I’ve Got It From Here
“I don’t eat pussy,” he tells me, like he’s at a restaurant commenting on the menu and not perched between my legs, wrapped around me on his bed.
He looks up at me expectantly, and I can only nod a hesitant okay. What else can I do? So I nod, and stay silent, trying to hide my disappointment when he moves up to kiss me, the matter settled.
He kisses like a champ. It’s what brought me here in the first place. We met a few hours ago. I think his name is Greg but I’m not entirely sure. We said hello. He made a comment about the music, and then we started kissing like old lovers that found each other again.
And he took my breath away.
And here we are now, lying in his California King bed that’s much too huge for one person, and I ask myself how many women he fucked in this bed since the last time he changed the sheets.
Maybe I shouldn’t think about that.
I wrap my legs around him. His skin is smooth and soft, and I find myself rubbing my hands down his back, lost in the moment.
I wonder what kind of sex he expects us to have with oral sex out of the equation. It’s been a long time since I’ve had sex without going down on the guy.
Like he’s reading my thoughts, he kisses me. And takes my breath away again. I can feel his hands working my breast, and soon I relax into him, silently pleading for more.
We started both fully dressed. I realize that and work to rectify it, unbuttoning my shirt for him, so that I can feel his hands on my skin.
He pushes my bra out of the way and takes my left nipple hungrily into his mouth. That, at least, he is willing to put his mouth on, and I am grateful.
I tug at his pants. He takes the hint and unbuttons them for me. Then, realizing he might as well, he climbs off the bed and takes his clothes off completely, and I get to see him naked for the first time.
And oh, he is beautiful, with a fine streak of dark blonde hair running down his tight stomach to his crotch. Even his pubic hair is blonde. Short and soft, nestling the biggest dick I’ve seen in ages. The girth is impressive. I take it into my hand. It’s already fully erect, standing at attention, with a cockhead that’s smooth and bulbous and it makes my mouth water.
And I stop myself. You don’t eat pussy. Fine. Then I won’t suck your dick.
Such a shame, really, I think, pulling my panties off. I’m a girl who loves to suck a dick well. I believe in a job well done.
I also believe in returning the favor.
So instead of sucking him off I grab him by the cock and guide him back to the bed.
He doesn’t disappoint. My pussy is already wet and ready, but it still feels tight as he slides inside me. I can feel him stretching my muscles, making way and it feels incredible. Like a much-needed massage.
Like he’s relieving some tension I didn’t even know I had. I lie back and relax, and he takes the cue to lead the way, sliding all the way inside me and stretching me out for himself.
He starts slowly at first, accommodating himself inside, rubbing his crotch on me, stimulating my clit and making my eyes roll to the back of my head.
It feels amazing to have a cock inside me again, to feel his weight on me as he splits me open.
He stretches me out so I can take all of him, and soon he’s sliding in and out of my dripping wet pussy like he belongs there. Like my pussy already knows his cock and is more than happy to have him.
“Harder,” I tell him, and he complies, pounding me hard and fast, just how I like it. It feels so good I spread my legs wider for him, holding my toes in each hand, inviting him to go as far inside me as he can.
It’s a wild ride. Every time he pounds me I can feel him stretching my pussy open widely. It sends shocks of pleasure all over my body, and I want more.
And then too soon, he comes.
I hope he can at least finish me off; he pounds into me twice, rolls over and sighs.
And I laugh out loud.
I’m not done, not even slightly, and thought it felt amazing to be pounded by a dick as wide as my wrist, my clit is still twitching from the incomplete orgasm it’s currently housing, waiting to explode.
He looks at me, incredulous, and I laugh out loud again, staring up at the ceiling and moving my hands down my body.
My pussy is sopping wet to the touch, and sensitive. It feels like my clit is engorged with arousal and is practically peeking out of the folds of my vulva, begging to be minded. I find it immediately, and though it’s sensitive, I manage to place four fingers flatly on it and massage it. My clit is too sensitive for direct touch. I prefer a palm to a finger, a massage to a flick, and right now as I am about to come it is so sensitive that I close my eyes and lose myself.
I can feel him watching me as I am masturbating. His breath flows over my nipples, it’s ragged and uneven and I can feel his excitement, but it doesn’t distract me. I am lost in the feeling of my own fingers pressing on my clit, moving fast, and boy, do they know where to go. And soon, I feel that moment. That moment. That moment when you know you’ve gone from just feeling good to erupting, and I feel my orgasm, finally being set free. It’s a hard one, that one that catches you a little by surprise by its intensity.
The first wave of convulsions hits me and I collapse.
I groan, I twitch, I moan.
My clit is too sensitive now but I still keep my fingers in place, moving them in increments, too sensitive for more, but still needing that last twitch, that last convulsion inside of me.
I let out a deep breath when I’m done, and stare up at the ceiling again. My body is vibrating now. Humming pleasantly, energized. I get up quickly and start getting dressed.
He’s surprised by my speed and stutters. “Ummm,” he manages to say. “Do you need me to take you home?”
And I laugh for the third time, and I kiss him. He is at least, unequivocally, a good kisser.
“No, its okay,” I tell him. “I think I’ve got it from here.”