painted pink

She said she’d painted her nails a pretty pink, and that I’d see them soon enough. My phone buzzed about ten minutes early and it was really “soon enough,” I joked to myself, letting her in. Dressed in a white pea coat with skinny jeans and butter brown boots up to her knees and her blonde hair was messy in that intentionally-styled-flowing-carelessness that makes other women jealous of her on the subway and street, she carried a gaudy floral print duffel bag which seemed way over-stuffed, but I thought maybe she was planning for contingencies.

“Ta-da!” she said, fingers pointed down and showing me the back of her hand, but her wiggling fingers were to be the focus, and I’m sure that I said something clever, maybe even grabbed her hand to hold it still so I could see it better. But whatever touch came first it could not come faster, and even though we had the whole weekend (our first spent together like this), there was a rush movement of our hands, a hurry in the press of our lips.

I forgot who grabbed the bag and which hand led who, but we were in the bedroom next and on the bed with her coat thrown towards the dresser and maybe landing on top of an open drawer but definitely off her and my hands under the loosely crocheted sweater and tugging the tank top out from the waistband of her jeans as her hands were already pulling my t-shirt up over my chest and shoulders. Someone gave in first and maybe it was me because I was too preoccupied with my lips planted on hers and my hands on her bare skin.

Rolling on the bed we wrestled our way to her on top of me, her sweater was yanked half over her head and so she pulled it all the way off, my hands on either side of her hips and thumbs spilling over thighs with my fingers wide over the denim still cold to the touch. My erection rudely prodded upward and she grimaced knowingly. We needed to get rid of the pants.

Us both rolling away, I made short work of my belt, jeans, and boxers. Naked, I turned to her on her back, knees together and jeans only halfway off, the boots disposed of off the side of the bed. Standing and holding her ankles with one hand, I pressed between her ass with the other, wet fabric against the fingertip of my thumb.

Pushing harder, I felt the soggy fabric on either side of my finger with the wetness washing warm over it. Pushing harder, feeling pussy lips parting and slowly buckling to the pressure, yielding and giving way until the fabric pressed past it and those lips curled over the edge and touched my finger. Pushing harder, her eyes closed and arms now stretched wide on the bed with her chest rapidly rising and falling with ragged breath. Pushing harder, the slick of her wet soaking completely through the fabric.

My cock brushed against her leg she whimpered for it and I let her ankles go to pull at the waistband and she lifted her ass just enough so I could pull the now-soggy panties up around her knees and with the majority of the crumpled denim. I pushed in quick, shallow and strained thrusts with her legs still stuck at the knees and me unable to really fuck her the way I wanted but then I saw her fingers digging into the bed as she shook, tensed, and came, and the painted pink fingernails against the white sheets.  They really were pretty.

(17-February, 2011: Hello, Fleshbot!)