I wasn’t about to let her catch me simping. Not today. I’d never live it down. Not with the way she ran the just-kidding routine, flirting just to laugh it off as if she’d never meant it.

I shot to my feet so fast the computer chair rolled halfway across the room. 

The apartment felt hot. Too hot. I stood there with my feet planted, doing absolutely nothing, while my brain buzzed like an old TV stuck on static. I couldn’t figure out what that was supposed to mean, but it was giving me anxiety. 

I yanked a tank out of the drawer and tugged it on, smoothing it flat over my chest.

No sense dressing up. It wasn’t anything important. Gym attire was acceptable. 

I checked my phone again.

No new message. That was worse somehow.

I shoved my feet into my sandals, found my keys, and headed for the elevator.

Her place was only a few buildings down. Before today, that had been convenient. Now it felt way too close. I needed at least another ten minutes to get my thoughts on a leash before I showed up at her door.

I walked down the sidewalk with my hands buried in my pockets, trying to look normal. When I reached her building, I paused in the lobby and considered taking the stairs, just to buy myself a bit more time.

Then I remembered stairs meant sweat.

The elevator carried me up, and I stopped in front of her door, staring at it. For one very serious moment, I considered turning around.

But the door opened.

She stood there in a loose tank top and red shorts, one strap sliding down her arm. Her short bob was a mess, sticking out at odd angles, her bangs falling every which way across her face.

Her eyes were half-lidded. “Hey,” she said, yawning after. 

I looked at her face. The strap. Before very aggressively back at her face. “Morning.”

Her mouth curved a little. “You came fast.”

My hand tightened around my phone in my pocket.

“Yeah, well.” I cleared my throat. “You made it sound urgent.”

Her eyes flicked over me, taking in the wrinkly shirt I’d clearly thrown on in a panic.

“Mhm,” she said. “Very urgent.”

She stepped back and left the door open.

I walked in, and the apartment smacked me with the smell of whatever candle Beth was always burning in the living room. Sweet. Too sweet. Somewhere close to cotton candy.

Rachel shut the door behind me and wandered towards the kitchen, barefoot and half-asleep. I kicked off my sandals and followed, putting a heroic amount of effort into not looking at her ass cheeks devouring those red shorts. 

Why was she so thick? Seriously. Me being an ass guy did not help the situation.

Nope. Those thoughts were illegal.

My gaze shot straight to the ceiling.

Nice ceiling. Very normal ceiling. Big fan of architecture.

“You eat yet?” I asked. “I can make eggs or something.”

“Later,” she mumbled.

“Cool,” I said. “Yeah. Later works.”

Rachel didn’t stop in the kitchen. She kept walking down the hall towards her room.

I’d been in her room a thousand times. We’d watched movies in there. Played video games. Folded laundry. Argued over playlists. I had literally helped her move into this apartment. And by helped, I mean she pointed at boxes while I did ninety percent of the actual lifting.

But today, the hallway felt about six miles long.

Rachel glanced back at me. “You coming?”

“Yeah,“ I said, picking my pace up. “Where’s Beth?—she still sleeping?”

Rachel tossed her bedroom door open with her hip. “Visiting her parents for the weekend.”

“Oh,” I said. “Cool. Good for Beth. Family time. Important.”

Rachel gave me a look over her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Me? Yeah.” I nodded too fast. “Totally. I’m just… awake.”

She rolled her eyes and walked in, then flopped backwards onto her plaid bed sheets.

The mattress bounced. So did her tits. Her tank top shifted and for a second, I thought I was going to see a nipple. Both straps hung low on her arm, her hair spilling over the pillow in a messy little halo.

I tried not to stare. Failed. So hard. I jerked my gaze towards her dresser.

Mistake.

There was a thong hanging off one of the handles.

I looked at her desk.

Bigger mistake.

A red bra was draped over the back of the chair.

So I looked back at Rachel, which did not help at all.

I shut the door but stayed near the frame. “So,” I said, trying to sound normal and landing somewhere near a hostage situation. “Big plans today?”

Rachel blinked at me.

I cleared my throat first. “Besides, you know. Terrorizing me before breakfast.”

Her mouth twitched. “You’re dramatic.”

“You sent me a picture.”

“You came over.”

“Because I thought you were having a breakdown or somethin’.”

“It’s 9 a.m.”

“I don’t know your schedule.”

“You’ve known me since we were eight.”

“Exactly. That’s why I know your schedule is emotionally unstable.”

My voice was cracking like I was going through puberty again. I needed to get myself under control. 

This was Rachel. My best friend Rachel, who had told me my hair looked stupid every single day for three years until I finally got bullied into cutting it. Rachel, whose mom still calls me on my birthday like I am one of her own kids. Rachel, who once puked in my backpack at a college party, and somehow blamed me when it leaked all over her car floor on the ride home.

That one did it.

Instant erection killer.

Puke.

I had this so under control. 

“Come cuddle me,” she said, patting the bed beside her. “Or are we going to act like that’s weird now?”

She didn’t know about my ultimate weapon for keeping myself in check. I was not falling for this joke. Not yet.

“Listen, Rachel,” I said, using the exact tone of a manager about to fire someone. “I’m a little too old to be playing this game with you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Did you just think about the time I puked in your bag?”

My mouth opened. Nothing came out. I shut it again.

“How did you know?”

She frowned. “Because you make this very specific face.”

“I do not.”

“You absolutely do. It’s your puke memory face.”

“That… that is not a thing,” I said, scratching the back of my neck and looking anywhere but at her. “You’re crazy.” 

“It is so a thing.”

I pointed at her, my finger shaking a bit. “See? This. This is why I don’t trust you. You’re trying to prank me.”

And there I went, getting flustered.

Rachel’s mouth twitched. “By knowing your puke memory face?”

“By distracting me with nonsense until I stop asking questions.”

“You weren’t asking questions,” she said. “We were just making statements at each other.” 

“I was building up to a question.”

“No, you were standing there looking traumatized.”

“Because you brought up the backpack.”

“You thought about the backpack first.”

“Because you put me in a stressful situation.”

Rachel groaned and slapped the mattress beside her. “Get on the bed, idiot.”

“Fine,” I huffed, as if my feet hadn’t started moving the moment she asked.

Ugh. I was such a pushover.

I climbed in behind her and settled in. Rachel tucked herself into the little-spoon position without a second thought, pressing her ass right against my crotch.

Well, I attempted to settle in. I lay there stiff as a corpse for five full minutes, barely breathing.

“Why are you being weird?” she asked, leaning into me more. “Stop.” 

I stared at the back of her head. “Because we’re cuddling after you sent me a picture that was asking if I wanted to fuck you,” I said, adding, “In a very provocative position, by the way. I am definitely deleting it later. One hundred percent did not save it to my gallery.”

She turned around in my arms. “Why are you like this?” she asked, her face inches from mine. “If you’re not attracted to me, just say it.”

“That’s…” My brain stalled. “That is not what’s happening.”

Her boobs were pressed right against me… very against me. 

Rachel searched my face. “Can you just tell me what’s going on?” she asked. “So maybe… I can fix it?”

“You’re serious right now?”

Her breath brushed my lips and she looked up at me with those big light brown eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “This conversation is kind of overdue.”

Overdue? How long had she been thinking about this? A week? A month? A decade?

I swallowed. “You started it so elegantly.”

Her forehead bumped against mine, and her mouth almost touched mine when she spoke. “Stop,” she drawled. “You always act like a clown.”

“Rach—”

That was as far as I got before her lips were on mine.

I just froze. Stalled completely, stuck between this is Rachel and Rachel is kissing me. But I started kissing her back, clumsy at first, convinced I was about to wake up or get laughed at or find Beth filming from the closet.

But Rachel didn’t laugh. She kept kissing me, harder, her hands grabbing at my shirt and pulling the fabric tight in her fists.

When she broke away, she didn’t really move back. “Sorry—I’m being ridiculous.”

I should have said something. Probably a lot of things. Instead, I stared at her mouth for one more second, gave up on pretending I had any control left, and kissed her. That seemed to answer whatever question had been sitting between us, because Rachel smiled against my lips and inched herself closer.

My hand travelled carefully at first, like I was afraid one wrong touch would ruin everything.

I slid my palm over the soft curve of her hip, down to the dip of her waist, and back up until my hand covered her breast. My fingers sunk into her softness and squeezed. Rachel made this quiet little sound and leaned into my palm.

This wasn’t going to end in sex. Not today. This was just kissing. Figuring out what the hell we were now that the door had opened and neither of us seemed interested in closing it.

Rachel reached down, grabbed the hem of her tank, and pulled it up. Her chest spilled out beneath the fabric.

My eyes dropped.

Nipples… Two… Obviously two… That was how boobs worked… I knew that… I had seen them a few times in person.

“Can you suck on them?” she asked, her voice suddenly shy in a way that felt almost impossible coming from her. 

Say less.

My face lowered before she even finished the sentence. I closed my lips around the light brown, half-convinced I was crossing some line even though she’d literally invited me there. My tongue brushed over the peak and Rachel’s breath hitched above me. I did it again, slower this time, letting my tongue circle her until her nipple tightened.

Then I sucked.

Rachel let out a quiet moan and arched closer, pushing me deeper into her soft breast. “Thank you for always doing what I want,” she muttered. “I love you.” 

I tried to answer, but the words got lost against her skin. Not that it mattered. Rachel saying she loved me wasn’t new. We threw love you around like spare change.

The important part was her hand staying in my hair.

I switched to her other tit, and Rachel’s fingers pressed the back of my head, holding me there. My hand slid around to her ass, pulling her closer even though there was nowhere closer for her to go.

When I came off her nipple, Rachel grabbed my chin and dragged me back up to her mouth. She kissed me immediately, like even that tiny bit of distance had been too much. I had to turn my face to the side so I could say something that was absolutely going to embarrass me into another dimension. 

“I’m going to last a whole two seconds,” I said, staring at the other side of the room. “So I feel like I need to at least get you off first.”

So much for pretending this wasn’t going to turn into sex.

“Well, maybe that’s a good thing,” she said, against my cheek. “Because Beth only went to get coffee.”

“You said she was visiting her parents.”

Rachel definitely had a smug smile on her face. “I lied.”

“So we should jump ahead?”

“Yes.”

I sat up fast, yanking my shirt over my head before kicking my shorts and underwear off the side of the mattress.

My eyes drifted over to her, laying there in her thong, her tank still bunched around her collarbone. “Are you not taking your clothes off?”

“Just a heads-up,” she said, with a look that told me I should be taking notes. “I’m never going to take my underwear off for you.”

“Oh, okay. Cool.”

How many times have I said cool today?

God. I was such a loser.

Rachel lifted her hips as I reached for her. I hooked my fingers under the waistband of her underwear and tugged them down slowly, dragging the fabric over her ass while she watched me with her lip caught between her teeth. 

Her heels dropped back to the mattress and I flung the thong somewhere. 

She covered her stomach. “Don’t look at my tummy.”

I paused, frowning at her. “You do not have a tummy.”

“I do,” she said, suddenly quieter. “It’s because you always make too much food, and I wanna eat it all because it’s good. And now I’m fat.”

“You’re not fat.” I crawled between her legs, bracing one hand beside her head. “And for the record, if my cooking did anything to you, it made you hotter.”

She tried not to smile. “So you’re trying to fatten me up?”

I came down and kissed her, letting my mouth glide lower. “I wouldn’t change anything about you,” I murmured against her neck.

“Sean.”

“Yeah?”

“We need to hurry up.”

Beth. Coffee. Limited window.

“Right,” I said, shifting closer.

My fingers wrapped around my cock, guiding myself against her.

Rachel let out a shaky inhale, and I parted her lips with the head, easing in slowly. She was already so wet that it made heat rush up my neck, as though I had somehow caught her wanting me too much.

My eyes closed briefly as her softness molded around me, warm, pulling every thought out of my head. I went deeper, and by the time I was all the way in, my breathing was gone. Rachel pushed herself up onto her elbows and looked down between us, watching where I disappeared inside her. 

Her lips parted, her expression caught somewhere between shock and awe. “You’re in me.”

“Yeah,” I said, starting to move. 

Her eyes came back up to mine. “We’re actually having sex.”

A nervous laugh almost slipped out of me, but I held it down. “Yeah,” I said, rolling my hips faster. “I think we are.”

Her fingers clawed at the sheet beneath her.

“You feel good,” she breathed. “Really good.” 

I nodded, keeping my eyes locked on her face through sheer force of will, because her boobs were definitely bouncing, and if I looked down, this whole thing was about to be over immediately. 

“You feel good too,” I said, my voice embarrassingly unsteady.

Rachel’s mouth fell open a little, her eyes half-lidded. Her head rocked with the rhythm, bobbing every time I pushed into her. 

“Sean,” she mumbled. “You can finish in me.”

Oh no. Bad idea. Also, I was absolutely not going to say no.

“Are…” My voice caught, and I had to force the rest out. “Are you sure?”

I was already close. Way too close. One wrong breath and the credits were rolling.

“Yes”—her eyes opening a bit more—“Don’t stop looking at me.”

I bent down until our faces were almost touching, close enough that every moan touched my lips. I kept my eyes on hers while I started thrusting faster, sliding in and out of her with less control each time. Her legs shifted around my waist, her body drawing me in, holding me there, and whatever restraint I had left just broke.

My cock drove as far as it could go, with only my balls left outside her. 

For half a second, nothing happened.

Then the first throb hit. Rachel’s eyes went wide, and a helpless whimper escaped out of her as I started coming. Hard. So hard my head went light and the room tilted. But I didn’t look away. Not once. Her legs locked tighter around me, holding me there, keeping me buried as deep as I could go. The pulsing wouldn’t stop. It kept rolling through me, wave after wave, and I pressed into her more.

When it finally ended, I stayed there, holding myself over her while I tried to catch my breath. Rachel stared up at me, dazed and smiling.

“This honestly was a joke when I first sent it,” she said. “But I’m glad I went through with it.”

I stared at her.

Her grin widened. “Sorry, friend.”

A laugh came out of me. “You’re mean.” 

“Mhm.”

I shook my head. “But I’ll let it slide.”

“We’re in a relationship now,” Rachel said, pressing her heels into me. “It’s official.”

Uhhhhhhhhhhhhh. 

“You have a boyfriend.”

Honestly, I’d forgotten about his dumbass. Extra copy-and-paste average, and that was coming from another average guy.

Rachel gave me a look, like I’d just said the dumbest thing in the world. “Now you bring that up? We broke up a month ago. I told you this.”

My brain took a moment to catch that. “What?”

“He broke up with me.”

A weird feeling passed through my chest. “Was it about me?”

For the first time all morning, the smugness slipped off her face. “Yes,” she said quietly. “He said I loved you more, and—”

“Hey, slut, I’m back!” Beth shouted from the front door.

My eyes went wide as an owl. “I didn’t lock the door.”

Rachel and I launched off the bed like the cops had kicked it in.

Clothes went flying. I grabbed my shorts, shoved one leg in the wrong hole, and nearly ate shit trying to fix it. Rachel yanked hers up in a panic, but not fast enough to stop my cum from sliding down her thigh.

“Oh my God,” she hissed, staring down at her legs. “Why did you come so much?”

“Sorry,” I whispered. “I can’t really control that.”

Rachel gave me a look, then bolted for the bedroom door just as Beth tried to push it open. She slapped one hand against the wood and wedged herself into the gap.

Beth, being Beth, took that as a challenge. She shoved her shoulder into the other side and busted in.

Everything stopped.

Beth stared at Rachel.

Rachel stared at Beth.

Beth’s eyes drifted past her and landed on me.

The silence was so bad I wanted to crawl out the window.

“Wait…” Beth said slowly. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Rachel said, immediately scurrying behind me.

Beth squinted at her. “Your face is red.”

Rachel said nothing.

Beth pointed at me. “And he looks like he just had sex for the first time.”

Wow. Fuck you.

“It wasn’t the first time,” I mumbled.

“Sean,” Rachel yelled at me.

Beth’s mouth fell open. “Oh my God. So you did fuck!”

“Out!” Rachel whimpered. “Please.”

Beth huffed as though we were the ones inconveniencing her. “You’ve got some explaining to do, missy. ‘Like a brother,’ my ass.”

So that’s what she told people when they asked about us?

Beth walked backwards out of the room, glaring at us both, which felt unfair because I hadn’t done anything wrong. 

Rachel shut the door behind her, then leaned back against it. 

For a whole minute, neither of us said a word.

Rachel groaned.  “There is so much cum running down my leg.”

Out of every sentence I had ever imagined hearing from Rachel, that one had never made the list.

Welllll if it isn't everyone's long-neglected brat back for more! And by everybody, I mean the 6 people who have asked me what happened to this series.

If you're new here, this series is a bit of a choose-your-own-adventure thing where readers get to pick what happens next. This entry comes courtesy of ch. 4's readers, who felt that Gabi needed to fuck shit up on a work trip, so here we are. Several readers did weigh in asking for something to make Dan a little jealous, so that element will come in for the next chapter regardless of where we go, but be sure to weigh in on the options available at the end of this one too.

Previous chapters are linked below. As always, happy reading!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

*******************************************

My vision swam and my toes were fixing to curl into broken little knots.

"God, you're so fucking hard," Gabi moaned, pumping my cock in her wet fist with boundless resolve. "I think I'm gonna drink it all up today. You like that? Huh? I can't hear youuuuu."

Tessellated fractals drew themselves on my bedroom ceiling as she stroked, having already rewired my brain with the most out of pocket mouthwork I had ever been treated to. Honestly, Gabi's journey from Little Miss Teeths-Alot to a certified Grade-A throat queen needed academic study.

"Gabs," I managed to gasp. "D-don't fucking stop!"

I don't even know why I bothered sometimes.

"Let me come on your work trip," she said abruptly, removing her hand and grinning up at me from between my legs.

"W-what?"

She grinned and bit her lip as she stared at my cock impishly. The thing bobbed in time with my heartbeat, a concerning shade of purplish flesh that I liked to call PleaseDearFuckingChristLetMeCum.

She giggled as I reached for myself. "No! Bad!" she said as she swatted my hand away. "Answer me."

"Gabs...no? It's a work trip, not a vacation."

Another slap on the wrist.

"No touching I said! Let me come."

"No."

"Let me!"

"Gabi, come on."

"If I can't come," she said in her best take-me-seriously voice as she started crawling up my body. "Neither can you."

"Not fair," I panted.

Gabi, now astride me and looking me straight in the eye, eased back until my aching cock kissed something wet and lippy. Just a glance, just one aggravating tease. "Say yes."

"I...My boss will be there. Ohhhhh, fuck, come on."

She worked her hips and grinned as she tortured me with the promise of her tight, wet slit. "Just say yes and this will all be over."

"It's a big client!"

She reached back and held me between her lips as she ground against me, sighing in a hitching judder as she moaned for that extra little twist of the knife. "You used to like me," she accused.

"I do!"

"Say yes then. Do it. Say 'Yes, Gabi, you can come to Boston with me' and I'll let you cum allllll up in this pussy."

"Gabs...."

She eased a half inch into herself. Half a tip, at most. It was a mere crumb of pussy. "I'll sit down if you let me."

You know, I've never been big on the whole 'you reap what you sow' thing. What does that even mean?

"I'll let you do whatever you want to me while we're there."

God damn me and my generous heart.

*******

As it happened, I wasn't going make it to Boston.

I was going to Scottsdale.

In the dead of night. By car. Because an even bigger client's server, to quote the on-site engineer 'just fucking exploded, man', and I couldn't get a flight out.

I must have woken half the neighbourhood up as I shlepped my suitcase from the house to my car, cussing like a sailor with Tourette's as I first ran back for my keys, then my shoes, then my pants. In that order.

Two hours later, I was yawning loudly as I squeezed a tank of gas into my car. The night air was cool and refreshing, with the first softening glow of morning just suggested along the flat horizon. Call me old fashioned, but there's still something about the promise of the open road that just gets the fire lit in my belly. That thirst for what's next. That wanderlust.

"Ugh, where the fuck are we?"

I screamed and leapt out of my skin as the bundled blanket that I hadn't noticed in my backseat sat up and blinked a bleary eye at me.

"FUCK! What the...Gabi, what the fuck are you doing?!"

She looked at me sleepily as she rubbed her face. "You said I could come?"

"To...Not...Gabi, what the fuck?"

"You said that already," she accused as she looked around. "Where are we? This isn't the airport."

"Because we're not going to the airport," I groaned.

"But you said..."

I pinched the bridge of my nose as the gas pump slammed to a stop.

"I got called out," I groaned. "I'm on-call."

"Sooooo...we're not going to Boston?"

"No, Gabi, we are not going to Boston. I'm going to fucking Arizona, and you're going home."

She looked frustratingly confused about the whole thing, as if the fact that she'd snuck into my car like some kind of stowaway was somehow my fault.

"But you said I could come? Besides, how am I supposed to get home from here? Are you gonna drive me back?"

Queue the long sigh. If I turned around now I'd never make it in time to keep my company's SLA intact. Besides, a deal's a deal...I guess.

"Hey! Hey, where are you going?"

"To pay for the gas," I grumbled as I shuffled across the parking lot.

"Can you get me a snack? I like Skittles. And a Redbull please. I'm sleepy."

*******

Luckily she slept through the night, snoring in that frustratingly cute way as we blasted across state lines one after another. She eventually roused again only once I'd stopped the car in a Denny's parking lot just outside Scottsdale.

"Th'fuck're we?" she yawned.

"We're here," I said as I unbuckled. "Well, mostly here. Come on, I'm hungry. You want something to eat?"

"They got waffles?"

"Yeah," I replied incredulously. "I'm pretty sure Denny's has waffles. Come on."

After four cups of coffee, one plate of bacon and eggs, plus a heaping serving of strawberry pancakes literally drowned in syrup, Gabi and I wallowed in that limbo-time between waiting for a bill and not having anything to talk about. It's not like we hung out because we found each other super stimulating on an intellectual level.

Gabi cracked first. "So, uh, what are you here for?"

"The coffee."

"No, stupid. Why'd you have to drive out here?"

"Oh. Server went down."

"And you have to fix it?"

"Yeah. Or turn it on."

"You have to drive 9 hours to turn a computer on?"

"Sometimes."

"Can't someone else do that? Isn't there, like, a power button?"

"There is."

"So how come they can't just push it themselves?"

"I don't know," I replied. "I ask myself that all the time."

She examined me quizzically. "I thought you were an engineer."

"I am."

"Are you grumpy?"

"No."

"Why are you being a grump then?"

"I'm not!"

"Are you mad I snuck into your car?"

"A little."

She shrugged and sipped her orange juice. "You said I could come."

See, the thing with Gabriella was that you didn't win. Ever. As soon as you got that through your head, you were better off. You didn't win, you shouldn't argue, and you never EVER wanted to give her what she wanted. Trust me on that last one - it only ends up worse for you.

"You made me."

Another shrug. "You could have said no. There was no gun to your head."

"Not fair," I quipped.

"It's not my fault you have zero self-control."

A memory of her face, all contorted in savage pleasure and diabolical self-satisfaction as she rode me to the result she wanted flashed across my mind. As did her end of the deal.

"You said 'anything,'" I replied.

"What?"

"You said I could do anything I wanted to you while we were here."

"No I didn't."

"Did so."

"That wasn't the deal. The deal was Boston."

"So, what? You're gonna sit up in a Motel 7 all weekend by yourself?"

"I..."

"You said 'anything.'"

She huffed and opened her mouth to reply just as our waitress stepped up to the table cheerfully.

"Cash or card?"

"Card," I replied. "Please."

"There you go," she said. I took the card machine from her and punched my PIN in. "Big plans this weekend?"

"Not really," I said as I turned it back to her. "I've got a little work stuff, but other than that we're completely free, isn't that right?"

Gabi bit her lips together coyly as she nodded. "Mhmm. Completely."

"Nothing wrong with that! Thanks for coming, y'all!" She said as she waddled away.

Under the table, Gabi stomped on my toes.

*******

Ah, Scottsdale. Prized for being the butt-end of countless jokes and the lynchpin of any story involving white retirees, swingers you want nothing to do with, and jazz festivals that make you hate jazz on a deeper level than you ever thought possible. Oh, how I fucking hate thee.

Which is why Gabi was naked and facedown on our creaky mattress as soon as we got into the room.

"Ugh," she moaned pitifully. "Fuck, that's...that's so deeeeep."

I blanketed the petite thing's frame almost entirely, my arms wrapped up under her armpits as I sank into the sweetest little hole I had ever fucked. Her hair smelled like something expensive as I grunted a little artlessly in her ear. She must have liked it; she kept biting down on my forearm as she let out the most desperate little moans.

"I...needed you," I accused. "So bad. Fuck, Gabi. How do you f-feel so good every...single...time."

"Nnnghhhh," she groaned as she ground her forehead against my arm in reply, which...I get. There was a lot of cock inside her.

"That's it," I panted. "Let me...let me hear you cum for me. Please, Gabi, let me hear you cum. That's it. That's it, nice and...nice and hard. Goddddd that's so pretty. Fuck yes."

She shook her head tightly as she juddered around me, smearing her lips along my hairy arm like she was playing a furry harmonica. Between my legs, her feet kicked and twitched on the mattress.

"I f-fucking came so hard," she said raggedly. "It's too...deep!"

I eased out of her and kissed her cheek, ear, neck, whatever was closest, shocked to find her leaning back into me as she nuzzled in.

"Better?"

She nodded. "Uh huh. Thank you, daddy."

I grinned in spite of myself. "None of that, now," I admonished as I inched back into her. The 'daddy' thing didn't do it for me. Maybe it was the 16 years between us. Maybe it was because I'm not a weirdo. Hard to say.

She gasped as I bottomed her out again, nudging and bumping somewhere between 'Oh god!' and 'Fuck yes!'

"S-sorry," she sighed. "I just can't h-help it!"

"Be good."

"I can't!"

"Yes you can."

Her hips wiggled underneath me in spite of my full weight pinning her slight frame to the bed. "M-make me."

"Are you gonna cum again for me?"

"N-no!"

"I think you are."

"You c-can't make me!"

I pushed.

"Cum again."

"Ah!"

"Do it. Cum for me, Gabi. Be good and cum for me."

"I want you to cum."

"No," I replied with a good deal more authority than I was ready to back up. "Not until you do."

"I-I did alreadyyy, shit!" she blubbered. "I f-fucking came so hard on you."

"So do it again."

I folded my arms in tighter and pressed into her as far as she'd let me.

"I...Fuck, I..."

"Now, Gabi."

"I-I c..."

"Cum on your cock," I urged. It was about to be one of us, and I was losing my edge.

"I ffffffff..." she fizzled, tucking her face forward as our contest neared its end. "F-fuuuuuuuuck, ohhhh!"

"Good...good girl," I panted as my thighs started to tighten around her hips and my stomach muscles started to heave. "Take your...take your fucking cum n-now," I grated into her ear uselessly. My Gabi was somewhere else entirely, pussy full and head empty as I bucked an undeserving load into her.

Romance, as it turns out, is alive and well in Scottsdale, Arizona, especially when it comes to Room 322 at the Motel 7 overlooking that Wal-Mart loading dock.

In the panting, breathless aftermath, my post-cum comedown took me back to what I was supposed to be doing. Server. Work. Shit.

I kissed the back of her head and started to shove off of her, but her hands held my arms in place. "No," she pouted. "Stay."

"Gabs, I gotta get to work."

"I don't want you to."

"I'm squishing you," I pointed out.

"I like it."

I tried to pay the kiss tax, but the price had apparently gone up. "Gabs, I gotta go. I'll be back in a couple hours, I promise."

"What am I supposed to do?"

I laughed. "You're the one who crawled into my car in the middle of the night."

Her pouty 'harumph' was just so annoyingly cute.

"Listen," I said as she finally let me untangle myself from her. The sticky mess between her legs was a bit of a scene, but I was sure she could manage clean-up just fine without me. I know, I know, real Casanova over here. "I'll be back at 2:00 if everything goes well, okay? I'll leave you some money for...I don't know, whatever."

"I want dinner."

"Yeah, no problem. We can order something."

"No," she said as she rolled over. Did you know that some women are actually about a billion times sexier right after they've cum? I didn't, until Gabi. "I want real dinner. I want you to take me out."

"O-okay. Yeah, sure. Find somewhere that looks..."

"No," she said in that flat Gabi tone. "I want you to do it. I want you to find somewhere nice, I want you to call, I want you to make a reservation, and I want you to take me out."

God fucking damn it. "Of course."

"And I don't have anything to wear."

"Okay?"

"So I need more money."

"I didn't even give it to you yet?"

"I know. But I need more."

You know, all things considered, I had been on more expensive dates. 'Had been' being the operative phrase there. Gabi came with fine print written in invisible ink though, and even leaving a credit card on the bedside table as I slipped out 10 minutes later was a small price to pay for the kinds of things she was starting to make me feel.

I so hate feeling.

*******

The server had, it turns out, pretty much fucking exploded, man.

"Who the hell installed this?" I asked for the hundredth time. A few pimply co-op kids shrugged and shot accusatory looks at each other as I angrily wrestled with miles of cabling. "Hand me those side cutters. No, the other...yeah, those ones."

My phone chimed in my pocket as I slid another burnt out unit off the rack.

"Here, take this," I said as I handed it back to someone.

Ding.

"Jesus, did you have to spray the whole thing with the fire extinguisher?"

Ding.

"Run and grab some zip ties. What? All of them. As many as you have. And then go get more."

Ding.

"Of course it's on backorder. Don't you guys keep any spares in-house? Bring that other one back in, we'll see if there's anything useable."

Ding.

Ding.

Dingdingdingdingding.

"FUCK!" I shouted as I pitched a screwdriver across the room. "I'm going out for a smoke! Don't...just don't fucking touch anything, got it?"

No, I don't smoke anymore. I do occasionally lean against the side of a building and have a cup of coffee, which still helps immensely. I pulled my phone out and tallied up the cost of my earlier indiscretion.

Charge: Zara, $237.17.

Charge: Sephora, $124.62.

Charge: Nordstrum, what the actual fuck dollars and holy fucking shit cents.

"Hello, handsome." Gabi said as she picked up my call.

"Having a nice time?" I asked.

I could hear her smile over the phone. Don't ask how. I just knew she was. Because she's a little shit. "Mmm, not bad. How's work?"

"I might be a little late," I replied between sips of tepid coffee.

"Awh, poor thing. Is your computer thingy not going well?"

"It's going okay," I replied. "I could just use the overtime, you know? A little extra money."

"I thought you made a lot of money. Oh, these are cute."

"I do," I replied. "I make very okay money. It's just that someone spent $1200 at a store I've never heard of this afternoon."

"Gosh, is that a lot?"

A panicked looking intern leaned out the office door in search of me. "Gee, Gabi, I don't know. How much do you make waiting tables at Rosario's in a month?"

"Oh, God, not that much," she laughed dismissively. "Sure, a bag would be great thanks," she said to someone else.

"Gabi."

The intern spotted me and started waving frantically as my phone dinged again. I held it away from my face.

Charge: Victoria's Secret, $183.97

Clever girl.

"Did you find a place for us to eat?"

The intern was walking towards me now.

"Not yet. I will."

"Good. I can't wait. Hey, how long do you think you're gonna be?"

"Why?"

"Just trying to figure out if I have time for a wax. Do you like a landing strip or a triangle? Who am I kidding, you like it bare. Pervert."

The intern, now running like he'd shit his pants, started shouting. "Hey! Hey, man! Uh, we got a..."

I held up a finger as he trotted over. "How much does that cost?"

"Oh," she hummed. "Less than these Jimmy Choos."

"How much were the Jimmy Choos?"

"About twelve hundred dollars."

The pudgy IT dork coughed a breathless "Hey, man, we got a real problem, I think we might need to..."

"I'll see you at 6:00, okay?"

"Okay, daddy. Don't be late."

She knows I hate 'daddy'.

Almost as much as I hate it when she hangs up on me.

*******

The thing, you see, about showing up to a steakhouse with a woman who's had your credit card all afternoon, is that you're always going to look like you paid her to be there. It's a lose-lose. And when she's 20 and you're on the wrong side of your mid-thirties, you just look like a creep.

But then again, Scottsdale fucking sucks, so who gives a shit.

Then, of course, there's the whole 'It's Gabi' thing.

"Let me try your drink," she said.

But I, obviously, was not listening. Her lipstick was red.

"What?"

"Your drink, let me try it."

"You won't like it," I replied. Winged eyeliner always got me. Is that what it's called, when they do the little tails thingy? I don't know. I like it. I like it on Gabi.

She reached for the glass anyway. Her nails, squared off and polished in a glossy clear that had cost me sixty seven dollars, clinked against the glass.

She said something about the way it tasted like toilet water, but her hair was pinned off her face, and her jawline was just...

"Are you listening?"

"Sorry, what was that?"

"I said it tastes like someone farted in your drink. You should send it back."

I laughed. "It's supposed to taste like that."

"Blegh," she protested. "Nasty. Why do guys like the grossest shit?"

"I don't."

"Yes you do!"

"I like you," I pointed out.

She hid her blush with a sip from her oversized cocktail glass.

"Well, maybe I'm gross."

"No," I said. "Hardly."

"No?"

"Not even."

"What about when I..." she said, probing the inside of her cheek with her tongue.

"Not gross."

She laughed. "If you say so."

"Do you think it's gross?"

"Obviously not," she countered. "I like it."

"Yeah?"

"Uh huh. Well, now I do. I used to not."

"What changed?"

Mr. Choo's finest work slid up my calf under the table. "You did, I guess."

I gave the waiter a flat smile as he took our plates away. "Wrong again, I've never changed."

If I knew what the look she gave me was called, I'd do everything in my power to squirm away from it just then. It was something like sympathy, or maybe a little amusement in the face of naivety. "Yes you have."

"How?"

"Well," she started as she leaned in. For a smaller woman, she wore the absolute hell out of that neckline. "You never would have agreed to let me come here with you."

"I didn't," I pointed out.

"You know what I mean."

"Fine. Maybe."

"Maybe yes," she repeated. "And you never would have pinned me down and fucked me like you did today."

"I fuck you all the time."

"Now you do," she pointed out. "But I practically had to throw myself at you to get there."

"It just...felt a little..."

"What, weird?"

"Kinda."

"Well," she said, stirring her drink with a straw. "I'm glad you figured out that I'm not made of glass."

"Why's that?"

"Because, uh," she said with a quick look around for eavesdroppers. "I kinda spent a lot of your money today, and I definitely don't have any way to pay you back."

"I hadn't noticed," I quipped. I had noticed; it was like twenty two hundred dollars.

"No?"

"Spare change."

"So I can keep it all?"

"Go for it."

"You think I look good?"

You ever look at a mousetrap and think to yourself 'Look at how stupid this is, how does any mouse fall for this?'

"You look great."

"My dress, you like it?"

"Love it."

"And aren't these shoes so pretty?"

"The prettiest."

"What about my makeup, did I do good?"

"Well," I replied, draining my drink. "You did well."

"What about my nails? You think they'll look nice while I'm..." she trailed off, turning her fist to face me as she pumped it in the air just enough to suggest something.

"You look great," I said, waving to pay my tab.

"Wait till you see what else I spent all your money on," she purred. "Then you can decide if it was worth it."

It was, you'll be pleased to hear, worth every red fucking cent.

*******

The makeup, so heavy around her eyes, was a dark graffiti tag that marked her pretty, messy face as mine.

Whenever we practiced, I always laid or sat back and let Gabi push her own limits. Tonight though...tonight I fucked her. I fucked her in the mouth, and I was not gentle about it.

"Grrhhhhk," she gurgled. Big, wet eyes stared up at me, reddening with the effort to keep her dessert lodged down her throat. "Ngghhhk!"

"So...so good, baby," I panted as I loomed over her. The dress was still on, but I figured it might be more fun to unwrap her as we fucked along - even so, it'd need the dry cleaner's in a big way once I was done with her. "That's - that's it. Swallow it all down. Such a...perfect mouth!"

I knotted my fingers through her hair and hauled her off my bobbing meat as she gasped for lungfuls of air with a wide smile on her face. That was what set Gabi apart, that's what made her so special - how many people will nearly suffocate on a cock and then smile at you just for letting them catch a breath.

Gabi would, evidently.

"More," she panted. "I can...take more."

I rubbed a thumb across her cheek to brush an errant tear away, leaving a greasy makeup smear under her eye like some parody of warpaint. "I know you can," I replied as I guided her to her feet by the hair. "But I miss you when you're way down there on your knees."

She returned my kiss with a soft giggle that didn't improve my resistance to her charm at all, reaching down to rub me as I kneaded her tight ass in one hand.

"You miss me?"

"All the time."

"Even though I'm a pain in your ass?"

I laughed and felt around for a zipper or buttons that would get her out of the little black dress. "Of course."

She looked down to watch herself rub the cock that she'd so lavishly washed with her spit. "You just like me because I make you cum so hard."

"I could say the same to you," I said as I found the zipper and started to pull.

"Uh uh," she accused, letting go of my cock to tug at my tie and start on my shirt buttons. "I like you for more than that."

"Like what?" I asked as I pushed one dress strap off of her shoulder, then the other. "My money?"

She shook her head. "No, but that is a nice perk."

She shrugged her way out of the dress as I tugged it down, baring lingerie that was both very lacy and very unnecessary. "What is it then?"

She bit her lip, because of course she bit her lip. I taught her way too fucking well.

"Maybe I just like the way you look at me."

Mouse, cheese, trap, snap.

The panties had cost me thirty two dollars, but I'm pretty sure that you can't return them once you've literally torn them off someone's body.

Face down, ass up, Gabi started doing Gabi things, which you might recognize as 'cumming and yapping'.

"B-be nice to that pussy!" she moaned as I was decidedly unkind to it. "F-fuck! So...so mean!"

That's an ass slapping.

"Ah! So rough! What did my - fuck! - What did my ass do t-to you?!"

I probably didn't need to spit on it, but I did anyway.

"Gross! Dirty, nasty, gross f-fucking...Oh my GOD!" she wailed as I pummeled her from behind. "I...I know the dress was expes...FUCK!- I know it was expensive, but you're going to b-break your pussy if you...if you...fuck it like that!"

"Whose?" I grunted, reaching down for a fistful of hair again.

"Y-yours! Your pussy!"

It's got a nice little ring to it, doesn't it? My pussy. Yeah. I liked that.

"The shoes," I groaned as I held myself deep up into her, rubbing my spit into her ass, "were twelve hundred dollars."

"I'm sorry," she moaned. It was a little pitiful; she was really working it.

"Are you?" I asked with a meaty swat.

"I..."

Another crack. "Are you sorry?"

"Fuck me," she whined.

"Say it."

"No!"

"No what?"

Face down in a dubiously clean mattress cover, Gabi shook her head and kicked her feet. "I'm not fucking sorry!"

So that was another spanking. And this time I made sure she felt it.

"FUCK! Oh my...I-I love it!"

"What do you love?"

"Th-the way you h-hit me!"

Eeeeesh. Hard to feel great about that one. Later, anyway. At that moment, it was hotter than hot.

"And?"

"The way y-you fuck me p...p.."

"Spit it out, Gabi," I growled.

"Your pussy!"

Good fucking girl. The best girl, really.

"That's it," I groaned, easing back out to slide home again. "That's my girl."

"I...I wanna ride you," she panted. "I need to. Please, daddy, I - Ow! Shit, sorry! Please, just let me ride it! I'll make you feel so fucking good, I swear."

She squealed as I flipped her over and jerked her by the ankles towards myself, and louder again when I sank to my knees and shoved her legs up.

"Oh my god, are y-Holy shit!"

Some girls don't love getting eaten, can you imagine that? I mean, I know I don't have first-hand experience, so maybe I should just stay in my lane on this one, but if it's not meant to be eaten, why'd God make it look like a snack? And why'd he make it so fun to lick?

"Y-you were just fucking that," Gabi pointed out as her neck arched and her hands found my hair. "You were j-just fucking that pussy so hard, you can't just be...all sweet to it n-now!"

"Shut up," I told her. "I want to."

"Do you love h-how smooth it is?"

"Mhmm," I hummed into her lips.

"Good," she panted, playing with her own tits as I ate. "Y-you paid for it. Oh, shit. D-Dan, I...I'm gonna...Oh, fuck, baby, please don't fucking stop that."

Charge: Dessert, on the house. Seconds are free.

Oh, but Gabi can ride. I know lots of girls can sit on a cock and look pretty, but my Gabi fucking rides. Call me lovesick idiot, but the best part about the whole thing is watching her lose herself in it - her hips will literally hypnotize you while she utters the filthiest, most degenerate shit imaginable, only for her to seize her own moments with this totally unconcerned shamelessness. It's all sport, all spectacle, and then all at once she's slamming herself down with her eyes squeezed shut to milk every scrappy ounce of her own thing out. It's a show and tell with brief intermissions where you're not there at all, and you just get to watch in rapturous voyeurism from the galleries as her body checks the fuck out for a minute or two.

And when that happens, your only job is to love the small part she lets you play in her production.

"Ughhh, ff...." she panted as her eyes winked open out of sync with each other again. "What are...What are you grinning at?"

"You," I said to her plainly. I know was cheesing like an idiot, and there's probably something deeply dorky about loving another person's pleasure, but Gabi's body was just so, so worth worshiping.

"That was a big one," she informed me as she juuuuust rocked her hips in my lap. "Ugh. Your hands feel...so nice."

"Come here," I plead, gathering her in my arms as she laid into my chest breathlessly.

"Does this feel good?" she asked.

She could have quit right there and I'd still have loved her for it. Liked. Liked her for it.

Eh. Whatever. Later problem.

"So good," I said with a kiss on her forehead.

She was still moving, but it was too slow to be sex. It was a cuddle by then. An unprotected snuggle. She was tapped out, but I knew she wouldn't admit it - I couldn't blame her. Her ass was red, her throat was likely sore, and I'd never known her cum that many times without a break.

"Did I spend too much of your money?"

"No," I laughed.

"Do you want me to pay you back?"

"No."

"Are you just saying that because your dick is in me?"

"Gabi," I chuckled breathily. "No."

"I can take the shoes back."

"Keep them. They looked good on you."

She leaned forward and squeezed, leaving my cock cold, wet, and suddenly lonely.

"I don't wanna go back to school in September."

See now, maybe she was right. Maybe I was changing. Just a little.

"I know."

"I'm gonna miss you."

Like...what the fuck do you say to that?

"I know," I said again as I petted her hair. "I'm gonna miss you too."

"You mean it?"

Dear reader, I did very much mean it.

*******

The morning came early, thanks in no small part to the blinds that were too thin to actually keep any sun out of the room. Gabi groaned as I climbed out of bed to hop in the shower. Debris from our raunchy adventure was strewn about the room, including one disheveled bra hanging off a bedside lamp in a very cliched way.

"Do you haaaaave to go in again?" Gabi sighed as I came back in, scrubbing a towel through my hair 20 minutes later.

"Yeah, 'fraid so."

She rolled over with a pout. "I wanna do yesterday again."

"What do you mean?" I laughed.

"All of it. I liked it. I wanna do it all over again."

"I don't think I can afford that."

"Mmmmm," she hummed as she pulled the blanket off herself to reveal a very tender looking red buttcheek. "Maybe I can't either."

"Fuck, Gabi, I..."

"Relax," she laughed.

"Well, I'm sorry you're gonna be stuck here all day. Do you want to drop me off at the office so you can drive around for the day or something?"

"You'd let me do that?!"

"Well yeah, sure. I have to leave in like 15 minutes, can you be dressed by then?"

"Uh huh!"

"Well let's get to it then, come on."

Her little grin and the excited way she hopped out of bed ran circles in my mind all day long. Just the joy that something as little as having a car for the day was so infectious and sweet. It almost completely covered for the mild aggravation of getting a lunchtime voicemail from the hotel front desk while I was up to my elbows in fried computer parts.

"Mr. Rockwell, this is Gerry from the Motel 7, uh, if you could give me a call back when you get this. It seems that your wife has run over some of the bushes in front of the building and, uh...if you'd like, we can just charge that to the room or you can pay separately when you check-out. Okay, let me know. Bye now."

Now, if only I had opened the incredibly gorgeous picture of Gabi's pert tits before checking my voicemails, the whole thing might not have been so bad.

As it stood though, I was out another three hundred bucks for some dead hydrangeas and a shrub.

All of which Gabi's already-sore ass paid dearly for later that night. After dinner, of course. And a walk.

And an admission that I will not be repeating here.

*******

So, in the spirit of the series, I think we OBVIOUSLY need to know what Dan told Gabi on their little after-dinner walk. We've got the obvious option, but we can also drag this thing out some more if you're feeling creative and needy (I know some of you. You're needy people). Whatever he said will clearly inform the next chapter.

SO - What'd Dan admit to Gabi?

1. The L-bomb, obviously.
2. He wants something steady with her before she goes back to school.
3. He's got a secret kink that he wants to explore with her.
4. He's terrified of where they're going and needs to slow down.

Of course, you can also go for the rarer option 5, which is 'whatever you think would slap'.

Lemme know!

Part 1

Part 2

---

Our freeuse dynamic was going excellently. It may have come along by accident, but Olivia was clearly enjoying herself. It seemed to turn her on to know that I might take advantage of her at any possible moment. So sex made its way out of the bedroom and into our daily lives. This made it so that even mundane tasks–yard work, laundry, cooking–were infused with a subtle sexual tension. Was I going to grab Olivia and fuck her over the countertop after I slid a sheet pan of vegetables into the oven? Maybe. Maybe not. Was I going to make her suck my cock as soon as she got home from her yoga class? There was a strong possibility.

And, slowly, that energy seeped out of the home and into other aspects of our lives. So it was that we were attending a wedding reception, sitting through the best man’s speech when I leaned over, whispering to Olivia, “What kind of panties are you wearing?”

She was in a snug, dark green dress. Simple. Elegant. A gold necklace and matching earrings. Me–an olive linen suit. Breezy and complementary.

She blushed and glanced around, “You know what I’m wearing. You picked them out, Sir.”

I was unfazed, “Answer the question. And be thorough.”

Her face grew redder, “A black lace thong. The one with white trim along the hem. And a small bow on the front.”

“I wanna see. Show me.”

Her eyes went wide, “Here? Someone will see!” Her voice was low but frenzied. She squeezed her thighs together.

“Then let’s go outside. There’s a hallway around the corner that leads to another event space. Nothing going on there tonight.”

After the speech, I grabbed her hand and led her out. Her heels clicked as we rushed down a semi-dark hallway–lights half off, a few catering carts sitting empty along the walls. We rounded a corner and I pushed her against the wall. “Let’s see.”

She wiggled her hips, sliding up her dress to show me her black thong.

“Hmm, are you…” I pushed my hand between her legs, sliding my fingers along the thin band of fabric that was squeezed against her pussy. “Wet?”

“God! I will be if you keep doing that.” She pushed against my shoulder playfully.

“Good.” With my other hand, I pulled her top to the side just enough to access her breast. No bra. I grasped her nipple, squeezing it between thumb and forefinger. I slid into her panties, letting my index finger curve along her labia, drawing out her emerging wetness.

I spun her around to face the wall, my hand grasping her tit as my finger slid slowly inside her.

“Mmf.”

God did I love that first moan that escaped from her lips. Well, I loved every fucking noise she made–and she was noisy--but that first one always made me throb. And so I did, suit trousers pushing against her ass, bulge pressing between her plump cheeks. I slid up to my palm inside her, removing my hand from her chest for a moment to fumble my fly open. I pulled my cock out. Let it slap against her soft skin.

“Let’s get these out of the way, you’re fucking soaking them.” I rolled her thong down her thighs, leaving it just above her knees. I added my middle finger, sliding two inside her pussy, gently stretching her. Fuck did I love feeling her ridges against my digits. Other hand on her hip, thumb pressing against the top curve of her ass.

“Mm, fuck, fuck, fuck. Wait, oh god, it’s so fucking good.” She was grinding into my palm. Pathetically. Desperately. I pulled my index and middle finger out, dragging her slickness up and running rapid circles around her clit. I alternated between doing this and diving back into her pussy now and then to replenish with her soaking wetness. And god was she fucking wet. I could feel it running down my wrist. Down her soft legs. When I plunged my fingers inside her–pulling in a come hither motion towards her g-spot–and then took them out, I rubbed the excess wetness along her soft inner thighs.

“You’re fucking soaking.”

“Yeah, thanks to you.” She grinded her ass against my cock. “Fuck, fuck, don’t stop.”

“Excuse me?”

“Please don’t stop. Please.”

There was a murmur of voices around the corner, but Olivia was so far out of her mind that she didn’t notice. I was the one who was a little concerned she was being too loud, so I moved my palm to her mouth, covering it while I continued to orbit her clit. The heat radiating from between her legs was driving me absolutely mad. My cock throbbing, pressing against her bare ass.

I started moving more quickly. I could feel her breathing speed up. Knew she was biting her lips. She kept grinding against me. So fucking needy. “Right there. Fuck, right there. Just like that.”

And so I did it just like that. Teasing her clit. Circling it. Drawing up wetness when I needed. I moved my other hand back to her chest, rolling her nipple along my thumb. I knew it would get her there. Nipple play always sent her over the edge.

Of course, now she was moaning even louder, but I didn’t care. I was focused on making her cum. Circle upon circle upon circle. She was gone, not thinking, grinding, grinding, grinding until–

“Ah!”

She convulsed against my palm, hips bucking suddenly, violently, followed by a shiver through her body. I stopped, slowly drawing my fingers away from her sensitive clit. Down to her hips, holding her. I slid my cock down her ass cheeks, shoved it between her legs.

“Hold on, wait, fuck, I’m going to cum.” I started fucking her thighs, the top of my shaft rubbing against her labia. I was sticky with her wetness. I held the sides of her legs, pushing them tightly together. More friction. Squeezing my cock. God, it was fucking throbbing.

“Mhm, mm, fuck, okay, okay, where are you gonna–?”

I slid my hand downwards, grabbed her thong, which was still around her knees, and pulled it upwards. I pressed it against my swollen cockhead just as I started to cum. My hand was tight around Olivia’s throat as I convulsed against her, sticky white semen filling her panties. Of course, that thong was fucking tiny and the cum immediately started to drip down my shaft, then her thighs.

She gasped against me, bucking her ass as I let out a final rope of cum. “Fuck. That was fucking great.”

Olivia panted, holding herself against the wall, “Christ. Fuck.” She looked down, “Well, that thong is fucking ruined.”

“Too bad, I liked it.” I held her close, catching my breath, her heart beating against my forearm.

“Guess I’m going pantyless for the rest of the evening.” I let her go so she could smooth out her dress. She gingerly removed the thong, which was absolutely drenched with both of our fluids. She looked around, “Ah, fuck. I’m a mess.”

It was then that we heard the tell-tale bop of the motherfucking Electric Slide.

I exchanged looks with Olivia, “Glad we’re missing that. Let’s get cleaned up.”

It was late — a Friday or Saturday, I’m almost sure — but I was grounded, and had been for the past two weeks, after getting caught streaming myself live and in the nude on Chaturbate. I was too stupid to think about the fact that my mother still had access to my bank statements, and my plans to save up and move out by fall were suddenly shattered.

I’ll be honest, though — it wasn’t all about the money. In fact, it had very little to do with the money; the money was just a big bonus that seemed to maybe offer some eventual independence and freedom one day.

I even kept the prices on my menu low to entice tipping. 

The reason I really did it, however, was that I fucking loved it; every single minute of it.

The thousands of viewers, all stroking and emptying their cocks; the endless praise in the chat, worshipping and begging to fuck; the ka-ching of tokens pouring in, forcing me to shimmy my shoulders and shake my tits, twerk my ass and pop my pussy.

And as I got more comfortable, I soon began to incorporate toys — like dildos and vibrators and plugs — and eventually started bringing on friends to stream with me, both guys and girls, and sometimes as many as two or three or four or five.  

Basically, I was an exhibitionist before I even knew what an exhibitionist was — a kink that emerged almost immediately after I discovering my boyfriend had stuck his dick into an Australian girl who showed him her pierced nipple at a restaurant in Positano while he and his best group of friends backpacked around Europe before flying off to college at the end of last summer.

But now I was an exhibitionist locked away in her bedroom, on one of the last Fridays or Saturdays of this summer, and I hadn’t been fucked in private or public for far too long — which my pussy was reminding me of constantly; always screaming to be filled by something, anything, and sobbing endless tears of excessive wetness.  

Tonight was no different.

My family was in bed and so was I. This had been the case for a good few hours, because, again, it was late. But I was still up, masturbating, pretending my fingers were cock, in order to silence my crying, leaking, pulsing pussy pleading for penetration. 

Unfortunately, the discovery of my Chaturbate also meant the discovery of my stash of toys: my tools for cumming big and hard whenever I was my only option. But my fingers usually worked just fine, with the exception of a few frustrating nights where I just needed to go deeper and resorted eventually to sneaking down to the fridge and stealing the biggest zucchini in the vegetable drawer. 

I actually sometimes preferred them, my fingers, and I had started to appreciate them some more over the course of these last couple weeks. I could feel the fine, delicate ribs of my slippery walls as they clenched and contracted in response to the intrusion of each finger I carefully added one by one.

And most importantly: my fingers were alive; they were warm and fleshy. 

Regardless of my most recent grounding, I had gotten into the routine of masturbating a minimum of twice per day since becoming single. The first time would be in the morning before school, practically right after opening my eyes; or, sometimes, even before opening my eyes at all.

My fingers would eagerly and almost automatically find their way down to my little slit, already seeping with my juices, and I would welcome them happily by parting my legs and lifting my knees, before spreading the juices evenly and probing the tiny little hole at my pussy’s center with the first finger — usually the middle, longest one.      

Then again during the night, even if I had gotten fucked that day — unless the fucking was just that amazing or occurred late enough in the evening to hold me over  — I would repeat this process (the spreading of my juices and the probing of my minuscule little fuckhole) before going to sleep. I simply had to, or else I wouldn’t be able to sleep at all.  

So there I was, hours into this Friday or Saturday's second round, staring with wide, craving eyes at the sex filling the screen of my MacBook.

I wish that I could remember what it was I was watching on that MacBook, because whatever it was had me on an absolute mission.

Or maybe it was just because I’d been deprived of being filled with cock or cum for too long.

Either way, this seemed to be one of those nights where nothing I could offer myself would be enough. I had just about reached the zucchini phase, but I was giving myself another chance — the creak of the stairs leading down to the kitchen was always too big of a risk.

I didn’t want to put any clothes back on my body either.

I had already came several times, but I wanted to explode; I wanted my fluids to spray across my comforter as I screamed at the top of my lungs.

I could not scream, however, which was the purpose of the remote control, meant for my bedroom’s television, stuffed into my mouth and pressed hard against the base of my throat, playing make-believe that it was a second cock and turning my potential screams into chokes and gags.  

That was probably what I was watching, actually: a spit roast, or maybe even a gang bang.

I had a fetish for multiples back during these days, and I guess I still do.

In fact, in the aftermath of my ex fucking that Australian girl with the pierced nipple, sex with only one partner quickly became almost painfully boring. An extra guy or an extra girl, though an extra guy was usually the ideal, was now an essential. If I didn’t have something to do with my mouth while fucking, I was stressed. 

Having just came down from my most recent cum, and fearing the creaking stairs stopping me from stealing another zucchini from the fridge, I proceeded to slowly and gently add a fourth finger, my pinky finger, to my sopping, mess of a pussy — pushing in desperately and spreading my fingers slowly to stretch the squeeze of its ribbed sleeve wider, further, until my knuckles bottomed out against the bone surrounding my tiny yet totally stuffed little entrance, and my pussy suctioned around them and swallowed them up.

I jolted my head back and squeezed my eyes tight, moaning into the remote against my throat. Bubbles of spit formed at the corners of my mouth and ran down my face, down my neck, and onto my convulsing chest, as I tested the limits of my pussy’s elasticity.  

With my other hand, I gathered a glob of the goo-like concoction that oozed out of my stuffed little entrance and into my ass — a mixture of my pussy’s self-preserving mucus and horny wetness — and used it to lubricate my already aching, bulging clit that begged and begged for a tongue; or, at worst, a vibrator.

Reaching as far up into myself as I could, I moved my fingers in a “come here to me” motion. And I increased the speed of the hand smushing and furiously rubbing my slimy clit. 

But I needed more... 

I opened my eyes, seeing again what I'd bet were big, monstrous cocks all over my screen — fucking the gaping pussy and the slobbery mouth and maybe even the minuscule but now professionally broken in asshole of whoever the lucky actress was.

God, I wished she was me...

God, I wished it was my slobbering mouth and my broken in asshole and my gaped open, ready to squirt pussy...

I dreamed of all the men all over the world, jacking frantically and exploding with cum, as they watched these long, thick, mindblowingly massive cocks plunge in and out of both or maybe even all three of my holes — hollowing me out, deeper and deeper, exploring new, untouched, and gushing terrain — as I’m sealed airtight around their shafts, contracting and whimpering and choking, and taking only a few occasional yet necessary breaks for air.

My pussy contracted; its ceiling collapsing towards its stuffed entrance.

My head snapped back, nearly breaking my neck.

An agonizing groan charged out of me, muffled thankfully by a mouthful of plastic remote.

My legs quaked and my toes curled.

I began to thrust, four fingers deep; deep as I could reach.

Could my little pussy really take all that cock, all that incredible length and girth? I didn’t know, but I was dying to try. That was my other new fetish: size.

I had already had all the normal ones, and plenty of the big ones, too — which were usually attached to the meathead gym guys I’d find on Tinder — but still they were not the cocks I’d watch on my laptop after my mother and step-father would go to bed or leave the house.

The cocks on my laptop, these cocks big enough to actually split you in half, were the cocks my pussy so desperately craved; all the fucking time.

And what about my little ass? Could it also take all that cock?

I already knew the answer, but that’s what practice was for.

I remembered the sensation of my biggest plug breaking the rim’s surface and sliding through the practically microscopic little hole. And I remembered how my little ass would then wrap itself around the plug and swallow it, and the shock of the tube-like canal on the other side being broken in by its round, bulbish shape as it pushed against my dildo-filled pussy's exterior walls.

I’d done anal on a handful of occasions since my breakup, though not that frequently; it wasn’t something you necessarily did casually, or with just anybody. But I did seek it out every once in a while, and it wasn't ever too hard to find someone more than willing.

Also, I would never really bother with anal unless there was someone or something extra around to still pay attention to my needy pussy — so I guess it was more the thought of double penetration that got me sopping, rather than just the anal alone.

The only exception was if I and another guy had already experienced the throb of his hard cock getting clenched by the grip of my flooding pussy too many times for it to still be exciting. In those cases, I would almost always give him my little asshole, and I would stuff my lonely pussy and swirl my crying clit with my own loving fingers.

Like I was doing right now...  

And then how about my tiny little throat? Could its soft muscles stretch wide like my pussy to make room for all that cock? How deep could I take all that length and girth before heaving?

I already knew the answer to that as well. But this time the answer was yes.

I swore back then that I had something like a g-spot somewhere back there in my throat; I swore I had fully cum on multiple occasions whenever someone with enough size could reach deep enough to touch it as they fucked my pretty face. 

My pussy would pulse and tingle and contract without even the slightest touch, and it would leak its fluids onto the floor beneath me — drop by drop like a faucet. And my hips would writhe and I would scream with an overwhelming, hands-free pleasure right into their long, thick cock like it was a microphone — choking and gagging away. 

But no one believed me; my friends told me teasingly that maybe I was just too much of a whore, until I brought a couple of them along one day to watch me suck the big, beautifully black cock of the guy we’d buy our weed, molly, acid, and whatever else from. 

He had face tattoos and cornrows, and he was really fucking hot without or without his gigantic dick. But lucky for him, and me, and whoever else has ever tried it, gigantic would even be an understatement.

I’m not sure how long it was exactly, but if it’s possible for a human cock to be literally a foot in length — like twelve whole inches or maybe even more — then his was. And it was as thick as a forearm from base to tip. 

It was so fucking big that he was afraid to even fuck me with it. He said I couldn’t handle it, that it would hurt me, no matter how often or how convincingly I begged him to at least let me try to take it in my poor little pussy that always drenched itself at the very thought. 

I’d begged him like this for months and months — ever since we first made our agreement that guaranteed free “goods” in exchange for passionate, sloppy head from a suburban white girl — but he never caved. 

My mouth was never off limits, though — so he was more than open to allowing my friends to watch as I proved that I could indeed make myself cum, and cum in full, by simply throating extra large cock.

Feeling now all that warmth and weight and all that suffocating size consuming the entirety of my mouth and prying open my jaw en route to my throat, I squirmed wildly on my bed, burying my four fingers deeper and deeper into my stuffed, soaking fuckhole — and choked and gagged on my own moans.

My wetness sloshed and crashed in waves against my pussy’s widened walls and splashed out all over the sheets. I prayed that no one could hear. 

I lifted my legs higher and spread them wider, pressing them against the abundance of tittage dispersed weightily across my chest and bouncing in rhythm with the short and shallow yet ever-stretching thrusts of my fingers.

My pussy clenched and nearly spit them out, but I wouldn’t relent, and I suddenly felt the air of my bedroom’s rotating fan lovingly lick my now exposed and slightly open asshole. 

I whimpered and my back arched instinctively with intense satisfaction, pushing my asshole out further, as I increased the speed and pressure of the hand digging into my clit.

My gooey fluids pooled around my ass and streamed down my crack, soaking my bed. 

I snapped my head back and opened my mouth wider, extending my tongue and allowing the remote to sink deeper.

I thrusted harder and rubbed faster and presented my asshole for the fan’s air to devour. 

My torso started to jerk forward violently and uncontrollably with near-orgasm spasms, and my legs shook like I was seizing.

I could feel the fluids monsooning inside of me, ready to spray.  

Finally.

The imaginary airtight cocks pumped into my slobbering mouth and my sopping pussy, and the third ate my blossoming ass to prepare it for entrance.

My naked body, covered in its own sex fluids and saliva, jolted off the bed and became momentarily paralyzed as if it’d just been exorcised.

But my fingers, still, went faster and faster, harder and harder.

My jaw burst open and locked. 

My eyes squeezed tighter.

The sounds of my sloppy wetness filled the room and most likely bled into the hall.

Now what could I use to penetrate my forbidden little hole? I began to scan the room.

But right then… 

My laptop went: Ding. 

A notification...

Shit! Was it my mother?! 

My eyes shot open and I froze.

My heart beat so fast that it jiggled my tits.  

Could she hear my wetness sloshing and splashing all over the place as I plunged into it and worked my fingers back and forth?

Was it that loud?

I mean, I was absolutely fucking soaked...

I could feel the doughiness of my asscheeks underneath me trickling with juice, and I could hear the trickles pattering softly against the comforter.

I stayed still, silent, listening, closely.   

After a minute or so, there was still nothing. No doors, no footsteps.  

My mother surely would’ve been at my door by now if my pussy had woken her. And she surely wouldn’t have bothered texting either; she would’ve wanted to catch me in the act. 

It couldn’t have been her. 

Another ding.

Not yet ready to remove the four pruning fingers from my dripping pussy (it wasn’t easy getting them all in there and I didn’t want to start over) I left them right where they were and carefully lowered myself back to flat on the bed, grimacing at the frame’s obnoxious creaks and looking curiously at the screen:

A Snapchat notification (well two of them, obviously) sat in the top right corner. I had to look closer through my still readjusting eyes, unconvinced that I was seeing what I was seeing.

It was just so random. 

But it was real. 

They were snapchats from this guy named Henry.

This nerd named Henry...

Chapter One

Six A.M. and Counting

Joel

He found out it was just the two of them at five forty-eight a.m., standing in his kitchen with his keys in his hand, reading a text from Marcus that said sorry man something came up, have fun and one from Priya that said ugh I'm so sorry I can't make it, take pics!! with three camera emojis.

He stood there for a moment.

Then he picked up his duffel bag, got in his car and drove to Cara Hensley's apartment because he'd said he'd be there at six and he was not the kind of person who backed out of things at five forty-eight in the morning, even things that had just become substantially different from what he'd agreed to.

He'd figure it out when he got there.

He'd met Cara properly about seven months ago at a birthday party for someone he'd gone to high school with and she apparently had too, though he didn't remember her from back then. She'd been standing by the kitchen counter eating crackers directly from the box and reading something on her phone with the focused expression of someone who had agreed to come to this party and was now fulfilling the obligation as efficiently as possible.

He'd asked what she was reading.

She'd shown him without looking up. A paper on deep sea bioluminescence with a title long enough to fill the screen.

He'd said something about the engineering behind deep sea submersibles and she'd looked up for the first time and said actually that's interesting in a tone that suggested she found very few things interesting and meant it when she said it.

They'd talked for two hours. Exchanged numbers. Texted occasionally since then. The kind of contact that doesn't quite fit a category... not close friends, not strangers, somewhere in the loose pleasant middle.

When she'd texted three weeks ago saying road trip, two weeks, me and you and Marcus and Priya, I need to get out of the city, you in? he'd said yes mostly because it sounded like exactly the kind of unplanned thing he'd been meaning to do more of.

Marcus and Priya were now apparently not coming.

He pulled up outside her building at six-o-two.

She was already outside.

That was the first thing. Standing on the pavement in the early morning half-light with two coffees and a bag that was clearly overpacked and a look on her face that suggested she'd been awake for a while. She was wearing a denim jacket over a t-shirt and her dark hair was down, and she looked like someone who had made a decision and was not going to unmake it regardless of what the universe had to say about it.

She saw him pull up and something moved across her face... something that looked like it might have been relief, which struck him as an odd thing to feel about someone showing up for a trip they'd already agreed to.

He got out of the car.

"Hey," she said, holding out one of the coffees.

"Hey." He took it. "So Marcus and Priya..."

"Yeah." She said it like she'd already processed and filed it. "I know. I'm sorry. If you want to bail that's completely..."

"I'm here, aren't I?" He looked at her bag. "Is that going to fit?"

She looked at it too, as if seeing it for the first time. "Yes."

It did fit, but only just, and only because he reorganised the trunk twice, while she stood beside him drinking her coffee and not offering help but also not pretending not to watch.

"I could have done that" she said, when he closed the trunk.

"You were busy."

"I was drinking coffee."

"Exactly."

She looked at him for a moment with an expression he couldn't quite read. Then she got in the passenger side.

He got in the driver's side. The car was very small. He'd forgotten how small Ford Focuses were, or maybe he'd never really clocked it before, but with two people and two weeks worth of bags and the seat adjusted for his legs there wasn't a lot of spare air.

"I'll drive first," she said.

"I'm already in the driver's seat."

"I know. Budge over."

He looked at her. She looked back, completely serious.

He got out. She slid across. He got back in the passenger side and adjusted the seat back and tried not to feel that this was an unusual start to anything.

She started the engine, found first gear with the kind of confidence that suggested she'd driven this car a thousand times, and pulled out into the empty morning street.

"There's a diner I like outside Iowa City," she said. "About four hours."

"Okay."

"I usually stop there for breakfast."

"Okay."

"Do you eat eggs?"

"Yes."

"Good." She merged onto the highway ramp. The city fell away behind them, the skyline in the rear view mirror getting smaller. "I don't really know what to talk about for four hours."

He turned to look at her. She was watching the road, completely matter of fact about it.

"We could not talk," he said.

She glanced at him. "You're not one of those people who need to fill silence?"

"No."

"Good." She reached forward and turned on the stereo. Something came through the speakers... a little uncertain, a little open. The kind of song that didn't demand anything. "Neither am I."

He settled back in the seat and watched Illinois go past and drank his coffee and let the silence be what it was.

It wasn't uncomfortable exactly. It was more like two people in adjacent rooms, aware of each other, not yet sure what to do about it.

She drove the way she did most things, he was starting to notice... with her full attention and no performance of it. One hand on the wheel, elbow on the window ledge, eyes on the road in a way that meant something rather than just pointing in the right direction.

He watched her from his peripheral vision in the way you watch someone when you're trying to figure them out without them knowing you're doing it.

He knew certain things about her from seven months of occasional contact. That she was a marine biologist who worked out of a research facility on Lake Michigan and spent a significant portion of her time either in the water or reading about what lived in it. That she was funny in a dry specific way that you had to be paying attention to catch. That she'd been in a long relationship that had ended recently and badly... not badly as in dramatic, badly as in the quiet devastating way of someone deciding without warning that they were done.

She hadn't told him that last part directly. He'd heard it from Marcus, who'd said Cara's going through it a bit, the guy just woke up one day and that was that and Joel had thought about that more than he'd expected to.

He also knew her job was precarious in the way a lot of research jobs were precarious... funding cycles and publication pressure and the particular instability of caring very much about something that the world was not yet certain was worth paying for.

Which explained, maybe, the two coffees and the overpacked bag and the look of someone who had made a decision and was not going to unmake it.

She needed out. He happened to be available.

He found he didn't mind that particularly. The bar for being someone's escape was lower than the bar for most other things, and at least it was honest.

About an hour in, somewhere in the flat middle of Illinois, she reached forward and turned the music up slightly.

"Good one," he said, without really thinking about it.

She glanced at him. "You know this song?"

"Yeah."

"Huh." She turned back to the road. Not dismissive, just recalibrating slightly. Like she'd assumed something about him and was quietly revising it.

He'd noticed she did that. Filed things. Updated her model of a person based on new information without making a thing of it.

"What?" he said.

"Nothing." A pause. "You just don't seem like the type."

"What type?"

"The type that listens to this kind of music."

"What type do I seem like?"

She considered this. Outside, Illinois kept being flat and Illinois. "The type that has very organised playlists sorted by tempo."

He looked at her.

"I do have very organised playlists," he said. "Sorted by tempo."

She didn't laugh. But the corner of her mouth moved and he found himself oddly pleased about that in a way that he didn't examine too closely.

"Advisory veto," he said.

"Sorry?"

"Collaborative playlist. I have advisory veto."

She glanced at him again, longer this time. "That's not a real thing."

"We're going to be miles from anyone who can tell us otherwise."

A beat.

"Fine," she said. "Advisory veto."

He settled back in his seat.

Outside, the highway opened up ahead of them... wide and straight and patient. The sky was doing something extraordinary at the edges, the particular bruised purple of very early morning giving way to the first tentative suggestions of a better day.

He turned back to the window.

Two weeks, he thought.

He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting exactly. But this... two people, a small car, a long road, no particular agenda... this felt like it might turn into something. 

He couldn't have said what.

Chapter Two

The Diner Outside Iowa City

Cara

The diner was called Ruthie's and it had been there since 1962 and showed absolutely no signs of caring about that or anything else. Red vinyl booths, laminate tables, a coffee urn behind the counter that looked like it had been running continuously since the Kennedy administration. The kind of place that had stopped trying to be anything other than exactly what it was and had therefore accidentally become something worth stopping for.

Cara had been coming here since she was nineteen, on a solo drive back from a conference in Des Moines, too tired to push on to Iowa City. She'd had the eggs and the coffee and sat in the booth by the window and watched the highway for an hour and felt, for reasons she couldn't entirely explain, like herself again.

She'd stopped every time she drove this way since.

She pulled into the lot and killed the engine and Joel unfolded himself from the passenger seat with the particular relief of someone who had been folded into a small space for four hours without complaining about it. She'd noticed that. He hadn't complained about anything. He'd just adjusted.

"This place," he said, looking at it.

"I know."

"It looks like it might kill us."

"The eggs are incredible."

He looked at her. She was already walking toward the door.

They slid into the booth by the window, opposite each other, and a woman in her sixties with silver hair and the name Donna on her badge appeared with a coffee pot before they'd touched the menus.

"Just the two of you today?" Donna said, filling Cara's cup without asking.

"Just us," Cara said.

Donna filled Joel's cup, looked between them with the specific assessment of someone who had been reading people across diner counters for forty years, and left without comment.

Cara wrapped both hands around her mug and looked at the menu she didn't need to read.

Across the table Joel was actually reading his. Fully, like he was going to be tested on it. She watched him over the rim of her coffee and thought: he's one of those people who actually makes decisions rather than just picking the first thing his eyes land on. She found she didn't know what to do with that information yet.

"The eggs," she said.

"I'm reading."

"The eggs are the thing. Everything else is fine. The eggs are the thing."

He kept reading. She drank her coffee and looked out at the highway.

Four hours in a car with someone you don't know very well is an interesting exercise. She'd been braced for it to be awkward or effortful, had mentally prepared a list of conversation topics the way you do when you're anxious about silence. She hadn't needed any of them. They'd talked in short bursts and not talked in longer stretches and neither one had felt like a problem.

She hadn't expected that.

She hadn't expected a lot of things about this morning. That he'd just show up when Marcus and Priya bailed. That he'd reorganise the boot of her car without being asked and not make a thing of it. That he'd know the song that came on forty minutes into Illinois and say good one like it was nothing.

She put him back in the category she'd had him in and he'd quietly stepped out of it, and she was still figuring out where to put him now.

"What's good that isn't the eggs?" he said.

She looked at him. He had the menu flat on the table, one finger holding his place, watching her with a directness that she'd noticed in the kitchen at Marcus's party seven months ago and had apparently filed and forgotten until now.

"The toast is good," she said. "The bacon is good. The coffee is good."

"What about the pancakes?"

"The pancakes are fine."

"Not good?"

"Fine is not a criticism, Joel. The pancakes are exactly what pancakes at a diner should be. Competent. Reliable."

"High praise."

"It's honest praise." She put her menu down. "Get the eggs."

He looked at her for a moment.

"Okay, I’ll get the eggs" he said and closed the menu.

“Good” 

Donna came back and they ordered, eggs for both of them, toast, the coffee kept coming, and Cara settled back against the vinyl and felt the particular unwinding of someone who has been tightly coiled for a long time and has finally found a place it's safe to loosen.

It surprised her. She'd thought the unwinding would take longer. She'd thought it might not happen at all.

"How long have you been coming here?" Joel asked.

"Five years. Since I was nineteen."

"Solo?"

"Usually." She looked out at the highway. A truck went past, heading east. Everything heading east looked like it was going back to something. "Sometimes with people."

"Who bailed this morning?"

She looked back at him. He said it simply, not making anything of it.

"Marcus mentioned you'd had a rough few months," he said. "Not details. Just... mentioned it."

She considered being annoyed at this and decided not to be. Marcus meant well. He always meant well. That was both his best quality and the thing that occasionally made her want to throw something at him.

"My ex decided he didn't love me anymore," she said. The way she'd learned to say it... clean, factual, no particular weight on any of the words. "About four months ago. Just woke up one day and that was that."

Joel said nothing for a moment. He wasn't doing the thing people did... the immediate rush to fill the space with something reassuring or outraged on her behalf. He just let it sit there for a second like it deserved to.

"That's a brutal way to end something," he said.

"Yeah." She drank her coffee. "And work is... it's complicated. Funding stuff. The kind of thing that's not a crisis yet but has that flavour."

"Marine biology funding."

"It's a small pool." She looked at him. "No pun intended."

The corner of his mouth moved. Not a full smile, just the precursor to one. She'd noticed he did that, held things back slightly, like he was deciding whether something had earned the full version.

"So." She turned her mug in a slow circle. "I needed to go somewhere and here we are."

"Here we are," he agreed.

The eggs arrived. They were, as advertised, incredible, the kind of eggs that had no business being this good in a roadside diner and were anyway, because Ruthie's had been making them since 1962 and had gotten very good at it.

Cara watched as Joel took his first bite, studying his face for any signs of how he felt about the food she had pushed him to order. 

"Okay," he said.

"I know."

"These are unreasonably good eggs."

"I told you."

"You did." He ate another bite. "You were right."

She looked at him across the table. Outside the window the highway kept doing what it did, the occasional truck, the flat green of Iowa in early summer, the sky just starting to mean it.

"Can I ask you something?" she said.

"Sure."

"Why did you come? When you found out it was just us."

He considered this with the same thoroughness he'd applied to the menu. "I said I'd be there," he said. "And I'd already packed."

"That's it?"

"Also..." he paused. Looked out at the highway briefly and then back at her. "I don't know. It seemed like the kind of thing that would be good to do."

"A road trip."

"Saying yes to things that turn out different from what you expected." He shrugged slightly. "I've been trying to do more of that."

She looked at him.

She put him in a new category. She'd figure out what to call it later.

"Good answer," she said, and went back to her eggs.

They sat at Ruthie's for an hour. The coffee kept coming, Donna kept refilling without being asked, and somewhere between the second cup and the third the conversation found its feet in the way it sometimes does... not because you've decided to talk properly but because you've run out of reasons not to.

He told her about the engineering firm he worked for, infrastructure projects, the particular satisfaction of designing something that had to actually stand up in the physical world. She told him about the research facility, the lake, the specific joy of spending time in water that was dark and cold and full of things that had no idea humans existed.

"That sounds incredible," he said.

"It is." She smiled at her coffee. "It's also very badly funded and there's a real chance half our team gets cut by October, but while it's happening it's incredible."

"Have you thought about what you'd do? If the funding goes?"

"I try not to."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the answer I have." She looked up at him. "Do you always ask follow-up questions?"

"When the first answer isn't really an answer."

She held his gaze for a moment.

"Yes," she said. "I've thought about it. I don't like any of the options. So I focus on the work and try not to look directly at the other thing."

"Like looking at the sun."

"Exactly like that." She tilted her head slightly. "That's a good way to put it."

He looked like he hadn't expected the compliment. Just for a second... a small recalibration, quickly smoothed.

They split the bill despite his mild protest and left Donna a tip that was larger than it needed to be and walked back out into the Iowa morning. The air had warmed while they'd been inside, the light gone from thin and tentative to something more confident.

Cara stretched her arms above her head, felt her spine decompress, looked at the highway going west.

"Your turn to drive," she said.

"You sure?"

"You've been in the passenger seat for four hours."

"I didn't mind."

"I know. It's still your turn." She held out the keys.

He took them. His fingers brushed hers for half a second and she didn't think anything of it and got in the passenger side and put her feet up on the dash and found something on her phone to put on the stereo.

He adjusted the seat, mirrors, checked over his shoulder before pulling out with the careful attention of someone for whom these things were not habits but decisions.

She watched him out of the corner of her eye.

New category, she thought again.

The highway went west. The sky was the blue of something just getting started.

Chapter Three

Nebraska

Joel

Nebraska was honest about what it was.

No pretension, no scenery trying too hard, just flat land and big sky and the occasional grain elevator standing in the distance like a punctuation mark in a very long sentence. He'd driven through it once before, years ago, and remembered thinking it was bleak. He didn't think that now. He thought it was the kind of place that demanded you be present because there was nothing else to look at.

Cara had fallen asleep somewhere around the Iowa border.

Not dramatically, she hadn't announced she was tired or made a production of it. She'd just gone quiet, and then her head had tipped back against the seat, and then she was asleep, her dark hair pushed to one side, one hand loose in her lap. He'd turned the music down without deciding to.

He drove and let her sleep and watched Nebraska.

She slept the way she seemed to do most things, without apology. Not curled away from him or pressed against the window, just... reclined, present, taking up a completely normal amount of space. He'd half expected her to be one of those people who slept bolt upright with their arms crossed, but she wasn't.

He'd been noticing things about her since five forty-eight this morning and he was aware that this was something he did with problems he was trying to solve, and he was also aware that Cara Hensley was not a problem, and he hadn't quite figured out what to do with that inconsistency yet.

He drove.

She woke up an hour later the way people wake up when they've properly slept, all at once, sitting up, looking around to locate herself.

"Nebraska," he said, before she could ask.

She looked out the window. "How long was I out?"

"Little over an hour."

"Sorry."

"Don't be. You needed it."

She pushed her hair back and looked at him with a slightly unfocused expression that lasted for about three seconds before her eyes sharpened. He'd noticed she came back to herself quickly. No extended grogginess, no slow reassembly. Just... present.

"You drove halfway through Nebraska alone."

"I had the music."

"What were you listening to?"

"Same thing you put on before you went to sleep."

She reached forward and turned the volume back up. The song was still going, or one very like it, and she settled back in her seat with her feet up on the dash, he'd realised within the first hour that this was her default passenger position and had stopped noticing it, and looked out at the landscape.

"Nebraska," she said.

"Yeah."

"I always think it's going to feel longer than it does."

"It's pretty long."

"I know. But it feels..."

"Honest," he said.

She turned to look at him. Not surprised exactly, more like something confirmed.

"Yeah," she said. "Exactly that."

He kept his eyes on the road. In his peripheral vision he saw her turn back to the window.

They stopped for gas outside a town called Grand Island, at a station that had four pumps and a small convenience store and a handwritten sign in the window that said BEST BEEF JERKY IN NEBRASKA which was either true or optimistic.

He filled the tank while she went inside.

He watched her through the window without meaning to. She moved through the two short aisles the way she moved through everything, no hesitation, direct, picking things up and making decisions. She was at the counter in under three minutes with an armful of things he couldn't identify from out here.

She came out into the sun with a paper bag and two bottles of water and something tucked under her arm that turned out to be a small plastic dinosaur, green, about six inches tall, with an expression of profound existential concern.

He looked at it. Then back at, cocking his eyebrow

"He was three dollars," she said.

"I didn't say anything."

"You were about to."

"I was going to ask what his name is."

She looked at the dinosaur. Looked at him. Looked at the dinosaur again.

"Gerald," she said.

"Gerald."

"He looks like a Gerald."

Joel looked at the dinosaur again. It did, inexplicably, look somewhat like a Gerald. "Okay," he said.

She put Gerald on the dashboard, adjusting him until he was facing the road with his expression of philosophical suffering pointed at the horizon.

"He's our trip mascot," she said. "He presides over things."

"What things."

"Decisions. Disputes. General oversight." She handed him a bottle of water and opened the bag. "I also got beef jerky, pretzels, and something called a Cowboy Bar that I've never heard of but the packaging was very confident about."

"What's in it?"

"Unclear. Caramel, I think. And optimism." She unwrapped it and took a bite and considered it. "Hm."

"Good?"

"Surprisingly yes." She held it out.

He took a bite. It was extremely sweet and slightly grainy and tasted like someone had tried to make a candy bar out of sheer willpower. "That's something," he said.

"Right?" She took it back, looking genuinely pleased. "Gerald, the Cowboy Bar is a success."

Gerald stared at the horizon with his existential expression and said nothing.

Joel got back in the driver's seat and pulled out of the station and merged back onto the highway, and Cara opened the pretzels and put the bag between them on the console without asking whether he wanted some, which he found he liked. No ceremony. Just the assumption that things were shared.

The thing that made her laugh was stupid.

About forty minutes outside Grand Island, a truck pulled up alongside them with a bumper sticker that said HONK IF YOU LOVE NEBRASKA and then, below it in smaller letters, NOBODY HONKS.

He didn't say anything. He just tilted his head toward it.

She looked.

And she laughed.

Not a polite laugh or a small acknowledging sound but an actual laugh, sudden and full and entirely unguarded, the kind that surprises the person it comes from. She pressed her hand over her mouth after, like she'd been caught doing something, and looked at him with bright eyes.

"That's bleak," she said.

"Or honest," he said.

"Both." She shook her head. "Both."

She was still smiling when she turned back to the window, and he kept his eyes on the road and didn't say anything about it and thought about the way her whole face had changed for that three seconds. The way the careful composed version of her had just... stepped back for a moment.

The driving fell into a rhythm after that.

They talked in the easy interrupted way of people in cars, a topic starts, runs a while, gets left somewhere when something outside catches attention, picked up again later or not. She told him about a dive she'd done last year off the coast of the Upper Peninsula, water cold enough to be genuinely dangerous and dark enough that her torch was the only light for a hundred feet in any direction, and something enormous had moved in the darkness at the edge of visibility and she'd never found out what it was.

"Weren't you afraid?" he said.

"Terrified," she said. "That's kind of the point."

He glanced at her.

"Of diving?"

"Of anything worth doing." She ate a pretzel. "You know that thing where you're doing something and you're scared and your brain is going a hundred miles an hour and everything is very sharp and present?" She paused. "I go looking for that. Deliberately."

"You're an adrenaline person."

"I'm a being alive person." She looked at him. "What's yours?"

"My what?"

"The thing that makes everything sharp and present."

He thought about it. Not performing thought, actually thinking. "Solving something I don't know how to solve yet" he said. "When a design problem has no obvious answer and then... it does."

She nodded slowly. Not dismissing it, taking it in.

"That's less likely to kill you," she said.

"Marginally."

She smiled at the road. Not the full laugh, but the warmth underneath it.

By the time the light started to get low and golden across the plains, they'd covered most of the state and made a loose plan to stop somewhere past the Wyoming border. Cara had her feet back on the dash and was half reading something on her phone and half watching the light change on the landscape, and Gerald presided over the dashboard with undiminished solemnity.

"Can I ask you something?" Joel said.

"Sure."

"Why me? Out of everyone you could have asked."

She was quiet for a moment. Not evasively, she was thinking, which was apparently what she did before most answers.

"Marcus said you were good company," she said. "And you'd been talking about doing something like this."

"Marcus said that?"

"He said you'd mentioned wanting to do a road trip. That you were the kind of person who said yes to things."

He thought about that. He wasn't sure Marcus had been right, exactly. He wasn't sure he was the kind of person who said yes to things. But he'd said yes to this.

"And?" he said, because he could tell there was something else.

She glanced at him. "You seemed like someone who wouldn't make it weird."

He turned that over.

"And?" he said again.

A pause.

"And I don't know," she said. "I just had a feeling."

He didn't push it. He looked at the road ahead, at the sun going down over Wyoming in the distance, at Gerald watching the horizon with his steady look of philosophical endurance.

A feeling, he thought.

He found he didn't need it to be more than that yet. They had two weeks. Things could be what they were going to be in their own time.

The highway kept going west.

Chapter Four

The Wanderer Inn

Cara

The motel was called The Wanderer Inn and the sign out front had two letters burnt out so it read THE W NDERER INN which felt either like a metaphor or just poor maintenance and Cara was too tired to decide which.

It sat off a two-lane highway outside of Rawlins, low and long, built in an era when motels didn't try to be anything other than a place to stop. The vacancy sign buzzed faintly. The parking lot had three other cars in it. Somewhere to the west the sky had gone a colour she didn't have a name for, bruised purple bleeding into something almost green at the edges.

"Storm coming," Joel said, looking at it through the windshield.

"I know."

"Big one."

"I know." She was already getting out. "Come on."

The man at the front desk had a white moustache and the particular stillness of someone who had worked a night desk long enough that very little surprised him anymore.

"One room or two?" he said, without looking up.

Cara opened her mouth.

"Two," Joel said, at the same moment.

She looked at him. He was looking at the man behind the desk. She wasn't sure what she'd been about to say and decided it didn't matter.

"Two singles," she said. "Or doubles. Whatever you have."

"Got a room with two doubles," the man said. "Or two separate rooms, but the singles are on the far end and we've got weather coming."

Cara thought about being on the far end of a motel in a Wyoming storm alone in a single room and weighed it against sharing a room with someone she'd known for approximately thirteen hours.

"The room with two doubles," she said.

Joel didn't comment. He took the key card the man slid across the desk and they walked down the external corridor and found room seven and he unlocked it and held the door.

She went in first.

The room smelled like cedar and old carpet and decades of recycled air. It was clean though, in the functional way of places that couldn't afford not to be. Two double beds with white coverlets, a window unit that was already running, a bathroom with a door that didn't quite sit flush in its frame.

She took the bed closer to the window. Joel dropped his bag on the other one and went to look at the sky.

"It's going to be a big one," he said.

She came to stand beside him. Not close, appropriate distance, the amount of space you maintain with someone you've known for thirteen hours. The sky to the west had gone fully dark, the kind of dark that moved. Lightning flickered somewhere far out, silent and enormous.

"Midwest storms are different," she said. "They have more intention."

He turned his head to look at her. "Intention."

"Like they mean it."

He considered this. Turned back to the window. "I believe you," he said, which was not the same as agreeing with her, and she noticed the difference.

She stepped away and started unpacking what she'd need for the night. Toiletries. Sleep shirt. The book she'd been failing to read for three weeks. She kept her back to him and thought about how strange it was to do ordinary evening things in a room with someone she didn't know very well, and how it wasn't actually as strange as she'd expected.

That was its own kind of strange.

The storm hit at ten twenty-three.

She knew the exact time because she'd been lying in bed theoretically reading and had checked her phone two minutes before and then the rain came, not gradually but all at once, the way serious weather arrives when it means it. Sheet lightning turned the curtains white every few minutes. The thunder was the kind you felt in your chest.

Joel was in the other bed. She could hear him shifting occasionally.

She stared at the same page she'd been staring at for twenty minutes.

It wasn't the storm. She didn't mind storms. It was something else, something she couldn't put a clean name to, the low-level awareness of another person in a small room and the specific quality of that person's stillness and the fact that she'd been cataloguing small things about him all day without meaning to.

The way he'd reorganised her boot this morning. The way he hadn't made the two-of-them situation into a thing. The fact that he'd driven four hours through Nebraska without complaining about any of it. The follow-up questions. Nebraska is honest. The small movement at the corner of his mouth that preceded an actual smile by about two seconds and was somehow better than the smile.

She turned a page she hadn't read.

"You okay?" he said.

She looked over. He was lying on his back, one arm behind his head, looking at the ceiling. The lamp on his nightstand put him in warm light and she made herself look back at her book.

"Fine," she said. "Not scared of storms."

"I know. You told me about diving in the dark next to something enormous. I didn't think you were scared of storms."

"Then why ask?"

"Because you've turned three pages in twenty minutes and you haven't actually read any of them."

She looked at the page.

He was right. She had no idea what was on it.

"I'm thinking," she said.

"About?"

"Things."

"Specific things or general things?"

She put the book face down on the bed. "You ask a lot of questions."

"You keep not quite answering them."

She looked over at him. He was still looking at the ceiling, not at her, which made it easier somehow.

"I was just thinking about the trip," she said. "Whether it's going to be okay."

"You mean whether I'm going to be okay to travel with."

She paused. "Is that rude?"

"It's honest." He turned his head to look at her. "I'd rather you say it than not say it."

She looked at him for a moment. "Are you going to be okay to travel with?"

"I think so." He turned back to the ceiling. "Are you?"

She almost laughed. "I think so."

"Then we're probably fine."

The thunder rolled across the sky in a long slow wave and the window went white. She picked her book back up, not because she was going to read it but because it gave her something to do with her hands.

She was, she realised, more comfortable in this room than she'd expected to be. Which was either a good sign or a problem, and she wasn't sure yet which one.

He got up at some point, she heard him before she saw him, the quiet sounds of someone trying not to make noise, the creak of the bed, footsteps on old carpet, and she looked up briefly to find him heading toward the bathroom with his wash kit.

"Going to shower," he said.

"Okay," she said, in the tone of someone who was absolutely reading their book and not thinking about anything in particular.

The bathroom door clicked mostly shut. The shower came on. She stared at her page.

The page said something about marine sediment layers. She could not have told you what.

She lay there and listened to the rain outside and the shower inside and told herself she was tired, which was true, and that was why she couldn't read, which was less true, and that there was nothing unusual about sharing a room with someone on a road trip, which was completely true and somehow not the point.

The shower cut off.

She put her nose back in the book.

She heard the curtain rings, the brief silence of someone towelling off, and then the bathroom door swung open and Joel walked out in a cloud of warm steam with a towel around his waist and his hair damp and went directly to his bag without looking at her.

She kept her eyes on her page.

She was reading about sediment.

He was crouched over his bag with his back to her and the towel sat low on his hips and she was absolutely not looking at the two shallow dimples at the base of his spine or the width of his shoulders or anything else at all. She was reading about sediment layers in the lower basin of Lake Michigan which was genuinely interesting and relevant to her work.

He straightened and turned to grab something from the top of his bag.

The towel shifted.

Just for a second. Just a glimpse, the towel catching on his hip as he turned, a brief unmistakable flash of what was underneath it, and her brain registered it with the speed and clarity of something she absolutely had not been prepared for.

She snapped her eyes back to the page.

Sediment, she thought. Sediment. Lower basin. Particulate matter. You are a marine biologist. You are a professional. You are reading about...

Her face was on fire.

She stared at the page. The words on it could have been in another language. In her peripheral vision Joel, completely unbothered, pulled on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt with the easy unselfconsciousness of someone who had forgotten other people existed, or possibly had just never developed the habit of performing getting dressed.

He got into his bed.

Turned off the lamp.

"Night," he said.

"Night," she said. Perfectly normally. Like a normal person.

She put the book face down on her chest and stared at the ceiling in the dark.

She had known this man for thirteen hours.

Thirteen hours. That was how long it had been. And she was lying in a Wyoming motel in a thunderstorm with her face still warm and her brain doing things it had no business doing about someone she'd met at a party seven months ago and texted occasionally and had spent a total of one full day with.

She was, she realised, in more than a small amount of trouble.

She closed her eyes.

It was nothing, she told herself. You're tired and you're burnt out and you haven't been touched by another person in four months and your brain is being stupid. It is nothing.

Outside, Wyoming made good on every promise it had made.

She didn't sleep for a while.

She opened the flat door and walked into the small hallway.  There was a white sheet spread across the corridor and below it a naked man knelt.  His full erection standing at right angles to his body.

They had agreed not to speak.  This was the first anonymous gloryhole encounter for them both.

She stripped out of her clothes in haste.  The excitement and nerves making it difficult for her to focus on anything but the naked kneeling man.

It was a beautiful and erotic sight. 

His smooth, toned body kneeling on the floor waiting to give her pleasure.

This was the fantasy he posted online.  Private glory hole for female use.  And one of her long-time secret fantasies so when she saw the post, she was too excited to let the opportunity pass without at least chatting online with him.

After a few weeks of exchanging messages, checking that the other person wasn’t a crazy person, discussing logistics, timings and expectations they agreed to meet tonight.

And now she was stood naked in a strangers’ hallway while he was naked on the other side of a thin sheet.

Now, wasn’t the time to be shy, she thought to herself, you are here now.

She was touched when she noticed that he’d laid a soft grey towel over the chair for her so that she would be more comfortable.

Sitting down on the chair, her knees lined up with the sheet and she slid the chair forward. And forward again. Until her belly was almost pressing up against the sheet.

Spreading her legs apart, she was suddenly aware of how exposed she was. 

A stranger she had never seen was getting an eye full of her pussy.

Barely a moment passed before she felt his hand gently stroking her and all anxious thoughts melted away and were replaced by pleasure.  The pleasure of his gentle strokes through the folds and lips of her pussy. Up through her core and over her clit.

He placed her feet on top of his thighs to make her more comfortable and kissed the inside of her legs.

It was a surprisingly tender moment.

Lightly peppering the inside of her thighs with kisses he worked his way from her knees to her pussy, kissing as he went, trailing his finger tips behind the kisses. Building an anticipation of things to come.

When he eventually settled between her legs she was so overcome with arousal her first orgasm came quickly as he licked and sucked her clit.

The second orgasm was not going to come as easily but his enthusiasm for devouring her was too much to resist.

Sitting forward in the chair she lifted the sheet above her breasts and presented them to him.  He eagerly took her nipples in his mouth in turn, sucking them hard and making her arch reflexively against the sharp pleasure her gave her.

With his hands on her breasts, he went back to licking her pussy enthusiastically.  It was as though her couldn’t get enough of her. That in itself was intoxicating.

A stranger wanted to taste her with abandon.

And then his fingers were inside her.

The fingers of both hands.

His thumbs taking turns rubbing over her clit.

She could hear the squelching wet sounds from her pussy and she didn’t care. She was enjoying the attention, the delicious attention and she wondered if a second orgasm might just be working it’s way to the surface.

It would be unusual for her, she was usually one and done.

Rising on to one knee he reached forward and put her leg over his.  His dripping cock brushing against her.  She wished she could see it, hard and bouncing with his movements but she was too far gone in the current of her own pleasure to move.

With one hand gripping her butt and the other inside her he began to plunge his fingers inside her.  Pounding her with his fingers might be a more apt description.  She didn’t know whether it was his arousal or hers demanding it but she wanted it, harder and faster and deeper and more.  Continuing until she lost control and the second orgasm overwhelmed her.

Head resting on the back of the chair, her butt barely holding on to the edge, her body twitched and reverberated with the orgasm he had finger fucked from her.

She lay twitching for a few minutes, while he got up and went into a bedroom.  Their glory hole time was finished.

Getting dressed and gathering her things together she left his flat.  Satisfied, very happy and thinking what a wonderful first glory hole experience that had been.

 

​

Hello and welcome to another Wordcount Wednesday!

This is our chance to get together and discuss our craft. It’s a great way to make friends, promote your stories, and just get a chance to talk with people who get you. No matter who you are, we’re all here for the same thing - to create and enjoy great smut.

If you’re new to this newsletter, welcome! This is the place to ask questions and share what you’re up to. There are fantastic authors here who can help provide suggestions and support. I can’t tell you how many times they’ve helped me get through writer’s block. Stick around and say hi. Can’t wait to meet you and read what you create!

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So, without further ado:

°Have you posted anything this week?
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See you in the replies!

Part one found here. This is my first attempt at a sequel of any kind, so we’ll see how this goes.

_____

I had been anticipating this Thursday for days. Ever since Jim had collapsed on my floor spraying his load all over. Shooting his seed on himself, my entire living room, and most exciting of all; me. I’d never thought of myself as a girlie with a cum fetish, but facts are facts.

I was obsessed with that moment.

His magic dick was blessed, or cursed depending on your point of view, to satisfy any lover. The drawback was he couldn’t get hard or cum without someone instructing him to do so. No masturbating. No control. Not for him.

The power was all mine.

Maybe that’s where the excitement in my belly came from. The power I had over him. I kept telling myself that was it, the power not the cum. It would be less embarrassing if I was turned on by power. Everyone is right? On some level.

I knew it was the cum.

_____

I didn’t just hear the knock at my door, I felt it in my bones. Days of longing about to be released. I forced myself not to run to the door. Stay normal. I told myself. I know we needed to talk first. Not just because jumping straight to fucking would be uncouth, but I need to be honest. Jim had revealed an embarrassing truth, and now it was my turn.

I opened the door and was meet with his boyish grin. “Hey, I know this wasn’t scheduled to be a traditional date, but I wanted to bring you a little something anyway.” He said holding out flowers.

“That’s really sweet! Come on in, I’ll get these in water.” As I fumbled around in my kitchen, looking for a vase, I rehearsed in my head what I needed to say. “Hey, find a spot on the couch, I’ll be there in a sec.”

“Hey, how’d the cleaning go? It smells nice in here, so I’m guessing you’ve been busy.”

“Ah, yeah. The black light you suggested helped. That and a whole bunch of cleaning supplies. I think I got most of it…well…I did the best I could.”

Tonight was supposed to be about sex. I had specifically told him that I owed him. After not believing him about his magic cock, I had nearly broken him. Telling him to, CUM!! CUM!! CUM!! I had accidentally caused three simultaneous orgasms. To say it had been a little too much for him was an understatement. This night I was going to make it up to him. An enjoyable evening of sex and figuring out the finer points of how this all works.

My budding fixation needed to be addressed through.

I set the flowers on the coffee table and sat next to him. “So I was hoping for a quick talk first. I want to try and figure out the nuances of how your Magic Wand works. I want you to be able to enjoy yourself too.”

“Sure. I like spending time with you. You never have to make an excuse to talk.” He took my hand in his and kissed my cheek. “In truth, I don’t know all the rules about myself. I didn’t come with an instruction manual, but I’ll try to answer as best I can. Oh and Magic Wand, that’s good! I’m using that from now on.” He chuckled.

“Ok, first, can anyone control it? Anyone but you?”

“I’m not sure exactly who can and who can’t. It seems to be anybody I’m attracted to. So far no dudes have gotten a response, thankfully.” He sighed.

“Wait, what guys are trying to make you hard?”

“Some of my friends know about me. They were just fucking with me, but thank god nothing happened. As far as random people trying to play with me, I had a girlfriend once who had all her female friends try to make me hard.”

“Oh no! That couldn’t have ended well.” I cover my mouth to hide my smile. It sounded kind of hot honestly, but this was part of what I wanted to discuss.

“No it didn’t. She got mad at me when it worked, one of her friends got really mad when it didn’t.”

“Awe, poor girl. I kinda feel bad for her.” I find myself very thankful I’m able to get a response out of him.

“Yeah, I felt kinda bad. I wasn’t her fault, she just reminded me of a different ex girlfriend, so I just wasn’t interested.” Jim shrugged.

“Ok, now I’m gonna ask something and I’ll admit it’s leading to what I really want to talk about. How many times can you cum in a night? Comfortably.” I couldn’t make eye contact with him as I asked, but that little feeling inside me was stirring.

“Oh, well it depends a little. Three isn’t a problem normally. You know, if it’s not all at once.” We both laughed at our previous misadventure. “After that, it can start to be a little much. Overstimulating. I’ve done six before, that’s probably too many. Why?”

“SIX!” I catch myself before saying any more. “Seeing you do…what you did…I definitely LIKED it, more than I should’ve.” I start picking at my fingernails a bit.

FUCK IT.

“I think I might be discovering I have some sort of kink.” I burry my head in my hands.

Jim is silent for a few seconds. “Oh, that’s it? Is that what you were worried about telling me? Haha, well that’s fine by me.” He touches my face and looks into my eyes. “I’m kinda the right guy to help you explore that, no?”

“Well, I don’t want to just fetishize you. You’re a person, not a dispenser of…you know.”

“Are you trying not to say Cum because you’re worried about repeating last time?”

“Yes.”

“Thanks, but you can say the word. Just don’t tell me to do it unless you mean it.” He kisses my hand, comforting me.

“It’s just, I don’t what to take advantage of you and your abilities. Especially if we’re gonna be dating. I have a lot of power here, and I really want to use it. Even if I know I shouldn’t.”

Again he took a moment, finally smiling that boyish smile, before he spoke. “If you want to use me for my Magic Wand then do it.” He winked.

“What!?! How can you say that?”

“It’s a part of me. If it turns you on, Good! That means I turn you on.”

“Sure, I guess.” I protested. “But I don’t wanna be like your ex and make you preform for me like some sort of side show.”

“Why not? It was hot. I didn’t have sex with them, but being naked in front of all of them, getting hard, showing off like that, it was fun!” His smile stares back at me. “If me cumming everywhere excites you then let’s do it!”

“You really don’t mind being under my control like that?” I’m starting to feel better, I didn’t know how this was going to go but this might be a best case scenario.

“Well, think about it. I had a monkey’s paw wish, and what did I do? I asked for a dick that could satisfy any lover. I didn’t ask for a hundred horny virgins or a a harem of women under my control. I wanted to satisfy the women I’m with. I love making girls happy, making them cum.”

“So if your ability to finish on command is my kink…”

Jim chuckled. “Then I’m the perfect guy for you.”

“Holy shit.” I exhaled a breath I’d been holding since he’d arrived. “I still don’t want to take advantage of you though. Please tell me if I ever push you too hard.”

“I will. Can I ask, what about cum do you enjoy? What should we focus on tonight?”

“Umm…I’m not totally sure. The build up and then the moment of release is very exciting. Watching it shoot out of you, and landing on me; I liked that a lot too. I remember the smell stirring something in me.” I admit.

“The taste?” He asks.

“Maybe, I’m not sure. I didn’t get any in my mouth last time you were here.”

“You’ve never tried before, you know, with another guy?”

“Not on purpose, but you know things happen. But that’s not the point, I’ve never really been that turned on by that before. Usually it’s just a thing happens at the end of sex. Watching you the other day….it woke something up in me. I can’t explain it.”

He kissed me. Deeply. In all this I had forgotten that tonight stated purpose was sex. I was definitely remembering now. I instinctively grabbed for his cock and massage him. I laugh when nothing happened.

“You gotta say it.”

“Yeah, I know!” I playfully slap his chest. “Can we go to my bedroom? I’ve kinda set up my room for you. I want to avoid the clean up as much as possible.”

I take his hand and led the way.

I had placed a few towels near my nightstand, and covered the bed as best I can. There are also sports drinks and high protein snacks waiting for Jim if he needs to recharge before the night is over.

“You’ve done all this for me, huh?” He admires the room.

I don’t respond verbally. I just start to undress him. Shirt over the head first, then I kneel down and start to undo his belt.

“You still haven’t said it yet.”

“You know. I never really get a chance to play with a guy. They always get hard and pop.”

He kicks off his pants and I massage his dick. Flipping it back and forth while I suck on his balls. “Does it feel good?”

“Yeah, but it’s kind of frustrating too. Since I should be getting hard.” His breath has picked up, his face is flushed.

I suck him. Feeling him in my mouth is nice. I like teasing him this way. “How much control do I have I wonder? Get semi-hard for me, a nice chubby.” His dick responds growing in my mouth. “Good boy.”

“Most girls don’t bother with blowjobs anymore. Thanks, it’s nice.”

I look up at him and try to smile, but it’s hard with my mouth full. He’s not the only one who likes giving pleasure. “Get fully hard for me baby.” I take the opportunity to undress and sit on my bed, I use a single finger to beckon him over.

His rock hard dick bounces with each step towards me. When he reaches me, I devour him. Mouth and hand working in unison, spreading my sloppy spit the length of his member. My other hand squeezing his balls hard.

He groans.

“Too much?” I managed to mumble around his cock. Jim lets out a long breath but shakes his head, urging me on. “This first one doesn’t have to be the biggest, just a nice pleasurable release.” I point him at my tits. “Cum for me baby.”

A lovely spurt of seed hits my chest. Warm and slick. Watching his tip release the load makes me tingle. The familiar scent of his spunk activates something primal in my brain. My fingers find my wet crease. They slide in as the last few dribbles fall from Jim’s dick.

One thick string sticks to him. Taunting me as it dangles. I embrace my new self and take him into my mouth again. I suck firmly, making sure to get the last few drops. I enjoy the taste, but when I swallow and feel the salty brine hit the back of my throat I’m taken over the edge.

My fingers slam into my pussy and I fall backwards onto my bed. As much as I had planned on Jim cumming multiple times, I hadn’t expected my first to happen so effortlessly.

“Already?” He teases me. “I thought we were gonna go all night?”

“You’re not the only one who’s going to have several orgasms tonight.” He positions himself, and I spread my legs for him. “Stay hard for me. Show me what your magic dick can do.”

His splits the lips of my pussy, and slides in deep. The penetration is divine. My walls quiver for him immediately. I’ve had other men in me, this is something new. Maybe it’s part of his magic, maybe it’s just me embracing myself fully. I don’t care right now.

Our momentum builds, and soon we’re crashing together. He grabs my wrists as pins them over my head. My hips instinctively rock into his, as the slapping sounds get louder and louder. My insides tremble, my whole body quakes with anticipation.

I moan loudly as I cum on his dick.

I want him to feel as good as I do, I want to test his limits. “You feel the pressure building in your balls. Building and building. You’re so close. So close to cumming, that you can’t believe you haven’t popped yet.” My voice is horse, it comes out as a whimper, but it’s enough. His pace increases and becomes more frantic. “You’re so close that a light breeze should finish you. A massive load is just a moment away One more pump and surely you’ll cum.”

“Oh baby please. PLEASE!!” There are tears at the corner of his eyes.

“Pull out and cover my stomach. Cum for me babe. Show me what you can do.”

This time he fires ropes. Forceful streams paint my body. His pleasure is easily surpassed by my own enjoyment, being the one who allowed it tickles that place deep inside me. That thing I don’t quite understand.

He hits my stomach, but also everything else in sight. I’m glad for the towels I’ve put down. His shaky legs won’t hold him up anymore and he collapses next to me.

“Sorry, I got some in your hair.” He croaked, sucking air.

“Good. Think you’ve got more in you?” I’m back to rubbing myself, not trying to cum again, just staying ready.

“Sure, just give me a minute.” He’s still breathing hard. “Fuck that was crazy! I’ve never cum like that.”

“You’re welcome, but you know what you gotta do for me now?” I run my hand through his hair as he raises an eyebrow. I whisper in his ear. “You gotta stay hard for me.”

“Baby, I need a break!”

“You’ll get it, but I want to play while you do.” I help him sit up on the edge of my bed and hand him a drink.

I kneel between his legs and slowly stroke him while he refuels. That thing inside me stirs, tells me to say the words again. I resist the urge, but just barely. He gulps greedily as I entertain myself.

“You doing alright?” I ask, while I run my hands along my body. I use his previous loads as lube while I stroke us both.

“Yeah I will be, that second one was a lot. It was incredible, but it took a bit out of me.” He pushes a strand of hair out of my face. I can feel how wet it is, either from sweat or something else.

I let him finish his drink, grab a beef stick and catch his breath a little. “You got one more for me? I’ll do all the work, you just sit there and enjoy.” I climb into his lap and straddle him.

There’s no hint of repulsion, I’m fairly covered but he doesn’t shy away from my touch. In fact, he pulls me closer and embraces me. I reach between my legs and find his throbbing erection. I slide his tip against my opening. Back and forth I slide him against me, teasing both of us. Eventually I settle in and take him fully.

I ride him. Up and down, up and down. Not as forceful this time, just nice long satisfying strides. “I’m really close.” I whisper in his ear. “I think you truly are magical.”

His face has been nuzzled against my neck, purring and occasionally licking. Licking a cat showing his love. “Do you think you can cum for me?” He’s asks, pushing my hips down. It was all I needed, for the third time I reach my peak.

I fall forward and land on top of Jim. Our bodies making a very squishy *Splat* sound as we clash.

“Fill me up baby.” I moan, my body shaking from pleasure. Jim’s eyes go wide and I feel a huge gush between my legs. I realize my mistake immediately. “With a normal load!” I try to correct myself.

He relaxes underneath me, but I still feel a few pumps as he delivers the creampie I begged for. It’s the first time since he collapsed on my floor, I feel satisfied. That place inside me is quiet.

“Nice save.” He exhaled. “You caught it just in time.”

“Hehe, yeah sorry. I forgot for a second. Your dick is very literal.” I roll off Jim, and as I do, an impressive steam leaks out of me. “Thank you for indulging me. You made me your cum slut.”

“I think you made yourself a cum slut. But that’s what you wanted, right?”

“Yes.” To emphasize the point I run my hands over my body, spreading his love. “I hope this wasn’t too much for you? I know it was a lot. I understand if it was a little too extreme for you.”

“I only ever wanted to satisfy you.”

“Well I am…for now.” I giggle and kiss him. “I know I’m a bit messy, but can we cuddle for a few minutes? I promise we can shower after.”

“Anything you want.” He squeezes my tit as he holds me. “You know, I’m surprised you didn’t ask for a facial.”

“There’s plenty of time to try everything.” I reassure him.

“You’re gonna want to do more in the shower aren’t you?”

I feel that urge tingling somewhere deep inside.

I hand him another sports drink in response. He laughs before drinking deeply.

The wealth advisor had arranged to meet Paul at 3pm at his home to discuss the management of his assets. The late-afternoon sun cast long, golden shadows across the immaculate driveway as he approached the grand oak door, his polished shoes clicking on the stone steps. He adjusted his silk tie, deep navy, perfectly knotted, and knocked.

The door swung open.

A blonde stood there, her hair a cascade of sun-kissed waves that tumbled over her shoulders in a way that made his throat tighten. She was tall, her body a sinful curve of hips and waist, the kind of figure that made a man’s hands itch to explore. The silk dressing gown she wore was a deep, rich emerald, the fabric so thin it might as well have been painted on. It clung to her, outlining every dip and swell, and as she shifted, the gown parted just enough to reveal the glint of silver beneath her nipples, pierced with delicate bars that caught the light with every breath she took. Her lips were full, painted a shade of crimson that made his pulse spike, and her blue eyes sparkled with a mischief that sent a jolt straight to his groin.

She smiled, slow and knowing, her gaze raking over him from head to toe, lingering on the way his suit hugged his shoulders, the way his trousers hinted at the hardness already stirring beneath. “You must be the advisor,” she purred, her voice like velvet. “Paul’s just phoned to apologise. He’s running late.” She stepped back, her fingers toying with the knot at her waist, the gown slipping open just a fraction more. “I’m Amanda.”

Her voice was a whisper, a promise. She looked him up and down, her eyes darkening with appreciation, her tongue darting out to wet her lower lip. “But I think we can… start without him.”

Before he could respond, her fingers curled around his tie, pulling him closer. Her breath was warm against his ear, her voice a husky murmur. “I think you should come inside… and show me how well you could manage one of Paul’s most precious assets.” Her free hand slid down, tracing the line of his trousers, her intent crystal clear. “Me.”

She guided him through the house, her hips swaying with every step, the silk gown swishing against her legs. The air was thick with the scent of her perfume, something floral, something intoxicating. The kitchen and dining area were vast, all marble countertops and gleaming appliances, but Amanda made it feel intimate as she perched on the edge of the dining table, her legs swinging idly. She patted the space beside her, her smile wicked, her eyes locked on his.

“Come here,” she murmured, her voice thick with promise.

He stepped closer, and she let the gown fall open completely, revealing her body in all its glory. Her skin was golden, smooth, her curves a work of art. Her pierced nipples were hard, the silver bars glinting in the sunlight streaming through the windows. She spread her legs, her fingers tracing the inside of her thighs, her eyes never leaving his.

“Don’t be shy,” she teased, her voice a purr as she tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him down between her thighs. “Show me how good you are with your… mouth.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

He knelt before her, his hands gripping her thighs, her skin warm and soft under his palms. Her taste was intoxicating, sweet, musky, and addictive. She arched into him, her thighs trembling as his tongue worked, her fingers tightening in his hair. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her hips lifting to meet his mouth, her moans filling the room as he lapped at her, his tongue swirling around her clit, delving inside her, drawing out every drop of pleasure.

“Oh fuck,” she moaned, her voice breaking as the first orgasm crashed over her. She came hard, her juices coating his tongue, her body shuddering as she rode out the waves of pleasure, her grip on his hair almost painful. “Yes, just like that, don’t stop ”

He didn’t. He kept going, his tongue relentless, until her breath was coming in sharp, desperate gasps, her body trembling with need.

She panted, her chest heaving, but her hunger wasn’t satisfied. Not yet.

“Fuck, that was…” She bit her lip, her eyes dark with need, her voice a growl. “Now I want your cock.”

Her hands were already at his belt, her movements deft as she freed him, her fingers wrapping around his length, stroking him until he groaned. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him close, and with a single, fluid motion, he was inside her.

The table groaned under them as he thrust, his suit still on, the fabric of his trousers rough against her bare skin. Her tits bounced with every movement, her pierced nipples hard and glistening, the silver bars catching the light as she arched into him. She moaned, the sound raw and needy, her nails digging into his shoulders, her eyes locked on his.

“Yes, just like that,” she gasped, her voice a whisper. “Fuck, you’re so deep I can feel you everywhere ”

He gripped her hips, slamming into her with a rhythm that had her back arching off the table, her breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, the wet, obscene noises of their bodies moving together, the table creaking beneath them. Then, with a sudden shift, he flipped her over, bending her over the table, her ass in the air, her hair spilling over her shoulders like a golden waterfall.

His hand came down on her cheek with a sharp crack, the sting making her whimper, her body trembling. He tangled his fingers in her hair, pulling just enough to make her gasp, and drove into her with long, punishing strokes, his hips slapping against her ass with every thrust. The sound was obscene, the wet slap of flesh on flesh, her moans growing louder, more desperate with every stroke.

“Oh god”. Her voice broke as another orgasm tore through her, her walls clenching around him so tightly he had to grit his teeth to keep from following her over the edge. “Fuck, yes, just like that harder ”

He obliged, his grip on her hips tightening, his strokes deepening, his body slamming into hers with a force that made the table shake. Her moans were music to his ears, her body a perfect fit for his, her pleasure his only concern.

“Not yet,” she panted, her voice thick with command, her body still trembling from her climax. “I’m not done with you.”

She grabbed his tie and led him to the master bedroom, her grip firm, her intent clear. The room was a sanctuary of luxury silk sheets, a four-poster bed, and the faint scent of jasmine in the air. She pushed him onto the bed, her movements urgent, her eyes dark with hunger.

“Clothes. Off,” she demanded, her voice leaving no room for argument.

He stripped, his movements frantic, his cock already hard again, aching for her. She watched him, her eyes dark with hunger, her lips parted, her fingers tracing idle patterns on her own skin. Then she straddled him, her body a work of art as she sank down onto his length with a slow, deliberate roll of her hips.

“Fuck, you’re big,” she breathed, her head falling back as she took him to the hilt, her walls stretching to accommodate him. “So fucking big ”

She rode him, really rode him. Her hips circled, her body undulating in a rhythm that had his vision blurring, his hands gripping her waist, his fingers digging into her skin. Her tits bounced with every movement, her pierced nipples hard and glistening, the silver bars catching the light as she arched her back, her hands braced on his chest. One hand slipped between her legs, her fingers working her clit in tight, desperate circles, her hips grinding down onto him with every stroke.

“Look at me,” she demanded, her voice a growl, her eyes wild. “Watch me fuck you.”

Her hair was a golden curtain around them, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she rode him harder, faster. The bed creaked beneath them, the sound of their bodies moving together filling the room. She was relentless, her movements sinful, her body made for this, made for him. Her tits bounced with every thrust, her skin slick with sweat, her moans growing louder, more desperate.

“I’m gonna oh fuck ” Her back arched, her nails raking down his chest as another orgasm wracked her body, her walls fluttering around him so tightly he couldn’t hold back any longer.

With a groan, he came hard, his release so intense it left them both trembling, their bodies slick with sweat, their chests heaving. He spilled deep inside her, his hips jerking as the last waves of pleasure tore through him, his grip on her waist bruising.

They lay there for a moment, panting, their skin still humming with pleasure, their bodies tangled together.

Then 

The crunch of gravel.

Amanda’s head snapped up, her eyes wide, her body tensing. “Paul.”

Daniel’s heart hammered in his chest. He scrambled, his movements frantic as he fumbled for his clothes, his fingers trembling as he pulled on his trousers, his shirt, his shoes. He barely had his tie adjusted when he heard the front door open, Paul’s voice carrying through the house.

“Amanda? You here, love?”

She was already moving, slipping into a black dress that hugged every curve, her hair quickly combed into place. She looked stunning, elegant, poised, the picture of a perfect hostess. She cast him one last, smouldering look, her lips curled into a smirk. “Next time, Daniel… we’ll take our time.”

Daniel raced to the kitchen, his briefcase in hand, and sat at the table just as Paul stepped inside.

Paul looked at him, his expression apologetic. “Daniel, mate, so sorry I’m late. Got held up at the office.”

Daniel stood, extending a hand, his voice steady despite the way his pulse was still racing. “No problem at all, Paul. These things happen.”

Amanda appeared in the doorway, her smile warm, her voice smooth. “Paul, darling, you’re back.”

Paul turned to her, his expression softening. “Amanda, love, you remember Daniel, the advisor?”

She nodded, her eyes flicking to Daniel for just a second, a silent promise in their depths. “Of course. Lovely to see you again, Daniel.”

Paul chuckled, shaking his head as he gestured to the kitchen. “Honestly, Amanda, you’re a terrible host. You haven’t even made our guest a drink in all this time. You need to look after our guests much better, love.”

Amanda’s lips curled into a smirk, her voice sweet, innocent. “You’re right, darling. How careless of me.”

Paul turned to Daniel, his expression turning serious as he spread out the papers on the table. “Now, Daniel, let’s talk business. Daniel swallowed hard, his mind still reeling from the encounter, his body still humming with the memory of Amanda’s touch, her taste, the way she’d ridden him like she was made for it.

This was going to be a very interesting meeting.

This happened in my art class during my(18F) art class last year and i wanted to share it. Okay so I needed extra credit for my art elective so when the professor asked for a volunteer model for the figure drawing session I stupidly raised my hand without thinking. I thought I would just sit there in clothes. Nope but instead they wanted nude.

When I got to the studio there were like 12 students already set up with their easels. My heart was pounding so hard, the professor gave me a robe and told me I could keep it on until I was ready. I went behind the screen, took everything off and literally stood there shaking for a minute. I kept thinking “Melanie you idiot, everyone is going to see you naked.”

I finally dropped the robe and got on the platform. The first pose was sitting on a stool with legs crossed. I felt so exposed then the professor asked me to do a lying pose on my side…that’s when it got crazy.

One of the students was this guy named James. He’s a senior who is really talented. While everyone was drawing he kept looking at me differently and it wasn’t just in a way you would say he was being artistic, like I mean he was actually seeing me.

During the break he came over while I was putting the robe back on and whispered “you’re really beautiful up there.” I blushed like crazy. After class he offered to show me his sketches, so we went to a small side room and he locked the door.

I don’t know what came over me but I let the robe I was wearing fall open. He stared at me for a second and he came closer to me and started kissing me like crazy.

His hands were everywhere on my body. He squeezing my tits really hard, grabbing my ass, using his hands to rub continuously between my legs. And I was already soaking wet from being completely naked in front of the whole class for an hour. He started fingering me while kissing my neck and I came really fast. I had to use my hands to cover my mouth and he also used his hands to do same so I wouldn’t moan too loud but he still allowed me to let out a little moan because apparently he loved the sound and it just made him to want to keep thrusting harder.

Then he bent me over this little table and fucked me from behind. It felt really hot and intense. We were trying so hard to keep it low because I could still hear people talking outside the door but the moment was just hot for us to contain if well . He pulled my hair a bit and kept telling me how hot I looked up there posing naked. And this time I cummed again but if was even harder this time. Right after, he pulled out and came all over my back.

We cleaned up as fast as we could with some paper towels and he acted totally normal when we walked out because nobody had any idea.

When I see him till date around the campus, I still get butterflies in my stomach every time I see like it’s so hard to act normal whenever we pass by each other because it always gets me thinking “ so I actually let this guy who is my senior from my art class fuck me in the back room after I modeled naked for everyone.”. I don’t know but it felt just a little dirty but what can I do about it because I can’t deny the fact that I actually loved it

Image 4

The marinara sauce simmered away on the hob, as Becca leaned over, tending to the sauce and inhaling the scent of garlic and basil emanating from it, her vest top riding up a little as she moved her arm to stir the sauce. The kitchen was warm, the heat from the oven radiating outward, but it was nothing compared to the heat she felt from the presence moving in. just behind her.

Rory moved with a predatory grace, closing in towards Becca as she tended to the meal. Her hand, warm and firm, slid over and around Becca’s hip, fingers slightly toying with the waistband of the shorts she was wearing. Becca moved back against her, almost instinctively, as she reached for a spoon. Dipping it into the pan and bringing it over her shoulder for Rory to taste.

Rory leant in, her chin resting on Becca’s shoulder, and she took the offering
“Tastes like it needs more salt,” she murmured, her voice a low and her breath warm over Becca’s skin as she spoke . She didn’t reach for the shaker on the counter, offering no particular help beyond the suggestion.
Instead, she turned her face slightly and let her mouth open against the side of Becca’s neck, her teeth grazing over where her pulse would be.

Becca didn’t pull away. She tilted her head to the opposite side, exposing more of the area, a silent invitation that Rory accepted immediately, sinking her teeth into the soft area of skin, mixed with light kisses to contrast the feeling. The spoon in Becca’s hand hovered over the pot, forgotten, as Rory’s hand came up to her breast, her nipple hard and sensitive against the touch. The hard squeeze of her already hard nipple mixed with the sudden bite at her neck made Becca’s breath hitch, a sharp intake of air that gave Rory all the encouragement she needed.
The spoon fell, splashing into the sauce and bringing Becca’s attention back to her original task for a split second.

“I’m trying to cook,” Becca whispered, though she made no move to stop Rory’s hand or to move away from her. If anything, she was moving her body into the feeling, into the touch of Rory’s hand sliding down her body from her breast until her fingers were teasing the elastic hem of the shorts.

“Not anymore,” Rory growled, and she spun Becca around with a sudden, assertive force. One swift motion that Becca didn’t expect, nor fight against.

The spin turned into a kiss in an instant, hard, tongues darting against one another, teeth almost clashing due to the desperation behind it. They both sank into it perfectly, each one hungry for the other. Rory’s dominance took over, her hands gripping Becca’s waist, pulling their bodies flush until there was no space left between them. Forcing them into the feeling of almost becoming one entity in that moment, like neither had a beginning or end. Becca’s hands had moved up and were tangled in Rory’s lazy mohawk, pulling her closer, needing more of that pressure, trying to exhibit some form of control over the situation, but only proving how desperate she was for her.

Rory broke the kiss only to hoist Becca up onto one of the kitchen counters. It was effortless and there was no resistance, nor any regard for the environment they were in. It sent a jolt of heat racing in between Becca’s thighs and she gasped as her bottom and legs hit the cold granite of the countertop. The pure difference of temperature between the stone against her overheated skin made her arch her spine, her legs instinctively wrapping around Rory’s waist, like her entire body had been shocked by it.

The action caused a small moment of chaos, a ceramic utensil jar tipped over, sending a plethora kitchen utensils clattering to the floor. The salt-shaker followed, rolling along until it hit the floor with a small crash and probably a few other things. but neither of them looked down. Rory’s hands were busy dragging the silk shorts down Becca’s legs, stripping the barrier away with impatience. A somewhat aggressive feeling to the action, but Becca was just as aggressively moving herself and trying to help get them off quicker, hell, she wouldn’t have cared if Rory had ripped them from her at this point.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” Rory groaned, her eyes locked on to Becca’s as her hand played over the hot flesh of her pussy. She needed no further information from Becca and she dipped her head and buried her face between Becca’s thighs, darting her tongue straight in to taste her wet pussy.

The sensation was electric and sent shockwaves through Becca’s body, her back arched as she pushed herself into Rory’s hot mouth.
Rory’s tongue was moving over her, running from her hole to her clit and back again. Only stopping to circle her clit or to dart inside her swollen pussy. Becca switched between low drawn out moans and rapid almost squeals through this, her heels trying to find somewhere to dig into, to try and ground some of the unreal pleasure she was in and her fingers scrabbling for in the same way on the smooth granite. She found nothing and so her hands wandered to Rory once again, pulling at her hair, pushing her harder against the pussy she was so fiercely ravishing.

She wasn’t gentle. She made small nips at Becca’s clit with her teeth, humming low in her throat, which sent vibrations straight through Becca’s core. Suddenly, Becca noticed that the attention with her tongue had centred around her clit and she felt a slight pressure against her pussy hold. Rory slid two fingers inside, firmly and with the same level of passion as the rest of this interaction had been riding. She moved them in and out for a moment, feeling the ease at which they moved, before curling them upward to find that spongy, sensitive spot that made Becca’s vision blur and her life feel perfect.

“Yes, right there,” Becca gasped, loud and unintentionally, her head falling back, hitting the wall cabinet behind her with a dull thud. Rory giggled at that, without moving, so all it served to do was send an additional level of vibration through Becca’s clit.
All Becca could focus on was the feeling of Rory’s fingers and the relentless swish of her tongue. Rory was fucking her now, hard and fast, stopping for a moment to give special attention to the place she could only reach when she was fully inside and curved around, the place that had Becca gasping for air. The wet sounds of her fingers moving in and out of the tight hole and the gasps of pleasure filled the kitchen.
Then suddenly, the breathing changed, as Becca’s breath began to come in short, ragged pants, Rory pulled her mouth away, her fingers slipping free.

Becca whined at the loss, she was so close and her hips were still bucking slightly, trying to find the solution to what she needed. But Rory stood up, a wicked smirk playing on her glistening lips, covered in the wetness Becca’s pussy had been producing the entire time.

“Not yet,” she taunted.

Becca giggled, a surge of playful aggression taking over her and she pushed her weight against Rory’s shoulders, using the leverage to slide herself off the counter. As her feet hit the floor, her knees wobbled slightly, but she steadied herself quickly. She didn’t wat to give Rory a chance to respond to her, fight her a little. Her hands moved toward Rory’s hips, one hand on the waistband tugging it downward, the other moving straight beneath the bottoms to find her pussy.

Rory was just as wet as she was. Becca didn’t hesitate, her fingers explored immediately and with a unnatural precision she found Rory’s clit in an instant, giving a slight nip before she started to circle and flick over the swollen area.

Rory gasped, her head falling forward, her forehead resting against Becca’s. “Fuck, Becca.”

“Payback,” Becca whispered, her hand moving so that her thumb replaced her fingers, flicking over her clit with a slight pressure. The fingers she had been using slid downward and she thrust two fingers deep into Rory’s cunt.

Rory gasped through a mixture of shock and pleasure, and it shot her back into action. Her hands returned to Becca’s body, one found its place on the back of her neck, holding her steadily in place. The other, resumed its position between her things, her fingers buried deep with every thrust. They stood chest to chest, eyes locked onto each other and  fucking with frantic need, fingers pumping in and out, palms grinding against clits.

The rhythm was almost chaotic, each one fuelling the other and only intensified by the sounds of their moans and the wet, squelching noises of their fingers working each other’s pussies. Becca started to feel Rory’s pussy walls fluttering around her fingers, tensing around her and gripping her tight, the sign she was close, and she was close too, the tension in her belly winding tighter and tighter. Her legs getting weaker as she sank into the feeling. She could feel Rory sinking too.

“Fuck, I’m going to cum,” Rory panted, her hips jerking erratically against Becca’s hand, willing her to keep going, needing her to.

“Me too,” Becca admitted, her voice breathless and thin as she weakened with the feeling overtaking her entire body.

They both stumbled a little, their legs losing the strength to hold them up amidst the overwhelming pleasure. In an unspoken mutual agreement, they went down together. A heap and tangle of limbs on the kitchen floor, landing almost a little too hard.
Becca landed on her back, Rory half-on top of her, her thigh wedged between Becca’s legs in a seemingly intentional manner. Becca hooked her leg over Rory’s hip, opening herself wider, giving Rory full access. Rory’s appreciated the gesture and forced another finger inside, hard and fast, while Becca had opted to keep her fingers buried deep inside Rory, moving with the same rhythm, but focussing on her g-spot to give her hits of intense pleasure.

The kitchen air was thick with the scent of sex now, thick with the passion and intensity of what had happened. Becca’s toes curled, her back bowing off the floor. She was right there, hovering on the edge, she needed the release.

“Rory, fuck, don’t stop,” Becca cried out, her nails digging into the skin of Rorys arse, pulling her ever closer to her.

Rory responded by driving her fingers hard into Becca one last time, curling them and pressing hard against her g-spot while her teeth once again found Becca’s neck and bit down hard.

Becca couldn’t hold it any longer, she shattered into the feeling, her orgasm ripped through her entire body, a moan so loud it was almost a scream and her pussy clamping down around Rory’s fingers, pulsing and gushing over them. This drove Rory over the edge seconds later, her body seized up, a low, raw moan tearing from her throat as she came all over Becca’s hand.

Neither moved their fingers, nor spoke for a moment, they simply laid, chests heaving, sweat cooling on their flushed skin, the marinara sauce still popping innocently on the stove behind them, probably ruined by now.

Then, another sound cut through the heavy silence. A deliberate, masculine clearing of a throat.. Becca’s eyes snapped open. Scanning the room, Rory’s head had turned too, doing the same. Neither had heard the door open nor had they heard the footsteps over the sound of their own moaning. But there he was.

Todd stood in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame. He wasn’t shocked. Why would he be, he’d almost expected it. He was watching them with a hungry gaze, his eyes wandering over their tangled, half-naked bodies. His hand over his crotch, almost absentmindedly stroking a little. A visible bulge strained against the front of his jeans, proof of his arousal. He didn’t say a word, just raised an eyebrow, a small smirk playing on his lips.

The aura of the room shifted instantly, turning from the heavy post orgasm hue into the bliss into something else entirely. A restart. Becca and Rory looked at each other and giggled, exhausted but knew the next part would be just as good as the last.

Becca smiled, a slow, wicked curve of her lips. She extended a hand toward Todd and beckoned him forward, her fingers still glistening with Rory’s cum.

“Get over here,” she said, her voice husky and raw. “We’re just getting started.”