The vinyl spread across her ass like dark chocolate glaze. Shiny and tight, it hugged her curves. She bit her lip as she watched them sway in the full length mirror in front of her. Her palms dug into the rug; her knees were sweaty with anticipation and marked by the crosses of her stockings.
He let his hand glide. The cold, black vinyl provided little resistance to his undertaking. He lifted up, then down. The smack echoed throughout the room but the force didn’t wrinkle the vinyl. He dropped to his knees behind her and unzipped the trousers of his suit. He pulled his hard cock from their confines and let it run the same path as his hand.
The tip glistened as he bounced it off her roundness, leaving behind raindrops of pre-cum. He slid his hand down the inside of her thigh and back up, rolling the pencil skirt up as he went until her ass was exposed. She shivered as her wet thong met the cold air of the room. He grabbed the tiny string and lifted it, pulling the tiny triangle of fabric onto her already excited clit.
He moved slowly, like molasses. Her entire body trembled in anticipation. Each touch was like lightning. Her breasts felt full and heavy. Her nipples hard as steel. He moved the string so slightly. An observer wouldn’t have noticed the movement, but her body felt each tiny maneuver as if it were an earthquake in her loins.
He noticed a single chain of her nectar flowing down her thigh. He pressed his tongue to her skin, just at her knee, and slowly dragged it up, licking her juice as he made the journey into her crevice. As his nose reached her center, he inhaled, taking in her sweet scent and exhaling across her excited pussy. He licked once along her slit, his tongue following the path of her jammed panties. She writhed above him, eager to find release in the face of his torture.
“Not yet, kitten. It’s my turn.”
She turned her head to look into the eyes of the second man in the room. His pants showcased a tell-tale tent even though his demeanor was calm and cool.
“You know what to do.” he said to the first gentleman, who stood immediately, pulling her to her feet behind him and pulling off her vinyl skirt. He grabbed her ass with one hand, letting the flesh fill the space between his fingers. With his other hand, he secretly tangled his fingers between her legs, pinching her clit in one last tantalizing gesture.
As he pushed her forward to the other man, he leaned into her ear and whispered, “I’m not through with you, kitten.”
-=C&C=-
2/3 of a NOLA Hat Trick
Remember my life mantra of making the interesting choice versus the happy choice?
This weekend I was going to do a lot of nothing. I was going to go for the day and meet Misty, but spend the rest of the weekend basically by myself in Birmingham feeling sad and alone. Superman had plans. Dating prospects were slim.
At work Thursday I made a comment to my coworkers that I wanted to go to New Orleans for the weekend. I’ve never been and it’s only about 5 hrs from Bham. Let me back up for a second. At my new job I have many, many coworkers. Recently, I got reassigned to a new position, and so I get to work out of the main office for awhile. This has allowed me to get to know some of my coworkers better, as I sit in what amounts to a row of tables with 8 other people.
So Coworker A, who sits next to me and who is a fine male specimen (who is quiet and shy) says that he is going to New Orleans for the weekend. I ask him a series of questions to see the extent of his plans. I talk to Coworker M (female), who says she might be down for the trip. I’m worried about it because I’ve never been, but I figure with Coworker A in the city and Coworker M with me it will be ok.
Then Coworker M cancels.
So I have a decision- go to NOLA on my own or stay in Birmingham. Which one is the interesting choice, dear tumblrs?
I cash in my hotel points for a room Saturday night at one hotel and a room Sunday at another. I check with Coworker A. He’s at different hotels both nights as well, but not the same one as me. I suggest to him that we carpool and split costs. You would have thought I asked him to marry me to a toad. He mumbled something about seeing some old haunts and I blew it off as nothing personal. It was about this time that I started to wonder about Coworker A. He didn’t have friends in NOLA. Was he gay? I didn’t get that vibe. Maybe he wanted to pick up girls?
So Saturday comes and Coworker A and I make plans to hang out on Sunday night. We check in with each other on the drive down. I check into my hotel, get changed, and head out in search of food and sites. I stop at a restaurant just off of Bourbon Street (thought I hadn’t reached Bourbon Street yet) and sit at the bar. I had dinner and a couple of cocktails. At this point I’m wondering why I made such a silly decision? Who comes to a party town on their own? Besides Coworker A?
I have always believed that the biggest cure for insecurity is liquor. So I figured I just needed more booze. I walk out of the restaurant and stumble, literally, upon Bourbon Street. I immediately get myself a daquiri and stroll through the crowd of people. Most people were there for Essence Fest. It was quite the scene. I stopped in a few bars and hung out with this group of black men for awhile. They started to creep me out so I bailed on them and hung out in a park with a jazz band playing. I had a hurricane. I stroll out of the park and back onto Bourbon Street and get a text from Coworker A. He wants to know what I’m up to. I tell him. He tells me he’s heading to where I am. I assume this means we’re going to meet up for drinks. He’s very drunk (he says). Of course, at this point so am I.
He tells me he’s going to catch a cab, so I go and catch myself a fishbowl full of hurricanes. I park myself and my fishbowl on the corner and wait for him. He shows up a little while later and he looks like shit. FYI, it was hot as balls in NOLA this weekend. Coworker A was covered in sweat. He needed a drink. We headed back to the fishbowl stand and were just chatting about the city while we waited in line. But the line wasn’t going anywhere. So we leave and head down an alleyway looking for a bar. We find one pretty quickly and duck inside. It’s mostly empty, just a small bar on a side street. It’s playing country music and has a table of drunk girls and a security guard in addition to the bartender. Coworker A heads to the bathroom to clean himself up and I order us two more hurricanes.
The great thing about an empty bar is that you can have a conversation. So we did. I’m not sure exactly how it transpired, but Coworker A told me about the married woman in Chicago he’s got a thing for. I told him about my open marriage. Then he told me about his sex life- and the 67 women he’s previously fucked!
Finally! Coworker A’s secret! I knew he had one. He’s a closet manwhore.
You know what happens when you’re drunk and you make a connection with someone? It’s like your flood gates open. Out came my secrets. Molly Cupcake. Superman. The Dozen Bad Dates. My life mantra.
We went outside so Coworker A could have a smoke. I bummed one as well. As the cigarettes turned to ash, Coworker A stopped me from telling stories. He told me that he was getting excited. He told me that he wanted me to suck his cock. I said I could probably be persuaded. That it probably wouldn’t take much. He asked what my hold up was. I said that he’s my coworker.
Coworker A is smart. He saw me waffling. He saw the hesistation. You know what he pulled out next?
“Fucking me would be the interesting choice.”
That was it, wasn’t it? The only thing he could say that I couldn’t refute. So we grabbed the fishbowl from the bar and headed off to my hotel. On the way he told me that he likes things dirty. He likes dirty talk. He told me some of his hottest sexual experiences. We got in the building and the moment the elevator doors closed he was on me. Kissing me. Lifting my dress.
We make it into the apartment and we’re making out hardcore. He’s grinding on me. We’re kissing. I’m unbuttoning his shirt. Once our clothes come off I push him toward the couch and tell him that I have to suck his cock now.
And I do. By god do I! He was a great size- not too long or too wide that I couldn’t give him a great blow job, but long enough and wide enough to be impressive. He immediately started talking dirty to me. That’s magic for Ms. Molly. I was so wet it was running down my thighs. I had to fuck him. So he laid down on the couch and I climbed on top of him and started riding him hard. He’s pulling on my nipples and kissing me in between telling me what a slut I am.
I want to switch positions so we move into the bedroom. We keep fucking and he keeps up the dirty talk.
“You love being fucked, slut.”
“I’m going to use that slutty pussy.”
“You want a cock in every hole, don’t you? You want a big group of guys to fucking use you, don’t you? I’m going to watch them cover you in cum.”
I was out of my mind with lust. I go back to sucking his cock and deep throating him. Then he starts fucking my face. Things only got dirtier from there with the talk and the sex until finally, almost two hours later, with the sun coming up through the open windows, he cums all over my face and glasses.
Ten minutes later after making solemn vows to never tell any of our coworkers this happened, he left and I passed out.
The next evening started similar to the first- dinner followed by me drinking alone. This time I ended up at a bar at the end of Bourbon Street (one recommended by you dear followers- Lafittes).
I was having a great time chatting with the bartenders and this group of girls from Philly. I was drinking hurricanes and doing shots. We were singing to the jukebox at the top of our lungs. I get a txt from Coworker A that he’s hooking up with this girl he met, so I decide to leave and see if I could find someone of my own. I’m really drunk though. Much more drunk than I was on Saturday. I start drunk texting people, including Brooklyn Dave and Superman. I find myself at the corner of Bourbon and St. Ann and decide to sit on a stoop and people watch. This was recommended by another follower! It was a great recommendation- it was the best corner ever.
Along strolls by a gentleman, who strikes up a conversation with me. He’s from California, but is in town for work. He sits by me and people watches and we start talking. Fifteen minutes in he stumbles and braces himself by putting his hand on my knee (I was wearing another dress). Five minutes later we were making out on the street corner, with lots of groping and feeling. His hand was up my dress and under my panties stroking my clit. I was rubbing his hard cock through his jeans.
I asked him if we could go back to my hotel. But he wanted to go to his instead. I asked him where it was, and it was somewhere uptown that I had never heard of. I didn’t want to go somewhere I wasn’t familiar with a stranger. He said he understood and we started walking back toward the main street. We stopped to make out some more and we drifted into a side street/ alley.
He pushed me up against a brick wall and he was licking and sucking on my neck. His hands were rubbing my breasts and his cock was pressed up against me. I told him how much I wanted to fuck him.
He turned me around so that my face was to the cool brick and lifted up my dress. He slid my panties down and I stepped out of them. He unzipped his pants, pulled out his cock and fucked me from behind. I braced myself with my hands on the brick and he reached around to rub my clit. I couldn’t take it and came on his cock before he came all over my ass.
We didn’t have any way to clean up, so he kissed me and got me a cab back to my hotel. We said goodbye, he paid the driver, and kept my panties. I felt the cum on my ass the entire way home.
I left NOLA this morning. I had made plans to meet up with Mr. Big outside Meridian. I overslept and missed his text so by the time we got connected he had made other plans. So I missed out on his 10 inches and my hat trick.
Maybe there will be a next time? Will Coworker A make another appearance? Stay tuned.
-=C&C=-
“Do you want to watch?”
“I’d rather do.”
“You’ll get your chance. I simply can’t wait that long.”
“Then by all means, show me what you like.”
She did just that. Her fingers slid below the sheer fabric and fiddled themselves into the rolling hills of her sex.
“I like to start by stroking my clit. Moving the moisture around until everything is wet.”
He sat in the chair, legs crossed, watching her. Examining her moves. He studied the placement of her hands and the way she cupped her mound. He watched her breathing get heavy and her chest heave. With her free hand she freed her breast, exposing her hard nipples to the cool air of the hotel room.
“Do you like to taste yourself?”
“Sometimes.” As if to prove the point, she brought her fingertips to her lips and swirled the tip of her tongue around each digit before sucking three into her mouth.
She took the glazed fingers and let them twirl around the sweet nub of her breast, making it impossibly hard. A moan escaped her lips and she switched hands. Her left rushed into her valley, a levee to stop the flood from inside.
“What are you imagining?”
“You.”
“What am I doing?”
“Fucking me. Your cock is pummeling me and punishing my pussy. You’re slamming into me and I can’t hold back. I’m squirming and begging you to go harder. Deeper. I’m begging you to make me cum.”
As she told him her fingers slammed into her opening. The steady slurp of her entrance and exits disrupted his composure. He was getting impatient.
“Your time is almost up.”
The air hung with tension for several moments and the only sound to be heard was the increased pace of her flesh slapping against itself.
“I’m… almost… there.”
“Now.”
She started to protest but the words died on her lips as her legs flipped over, pushing her hair across her glossed lips as her toes extended. Her orgasm spread through her body, causing her to convulse as feral moans left her lips.
Before she could finish his clothes were on the floor. He pried her legs apart and sunk his hard cock into her, burying himself in her wet warmth.
“Your fantasy is going to be my reality, girl.”
-=C&C=-
A quarter of an inch lower on the right.
I wanted it to be perfect. As if the perfect line of lace across my flesh could match the perfect tone of his voice. The one that was rolling around in my head. Slow and sensual. Masculine and deep. Like sugar syrup tumbling off his tongue.
As if I conjured him from my mind he appeared in the mirror, sauntering towards me in his easy, relaxed gait. His fingers traced the porcelain of my skin. They fell lower, traveling the curve of my side as if he were speeding around a mountain cliff before coming to rest on the tip of my hip. I melted into him and breathed in his smell. The heady mixture of cologne and man. Age and experience mixed with bergamot and wood.
“You smell like you.”
“You look like a goddess.”
I couldn’t help but smile. Other men had made me feel self conscious about the curve of my belly or the wiggle in my ass. He was different. I felt that familiar fluttering in my stomach. The tingling that told me I wouldn’t last another moment without his touch.
I pushed back, nestling myself against his chest, feeling his hardness against the plush ellipse of my rear. His arms wrapped around me. His nose was buried in my hair and his hands- so large and strong- explored me.
His fingers invaded the lace band of my garter and we both knew I was at his mercy. I was his to command.
I was his pet and his fingers stroked me with care. He was always so careful not to scare me. He was a snake charmer; I reacted to his touch. I let out a slow moan. He tensed, as if the noise woke him from a daze.
“Bend over.”
It was an order, but before I could comply his hand was on my back completing the action for me. His stoned cock was plunging between my legs and his agile fingers gripped the string of my thong, playing my clit like a violin.
“Please.” I begged. The tightrope edge I was walking along was about to snap. I wanted to scream, but it came out as just a whisper.
“Please, what?”
“Please, sir!”
“Do you want something, kitten?”
“Please let me cum. Please. Please, let me cum, sir.”
“You know I love it when you purr, kitten.”
-=C&C=-
The smoke swam from her mouth like a snake from a charmers basket. Except she was the charmer. She did it effortlessly. From her china doll skin to her sleek brown hair to the peach shimmer of her lips, she was designed to thrill, to taunt, to tease. If a snake couldn’t resist her, how could I?
Her lips reminded me of an amusement park ride. One that looked harmless. No loops or big hills. But what it lacked in stunts it made up for in speed and the ability to make your stomach drop. That was her- always making my stomach drop. I was probably in love with her.
I doubt she cared.
She looked at me with skepticism, as if she was tired of boys swooning over her. It was old news. If I wanted to win her heart I’d have to be different. I wondered if there was a way to charm the snake charmer.
“Have you come up with something yet?” she asked. I’d told her I wanted to seduce her. That I planned on making her knees weak. She had laughed and lit her cigarette, immediately calling me out. I’d been floundering to come up with an answer the past few minutes. I had nothing.
“I could serenade you.”
“How?”
“Say Anything style. Big boombox blasting. Trenchcoat. Standing beneath your window.”
“And what would you play to win my heart?”
“NPR.”
“You could just fuck me.”
She blew the remaining smoke from her lungs and it swirled around her face before dissipating into the darkness. She licked her lips. It drew me closer. Her magic was irrefutable.
“I guess that might be easier. I don’t own a trenchcoat.”
-=C&C=-
She met him underground. Under Delancey Street, with the silver subway cars whipping past and adding rolling thunder to the heartbreaking rendition of November Rain he was strumming on his guitar. She missed seven trains to Manhattan before she got the nerve to throw the entire contents of her wallet into his red velvet lined guitar case.
She never carried cash. It was $1.22, mostly in change. He laughed at her. His laugh was as sweet as the notes he sprayed into the air. So they climbed the stairs to sunshine above and shared a coffee in a rundown Lower East Side diner.
Seven hours later they stumbled through the door to his closet-sized apartment, their limbs tangled together like kite strings in a tree. She pulled up his Mets tee and he pulled down her black knit skirt and the peach flesh of their skin pumped against each other as their lips melted into puddles of pink.
He splayed his fingers in her hair and lowered her to the carpeted ground. His right hand worked on the button fly of his jeans while his left pushed her tiny black panties to the side. She leaned up, bypassing his lips for his ear, running her tongue along the silhouette before whispering, “Play it for me again.”
He grinned at her and got up, shedding his pants and boxers until the tan glow of his skin was all that remained. He grabbed one of the several guitars laying on his couch and began to strum the haunting melody.
She watched him for only a second. Once he began to sing, once he uttered those words, “When I look into your eyes, I can see a love restrained,” she closed hers. Her fingers fumbled in her hair. They moved down. They played at her nipples. Pinching. Twisting.
As he made his way to the chorus, her fingers found their way under her thong. They slipped between her folds and found their way to her clit, strumming in time with him. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and suppressed her moans as she let her body dance. For him. Maybe, for her, too. She spread her knees wider, opened herself for him. As he came to the end of the song, she came. Her body hummed the last chords and she arched towards him.
He left the guitar behind as he joined her. He sunk into her. She was warm, wet, and waiting. Her fingers pulled him in and pressed them together. He joined her in her secret place, and as he watched her eyelids flutter like hummingbird wings he silently swore he’d banish the sad songs from her mind.
-=C&C=-
“Daddy, these are my favorite pair.”
“You shouldn’t have worn them.”
“They looked so cute and pretty. I thought you’d like them.”
“I warned you what would happen.”
“I forgot.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s not, Daddy, I swear. I forgot I wasn’t supposed to wear them. Please don’t punish me.”
“So now you’re lying to me? Apparently you want double punishments.”
“No, Daddy. Not that.”
“Ass in the air, little girl. Now.”
In one quick tugged he tore a hole clear across her backside, sending ripples of runners scattering along her flesh. His finger slid along her puffy lips and he wasn’t surprised to find her wet. He grabbed each cheek of her ass, pulling them apart as he spit directly on her ass. He watched the liquid sink through the torn nylon onto her crack. He watched it drizzle down over her rosebud until it pooled at her cunt.
As his liquid joined her own, he swung his hand back and released, watching the jiggle of her ass as his palm made contact.
“Count for me, baby girl.”
She began to count through clenched teeth, the numbers coming out as barely intelligible grunts. Not letting up, he began to rub tiny circles, soothing the pain he had just inflicted before repeating the motions again and again. As his right hand struck, he let the fingers of his left gently pet the soaked lips of her cunt. Up. Down. Up. Down.
“Twenty-five!”
He stopped and tore more of the pantyhose before plunging two fingers deep into her cunt. She howled in surprised as he plundered her from inside. He quickly removed them, only to thrust them into her ass, scissoring them and widening her with every push.
“Daddy, no!” she gasped as he invaded the tight rim. He pulled it apart like a rubber band only to watch it spring back. She tried to turn, to see the exquisite torture before it came, but he pushed her head down into the pillow.
She closed her eyes and felt him pinch her clit, grabbing the hardened nub with his fingers and squeezing tight. He pulled it out, watching it swell with the added attention, before swatting it with several hard slaps. With each slap she jerked, the electric sting shocking her tiny body.
He slammed his cock into her cunt and she instinctively pushed back against his hips.
“No matter how much I punish you, you just can’t get enough cock, can you? You little slut. You just love your Daddy’s big cock tearing up his little girl’s hole, don’t you? Do you like it when Daddy fucks you?”
“Yes, Daddy,” was all she could manage to reply.
He removed his fingers from her ass and slid his cock into the whole in one fluid motion. He rode her hard, alternating his cock between her lush, wet pussy and her tight, clenched ass. Her tiny frame was overwhelmed by the sensations, shaking and gushing with each passing orgasm.
As he reached his own he pulled out and emptied his load all over what remained of the black strings crossing her used ass. He couldn’t help but give her one last smack, and he smiled as he watched the white liquid splatter along her porcelain skin.
He pulled her up by her hair, cradling her in his arms. He kissed her neck and nibbled on her ear before whispering, “Good girl.”
She was lost to him for minutes, recovering in the soothing warmth of his arms. When she opened her eyes, she turned and looked at him.
“How did you know I was lying, Daddy?”
“If you didn’t want to be punished, you would have worn panties.”
-=C&C=-
“Did you know there are stars above you?”
“They’re nothing compared to the brilliance below me.”
“There are comets chasing moonbeams in the sky.”
“There’s a boy chasing a girl here on earth.”
I wanted to look away. I had to. I had to protect my heart. But before I could I was laying upon a feather pillow of fingers and his lips- soft but strong- were suctioning beats from my heart. Siphoning the last resistance of my soul.
Damn him. Damn him for making me want the impossible, for believing in Manhattan fairytales and Brooklyn Cinderellas. We were just two strangers with a fifty percent chance of failure after success.
But I didn’t think about that while his lips were on mine. I didn’t think about the heartache I would inevitably feel, or the tears that would sparkle in those electric moonbeams. I thought about his hand in my hair and his weight on my thigh and, when I opened my lips, I thought about drowning in desire.
We dove into each other. His stubble brushed along my cheek while my lips worshiped the veins in his neck. I kissed lower, tracing his shoulder blade while I memorized the sound of his breath in my ear. His moan was maple syrup, and I’d taste his sweetness again when he left- delivering myself breakfast in bed.
He sucked in my nipple. His tongue circled it before the wind tunnel pressure made me arch. My head shot back and I was ready to be ravished, but when his palm caught me I knew torture was his preferred method of sexual homicide.
His cock rested at my door, which I’d opened for him. But he paused, as if we were neighbors and he was just waiting for me to retrieve a cup of sugar. I’d beg him to come in for tea. I’d beg him to fuck me.
“Please. You’ve caught me.”
He pressed in to me at the same moment he drew himself up on his palms. He stared into my eyes as he had before. With a heady mixture of fire, lust, and maybe even love. This time we were joined. I felt him pulse inside me and I felt full. Complete. Whole.
“But can I keep you? I don’t want to let go.”
-=C&C=-
(via jooolsy)
I’ve Never
I’ve never been in that bathroom alone.
The walls were a sickly yellow, like a wilted daffodil. And the whites, which had probably once been sparking, were eggshell. Cracked and jaundiced. The effect of the two made the room appear monotone.
I wasn’t there to look at the walls, so I closed my eyes and the lid and slid my dress up and my fingers between my folds. He always left me like this. It was torture- sweet agony. So I conjured him in my mind, like I always did, and let his ghost debauch me. I felt his fingers in my hair and his cock on my cunt. I felt him thrust in me while my fingers mimicked. And when I came, I muffled my cries from the crowd on the other side of the door.
I turned on the faucet and let the water run. I had no intention of washing my hands. I wanted him to smell me. It was our game. I’d taunt him the rest of the night with the smell of my sex. Of what I did to myself in his name.
I’d imagine that his wife could tell. And that my husband could smell me. They’d suspect. Maybe they even knew. But they couldn’t know what wasn’t true. And they wouldn’t admit it.
I leaned over the sink, catching my breath and letting the flush leave my cheeks. I turned from the sink and took the step from there to the door and grabbed the handle, turning the peeling gold veneer in my palm and pulling it towards me.
He was standing on the other side and before I could process him his hand was in my hair, the other locking the door behind him. He slammed me against the wall and plunged his tongue between my willing lips. His rough fingers pushed aside my panties and repeated the path mine had taken.
He bit me, hard, on the lip, sucking it from my face as if he was going to swallow it. He was chewing on my flesh; he was eating me alive. He fingers clawed at his pants, pushing them down just far enough to release him.
He grabbed my legs and pushed me up the wall. I was surprised at his strength and aroused at the veins popping forth from his forearms. By the time I tore my eyes away from them and his suction-cup lips away from my throat, he was inside me. He pushed his sticky fingers into my mouth and he pounded me like hurricane rain.
The passion lasted as long as a storm. It blew in and he blew up in me and when he set me down I had yellow paint under my nails and cum dripping down my thighs.
I pulled my dress down and smacked him across the face. I left him in the corner, his cock glistening in the fluorescent light, and snuck out the door, running face first into my husband. His cum was drying on my leg and I prayed that my lipstick wasn’t smeared across my face.
“What were you doing in there alone?”
I smiled. Enchanting and masked with the brightest white I could muster.
“Oh, nothing. Nothing.”
-=C&C=-
She was sitting on the coffee table in nothing more than her panties when he came home.
“What are you doing?”
“Drinking wine. “
“Naked?”
“Naked.”
“Any particular reason?”
“Birthers,” she sneered. “I’m drinking this bottle in honor of civil discourse. Maybe I’ll found the first museum dedicated to remembering the days where we had intelligent national debate about issues of importance.”
“Oh?” He couldn’t help but laugh. She had slipped into the ridiculous, a place she was more than familiar with. Politics was always one of her triggers. He sunk into the leather couch behind her, loosening his tie as he leaned into the leather. “Tell me more about your museum. When were these days of civil discourse?”
“Good question. Maybe Revolutionary War era? Certainly not in the past 11 years. Not when the most important thing in the country is discussing whether or not the President was born here so a television schlep can get better ratings while the Speaker of the House mortgages the world financial markets for the sake of political games. Not when there’s a chance in hell that Sarah Palin could be the next President of the United States! All that’s left for us now is wine and fucking.”
“We could move to Canada.”
“Too cold.”
“England?”
“Please. If the Royal Wedding is this bad here, what must it be like there?”
“Good point. So what do we do?”
He’d unbuckled his pants and freed his growing shaft. He pulled her towards him and sat her on his lap, letting his hardened cock nestle itself against her flesh. He placed his lips to her throat and let them lick their way up to her ear.
“We drink wine.”
“And fuck?”
“Maybe.”
“We could watch Rachel Maddow. Would that make you feel better?”
She turned around on his lap and straddled him. She rubbed her wet panties along his cock, grinding down on him while her fingers tangled themselves in his tie. He leaned into her ear, whispering.
“Reid is putting the Ryan plan to a vote in the Senate.” Her eyes lit up and she pushed her panties to the side, simultaneously pushing herself down on his exposed length. She moaned as she engulfed him.
“Harry Reid is a stone cold political pimp,” she managed to growl out as she began to slide herself up and down him.
He smacked her ass and dug his nails into her hips as he matched her rhythm, pushing her further and faster. She threw her head back. She held him only by his tie as her fingers found her clit, rubbing herself to the edge.
His eyes locked with hers and he let one more sentence string from his lips, hoping it’d push her to explode. He needed to feel her body clench around him. He wanted her to milk him dry.
“Vermont is moving to single payer healthcare.”
With a cry she shook and imploded, her nails digging into him and their bodies shuddering together in orgasm. When their breaths slowed and their heart beats ceased being the loudest sound in the room, she nestled against his chest, letting him stroke her hair.
“I guess the wine is as irrelevant as the discourse.”
-=C&C=-
“Get these jeans off.”
She pulled her own shirt over her head as she barked commands from her knees. He swung his belt backward through the buckle and tried not to fumble with his button in the race to remove his pants. The denim had barely passed his knees when she cried out.
“What are those?”
She pointed at the tent rising in his briefs and he looked at her confused. Surely she’d seen an erection before. She’d done a bang up job of causing this one.
“What?”
“Your briefs!”
He blushed under her pointed gaze. He was confident they were clean. He’d pulled them from the dryer that morning. If the offense was his underpants, not their contents, he couldn’t imagine what her objection was.
“What’s wrong with them?”
She gave him a look of disbelief.
“Throw them away.”
He couldn’t help but laugh. His fingers were caught in the elastic band, frozen in time while their conversation played itself out.
“Why would I do that?”
“It’s anarchy!”
“Anarchy?”
“Testicular anarchy!”
She ran her finger up and down his shaft through the ribbed cotton of his briefs. It was enough to keep him hard and pulsing, despite the ridiculous conversation.
“I like keeping them tight and close. Don’t you like them that way, too? Certainly it’s more impressive.”
At that he went to pull them down and let his erection spring forward. She gave him a look that let him know he shouldn’t dare and so he didn’t. Instead he let his arms hang to his sides as she expertly stroked his length as it strained through the fabric.
“I’m a proud testicle fascist. I’m going to rule with an iron fist.”
At that, her hand snaked underneath the thick seam and her hand wrapped around his girth. She pressed it against the fabric, her hand straddling the white cotton like a jockey would a horse.
She brought her other hand to her own panties. Her fingers snuck around the gusset and plunged into her cunt, fast and furious. He could only watch, his mouth agape. She removed her hand, which shimmered like it had been dipped in glitter, and brought it to her mouth. With her tongue she bathed each digit, suckling the juice from her fingers and taunting him with her eyes, which she had locked on his. When her hand was soaked with spit, she brought it to his balls, cupping them and massaging them with her shiny fingers.
At his moan, she brought her lush lips to his head and leaned in, bulldozing the cotton to the mushroom head of his cock. Her breath was warm and wet and her saliva soaked through the fabric, mixing with his pre-cum in the threads. She swirled her tongue and lips around the constrained cock, sucking him roughly.
She pulled back, watching the ecstasy on his face. Her hand tightened its grip and she began to stroke him. Each pump was tight and fast but the wet cotton stayed molded to his head.
With a loud “Fuck!” he erupted, his seed pushing through the fabric to drip like melted ice cream down her hand.
She laughed.
“I warned you. An iron grip. Now throw them away.”
-=C&C=-
“You’re such a whore.”
He growled it almost as if he was preparing to eat me for dinner. I sucked his balls into my mouth, let my tongue swish over them as I felt the weight of his granite cock in my hand.
That weight was taunting me, so I let it rest against my tongue. Let his cock slap my lips and cheek over and over. His delicious pre-cum splattering across my tongue and skin like drops of paint on a canvas.
“A dirty fucking whore.”
With the palm of his hand he pushed me down on all fours, like he was dribbling a basketball. He walked behind me and I spread my legs. I was already dripping for him. So anxious and crazed, I couldn’t stop myself from moaning. I couldn’t stop myself from begging. All I wanted was his cock buried in my warm, wet mess.
I was trembling for his touch. Bracing myself for the force of him slicing through me. I could barely breathe. Suddenly I felt his head gently swipe my lips. He removed it and ran two fingers from my clit to my ass and then back to my cunt, plunging them deep and pounding them inside of me. His fingers curled into my g-spot and my knees nearly gave out below me. I was dying for his cock. My moans had turned to pleas and my drizzle to floods.
He removed his fingers and slid into me slowly. Teasing me. His fingers counted themselves out on my hips- 1…2…3…4…5…6…7…8…9…10- and he slowly drew back, completely removing himself from me. I begged him not to go.
“Such a greedy whore”
I whimpered. I couldn’t help myself.
At my sound he pulled me back and pushed himself forward. We collided and his thick cock tore through me. He pulled back, this time pushing me away until the tip of his head was all that I could grasp between my swollen lips. I clenched down on him, trying to hold him there with all my strength. He laughed at my feeble attempt and pushed himself to the hilt. He repeated the motions, moving me like a wave crashing into his shore. My whimpers turned to screams and my fingers dug into the carpet as he used me. As he took me.
He leaned in, pulling me up to him by the tangled locks of my hair. He bit my ear, growling into it once more before plunging his cock deep inside my quivering cunt.
“I only call you a whore because I want you to call out to God.”
I couldn’t deny him. The words on my lips were baptismal prayers as his fountain of cum showered over my ass.
-=C&C=-
(via inhalesharply)
If they asked me, I could write a book;
About the way you walk, and whisper;
And look.
It was always the same. I’d have a bad day. Break a heel. Get caught in the rain. Come home with a frown and a head full of frizz. You’d be there, waiting for me with candles, Sinatra, and wine. I’d melt into your arms like sugar into tea, your thick arms steeling around me, your fingers threading through my hair. And then I’d find your eyes. So dark and deep, I didn’t need the wine.
I could write a preface;
On how we met;
That the world will never forget.
We’d spin around like snowflakes in the wind, sparkling glitter in a whirlwind of laughter and touch. Your hand molded into my back. Your fingers were built for my form. Your waltz had more scorch than a tango and my burning lips couldn’t resist your cooling kiss.
And the simple;
Secret of the plot;
Is just to tell them;
That I love you, a lot.
Isn’t it funny how our dance would always lead to the bedroom? We’d twirl until I was dizzy with lust and you’d wrap me in your arms. Your lips would make their way from my ear down to the nap of my neck. Your fingers would deftly remove my dress. It puddled at my feet and my lingerie quickly joined it, though I can’t be sure if it was your fingers or your teeth that unclasped my bra. I reached back, desperate to pull you closer. To feel you throb against me.
Somehow your clothes would come off and I’d fall forward, opening for you. Waiting for you. I would never wait long. Our waltz would go on horizontally. Your movements were just as graceful on that plane. And, as the crescendo of our bodies reached its final chorus, you’d lean into me and whisper.
“Beautiful.”
Then the world discovers;
As my book ends;
How to make two lovers of friends.
-Lyrics by Rodgers and Hart
-=C&C=-
I’m Not A Slut
“If you want to fuck me, say you’re sorry.”
“No.”
“I’m serious. Apologize.”
“Never.”
I squirmed out of his arms, wiggling my ass just inches from his lust-layered face before retreating to the arched doorway.
“Fine. Have it your way. But I’m not a slut.”
I turned to walk down the hall only to hear him rise from his seat. I started to run to the bedroom and my heart pounded in time to the boom, boom, boom of his footsteps as they chased after me. I reached the bed and turned, giggling and out of breath to find his hard frame lined up with mine. He grabbed my wrists and pushed me onto the bed, his muscles following me down. He pinned my arms above my head with one hand and shoved his the other into my pants. His calloused fingers found my pussy lips covered in drizzling dew.
“Funny, you sure feel like a slut. Maybe you’re just a whore.”
“Maybe.” I thought about fighting back. I tried to think about some witty reply but I couldn’t get past the idea of my tongue tracing his bulging artery down his neck. I opted for danger. “Maybe I should go fuck someone with a bigger cock.” I could see the flames shoot through his eyes.
“Maybe. But could you find someone with a bigger cock that would fuck you as hard as I’m about to?” He sunk his teeth into my neck as his erection throbbed against my thigh. “Would he know how much his good little whore loves to suck cock? How she likes to gag on it while it’s being forced down her throat?”
He removed his probing fingers and straddled my body. The metal of his belt buckle clanked as he freed his cock from his pants. I barely took a breath before it was in my mouth, sliding down my throat. I gagged and gulped for air as best I could while pushing myself to take more of him.
“That’s it, girl. Take it all. Your whore mouth loves this, doesn’t it?”
I couldn’t talk. But my eyes told him he was right.
He pushed his dick into my cheek like a lollipop, stretching my mouth. He pulled out, allowing me a breath but capturing my mouth in his hand and slapping his wet cock against my skin.
“Ready for more, girl? Can you take more cock down that cum trap?”
I nodded but he had already resumed, thrusting his hips back and forth toward my opened jaw.
“Your cunt’s mine tonight, princess.” He pulled out and I watched as my saliva went with him, a ski lift from my sloppy mouth. I felt my jeans being torn off me. His nails dragging down my hips as he pulled the cloth from my skin.
“Get on your knees,” he commanded and I turned and crawled forward on the bed.
Without notice his hand slapped against my ass. “Ow! Fuck you!”
“I’m about to, slut.”
“I’m not a slut!” It was a weak protest and he knew it. Feigning outrage was one of my favorite hobbies.
He reached out and pulled me back to him, my face dragging along the sheets for the quick foot and a half journey. Without warning he plunged inside me, not stopping until he proved he couldn’t go further.
His hips jack-hammered into me. I wanted to say something. Anything. To prove he was wrong.
But he wasn’t.
I was a dirty fucking slut who couldn’t get enough cock. Or cum. Preferably both. Fuck it. I thought. Might as well embrace it.
His fingers dug into my hips as he slammed his body against me. His grunts were like love songs and the slaps against my ass were poems written in red.
“I-I want your cum. Please. Please.”
“Of course you do. What are you?”
“I’m a slut!”
“Who’s slut?”
“Your slut. I’m your slut! Please?”
“Good girl.”
-=C&C=-
“It’s raining in the city tonight.”
“We’re twenty miles from the city.”
I turned from the dusty wood of the window and looked at you, wondering if you realized the sentiment behind my comment. If you knew I was thinking of him.
Again.
You leaned into your leather chair and went back to your book, so I retreated to my head, my glazed eyes watching the twinkle of the moon off the leaves. Seconds, maybe minutes later you were behind me, your hands wrapping around me, your lips on my neck, nuzzling into my skin and burning my bones to a smoldering ash.
I melted into you- caramelized sugar under the pressure of your heat. I closed my eyes and tried to picture his lips. They were thinner, not as plush. They pushed against mine with more intensity. Yours were slow like spreading melted butter on bread. I wondered which would burn me more- the fire of his lust or the flame of your love?
You peeled back my clothing like petals off a rose, laying tiny, teasing kisses along my shoulders and up my neck. Your fingers closed around my breast. Your thumb played with my nipple. Pushing it back and forth. Stopping time with its metronome. And when your nail etched your initial in that sensitive nub I thought my body would rise in the phoenix flames.
Your hands were under my knees and I was in your arms, clutching your thick neck and feeling your heart beat its way out of your chest. You laid me down along that leather sofa, my white skin contrasting its midnight black. I arched my hips while your fingers slid beneath the soft silk of my panties, removing everything but the air between us.
You didn’t fuck me like the world was ending- like he did. You moved above me slow like molasses. Your fingers found their way to my folds. Found their way into me. He moved with purpose. He was a conqueror- he wanted liquid gold. You were the archeologist, excavating with precision. With respect for buried treasures you would give anything to understand.
He made me explode in pyrotechnic fireworks over ocean waves. You simmer me until I boil and bubble over into myself. Like cooking a lobster, I didn’t know what was coming until I was lost in your rolling water. Until your cock was buried deep in me and my body was no longer my own. My hips arched to meet yours, our lips fused together and you captured my screams in your breath.
The pulse of your cock joined the beat of your heart and the drumming overwhelmed me. I closed my eyes and tried to remember if he ever left me so breathless. Only your voice revived me.
“Is he a substitute me?”
“No, he’s a counterfeit you.”
-=C&C=-
