I’ve seen him around, knew he liked to second glance, but continued to profess I wasn’t his type. No big deal, really. His comment late one evening caught me off-guard. Working late is the usual, him joining me in the kitchen for our caffeine fix, cracking jokes, playful banter, harmless flirting… typical when we’re the only two left.
“I think I’m ready for you…” as he leans against the sink, body angled toward me while my head bends over the Flavia machine. I glance quickly at his earnest face and tilt my head back to my task, chuckling.
“Cute, but no you’re not”.
“Look I know I’ve said you’re not my type in the past. I usually don’t date big girls, but I want to fuck you.”
There’s always that split second debate to see if you should proceed with caution or throw cautions’ lame ass to the wind. Stopping mid-motion, I take two steps to close our gap, resting my body firmly against his frame. There’s a slight wiggle to make sure I’m properly aligned, giving him time to suitably place his hands or protest the invasion.
Ardently with eyes glancing downcast lashes, breath easing out in a whisper, standing on tip toe to bring my lips near his own.
“Are you sure you’re ready?”
His reaction fulfilled my hope as he wrapped his arms around my back, hands resting firmly at the gentle curve of my ass. He closes his eyes and dips down. Mine remain open reading his motions, waiting for that switch from robotic to passionate. Hmm, is he really ready? I open my mouth to suck on his lower lip, the soft groan as he deepens the kiss sliding his tongue into my mouth adjusting my head for better access in the process.
My hands glide from their resting place on his chest to tweak his earlobes and outline his ears before my nails scratch at the nape of his neck, interlocking at the base of his skull. As the motions of his hands change from gentle to rough, I stop trying to test him and accept the desire. Ummhmm yum. Breaking the kiss I slide my hands to his chest.
“I want you to feel me”.
I turn around, repositioning the bulge to the crevice of my backside, exaggerating the arch, guiding his arms underneath mine. Hands on top of his, I start at my neck gliding his callused palms over my body, resting probing fingers at the underside of my breasts, nipples protruding at the mere hint of pleasure.
“These need support; they love to be spoiled with attention.”
Forming his hand around the weight, I moan a mix of frustration and anticipation. I’m annoyed by the friction of the fabric, the absence of flesh-to-flesh contact. I want to wait, to see how much I can take. I make small circular motions around his penis. His hiss echoes my groan as I usher his hands underneath my dress pushing up the wire holding my beasts in place.
I relax my hold on his wrists; let his hands wring gasps from my mouth. A chick could get lost in these sensations of nipples brought to peak, tugged to submission, mashed back to place where palms cosset the mold.
Sobering a fraction I mutter “you should feel all of me” chaperoning his hands has they travel slowly over every inch: down rolls and dimples. “Sorry, no flat plains here, but the prize is still the same”. I bring his hands together leading them down to the peak of my triangle, then separating them to usher them back to the underside of my breasts. Again and again the steady slide, so he understands the body before him, acknowledges the lack of shame of the owner, notices the spots that are sensitive to his touch.
Head leaning against his left shoulder he bites my earlobe, wet suction at the crook of my neck, heavily breathing until my hands fall away… He’s ready and so am I. I feel drenched, slight thrusts forward tired of the game. Attention is needed to appease the ache. I bite my lip as his hands move downward, one wraps around my waist supporting the ballet pointe of my toes, full weight against his body. He slips his fingers through my curls careful not to part the lips, knowing that’s what I want. He’s taking me out of my flimsy position of control. He lets one finger trace the slit hovering on the cusp of diving in.
I can’t help it, I start to squirm. He huffs a chuckle, the warm air tickling the spots he previously marked with his tongue.
“I got you”.
Two fingers jolt past the folds of my lips swirling over my opening, dancing up to my clit. He tweaks it—hard easing the first grip of tension, which immediately rises back to the surface unsatisfied. Back and forth spreading juices he plunges two fingers in, thumb at the trigger. He puppets my moans.
Hot all over, my head thrashes slightly, body sways side to side, it’s coming. His arm around my waist tightens as my knees start to buckle. Breath panting, moans guttural, he moves the arm around my waist higher playing with one nipple then the other, never ceasing his southern strokes.
The thug in me hates that one teardrop falls at my peak, legs lock up. He can feel it as his thumb digs deeper into my clit, tightening its circle. I cum. Faintly, I feel his smile gracing the top of my shoulder.
He continues soft pets, still supporting my body, easing me out of my pleasure.
Breathing normal, strength regained.
Your turn… Are you ready?
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