“Hey girl. I have a story to tell about the other night.”
“Did you go see him?”
Laughter echoes through the phone.
“Well, talk to me!”
The story begins with the question:
“Why are you here?” I can hear him question me and my intentions. I try to smile and give him my usual flip remark. He leans in closer and again asks, “Why are you here?”
The way he is looking at me; even in the dimness of the candlelit room I can feel the intensity. My thighs are sweating and my heart is pounding. I’m a little nervous about what may come next. Was I too forward, coming over here at this time of night, with such a short dress on, nothing underneath? Have I misread his intentions?
As these thoughts are flowing through my mind, he reaches out, pulls me up from the sofa and turns me around, placing his arms around my waist. This time he whispers in my ear, “Are you here for company or sex?” I can barely reply, “I’m here for both.” He begins to gently kiss the back of my neck. Mmmmm, his lips are so soft. I can feel the butterfly wings fluttering in my stomach. He guides me down the dimly lit hall into his bedroom. Maxwell’s ‘Til the Cops Come Knockin’ has grown faint.
The bedroom is as expected, stylish with contemporary furniture fitting of someone with his taste; and more candles. He leans me across the bed and returns to kissing and licking the back of my neck. A few minutes go by and he steps back and pushes my dress up around my waist to admire my ass. I feel his hands caress my thighs, my cheeks, my swollen lips. And then he’s gone. I am so enthralled that all I can do is continue to grip the sheets in heated anticipation of his return. My patience is soon rewarded as he returns and now positions my right leg on the bed so that he can enter my waiting pussy from behind. I can feel my sugawalls adjust to his thick, latex-covered dick causing me to grip the sheets tighter. The slow, rhythmic motions of his hips and the workings of his fingers on my ass and my clit are driving me crazy. I feel myself about to cum after only a short time of this clitlicious attention. Just then he whispers in my ear, “Let it go”. He nibbles on my earlobe and continues chanting, “Let it go.” And with his coaching I do let go and my body begins to shake uncontrollably. It’s late and I don’t want to disturb his neighbors so I bury my face into the bed so as to stifle my screams of ecstasy. After a few seconds or so, I begin to calm down; I’m not shaking as much, my breath begins to steady. But he wants more. He tells me not to stop as he continues massaging my clit until I am cumming again.
Seconds become minutes, minutes become hours and he only stops long enough to tantalize my feet, my legs, my breasts with his hands, his lips, his tongue. There are moments of laughter, passionate kisses, and silent stares intermingled with the moans and screams of pleasure. I’m pleading with him to stop, but don’t stop, ecstasy; oh, sweet rhapsody. I feel as though I’m suspended between two life planes. Lawd, who is this man that has, in one night, erased months of loneliness and neglect, and calmed the hunger inside that threatened to devour me?
Our bodies have finally come to rest with legs intertwined. Through half-closed eyes I can see the flicker of the candle’s flame, and Maxwell is again singing in the background about making love until the cops come knocking.
