[FM] I knew just what to wear to pay him back… and got more than I bargained for

Long time lurker, I’ve had nothing but time on my hands lately and have always played with the idea of sharing a story. Saw this month’s theme and considered it a sign that it was now or never. Hope you like it.

This was a few years ago, I had a project coming up for work that was a year in the making. I had done a lot to have this chance and really wanted it to go well. I like my privacy, so I’ll leave it all vague, but it was a project with a significant presentation element so I was looking for ways to make it really stand out.

I was telling a friend about this when she lit up with an idea. A friend of hers, Avery, was crashing on a friend’s couch in the city for the month, maybe he could help. He was an illustrator who was starting to take off on social media at the time, he could make some original art to tie the whole project together. I loved the idea but wasn’t sure if he was available or if I could afford him. My friend dismissed my worry, insisting that she could get him to do it for me, and for a good price. They were friends after all.

And it’s true they were friends. More importantly, they used to be friends with benefits, it only stopped because Avery moved across the country and my friend ended up in a pretty serious relationship. “Best sex of her life,” was thrown around casually when he’d come up in drunken conversation, but that’s beside the point.

Somehow my friend worked her magic and I got a message a day or two later. It was Avery telling me he’d be interested and that we should meet up.

I’d met him before, but only at parties or in passing, never held a conversation. So I was a bit nervous to meet up and pour my heart out to him. We met at his friend’s house that he was staying at.

Wanting to make a good impression and look halfway “artsy” I paired a long, olive wrap skirt and a tight turtleneck with some lace-up ballet flats. My dark hair was short at the time, barely reaching my shoulders. I thought it all made me look sophisticated without trying too hard. His warm smile met me at the door, immediately making me feel welcome.

He led me to the couch and offered to make me some coffee or tea as though it were his own apartment. He was sweet, he had an energy to him that made it feel like he was always halfway in his own little world. He dressed like it too: baggy thrift store pants, immaculately cuffed. Ordinary shirts looked expensively tailored the way they perfectly hung from his broad shoulders. Unique, tasteful tattoos peeking out from pushed up sleeves. He could wear wildly mismatched stuff and make it look like a new fashion trend with his quiet confidence.

Not a stereotypical stoner, but perhaps a close relative. Much more engaging.

He told me he was visiting friends for the month to get some time away from work, but already a week into it he was dying to make something. He was glad my friend was so persuasive so that he had something to work on. I was too.

I gave him a long breakdown of what I was working on, he was an amazing listener. I could see my every word carefully weighed and considered behind his attentive eyes.

He’d do it. I asked him about pricing, but he seemed nonplussed. I didn’t want to take advantage of the guy, so I insisted. We eventually agreed to his lowest pricing despite the amount of work and amount of time he had to do, he was too nice.

So we met up a few more times going over the details and updates. I looked forward to seeing his intentionally messy hair and smile greet me at the door, his fit frame leaned against the door’s. Sometimes we just liked to work in the same room, his passion was infectious. What I first viewed as aloofness was just him occasionally lost in thought. He was so disarming and supportive in his own spacey way, an easy guy to crush on even when you’re drowning in stress.

One of the times we met up, I was in a hurry. I wanted to show him something on my laptop, so I entered in my password and handed it to him, forgetting that I had left my browser up to some shopping I was going through earlier.

He made some joke about this being what I wanted to show him. I looked over his shoulder and saw a listing for denim shorts or something similarly boring that I had left up by accident. It took me a second to realize what I had done, and in that time he scrolled down the page, eventually landing over the “recently viewed items” list.

His eyes grew wide, “you were thinking of buying this?” his words stung with what felt like accusation. He clicked on the item in question, a black club dress.

Ladies: we’ve all been there. You’re shopping for something simple and can’t help but somehow wind up looking at dresses or whatever featured, on-sale item grabs your attention on the front page.

We’ve all seen that dress that’s so very cute, but you know you’d never find the occasion or the confidence to wear it, but you hover over the “add to cart” button while you do mental gymnastics to justify it. Even if you bought it, you just know it would be some cheap material and have more in common with a garbage bag than a dress. That’s exactly what he clicked on, I was ready to throw up from the embarrassment.

He clicks through the various pictures of models wearing it, essentially telling me he never would have thought I was the kind of girl that would dress like this. I stammered out whatever excuse I could.

For the first time, I see his cool persona crack, an indistinguishable, almost wounded look in his eyes. It’s gone in a second. He finishes his earlier statement with a nonchalant “but I bet you’d look really sexy in it.”

I don’t think much more than “oh?” left my mouth. He laughed nervously, repeating his declaration that he didn’t think I was that kind of girl, cycling endlessly through the pictures of it.

Based on what little he knew of me, it was a scandalous dress: very short, very tight, faux leather with a back that snaked its way up the neck, narrowing into a zippered choker up top and widening to a sizable cutout on the lower back. A club dress to be worn at a club I’d never even heard of, let alone been to.

I blurted out my escape plan, something like “I must have clicked it by accident!” only realizing later that night what I took as an accusatory tone from Avery was actually the armor to his cool facade cracking under his thirst. It was a fear of a reality where I’d wear a dress like that, his wide eyes a giveaway that he’d be powerless against it.

“Oh,” he responds back, nervous laughter filling the room again, “Sorry.”

He apologized for his “sexy” comment, I told him not to worry about it, watching his brain scramble to pick up the pieces of his cool, calm self. He did it in record time, and soon we were strictly business again.

That night I pulled my laptop back out alongside a glass of wine. I replayed the whole scenario in my head, only then realizing he wasn’t disgusted or appalled that I’d be interested in a dress like that, the thought of it excited him. I’m far from a goody two-shoes, but my friends insist that’s the kind of impression I make. I’m organized, punctual, work hard, but… Alright, maybe I’m a little bit of a square.

I could see how a man that had only just met me and talked almost exclusively about work could think I “wasn’t that kind of girl,” no matter what the truth of it was.

Increasingly wine drunk and defiant against my perceived squarishness, I basically let out a war cry of “I AM that kind of girl,” and ordered the dress.

Another week went by: Avery finished up and his work was brilliant. I lost myself for a few days preparing, but before I knew it, the presentation had come and gone. It went as well as it could, Avery’s contributions were perfect. The whole project went well, the benefits of it I continue to reap to this day.

I message Avery after it’s all wrapped. I tell him about how it went, thank him again and ask which app I can pay him through. He tells me not to worry about it, that he had fun doing it. I insist that we had an arrangement and he should be paid for his hard work. He gives me nothing, saying it was good for him to try something new and he enjoyed all the time we spent together.

Cool, I did too, but you deserve my money, dude.

As we message back and forth, him being infuriatingly avoidant of me wanting to pay him, a package is delivered to my door. I open it, blanking on what I had bought. As the plastic package gives way, I see my “I AM that kind of girl” dress within and a sinister plan hatches in my mind. Thanks, past drunk me.

I message Avery back, his words coated in the smugness of someone who thought he was getting away with doing me a no-strings attached good deed. I give in, telling him I appreciate his generosity. I message that I want to at least see him in person before he leaves and tell him all about it. “How’s my company for payment instead?” I joke. He agrees thinking he’s won. Poor boy was sorely mistaken.

We planned to meet out for coffee the following afternoon.

Immediately I wanted to see if the dress fit. It looked even tinier than I expected and I instantly thought my plan was doomed before it could get off the ground. The dress had some stretch to it though, and I spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to get it on. For as simple as a design, it was a whole puzzle to wear.

It felt more Halloween costume than dress as I tugged it into uneasy treaties with my curves. At one point I called for my roommate to help me zip up the back, a totally normal request for a random weekday evening. She was confused, but happy to help after I told her it was a drunk online purchase and I wanted to see if it fit. She told me it was “crazy hot,” and promptly had the nerve to tell me “but it doesn’t seem like a dress you’d wear.” Who did everyone think I was?

I returned to my room to take it all in. I would’ve assumed it was a size too small based on the tightness, but it was strapless, so the tightness checked out. I looked myself up and down in the mirror, it left little to the imagination, the kind of dress that required astronomical confidence to wear out. I alternated violently between “you look ridiculous,” and “damn, girl.”

Just as my mind cycled through its own round of “maybe this isn’t a dress I’d ever wear,” I thought back to Avery’s face when he saw this dress listing online. The way I could see him lose his mind for just a moment. Oh, I’d pay him back alright.

At least the dress itself was insistent that it was indeed “something I’d wear” as it proved to be an even greater challenge to get off than on as I got ready for bed.

I woke up the next day, playing out every way this day could possibly go in the shower. The one thing I didn’t account for of course was that I’d need my roommate’s help in zipping up the back of my dress again. She helped because she’s a good friend, but was even more confused why I was going to an afternoon coffee date “with a friend” wearing a costumey, pleather party dress. I told her I just wanted to try wearing it out once before deciding if I should return it. She didn’t believe that one, retreating to her bedroom and closing the door with a “I don’t even want to ask” look to her face.

I did my best to make it look casual, tossing a bulky denim jacket over the top and opting for some tall socks instead of bare legs or fishnets. I added some ankle boots and dark lipstick thinking that would make a convincing case to strangers that I just dressed kind of punk rather than that I was someone trying to punish a man in public for being too nice to me.

Unsurprisingly, I arrived at the coffee shop first. Avery was a free spirit and all, and if you know those types, you know they’ll always be late. I picked a corner table with the kind of armchairs that make you feel like you’re visiting a giant’s house. My heart was racing while I killed time on my phone, thoughts spiraling that maybe his reaction was all in my head, that I’m about to make a fool of myself. He’ll see me, see the dress and think I’m a psycho.

Eventually I see the messy light brown-haired victim walk in, I wave to Avery so he knows where I’m seated. His usual cool, collected gait makes its way across the cafe: patterned, oversized button down shirt with some slim-fitting dark purple trousers. What would be fashion crimes on anyone else gave Avery his thoroughly unique, thoroughly doable air.

Halfway to my table, I stand up to greet him. It felt like something out of an action film, his smile melting in slow motion as he sees what I’m wearing, his eyes opening wide like I’d seen before. There might as well been an explosion going off behind him. Intentional or not, he knew how to make a girl feel special.

He barely gets my name out as I go in to greet him with a hug, one of his arms “accidentally” slipping into my jacket, perhaps to double-check what he saw. I thank him for coming and take a seat, undoubtedly smiling like an idiot at his response.

There’s nothing collected about Avery as he sits across from me, forcing out the most efficient string of words he can muster “you bought the dress?”

“Mhmm!” I can’t stop smiling. His eyes remained stuck on my outfit, I could see him laboring to bring his eyes to mine and struggling all the way. I take a deep breath and take my shot, telling him I figured he would want to find out if his earlier theory was true.

He laughed uncomfortably, it was so strange to see the man that could be perfectly composed for anything squirm just a little bit. Of all things, he plays dumb asking what I meant. His eyes are so aggressively on my body, it makes me feel like I’m experiencing a wardrobe malfunction or something. I tug the bottom of the dress to make sure it’s sufficiently on my thighs as I remind him of his words, “you said you thought I would look really good in it,” somehow suddenly without the confidence to say “sexy.”

He nods. I twist the blade, asking what his verdict was. Nervous laughter again as Avery looks around the cafe, I couldn’t tell if he was looking for an out or checking if anyone was in earshot. I felt a pang of uncertainty thinking it might be the former, nauseating thoughts of him hating what I’ve done are quashed by my drive to see this work out.

Avery leans in awkwardly, he meekly tells me it suits me better than he thought it would. Satisfaction. My smile can’t get any wider. Out of the corner of my eye I see a waitress making her way over to us, I had told her earlier I was waiting for someone.

In a final cruel effort, I lean in and tell Avery that it was good that he liked my dress because I was determined to pay him for his art somehow. I told him he had forced my hand and I had to get creative.

By design, the waitress greets us before he can even respond. My heart is racing a mile a minute, I feel so vulnerable, I’ve never been so forward in my life. I’m a square, remember?

I stuff these feelings behind a veneer of fake confidence, sitting back in my chair as coolly as possible. The waitress looks to me and I give her my order on a delayed response, her eyes nearly as confused as my roommate’s when I asked for her help earlier. To the waitress we must appear to be on a different planet.

Her focus shifts to Avery. It was like the boy’s brain broke. “Water?” He orders with a lack of authority that sounds more like he’s asking what exactly water is than requesting it. The waitress is puzzled that that’s all he wants.

I take charge asking him if he’s feeling alright. He shakes it off like he’s just been woken up, assuring both me and the waitress that’s he’s good. Smiling like a maniac, I turn to the waitress and tell her that maybe this was a mistake and that maybe it would be wiser if he and I just have coffee back at my place.

The waitress pauses for a moment and then asks if that means she should scratch my order. I nod. She wanders back to another table, undoubtedly confused. I wonder sometimes what she thought of all that, some strangely dressed woman showing up and waiting alone for like an hour and then leaving immediately when the man she was waiting for arrives and comes apart at the seams. Hopefully she’s seen stranger.

I turn back to Avery, asking if that’s alright with him, he nods. I can nearly see him doing the mental arithmetic of what’s going on. I pull some more of that confidence from deep, telling him this should work out nicely as I “wanted to make sure we had plenty of time.” I watch his eyes light up like an alarm was pulled, before teasing “plenty of time to tell you every detail of my presentation.”

We drove there separately, so we drove back to my place separately too. Before we left, I told him that if he was really not feeling well that we can always do this some other time, giving him an out in case my womanly intuition was incorrect. He was more than happy to take my directions. In fact he beat me there.

It was a short drive, but everything about his demeanor changed as soon as I got out of my car. Enough time to think, enough time for it all to sink in. His personality or confidence or soul was back. Maybe all that mental arithmetic went through and he found his answers. Maybe he was starting to get excited.

As I led him to the door I heard him casually mention that he thought the dress had a “hole” in the back, referring to the cutout. I grabbed a handful of my jacket and lifted it up, showing him the back of the dress. I laugh uneasily, feeling the strange sensation of the breeze and a piercing stare on my exposed lower back as I shoved a key in the lock. I could hear him curse to himself. Alright, no more fake confidence needed on my part.

We walked in and I led him to the kitchen, doing a quick search to see if my roommate was around. Her door was closed. It was quiet. She was probably gone by my estimates. I turn to Avery, I can’t stop smiling, I probably looked unhinged.

Leaning against my kitchen counter, I break the silence, asking him how he likes his coffee. He laughs. After a second a smirk comes across his face. Cautiously he jokes about whether we’re talking about coffee or “coffee.” It’s my turn to play dumb, he deserves it.

His warm smile comes back with a hint of mischief. He tells me he likes his coffee without sugar. He tells me he likes it when a cup of coffee can kick his ass. He tells me he likes it when his coffee is hard to keep up with.

This Avery is much more fun than the broken one at the cafe. He glows with a certain swagger now that he knows the score. He adds that he likes it loud and expressive, quickly tacking “the coffee’s flavor, I mean” to the end of his statement. He asks me how I like my coffee, laughing at how ridiculous it is.

I tell him this wasn’t about my coffee, it was all about making coffee for him as a thank you for all his hard work.

We both laugh as the metaphor slowly unravels. He breaks the lull, looking me over. “Lose the jacket,” he orders with a smile.

A little spark is set off inside me. Something about this otherwise unreasonably friendly guy bossing me around turns that spark into a flame. I slowly pull my jacket off, turning around to toss it over a nearby chair. His gaze is overwhelming on my body.

Standing in my kitchen in this absurd, laughably tight dress should have felt awkward, but Avery’s infectiously warm personality came through even here. Even through a thick layer of lust.

I look back to him, both all smiles. He scratches his chin facetiously, before gesturing for me to spin around. I chuckle and do a little faux-model turn. He looks me up and down, his evaluation? “My theory was spot on.”

My heart is pounding at this point, I lean back into the familiar, asking him if that meant he was ready for his coffee before hopping up and sitting on the edge of the kitchen counter. He bites his lip, I wonder about the kind of words he’s picking and choosing in his head. I would’ve loved to hear the funnier ones, the filthier ones.

I specify that I’m ready for it unless he has any other last minute requests… “for your coffee, I mean.”

Avery looks lost. I gesture for him to come closer, spreading my legs slightly so he can stand between them. He obeys, placing a hand just above my sock on my exposed thigh. Every pleasure sensor in my brain revs up at his touch, as if screaming “enough already!”

Inches from my face, Avery’s kind, supportive smile returns. He tells me that he was being honest when he said he just really enjoyed spending time with me. He tells me that getting to know me has been his favorite part of the trip. He tells me I don’t owe him anything. He tells me I don’t “have to do this.”

He’s cute, sweet and my body was completely aching for him.

I tell him I absolutely “have to do this,” teasing him that he left me no other choice. Teasing him that he brought this on himself. Teasing him that I intend to pay him in full.

He’s halfway through saying something with the essence of “you don’t have to tell me twice” when I pull him in for a kiss. His full lips answer accordingly, his breaths heavy from my words. His lips gently pull back, guiding me closer and closer to him. His hand slides slowly up my thigh, toying with the taut hem of my dress before dipping beneath it.

He’s a good kisser in ways I struggle to put into words. Lips knowing just where to be to make you want more, hands perfectly in sync. I tug at his shirt buttons, sucking his lower lip toward me to bring him closer. I take one off, I take two. I slide my free hand into his shirt and reach for three.

Elsewhere his hand grows frustrated fighting for space beneath my dress. His hands shoot to my hips, fingers wrapping purposefully onto my ass. I feel his grip tighten and his strength pulling me toward him. I let out a quick cry as the dress’s material lets it slide a little too easily across the kitchen countertop, stopping myself just shy of being completely in his arms.

I tuck my head into his neck, giving him long sucked kisses while my hands reach down to grab at his ass in retaliation. For a guy I could never picture in a gym, he had an impressive body. A tight ass wasted by a penchant for baggy clothes.

Avery’s not shy about returning the favor, his hands answering my hunger, tracing upward from my hips, ticklish at first, but growing in force as he begins to feel up my chest. The struggle of sensitive nipples compounded by being unable to wear a proper bra with this dress threatening to escalate everything.

And it’s not long before it does, Avery’s hands gently, but oh so hungrily embracing my chest, an errant thumb teasing a nipple. I pull my head back, letting out a little moan, playing it up slightly to let him know he was on the right track. We lock eyes, he recoils with a guilty smile, telling me how sexy he thought I was.

It’s enough to fan that flame in me into a fire. I force my lips back onto his. Wetter, messier kisses. He tucks a thumb into the top of my dress, doing a dangerous dance. It lingers around, flirting with giving me pleasure, but never having the strength to touch me where I want.

The more he denied me, the harder I’d kiss him, my tongue punctuating my demands. It was unreal, he hadn’t even truly touched me and I was a mess. All but whimpering for him to just play with my nipples. Every part of me already raring to go.

Finally he gives in, his thumb administering its mercy, teasing my chest how I needed. I moan into his mouth in relief, pulling my lips from his to voice it again more delicately as he pulls my breasts out of my dress. He had me so flustered, I wasn’t thinking straight. I force my fingers through his hair and force his face to my chest.

He doesn’t seem to mind my demanding streak, planting soft kisses on my skin. I tug on his hair rudely, unwilling to be denied again and he answers back, taking one of my breasts in his mouth. Whatever he achieved with his fingers felt like a cheap magic trick compared to what he could do with his tongue and lips.

Each stroke of his tongue across my sensitive chest could be felt in my core. Every nerve in my body felt warm with pleasure, a darker craving for Avery growing by the second in the pit of my stomach. I can’t help but vocalize whatever I’m feeling, he tells me he loves the sound of my voice like that.

Avery’s unrelenting, I keep waiting for a moment where the pleasure slows, for the man to catch his breath, but it’s a building buzz of delight. Eventually I snap, only content to sit back and enjoy his work for so long. I announce loudly in some very unladylike terms about what of his I needed and where.

He pulls back, giving me a contented look. I reach down for his belt, barely balanced on the edge of the counter. I grope at his hardness over his pants. He was almost as worked up as me. I was impressed.

He smirks. With a little laugh he responds that he likes the sound of my voice saying that even better. I smile stupidly and my body’s ache for him builds even hotter, he knew how to make me feel invincible.

And feeling invincible, I kept teasing, asking why he liked what I said as I stroked him over his pants. I confidently repeat my unladylike phrase to him, looking up at him and telling him “I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true.”

He grinned with a fun discomfort, it felt so good to see him enjoying the ride. I was proud of my work. Invincible again, I grab him hard over his pants, clenching him tight and looking him in the eyes, announcing that I’d only say it one more time before it had to happen. The room was so silent you could hear a pin drop as I loudly repeated my unladylike phrase to him one last time, “I need your dick in my mouth, right fucking now.”

We both lunge at his belt buckle, the jingle of metal the only sound present until we hear it: a loud, performative cough from behind my roommate’s closed door.

My stomach dropped 50 feet out of my body, my face probably scarlet. I thought she was gone for the day! I checked!

Reflexively, I stuffed myself back into the top of my dress, panic undoubtedly across my face. I look up to Avery, he’s got a “don’t worry about it,” smile to his face while I’m too mortified to move.

Avery steps to the side, offering me a gentlemanly hand of support to get me down off the kitchen counter. Enough of his carefree spirit transfers into me that I can grab his hand and walk us to my bedroom.

I close my bedroom door behind us softly, thinking that might somehow reduce the damage. I take a deep breath and walk over to my bed, plopping myself inelegantly on its edge, crossing my legs and leaning back on my hands. I look up at Avery, standing in the corner of my room. As soon as our eyes meet, we both laugh.

It cuts the tension, it’s a relief. In a way it’s a sweet little moment, but it doesn’t take long for my body to remind me of some very pressing feelings within. I gesture him over with my hand, an embarrassed smile probably stuck to my face.

He obeys, walking up to me, his waist at about eye level. I sit up and tug at his belt buckle, the jingling of its metal clasp not quite as exciting as before. I look up at him as I unbutton the front of his pants, Avery has something between a sympathetic smile and a troublemaking grin on his face.

I get as far as the zipper before he leans down to the side of my head and apologizes, telling me I’ll have to wait because he needs me right now.

I’m ambushed by Avery’s arms scooping me up and lowering me onto my back. He disappears as I look up for him. I feel his hands on my thighs and hips as I realize he’s down on his knees in front of the bed. As soon as I figure that out, I feel the hem of my dress being played with. This time it’s being scrunched up, Avery’s skilled hands pushing my dress up onto my hips, my underwear whisked away in the blink of an eye.

Everything moves so quickly, I lose track of my thoughts. As soon as Avery plunges his face between my legs, those thoughts are lost forever. Avery teases me again with aggravating skill. His warm breath on me, his lips millimeters from touching me, he retreats, kissing up and down my thigh, whispering compliments up to me about my body.

Again I find myself in a flustered state, ready to surrender completely to him. He was gifted like that. Fed up, I rely on old tricks, grabbing him by his hair and forcing his face exactly where it’s needed between my legs.

His tongue on me is devastation. After all the build up, feeling him there had me in a different plane of existence. For as many things as were said about his artistic talent, for all the jokes made about him “being good with his hands,” it was his lips and mouth and tongue that were most talented.

He builds me up and tears me down, alternating tempo and fixation. For days I’d wonder if it was just because I hadn’t gotten laid in months or if he was really that good. With time to reflect, it’s easy to realize he was just the best. Not even close.

Avery never lets up from when I pushed him down there. He takes his time, every ebb and flow by design. My mind melts, I can barely keep my thoughts in order. I’m loud, I’m being so loud, having completely forgotten about what brought us in the bedroom to begin with.

I look down at him, a tousled head of hair between my thighs. His eyes were looking up at me long before mine looked down. The ache in me steps to the forefront as he pushes me closer and closer, our eyes locked. I lose track of time. I angle and grind my hips into his face to help him out, I can’t help myself. Before anything I wrote about in the last couple paragraphs can even be comprehended, internalized and remembered I’m cumming for him.

Sick with pleasure, I revel in it.

Whenever I finally come down, I notice I’ve been pulling his hair the entire time he’s been going down on me. With whatever composure I have left, I apologize. He looks up at me and jokes that “that’s what it’s there for” while that damn smile of his looks so satisfied.

Feelings from the kitchen haven’t disappeared and I sit myself up, yanking my boots off and throwing them to the corner of the room. He’s blown my mind and I haven’t even gotten his pants off. There was a sort of misplaced, but very real fury in me for that. I channel it, coldly ordering him only with “up” to get him to his feet and “off,” to get undressed. I was on a mission now.

I hop to my knees, my room’s only area rug mercifully right below them. Avery’s still unbuttoning his shirt as I’m tearing his pants and underwear down. At my breaking point, my approach couldn’t be any more different than his.

I didn’t have his patience, as soon as I see his dick, it’s in my mouth.

I think he recoils at the lack of hesitation, my lips taking their second trip down his length before he can even make a sound. Even the smallest groans and heavy breathing were music to my ears after what he’d done for me, both in the last half hour and since I met him earlier in the month. He felt so hard against my tongue, calling into question who was aching for the other more. The restraint he must have had to hold back until now puts my hair-grabbing and hip-grinding to shame.

I take as much of his length in as I can, my nose tickled by the edge of his shirt. Remembering “how he liked his coffee,” I pull him out of my mouth and sternly remind him that I told him to take everything off. I had tore his pants down so quickly, forcing my mouth around him even faster. I’m sure at that point, whatever he was working on didn’t seem to important anymore. My fault.

Even so, Avery is eager to respond, obediently tearing his shirt off. I run a hand up his bare torso, he’s far from ripped, but his body has a lean strength to it. I run his dick up and down the palm of my other hand while I kiss at his waist, the muscles below his abs especially refined.

Avery coos down to me, something about how I looked, something about what I was doing and how he would do anything for it, how he would do anything for me. He had a real skill for making a girl feel powerful even at her most vulnerable. I’m happy to repay his kindness with passion, taking him again in my mouth.

What appears to be a pattern with Avery continues, I try to be graceful and composed but it almost immediately devolves to sloppy and lusty. Every groan he lets out, I can’t help but meet with my own. My pace is fast and messy, a desperate effort to repay him with the most pleasure per second possible. Every moan he makes, every compliment he mutters (no matter how dirty) renews the electricity inside me.

He bucks deeper into my mouth as though it’s a reflex test, his breathing heavy, his idle hands tighten in and out of fists. I come down from my breakneck pace worried that he may be close. Instead, I take the time to really appreciate what I’m working with, my tongue detailing each inch of his throbbing heft as I pull back.

Placing delicate kisses on the side of his dick, I consider asking what he wants. He seems so happy, maybe I should just offer for him to finish in my mouth: this is his payment after all, not mine.

Again, my mind goes back to the explicit terms in which he told me he “liked his coffee.”

I take him again in my mouth, as long a stroke as I can accomplish, before ordering him to lie down on the bed. It’s cute how ready he is to obey. He lies down on my bed and I finally get a chance to really see him naked. Make that two cute things.

I ogle him from above and he asks me if I need help taking my dress off. Little did he know how much work that was, let alone that I certainly didn’t have the time for it right now. I shake my head, plainly telling him “it stays on.” He loved that answer.

He makes as much clear as I wander to my bedside table, pulling a condom from under a stack of junk. Making my way back over to him, I’m thinking aloud, “do we need this?” Avery responds for me to do whatever makes me comfortable. I’m on the pill, but I’ve already torn open the package at this point and am not thinking clearly.

Returning to the sweet, sexy, naked man on the bed, I slide the condom onto him and run my hand up and down his length. He’s been so talkative this whole time, I take the opportunity to play with him. I ask him if I’ve proved to him that I’m the kind of girl that would wear a dress like this. He tells me in no uncertain terms that I’m his fantasy. He tells me he would never had expected this side of me based on how sweet (his word for a square) I was, but that just made it even hotter.

Deluded by his praise, I let off a cliche about how I’m just getting started and straddle him. His hands move in to hold me, as I grab hold of him firmly, sliding his cock up into me. We both like that.

I don’t know if it was what he already had done to me, or the kind of guy he was or what, but something about his dick was just perfect for me. I wrote and rewrote several “work of art” jokes there, but I don’t want to take away from my true excitement in the moment. He wasn’t massive, instead perfectly proportioned for my anatomy. Something about us fucking felt inevitable.

He reached for my ass, guiding the rhythm at which I rode him. That ache was finally getting its relief. I snatched his hands off my hips and pinned them next to his head, riding him slower and taking him much deeper. His eyes were so serious as I grinded on him.

Half-moan half-laugh, I pull his hands back around my waist after I’d had my fun, letting him dictate the speed again. He smiles and jokes that I scared him there for a second. I reach my hand into his hair, pulling it hard and tell him with a smile to behave then. He bucks up hard into me in response and we both can’t help but get serious.

I lean down and kiss him deeply, my hips following my body’s orders to keep him pumping into me. Our lips exchange memories of each other’s past conquests as I feel one of his hands graduate from my hips and slip into the cutout at the back of my dress. It tickles. Somehow I’m able to pick out that sensation over the dull bliss of him plunging deeper and deeper inside of me.

I giggle. I tell him to stop it, he apologizes, describing in depth what that part of the dress does for him. I think I have just the prescription.

I pull Avery out of me, the full length of him sending some shivers down my spine. He has no idea what’s happening and I can’t help but delight in it. I pivot myself around so my back is facing him, it feels both hot and wasteful not seeing his response. I grab his cock again and lead it into me, he swears as though I just wronged him greatly.

I close my eyes and ride him, tuning my movements to the sound of his voice. The last time I had ridden someone like this was probably experimenting with my college boyfriend and I was never a fan of the position. Sharing it with Avery just about made it my favorite.

Lowering myself on and off his cock while his words made me feel like some sort of all-powerful being was the new peak to be topped. His hands clung to my body in disrespectful ways, betraying the composed Avery I knew. I can feel the ache inside me welling up again, determined to transform into something surreal.

Riding him slow and deep, I look over my shoulder at him. He looks like a broken man and I love it. As I slide my hips upward, his dick pops out of me. I reach down for it, and I’m swallowed up by Avery’s arms, dragging me violently backward. Still straddling him, he slides himself down so his mouth is right below my pussy.

Immediately his earlier talents are brought to the forefront of my mind as he licks and sucks and overwhelms me. I bend myself forward to give him the space he needed.

For the first time in a while, he’s silent, solely focused on my pleasure. I wonder if I can change that, his cock dangerously close to my face in our new position. I don’t even think twice, pulling the condom off of him and taking him back in my mouth. I hear him groan once again, the vibration of it I can feel in my hips.

He has me beat, my mind is hardly able to think straight as he continues to work me over. The head I give him is as though I’m sleepwalking: sloppy and distracted by the version he’s giving me. His dick is basically just in my mouth as a consolation prize as my hips gently ride his face and he pushes me over the top again. This was all supposed to be for him, not me.

At this point I’m so sensitive, I’m not sure what more I can take. What was this guy made of? I pull him out of my mouth and pull myself off his, rolling to the other side of the bed. I catch my breath looking at him, beaming with satisfaction.

I don’t know what I have left, so I stop thinking and act on instinct. “Up” I order him again through heavy breathing.

He’s on his feet and I scoot to the end of the bed, unsure where my body was needed. I stroke him, buying myself some time. He sweeps my hair out of my face, awaiting my next move.

For some reason, my body decides there’s only one thing for it. I stand up, turn around and bend over the bed. I tell Avery in no uncertain terms to fuck me and he doesn’t miss a beat. I’m exhausted, but he feels so good. He tells me he’s not sure how long he can last now without the condom. “Good,” I think to myself.

His strokes are long and confident, I hold nothing back, playing up every little piece of joy and pleasure. He pulls me out of the top of my dress with one hand, teasing my nipples while his other hand gripped the cutout hole in the back of my dress. For the next minute, there are no words, just primal noises of bliss.

Finally, I can feel his pace shift, followed by a bit of cursing under his breath. This was it. I feel him pull out of me in a hurry, letting loose the greatest groan of relief and letting himself loose all over the back of my dress. All is quiet for a moment, and I collapse forward onto my bed.

Avery lets out a sigh and I look back up to see him grinning.

“Just let me know when the next project is.”

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/lt5pzq/fm_i_knew_just_what_to_wear_to_pay_him_back_and