Did I bring it up?
It’s my fantasy so I must have. I can’t imagine the opposite scenario and yet can’t quite remember where it came from. Deep in the recesses of my depraved brain, no doubt. I remember the conversation leading in. Did I really plan that far back? I don’t think so. Perhaps though, my brain is way ahead of me when it comes to fantasy fulfillment. I sometimes think it seems as though it’s all too easy for me to get what I want in bed.
Still, I was nervous. I got up and threw on the shirt offered me before I even thought. As I wandered out to the living room, my brain began to scream at me, demand an explaination for my behaviour, demand a validation, concrete evidence that I wasn’t about to make a complete ass of myself.
I circled through the kitchen, ostensibly to pour myself a noisy glass of water and then back to the bedroom, wide-eyed. What was I thinking?
I couldn’t settle though and out I went again and again, each time increasing the volume designed to stir my target from slumber.
Oddly, it’s not as if this target was someone who had ever occurred to me in this light before. Reasonably attractive, easy going and with just enough in common to hold a conversation with, the idea of my mouth on his cock certainly seemed far from the realm of the probable a mere few hours earlier.
With an attitude akin to that of a kamikaze pilot, I finalized my approach, climbing in next to him, lightly running a hand down the side of his prone form.
He’s slender, bony, but as I reach his tightly clad ass, I find it muscular and round. I shy away from allowing my touch to progress further, not wanting to violate, not wanting to cross the bounds of consent. I fear I may already have, despite my intention to rouse.
I wait a few moments, barely breathing, willing him to wake so I can blurt out my proposition, so I can see this decision closed, one way or the other.
I attempt a few more tentative touches, light brushes of the curve between his ribcage and hip, my hand circling around and up his back, deciding that touching his rear end, despite it’s appealing firmness is outside of the bounds of appropriateness.
It’s been a long time since I’ve touched a man this thin, the curve of whose hip bone extrudes like a handle. I want to grab it, push my palm against the top of his cheek and use it to pull myself towards him, to stretch my neck and lightly brush his with my lips, to nibble his inviting collarbone.
I can hear movement in the other room and I am aware of the time passing. In agonized frustration I roll over onto my back. Perhaps if I just wait long enough, he will arouse on his own. Sure, I would expect some confusion, but I’d deal with that when I came to it. My heart is pounding and my nerves frayed. I am ready to get up and bolt, I can picture myself giggling with frazzled nerves at my own gall and my own cowardice, when he rolls over, his arm brushing mine.
I turn slightly towards him, holding my breath. All of a sudden I am terrified he will awaken. Feeling the fool I am. Unbidden, my hand brushes his sinewy forearm and his eyes open. Bleary, he gazes at me. “Hi!” I say brightly, the first greeting that enters my mind leaving my lips as quickly as it occurs to me. His eyes clear and he looks back, a knowing grin spreading across his features. “Hi!” he replies.
His expression turns to questioning and I reach out and brush a hand against his chest, circling around waist and travelling down for that much-anticipated second stroke of his rear end. This time I squeeze it, pull him towards me. “He knows I’m out here.” I murmur and he responds “I assume so” His lips meet mine and I’m surprised that this I do not have to initiate.
His kiss is soft, softer than most I’ve encountered, but not sloppy as the looser embrochures my experiences have tended towards. I draw away, my heart now pouding, breath shallow in my lungs. I can feel already the pressure behind his jeans, pressing against my thigh. I’m stunned and titillated by the speed of his arousal. “I’m not stepping on anyone’s toes, am I?” I ask, breathlessly. He smiles, pulling me confidently toward him, I am also surprised with the stride he takes this in, as if it is a common occurance in his life to wake next to a mostly disrobed woman. “Don’t worry about it” he replies. I think he adds that it’s ok, but I can’t be sure because I’m swept away by the rapid engorgement of my own sex.
Soon my lips are locked against his, the loose man’s shirt that has hung to just below my hips riding up with each motion of our pelvises. I sense the entry of my partner and my heart skips a beat and my breath catches as I wait for the outcome of this addition, this next step. Again, his stride is not broken. I reach my hand down the front of his pants, sliding across his trembling stomach and past the cool chrome and stiff leather of his belt.
As I massage the already calescent hard-on, flicking my wrist to free it from his waistband I lay my head on his shoulder and whisper into his ear. “Is this ok?”
He raises his hips towards my palm and looks me straight in the eyes. “I don’t hear me complaining” he responds. I reach my other hand around and grasp his belt buckle. “As long as you’ll let me know,” I say, sliding my fingertips between the layers of leather. From the corner of my eye I can see my partner beginning to stroke his growing cock. My fingers pry harder at the stiff band and I raise my head, to focus my eyes on the contrivance there. It is not the standard pronged, end bar enclosure and I manipulate my hand to the next type in my experience vaults.
It’s not one of those either.
Shit.
Perhaps it’s the sort with a toothy slider, the sort most usually seen on canvas belts. I squint and adjust the angle of my head, all dreams of a smooth seduction seeming ridiculous as my fingers fumble with increasing frustration. Fortunately, the belt’s wearer steps in, freeing me from the torment of the inept.
His cock is so hard that the skin is stretched completely smooth. He slides his pants off his hips and I straddle his thighs, pinning his legs to the bed and using my tongue to add lubrication. Following the path with my hand.
Reaching up under his balls and stroking his shaft with my free hand, I begin to work on the tip, flicking it playfully with my tongue and then wrapping my lips around it to tease the ridge with the stud in my tongue.
My partner rises and crosses around to my rear, grasping my back just above the tailbone and massaging his cock between the folds of my pussy. I gasp, a soft moan escaping as I tilt my hips toward his, a slight shimmy in them to press him deeper between my thighs. I whimper as he enters me and plunge my head down further over the dick in my mouth, wanting both ends as full as I can muster, matching the rythm of my gasping fellatio to that of my trembling hips.
My mouth fills, but the cock in it throbs for more, not faltering in its state of arousal, I lick it clean, shifting my weight for a change of position.
I am carried away by sensation, by hands on my breasts, my ass, my hips, my head. I am presented with two dicks, trembling before my face and I squeal with glee, encasing the saliva drenched one in a condom and begining slow licks of the other. Soon the positions are switched and I massage tight balls as an unfamiliar length enters me. Unfamiliar hands grasp my hips, unnecessarily gentle, as new partners tend to be.
I’m carried away again in a flurry of sound and touch, of moans and slurps and grunts of pleasure. My body quakes and I let out a high-pitched shudder as orgasm washes over me. I use one hand to press the knob between my pussy lips against the base of the cock inside me, to draw out orgasm after orgasm. My mouth is filled again and again the twitching cock does not give out.
Hours have passed and I lie on my back now, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on my skin. Exhaustion is setting in but my enthusiasm has not waned. I grip a shaft in each hand and feel a dribble across the back of one, as hips are pushed towards me. My partners too are tired. Were the year a bit older the sun would be creeping up over the buildings outside.
It seems a cigarette is in order.
Visceral Lit 