All You Can Eat (m/f)

Though you wouldn’t know it to talk to her, if you paid attention, Jessica betrayed all the tell-tale signs of a military brat. She spoke with a vague Southern twang, the kind of dialect that only military generates and that all our grandfathers once spoke, decades ago when they were called up, before dispersing once more to home states and the clipped vowels of the mid-atlantic, the lazy Polish consonants of Chicago. She was slightly tanned at all times of the year, even when the sun hadn’t been out for months—this wasn’t the result of a tanning bed habit, but of a childhood spent playing soccer on deserted airfields in Nevada and North Carolina. And she had a nervous, awkward energy about her—friendly enough to make friends fast, but unwilling to get too invested, in case you were wrenched away from her by a new deployment.

She was gorgeous with her round face, almond-shaped brown eyes, and curvy bottom when she walked into our first college seminar together, when we were eighteen.

I, on the other hand, was more awkward than any eighteen year old had right to be. I don’t think I was bad looking, mind you—no one manages to accurately judge his or her own attractiveness, but to look at myself in pictures then, maintained on Facebook, I’m amazed by how thin my face is, by how intense my eyes are, my hair stupidly long—to think that Jessica developed a crush on me. It’s beyond me how that happened: she could have hooked up with much cuter guys whenever she wanted, but I think a girlhood informed by Jane Austen and the Brontë sisters had given her somewhat higher expectations—expectations which her natural awkwardness could never fully express. I remember on my birthday once, as I walked into class: some video pulled up on Youtube, ready to go. Birthday Sex, in fact—I had on occasion announced my fondness for Mr. Jeremih’s lyricism.

“I’m not doing this because I like you or anything,” she declared as Jeremih’s lyrics, lazily, lolled out of her Macbook speakers. I remember those dark brown eyes of hers. Sure, Jessica. Sure.

But I had a girlfriend at the time. A high school sweetheart.
The love of my life, in fact, and later, my wife. We married after college and she died in a car crash about six months later.

By this point, I was in a PhD program, studying literature. I had long since cut my hair, put on some weight, grown a beard, and covered myself with tattoos. The qualities that had made me pretty much unable to function successfully in other jobs—I had failed at teaching, marketing, and consulting—are generally prized in academia: a preference for working quietly on one’s own, reading almost obsessively, getting bogged down in details, and a fierce ethic of self-criticism. My wife and I had a burgeoning life together: a condo, a car, everything. In an instant, everything was gone, and I was left alone with my work.

Rather than taking a leave of absence, I buried myself in the library for entire days at a time. I was at a large, prestigious university on the East Coast and even though I was surrounded by happy, attractive, successful-seeming people—nothing dispelled the fog.
My parents wondered, over phone calls, if I might start dating again soon. I knew a handful of women at my university who had expressed interest—or, more accurately, had historically been unable to express their dismay when they had learned I was married. The fact was, I hadn’t been in a position to date anyone new since high school anyway, and damned if I really remembered how.

That was when I received a facebook message from Jessica. I had last seen her, actually, at my wedding—she had been stunning, Christ, with golden skin, a slinky dress that hugged her slim frame and her plump butt. We had danced together and she lay her head against my heart and I had felt guilty in that moment—I had never led her on, but her smell, the weight of her body in my arms—it was still intoxicating.

Jessica was at business school in Boston. She invited me up for a weekend—just as friends, if I wanted to get away. The fact was, I did want to get away—our condo—my condo, now—reminded me of my wife and I had struggled with what to do with our shared things, with the things that had been hers.

She lived in Brighton, outside the city center—there was an all-you-can-eat sushi place down the street from her apartment. I smiled when I read that: when we were in college, we often went out with friends to a local sushi restaurant, struggling to down as much cheap sushi as we could, stuffing it into our broke college student bellies.
I looked over her pictures. She had only gotten more gorgeous as she entered her mid-twenties—she was sophisticated, confident, well-traveled, if the pictures of her lying on a beach in Spain or hiking in Israel were any indication. She’d had a series of well-paid, prestigious jobs, and now, she was at one of the best business schools in the country. I, meanwhile? I had no idea if I would even get a professorship once I finished my doctorate, having poured six years into my work…

Jessica met me at the train station. Amidst the crowds of travelers, I saw her, legs crossed on a bench with two coffees. She wore a low-cut, sleeveless striped top, vaguely nautical, and a bright yellow skirt with a thin leather belt.

“Hey, you!” she cried, rising and flinging herself into my arms.

“Hey, it’s been a while,” I murmured. She kissed my cheek and stayed there in my arms. Instagram told me she had just returned from Costa Rica with some work friends and her extra-tanned skin showed it.

“I know!” Then, her expression softened. “How’ve you been?”
“Shitty. As you can imagine.”

“I mean, I can’t. But it’s good to see you.”

We took a cab to her apartment, with Jessica pressed up against me in the backseat. She was nervous, I could tell—that old, awkward, nervous energy. Her right leg bounced incessantly against me until I placed my hand on her thigh. She smiled at me, her eyes meeting mine before darting away, but not removing my hand from her bare skin.

Her apartment was tiny and vaguely messy.

“I’m almost never here. B-school keeps me so busy. I mean, the classes aren’t bad but there are so many networking opportunities you really need to go to…”

She immediately began darting about, swooping up the detritus of her life: empty take out containers, dog eared copies of the Wall Street Journal and People, a few Agatha Christie mysteries, a sweat shirt or two.

“You don’t need to clean up for me,” I laughed. “God knows I’ve let my own place go to hell in the last few months.”

“Well, but you’re my guest,” she murmured in a huff, standing up with a huge armful of stuff and darting, once more, out of the room—tossing everything into a closet, it seemed.

I had the opportunity, while she was gone, to examine a small collection of photos on a side table by the door. I vaguely recognized most of the people there—her father and mother, whom I had met at graduation, and the same for her brothers and sisters. There was what seemed to be a recent picture, though, of Jessica and a particularly handsome, dark-haired man in a suit. They seemed to be at a New Year’s Eve party, based on the decorations in the background.

“Hey, you—“

Jessica was behind me once more, her cheeks flushed.

“So, uh, I don’t know if you want to sleep on the couch…” she began.
“Or?” I heard my voice ask. She bit her lip and smiled.

“I won’t pressure you into anything,” she continued. “I know everything’s still miserable for you. And I can’t be… her…”
She trailed off, unable to meet my eyes.

“I like this outfit of yours,” I murmured, tugging at the top. She smiled, beaming practically.

“It’s all one piece. It’s really a dress. I bet you can’t tell?”

I wanted to reach out and slide it off her. I wanted to do the things that I had secretly wanted to do to her when we were eighteen. But instead, I suggested we go to dinner.

“You’re going to love this place,” she assured me.

And good god, I did—we ordered somewhat too liberally and found ourselves needing to drink carafe after carafe of sake to keep eating. The sake loosened our tongues, made us giddy.

I told her about teaching literature to spoiled undergraduates, about my dissertation. Jessica told me about the boyfriends she had had, since college—a series of short relationships, always made more difficult by the fact that she had to travel for her job.

“But, you know,” she declared finally after knocking back one more tiny ceramic cup of rice wine. “I could never get any of them to eat me out.”

I almost spat out the maki rolls I had stuffed into my mouth.

“What?”

“It’s really given me a complex. You know, I actually went to therapy for a while over this? My butt and my pussy. Can you believe that? I hooked up with a guy at a conference in Germany and he told me I’d be an eight if my butt weren’t so big. Guys really suck.”

“Jesus. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about,” she said with a tipsy shrug. She seemed embarrassed: she wouldn’t meet my eyes and she began feeling around for our menu, buried beneath platters of sushi.

“Do you want anything else to eat—“

“I do, but they don’t serve it here.” I grabbed her hand, held her warm, slightly sweaty, nervous palm.

An anxious smile played on her lips. “I’ll get the check, then.”

We paid. We left, my arm around her waist. As soon as we were out of the restaurant, my hand drifted down to her bottom. She all but purred as she felt it.

“You’re bad. Wait till we’re inside.” But I didn’t: I palmed her ass as we tumbled into the lobby of her building, grabbing her hard, pulling her to me as my hands tightened on her ass, sliding under her dress, finding her cheeks bare.

“I’ve been so wet all day. All fucking week,” she hissed, hungrily. “I’ve been waiting years for this. I was praying to a god I don’t believe in that you’d find out I wasn’t wearing…”

I cut her off with a kiss, our tongues dueling hungrily. The doors to the lobby opened; a scandalized older couple drifted in, clearly trying to avoid looking at us. As they mounted the stairs, we giggled.

It was hard to keep from just sliding myself into Jessica right there in the elevator but I managed to keep my pants zipped until we stormed into her apartment.

Almost as soon as we were inside, I had stripped Jessica naked to the waist, pulling the top of her sleeveless dress down to her waist. Her tanned belly, and bra-clad tits revealed to me, I kissed down her neck, over her chest, reaching behind her to undo her bra.

“God, there’ve been so many times I’ve wanted to drunk sext you,” Jessica moaned as I latched my lips onto one of her hard, dusky nipples.

“I’m kind of sorry you didn’t,” I laughed, as she sank down to her knees, undid my belt, and unzipped my pants. Within moments, she had my cock out, her hands wrapped around it.

“You have no idea how much I’ve fantasized about this…” she whispered. “I don’t even like giving blow jobs but I fantasized about sucking you off.”

“I hope everything lives up to your fantasies,” I chuckled as she drew her tongue over my hot, hard flesh. I grunted in delight as her lips suckled and massaged my cock, finally engulfing me. She gagged a little bit and pulled off, giggling.

“Sorry, I’m really bad at this. I’m embarrassing myself.”

“Why don’t you take your dress off?” I suggested. “And sit back on the couch?”

She bit her lip, coquettishly, and stood, wiggling the dress down her wide hips, standing before me naked, except for her heels.

“Do you like how I look?” she asked shyly. “I know I’ve got a big butt and—“

“Shut up,” I growled, kissing her hungrily as my hands grabbed her by the ass. She gasped into my kiss as I maneuvered her towards the couch and she went tumbling down onto it, sitting with her legs spread.

Her pinkness was intoxicating. She started to close her legs, as if out of habit, but I held them open.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, running my fingers up her inner thighs.

“It’s gross, isn’t it? I don’t like shaving—it hurts and it leaves bumps—but guys don’t like it if you’re not shaved clean…”

And, indeed, she had a wet, soft down of brown hair covering her mound and framing her pink slit. I answered her concerns by lowering my head, licking along her inner thighs, into the crease joining her leg to her body. She arched her back, pressing her hips forward.

“Oh, god…” she moaned as my lips finally touched her, finally sliding over her pussy. She shuddered again as my tongue lapped at her intoxicating musk, sliding inside of her, then up over her…

“Please…” she moaned, grunting louder and louder as I lapped at her. I slid a few fingers inside of her as I worked over her throbbing little nub and before long, her muscles, gripping me hard, back to spasm—her entire body too. Jessica gripped me hard by the head as she finished, my tongue still lapping rapid little licks over her clit.

“Fuck…” she gasped. “Fuck… Only my Hitachi makes me cum like that.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Oh, you should.”

I rubbed my cock against her slit and she cooed in delight.

“I should get a condom—“ I started to say but she shook her head.

“Fuck it. I’ll buy the morning after pill tomorrow. I want to feel you inside of me.”

I didn’t need any further encouragement. I sank myself into Jessica and she groaned, wrapping her hips around me.

“I want you to fuck me really hard,” she grunted. “I want you to make up for all the years you weren’t fucking me.”

Her velvet wet vice gripped me hard as we kissed.

“Can you taste yourself on my beard?” I asked with a grin as I slid in and out of her, gripping her tits hard. She grunted and nodded.

“It’s gross, I know, I’m sorry—“

“Don’t be dumb,” I laughed, playfully slapping her ass. She squealed.

“God, you feel so good inside of me…”

It only took me a few moments before I was on the verge of finishing.

“Shit, Jessica, I’m close—“

“Fuck, cum inside of me, please. I’ve wanted it for so long…” she gasped as I released my seed, filling her up. She shook in delight, digging her nails into my shoulders.

“I’m sorry—“ I started to say. “For cumming so fast—“

“Don’t apologize. Don’t be dumb,” she said, catching her breath as I slid out of her messy, slick slit. The sight of gorgeous Jessica, with my seed dripping out of her—it was more than my eighteen-year-old mind ever could have imagined.

Jessica locked eyes with me, reached forward, pulled me close and then locked lips with me. “You can do anything to me tonight,” she hissed in between kisses. “I’ve been waiting for this for so long. I’m all yours.”

And then, she stood and dashed off to the bathroom.

Anything I wanted? I knew immediately what I wanted. I heard the toilet flush and a few minutes later, Jessica re-appeared with two glasses of wine in hand.

“How about a shower?” I suggested, rising. She winked at me and turned, dashing off to the bathroom, her butt wiggling. I followed her.

“What about some lube?” I asked as soon as the shower was running. She wrinkled her brow at me.

“What’s the lube for?”

“You said anything I wanted.”

She bit her lip. God, but she was cute when she was indecisive.

“Fine. I’ve never done that before but I’ll do it. For you.”

It turned out that she kept her lube, along with her Hitachi, in the bathroom. We climbed into the shower together and I held her once more, kissing her hard.

“Just be gentle, okay?” she whispered as she turned around. Her ass, slicked with water, was absolutely appetizing and I knelt behind her, spreading her cheeks open. I flushed her puckered hole with water and leaned in, running my tongue over it. She gasped.

“Oh, god, I can’t believe you’re doing this…”

“Do you like it?”

“I hate that I do.”

I slid a finger inside of her and she gasped. And then another and then another.

“I need lube if you’re going to do more…” she grunted, her muscles fighting me. I lubed up my fingers and they slid in more easily this time, disappearing into her ass like a knife into butter.

“Oh, god… I need more wine…” Jessica moaned, pressing back onto my fingers. I gave her my glass and she downed it (she had already finished hers) as I worked another finger inside of her, finger fucking her tightness and started to tease her wet, swollen slit.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” she groaned. We spent a while like that: I used my tongue to help relax her tightness, as I eased her open. Finally, I was satisfied I could fit my cock inside of her.

Covering my shaft with a healthy dose of lube, I steadied myself against her hips as she bent over.

“Be gentle,” she warned me again. “I’ve never let anyone do this before. It’s only because I like you so much…”

“I know, babe, I know,” I grunted as I pressed the swollen tip of my cock against her tight ring of muscle.

“Oh, god,” she groaned, arching her back was I worked myself into her. I felt her muscles give way and her hot tightness, gripping me desperately, engulf me.

“How is it?”

“It feels like you’re so fucking deep…”

“I’m barely inside of you.”

“God, okay. Go slow.”

I went as slow as I could, savoring her whimpers.

“It hurts,” she gasped. “But I like that it hurts.”

“Yeah?” I growled huskily, sliding a hand up her belly, holding her by her tits now, digging my fingers into her.

“God, yes, fuck me hard and make it hurt. Make me yours.”

I forced my cock the last inch into her and she all but screamed.

“Fuck…” she grunted, animalistically, as I began to pump in and out of her. “God, this is so weird… I never thought this would be so good…”

She steadied herself against the shower wall with one hand and rubbed herself with the other. She worked her pussy almost frantically, shuddering as I pounded her.

“You’re so tight,” I grunted in her ear. “This is fucking amazing.”

“It’s all for you,” she gasped. “All for you. I’d give this to you every day if you wanted.”

That was enough to push me over the edge. I grunted, groaned and emptying my cock into her once more. Jessica moaned, tightening her ass around my thickness. I slid myself out of her slowly and she sighed, groaning hard, her puckered hole gaping wide for a second before closing back up.

We rinsed in embarrassed silence, suddenly shy in front of each other. Or, more accurately: I held Jessica against my body, flicking her nipples and suckling her neck and she finished herself off.

“You know, I was serious,” she told me as we dried off. “I… I’m involved with a guy right now. But I’d leave him for you.”

“What?”

And then it all came back to me. The guy in the suit. New Year’s Eve.

“So, you’re cheating on him?”

“Well… No. Sort of. Yes. He knows about you. I told him you were staying the weekend. I told him I needed to see if this could go anywhere. I’d never be able to live with myself if I didn’t try.”

“Jessica…” I sighed. “My wife just died. I don’t have the heart for another relationship like that right now.”

I saw tears glistening in her eyes.

“That’s what I was afraid of. But let’s pretend, for the weekend?” And so we did…

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/4bkv8t/all_you_can_eat_mf