I’ve showered and changed the sheets, and hours later I can feel where he’s been.
***
I’m looking over a pillow at Bilal, He preens and I understand it. He seriously considers sending his beloved car in his stead to social occassions, he’s figured out sexy sounding exercises, likes his apartment, his clothes, and gets fussy when I touch his hair. This guy might fall asleep looking in a mirror.
Bilal mentions a woman he was dating. “I don’t want those things. I love my father, my family. I’m selfish. I don’t want to worry about anyone. I mean I love my family and friends.”
“Yes! You’re selfish! And vain!” He laughs, and days later it pings I didn’t need to be the person to tell him he’s selfish and vain three minutes after orgasm.
***
He kind of wiped his evidence off me, then stopped. He’s spanked me and cum all over my back.
He stops or I stop–how, who knows? He’s got the condom on and is fucking me. He asks if he can cum on me, and then asks again. My silence and wriggling is interpreted correctly and he cums on my back. Yes, yes it’s good. When you/if you go astray I’ll tell you.
His waist is narrower than I remember, and he’s starting to look like a polished arrowhead.
***
I watched his skin move around a little, when I stopped looking at his expressive face. I do enjoy lazily sucking cock, licking around, keeping a hand on the base. I got wetter and almost showed him. He would have liked it–beyond the campy sexy thing of watching an almost stranger masturbate with his dick in her mouth. Beyond that, Bilal would almost certainly support the display of vanity. “Look at me, taking you in my mouth, myself through my fingers–my id spilling out over both of us.”
***
And then he’s on his back–he doesn’t blush or hesitate. “I’ve been thinking about how you sucked my cock. And then I fucked you after.” Bilal stares up at me, our time together bifurcated–he serviced me, now it’s my turn. Sure, gladly, I’d be a pirate though, I would steal some of his time away.
This is my failing, I am kneeling above him, pushing my hands along here and there making him wait. I don’t care if he cums–I don’t care if he cums in my mouth or in my hand, in the condom or striped across my body. I like the before and during parts, how his body puffs up, changes shape. I like mens bodies so much.
***
Bilal works me over–he knows I write and somehow he’s lost a little of his peacock assuredness. he’s deep down-in-his-bones polite, wants to do the right thing. He counts orgasms and any of my deficits have started to weigh on him. He’s still worried about my cunt, my cum, his body underneath me.
***
He’s on top of me, solidly holding legs and knees where he wants and he starts to eat. I’m pushed up higher than I think, elevated on hills and trundled through valleys–he’s more eating and sucking and then gives me a hand, both the pun and the action. He cups my inevitable wetness–my magic trick–in his palm. His hand goes deeper and more persistent, he’s focused and a straight line. I don’t know if he sees all my pearly liquid cupped, a puddle of surprise. Well, he must see it, the way he tilts it away from me, and elegantly disposes.
At my request, he’s slowed down a little, kissing my face and shoulders, I drifted around, my insides twisted up. There’s a gentle push/pull of my body on his lap, and he gives my nipples the most promising stings.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/44rlur/im_doing_this_in_reversea_lovely_symbolism