It was useless to regret standing in her doorway and walking through. It was senseless to have shame or doubt or whatever else because that’s not what she wanted when she called me, and it certainly wasn’t what she wanted when she turned and saw my face and asked me if everything was okay and if I wanted something to drink or eat or any of those pleasantries that are tossed so faintly into the open but they’re transparent and thin and weak little ghosts of a dying relationship that fly with the wind as soon as we acknowledge why I’m really here.

There was fear in her eyes, in certain lights, and I would catch it every now and then. We sat on her couch awkwardly and at a strange distance as our bodies didn’t know how close or how far to be from each other.

I didn’t think she wanted to talk. It was simply too soon. And I knew that I was also struggling to understand what happened last time, and why I made her cry— no, why it felt the way it did to make her cry, and to make her bleed. “Get up,” I finally said, even though we had just sat down. I issued another command: “Bedroom.”

She reached for the hem of her shirt— this large, oversized thing with an oversized scoop-neck that slung off her shoulder— while walking and I batted her hands away. She turned her head and I placed my hand on the nape of her neck and guided her the fifteen more steps to the edge of the bed. I wanted to undress her.

Grabbing at the shirt I slowly raised it off her body and her arms went up with it. Noticing a thin tank top underneath it, I bunched up the two fabrics and brought them up together. At her neck I guided the shirts over her head and the short brown hair fluffed a little. The pair were thrown towards the closet and her back was bare to me.

I lay a hand between her shoulder blades and pushed until she leaned forward onto the bed. Her knee raised as if to crawl onto it but I held her hips and brought her ass against me— my cock already lewdly forming a tent in my slacks. Silently, she stood bent over and I reached my fingertips under the waistband of her tights. I didn’t feel another band of elastic. I didn’t see panty lines.

With a quick yank I pulled the dark gray tights down off her ass and to her mid thigh. The elastic stretched but still dug into her skin and her ass blossomed up and out of it. I might have heard her gasp in surprise.

This is how I left her and she wisely didn’t move as I stepped back and unknotted my tie, the silk scratchy and rough and very audible in the silent room. It rubbed against my collar with a vhurr and I undid my shirt, button by button, each almost with a snap. I slid the shirt off my shoulders and laid them on top of an open drawer of her dresser. The belt buckle clanged a little and it too vhurred out of the belt loops of my dress pants. The zipper zipped and I stepped out of my pants and boxers and socks.

She was waiting, very patiently.

My bare footsteps brought me behind her and I placed my left hand on her left ass cheek and the skin was cold to the touch. My thumb was at her tailbone and I held it firm. I raised my right hand and my arm loaded with tension and even though she lay with her chest on the bed and her head on its side she could only see the left side of my body and the sound of something moving through the air came to her at about the same time as my hand landed flush on her ass and the skin rippled and gave way with the deafening slap surprising even me as I realized I hit her harder than I had planned but thoughts were out the window at this point as my hand pulled back and off her skin but I didn’t look at it or her ass cheek as I heard her yelp now and my hips thrust forward and cock violently shoved inside her slippery wet cunt creating a louder yelp— mid-yelp— and maybe we can call it a cry now.

I didn’t move and I was pushed in her as far as I could go with her legs unable to spread apart because of the waistband of her tights round her thighs. I felt the wetness around my cock and maybe even against the top of my balls but really my mind was to her back trembling and her hands grabbing fistfuls of the blanket and sheets as she cried into the bed. I let her notice that I stood still. She gulped back her tears. She swallowed and she said my name.

Grabbing her waist I bent my knees and loaded my weight and pulled out of her entirely before ramming in again with her pussy almost sucking me back in. She buried her face into the bed and her ass up with her on her tiptoes and absorbing each thrust and push and my legs burning with lactic acid and maybe I even grunted in exertion. Each time out the cold air splashed against the head of my cock and each time in the heat burning all the way to the base.

I was able to reach down and I tore at her tights as she raised one leg and we somehow got them around her knees and she was able to crawl up onto the bed as I followed her while still crashing my cock in and out of her pussy. Her foot pulled out of the tights and was ice against my knee and we managed to both climb onto the bed, her head still down and her hips still propped up with her knees. She was pushing back as much as I was pushing forward and I could feel the sweat forming on her back.

The underside of my cock was rubbing right against the front wall of her pussy and I panted and shut my eyes and felt the swell at the tops of my thighs and my ass clench. She had raised her upper body up on her elbows and whimpered. I came first, and my cock felt like it grew twice as thick or she became twice as tight. Shuddering, she sucked in a breath and shook and came right as I jerked and twitched hard in her cunt. Somehow we’d stopped moving but the room was still spinning as if still had to catch up to our frenzied motions.

And she melted as soon as I pulled out of her, lifeless and spent on the bed, soaking the sheets in a puddle of cum and sweat underneath me, and this transition to the liquid state is where we’ll leave it all for now.

“Everything is green,” she tells me idly, although I know it isn’t true. The sky is lit blue and the trees are still naked and bare and brown. The city is (still) swathed in varying shades of gray and grime, desperately waiting for Spring rains to wash the traces of Winter away.

Her face was fair and freckled, with only the slightest traces of makeup, and she tells me despite her blonde hair that she’s “some part” Irish and that’s what she really means. I laugh and tell her that I will kiss only “some part” of her then, and this is how we play (sometimes).

A carry-on is stuffed and sitting in the hall and she’s left the handle pulled up, and a tote hangs from it. Next to it is a larger, bulkier suitcase. Both are bulging and threaten to explode with clothing. And this is how I can tell that she can’t stay long. Sure, her jeans peeled off easily and she wore a baggy sweatshirt bearing the name of her college that went up and over her head easily. She didn’t rush or hurry or give me any indication that she had to go, but then again she knows me well enough by now: I figure things out.

But I’m also good at putting things at the back of my mind, like the truth that three months apart is an eternity. That Skype and iChat and FaceTime and even just phone calls won’t be the same as holding her in my arms and feeling her bare skin against mine.

And maybe this is why when we stopped talking and let our hands instead communicate with each other, fingers interlocking (or maybe when our lips wouldn’t part for longer than one breath) I looked into her eyes and maybe said a few words in my mind that I shouldn’t have. As if she could hear me, she looked away (eyes to the corner) and then back with a fiercer stare.

She slid against my body with little friction and let herself down on my cock without a sound. Arms wrapped around my neck, she bit her lip and held her breath but we didn’t speak. Our foreheads touched and my hands were at her waist and we sunk into the bed deeper and deeper. And even as we rolled over we held each other closer and closer despite the pushing of hips and the clenching of legs and the room spinning and going black as I’m sure I didn’t breathe for a long while.

I wanted to commit the curves of her body to memory. To swim in the feel of her pussy around me, to breathe nothing but the air from her lips. I was drowning myself, to burn the feel-sight-taste-sound-smell of her into my mind.

This is how we were, for the last time in what would be a long time, hips meeting in tenderness while our mouths stuck with peltering kisses that stole away even more air. I cupped her breasts softly as if to confirm that they were there, and that my hands were just there too. The pace quickened, and we both knew it, and maybe felt rushed now, but it wasn’t that much of a worry because she was cumming and so was I and that was very important.

Time passes so quickly (sometimes).

We lay still but then dressed quickly and she used the bathroom while I got her bags and we hailed a cab outside. And her hair was blonde and face was freckled and everything was green.

(from 19-January, 2009)

The movements were subtle, at first, but definitely noticeable, the almost imperceptible crunching of the down feathers muffled by the cotton accompanying the jostling in the bed. I opened my eyes lazily, slightly, barely.

She was on her stomach, facing away from me, hair spread out on the pillow, the only thing up and above the comforter. It was cold, my face now registering the icy room temperature-– winter had bared its teeth this week, reintroduced us to its howl, and scratched hard with claws of frost. The lumps and folds hid her body, the shape of it unseen and covered, my senses still groggily making their way to the surface, unable to discern at first what she was doing, or if she’d simply been repositioning herself.

It was then that I heard her emit a muffled sigh, a breath taking a turn through her throat and carrying with it an almost pained sound. I paid more attention.

Her leg pushed up against mine, the skin cold, feet icy, but presence welcome. She pushed it flat against my leg and I could feel it from knee to ankle. Looking at the curious gathering of the comforter, I pretended to have x-ray vision, my eyes through the feathers and cotton, to see the curve of the small of her back as she pushed her stomach into the bed while lifting her ass. Another half-sigh, sprinkled with a half moan; the bed gently swaying with her motions.

Her hands were at her pussy.

Her wrists were pinned under her body, and her legs were spread apart, bent at the knees. Her back was arched as she reached down, fingers delicately prodding her pussy lips, arms moving up and down, her breasts squashed with nipples hard against the sheets.

Done watching (or, imagining, as it were), I shifted slowly in bed, careful not to startle her. I moved my leg gently against hers, letting a sound out from my mouth. She turned her head to me as I blinked my eyes open, seeing her eyes wide and wild, biting her lower lip. My hand reached out to her, under the comforter, and found her bare ass, my fingers stretching and palm flat against it as I squeezed. She blinked, and took her time opening her eyes.

I rolled over and onto her, my chest now against her bare back, arms on either side of her shoulders, and legs nestled between her thighs. She sucked in her breath as I brushed against her pussy-– my hips cradling her ass. I felt her fingers reaching for me, her ass raising higher as she reached her arms lower under her body and beneath her pussy.

The movement had lifted a corner of the comforter and let the cold air seep its way in, our bodies suddenly hit with a chill and simultaneous shiver. I breathed on her neck, my breath sifting through her hair. She pulled my cock flat against her pussy and held it there, the warmth pouring over it. Seeking each other’s warmth, we pressed together, breathed heavily, and I slipped into her.

Her pussy enveloped me, three-hundred-and-sixty degrees of warmth wrapping around my cock, itself hot and firm, diving into her. My body lay on top of her body, the heat radiating outward from our hips trapped between us. She turned her head to the side and we clutched at sideways kisses, breath humid and moist-– I imagined it to be visible like puffy white wisps of steam.

The comforter still lay perched above my shoulders, crinkled in a tiny bit under her body, only the smallest tendrils of cold able to weave in between our bodies, quickly developing beads of sweat as her hands moved in circles around her pussy lips while I rocked my hips in and out, her ass cheeks cushioning each blow.

Her legs twitched, stiff with tension, and her breath hurried to gasps, my arms ached from holding the majority of my weight over her body without squashing her flat. I was sweating and feeling my head now in a strange state of hot and cold, like after exercising outside in the winter. She ground herself upward into me, ass raising higher as her hands moved faster, surely sandwiching her clit at the same time as she pressed her pussy lips against my cock as it slid in and out.

My own legs tightened. I clenched my ass together, my hips feeling the familiar rush right at the tops of my thighs as I gasped, groaned, and came. She twitched too, this time holding it as her legs shot straight and locked at the knees, hands frozen still, breath and body held, her pussy the only part of her moving as it squeezed at me relentlessly.

I pulled myself gently off her body, a moment or ten later, after we’d started breathing again, and landed on my side of the bed, the sheets cold against my back. Still on her stomach, I pulled her to me, close, and her body nestled against mine; our two heads poking up out of the lumpy down comforter pulled in tight, with everything else, under the covers.

(10-March, 2011: Thanks, Fleshbot!)

She confessed (once) that she had never owned any pearls; her grandmother’s antique necklace and earrings having been claimed by her older sister (for prom or something like that) and owned ever since. And I thought it would go nicely with her blonde hair and slender neck (especially with that hair brought up) so that’s exactly what I purchased for her birthday, feeling a little like a fish out of water in the jewelry store on Fifth Avenue. Even though I was referred by a friend of a friend of a coworker, I couldn’t help feeling like I overpaid, but you make these kinds of mistakes out of unfamiliarity and impulse.

And later that week when she came by with her gaudy floral duffel bag (now her weekend staple), we embraced, kissed, and I pulled the thin knit scarf off her neck, weaving my arms in and around hers, the cool pearls a sudden shock against her bare skin. Her fingers flew to feel it before I could close the clasp, and I placed the hinged box with the earrings in between us. She quickly put the large, near-perfect spheres into her ears (the small, now-evacuated diamond-esque studs now lost into a pocket somewhere) squealed with delight, and we turned to face the mirror in the hallway to see the completed set on her. I saw what looked like a girlfriend in the arms of her boyfriend.

And we had dinner, talked about work, and somehow ended up (as we always do) lips locked and making out like teenagers on the couch with the TV low and the music from my computer playing over the chatter and I wondered if maybe the only thing that we have over the teens is that our movements are no longer awkward and unsteady. That is, we know where it will lead.

So in the bedroom, with my witty and ironic t-shirt pulled off and over my head (tossed in the direction of the closet), the button on my jeans and fly open, I sat on the edge of the bed as she grabbed her bag and ducked into the bathroom. Maybe patience, too, I thought, again returning to the thoughts of teens rushing their lips against each other as if the world would end, probing hands and inexperienced fingers fumbling with erogenous zones, and I nearly chuckled to myself about the clumsiness of that term when she opened the bathroom door and stood (posing ridiculously, and her smirk showed that she knew it) wearing the pearls on her ears and on her neck (wrapping the necklace around twice almost like a collar), a black lace bra and thong, and thigh-high black patterned stockings.

She stood on her toes and took striding bouncy steps to the bed and I joked that this was the best birthday ever. Tugging on one strand of pears around her neck so that the other pulled tighter, she suggested I keep the birthday girl happy, and who was I to argue with that?

Thankful that I’d shaved, I put my chin against her abdomen and my nose fell between her breasts with my hands on her ass pressing her even closer to me as I breathed in her scent in huge lung-fulls. My lips pursed and puckered against her and I nuzzled lower and lower against the strain of my back. Pivoting her body around mine, I swung her around and she landed on the bed as I rose to my feet.

Propped up on her elbows, she crossed her legs and held them tight. Looking at me from the side of slender interlocked stockings and one bouncing foot, she bit her lip. “Strip,” she said, chin dotting the period at the end of the command.

Standing up straight and sucking in my gut as best as I could, I laughed to myself and made exaggerated swings of my hips and dancing motions. She let loose peals of laughter. The jeans slid off my hips and around my knees and I stood with the erection pushing rudely from my boxers and looked silly while she watched in lingerie and pearls. And it was playful and light, even when I finally did pull my boxers down and stood naked with a bouncing cock before she curled her finger towards me.

The stockinged legs unhooked from themselves and I slid in, hands gently parting her thighs and my mouth lowering as I kept my eyes on her. I planted a kiss on the (small) tuft of hair on her pubic bone (through her panties) and another on a thigh. Then the other thigh. She grinned with impatience. And when I did finally pull her thong up and off her legs, and placed my mouth on her pussy, gently tasting her (wet and warm), I closed my eyes and concentrated on my lips and tongue (only).

She squirmed and clenched, one leg pulled up and bent to put a foot against my shoulder. I continued to lick steadily from ass to clit, ducking my tongue in deeper in random upward swipes against her pussy that made her wetter and squirmier against my face.

Tugging at my ears and hair, she grabbed hold and pulled me up, my mouth and chin streaking a wet trail up from her pussy to her mouth. We kissed, tongues slick and slippery soft against each other. My cock lay between her lips (on the edge) and threatened to fall in.

“I think you can go ahead and fuck me now,” she said, breathy and quiet.

Pulling her up as I stood back, I turned her around and put her back against my chest. She strained her neck, turning her head to the side for a kiss. Collecting her hair to the other side, I pushed her away and down slowly until she lowered down on her hands and knees. She pulled her heels up and her feet brushed against my cock. Holding her ankles still, I positioned them under me, my legs spread and putting myself behind her, my cock grazing against her closed thighs. Aiming higher they pushed into her pussy. Her heels pressed up to my ass cheeks.

And I slipped in.

Landing flush against her ass (with a bounce), I let the feeling of her stretching around me linger before pulling back. We both held our breath before I pushed back in. Her heels pressed hard, and I let her feel as if she could dictate each thrust. She began to press with her feet harder and firmer. I fucked her faster and deeper, each slap-thrust eliciting a tiny yelp from her mouth.

I reached forward and pulled on her necklace and she leaned into it, back arching and head pulled back.

“Yesss,” she spat, and I yanked harder as her body folded beneath me. Her ass rippled softly and the lewd sounds of skin hitting skin filled the room. I pulled out and flipped her over. The bra straps were off her shoulders and I pulled a breast out, my mouth on the nipple near-immediately. Her arms pulled my hips in and I buried my cock in her with a squish.

She held the pearls now, one strand only, with the other tight against her neck, pressing into her skin. I rocked my hips and she jabbed her heels into my back like a jockey spurring a horse to the finish line.

I got the hint.

Holding her upper body I thrust faster and harder, her head lifting off the bed and her hair flying in a wild blonde explosion just outside the field of my vision. She bit (hard) on my neck and twitched and came and pulsed rapid fire around my cock and pulled on the pearls tighter and tighter around her neck. I came too, seeing the soft milky white spheres against her skin and the changing colors somehow brighter and murkier than before.

(4-March, 2011: Howdy, Fleshbot)

Part of the problem was that I spent too much of my adolescence in the worship of wanting her. I’m tempted to say that it was a waste of time— as much as any other crush really is— but that’s not entirely true or accurate; with her it was something else. Always something else.

She was the “smart” one, in all the same classes in our modestly small high school. Alphabetically, we ended up seated near each other. Socially, even in the isolating awkwardness of American adolescence, we weren’t not-friends, the small world of our educational existence ensnaring us both. And even later on— as seniors— we were in the same cubbyhole office, doing “teaching assistant” work for different Math teachers sometime between third and fourth periods, and often after class. We were both voted “most likely to succeed.”

…

“How long did you know,” I asked, gauging her honesty with a wide berth.

“What do you mean,” she deflected, scratching at the cheap nail polish coming off in chips and flakes, half stuck beneath the edge of the other fingernail doing the scraping.

“How long did you know that I had a crush on you?”

“Oh that,” she said. It was cold and dismissive. “It doesn’t matter. I knew, and you didn’t do anything about it, but then again what’s it matter?”

We were naked, in her bed, lying on our backs, the sheets kicked off and teetering on falling off the bed completely— and in doing so they would join the comforter on the floor. What did it matter, I repeated internally, knowing that myself back then— an uncomfortable and awkward teenager with such a feeble grasp on emotions and honesty— would never have imagined what would happen just ten years later.

And not that ten years had passed by in an instant— but more in the dim realization of how different things had turned out. And where we would find ourselves, after dodging each other after high school— ironically attending the same university— and then somehow stumbling into each other in the same city. That, and then the slow binary orbit in each other’s gravity.

I grimaced, shifted my weight, and turned my body to her. “You’re right,” I said, just as coldly. “What’s it matter?”

I kissed her with a snarling lip and a razor tongue. She responded first as she would to any kiss, light moan and arching back, breasts up and ass down. But she knew it was different, too. It felt different.

With my free hand, I cupped the curve of her breast. Pressing deeply with my fingers, I squeezed harder and harder until I let my fingertips converge in a pinch on her nipple. She yelped into my mouth— a muffled and tiny noise I swallowed whole. Her eyes glossed over wet and shiny, and she sucked in a breath through her nose. I stared back with fire.

My hand let go and I put it between her legs, her thighs fighting me by squeezing together. My middle finger was just long enough to brush her clit and she shook. I let her break away with her lips and she flung her head aside— a whirl of matted-damp-short-brown hair whipping my face. She turned to hide her eyes.

I guess I sort of wanted to see her cry.

Grabbing her hair by the base of her neck I wrenched it forward. She grabbed my wrists, reaching up behind her head and down between her legs. Eyes wide and panicked, she struggled while I held still. The sweat on my neck and back were cooling with a chill. I might have had an erection but I paid it no mind. Right now, I had no cock.

What I had was a wriggling mess losing the strength in her thighs and her hands, the movements becoming sloppy and tired, her will submitting. I knew because I felt the new wetness on her pussy slick against the dried-up fuck from minutes before. I knew because I could push a little deeper each time, until I felt her lips on either side of my fingertip. I knew because she was about ready to let go of my wrists and I snapped at her, “Don’t let go.”

Her legs gave way and I pushed my finger into her wetness with a satisfying squish. She sighed and closed her eyes before a yank on her hair tore them wide open again. They watered shiny and my finger pushed and pulled in and out of her pussy. I let her blink only, each time the glaze of tears threatening to spill out from the corners of her eyes and onto her cheeks.

I put two fingers together and thrust them in, curling upward against the inner walls of her pussy and scraping with my fingernails. She took it in until I bottomed out at my palm, each push ending in audible noises from between her pussy lips.

“Fuck!” she spat, lip trembling and grip on my wrists almost just for show. To be honest I wanted her hand to ride mine— to feel the motion of it going in and out of her and combine it with what she felt in her cunt. And I wouldn’t stop, the slick girl cum accumulating on the sides of my fingers with her breath shallow and strained.

I pressed in deeper and curled my fingers up sharper, feeling the insides of her stretch against my fingertips. I pushed in harder and landed against her cervix and she yelped again.  I ignored the burn of lactic acid in my arm and my brain pleading me to stop.

Her grip tightened and her nails dug into my wrists with half-moon cuts. She buckled and shook and yelled some more and shuddered and cried for my cock— and really for me to stop— and she finally came. Tight with pulsing squeezes around my fingers still shoved in and out of her, she came and cried and tears streamed down her face and I kept finger fucking her cunt until I looked down and saw the telltale reddish brown stains of drying blood mixed in with creamy white wetness past my knuckles.

I let go.

She cried and she bawled and she hit my chest with her fists weakly before collapsing her legs inward and curled up against my body. I put my arms around her because I didn’t know what else to do and we lay there cuddled together with the heat of our bodies fading.

I would never apologize, the same way she never apologized for showing up unannounced on a school night. And sometimes that’s just how it goes.

(from 17-December, 2008)

The four short months I’d taken of high school introductory French were definitely not enough to save me.

I stared at the one page menu in the overly dim candlelight— I could tell one side was wine, the other side was cheese. And… that was about it. Lost, and letting the menu fall flat on the table, I instead took to observing my companion. Not that I could understand her either— one side feminine and softly sweet, one side sharp-bitter and intensely dangerous.

Her eyes caught the lit tealight and twinkled, the dancing flame reflected as twin sparkles atop her pale rosy cheeks (she was still feeling the chill from the short walk we took outside) bisected by her nose which led to her lips— faintly mouthing the words as she scanned the page. I could only imagine her voice effortlessly breathing out the foreign sounds, lips and tongue together tenderly shaping and forming each syllable, each accent— these little phonologicalities.

She put her menu down and proclaimed the name of some chateau, or some vineyard, the enthusiastic grin on her face wide and true. “Et vous, monsieur?” she asked, her lips pursed on the last word.

“Je ne parle pas français,” I answered, ironically the only thing I can correctly (and genuinely) say in French.

It wasn’t too long before the bottle delivered to us was more than two-thirds empty, the accompanying wooden palette-plate of Camembert, rustic dried tender-crisp baguette slices, and grapes also in an state more consumed than not. I swirled the wine in my glass, the red liquid almost black in the dim light, only the edges catching enough of the candle to glow a deep blood red-crimson.

The wine itself was dry, almost bitter, the grapes seemingly picked too early— not enough sweetness left, my tastebuds complained. It made my lips purse slightly, my tongue feel coated and suddenly rough and as if it were twice as large. I felt as if I needed to touch something, anything, with my tongue, it now sensitive and needing attention— I let it scrape along my teeth slowly. And as the flavour subsided, I was left wanting more; a willingness to endure the sensation all over again.

Curiously enough, she had the same effect.

I had nuzzled up against her ear, as we sat on the couch, back home from the wine & cheese bar, breathing softly past the wisps of hair leading to the back of her neck. Her perfume conjured up the sweet smell of coconuts mixed with an airy musk, filling my nostrils before I exhaled again, the hot air on her skin, our bodies closing in on each other. Using my head to nudge her gently, we fell sideways in slow-motion, her hair fanning out beneath her as she slipped into a laying position, my body angling and bending to keep pressed against her.

Knees slightly apart, she pressed her hips upward as my leg slipped in and between her thighs, my weight shifting, my arms holding the bulk of my weight with the rest of it pinning her gently to the cushions. I could feel the lace push-up bra beneath the thin fabric of her black knit turtleneck. Lifting my head up, I put my face in front of hers, our eyes already used to the dim light, now staring at each other. I exhaled and pressed my lips against hers, the pressure of her pucker subsiding as our jaws loosened and our tongues rushed forward, desperately seeking attention and contact, scraping against each other with the last traces of the wine slowly fading away.

I reached down and back, pushing up her skirt with a palm flat against her leg, moving up from the tops of her knee-high stocking-socks she wore (a necessity for the tall boots she had slipped her feet and ankles out from) brushing past the back of her knee and up her thigh; she hooked one arm over my shoulder with fingers curling upward through my hair, the other around my waist and lower back.

Our noses bumped and brushed against each other, the air thin and my head already dizzy, her hands at my belt, the front of my pants, the shirt tugged and pulled upward at the same time. I slipped a hand under her back and fiddled with the back of her bra, met with mumbled protest. I instead tugged at her as we rolled over and flipped over, me now on my back as she pulled both my pants and boxers off, her turtleneck now lifted up and off her body as I unbuttoned and removed my shirt hurriedly. The lace bra was fancy, black, and pink – and I saw now, a front clasp making my earlier attempts futile. She wore a mischievous grin on her face as I flicked it open, breasts releasing onto my chest with nipples hard points now pressed into me as she leaned back down, hair falling around my face and our lips meeting again.

Her skirt was now around her waist, her hips rocking against mine, the heat from her pussy soaking through her sheer panties and spreading fast on my upper leg. My cock at full attention already, rubbing stiff against the outside of her thigh, she rubbed herself against me, one of her hands disappearing down her body between us and finding her clit.

Looking up at her, she bit my lip and pulled back, her body lifting up and off me, she stood up and shook her hips, the skirt falling off and to the floor. Stepping out of it and in only her sheer low-cut bikini panties, she straddled my hips with her back to me, grabbing my cock and giving it a stern tug, her weight on my hips and stomach momentarily as she spread her legs and reclined, her back landing on my chest.

My hands immediately wrapped around her chest and went to her breasts, cupping each as she scooted her body down, her pussy resting against the thigh of my leg, bent at the knee. Her panties were drenched— wet, sticky, hot— rubbing on my skin from the rocking motion of her hips, her fingers on her clit running circles that occasionally jabbed her fingernails into me when she slipped.

She writhed and wriggled on top of me, grasping the base of my cock almost like a handle as her back arched and my body contracted to meet her in a half-sit-up, half-crunch, my mouth finding her neck and biting gently. I let go of her breasts and moved my hands on top of hers, fingers spreading wide before closing in, one hand riding the hand furiously rubbing her clit; the other guiding her hand on my cock up and down. She responded breathlessly, panting and gasping for air, body rocking and legs spreading wider as our movements gained speed, urgency, intensity.

Her head kicked back and hit my shoulder as she froze, clenched, and held her breath. Her hands stopped moving and she shuddered, cumming hard. I kept my hand on her hand on my cock pumping once, twice, three times; resulting in the familiar twitch as I felt my own orgasm spread rapidly, my hips tighten and cock releasing streams of cum into the air, landing on her stomach, her thigh, her hand, my hand.

I noticed the wetness on my thigh, the thick moisture of my cum rolling off her body and onto mine, the slick beaded sweat on her back spread against my chest, the damp hair right beside my head— with the sudden dryness in my mouth and throat. I felt her panting and swallowing hard too, her head turning to the side and our lips pressed in another kiss— and we drank each other in, a thirst sated, a desire yet to be quenched.