It was the second night she was staying over. We’d hung out on the couch and lightly fooled around in between fights and beers, grabbed In N Out, talked and laugh about our respective trips and plans for the week. My voice was completely gone, and I couldn’t do anything but hoarsely whisper; she gave me the cold, after all, so it didn’t matter if I continued to kiss her.
She wore a simple white cotton mini crop that showed the exact coordinates of her hard nipples on small, cute breasts, and a pair of jogging shorts that, I soon found out, didn’t trap any moisture. I picked her up – she’s only 5’3, and might crack 100lbs on a good day – and kissed her neck, her clavicle, her cheekbone. I ran my tongue lightly and traced the curves of her ribs, her sternum, tickled her belly button with my nose. What can I say? I love to induce gasps as much as giggles, and if you’re in my arms, you’ll have attention paid to those parts of you that, in the past, most have likely foolishly ignored.
Sorry, waxing poetic. On to the fucking.
Because it was the second night, I already knew the ins and outs (heh) of her body. She’d told me that morning she had trouble walking, and I could partially see why from the bruises on her thighs, but I also knew her pussy took a beating, and yet here she was, teeming, ready for another helping. She had intricate blackwork etched on her hands; I’m a sucker for chicks with ink, after all. She used to strip, so she could move like a wildcat.
I’d scooped her in my arms and placed her on the bed, and she was already writhing, like an eager kitty trying to get down from being held.
“I’m positively soaked,” she whispered. I could only whisper back (due to the fucking pain) an “I can tell.” She pulled her shorts down and I shivered a bit.
“You wore red for me.” Indeed she did, sheer lacy red panties that couldn’t have been a bigger “fuck me like we’re never going to see each other again” sign.
“Like them?”
“Enough that we’re not taking them off.”
I slipped two fingers in and had her gyrating in rhythm, long kisses at her throat sometimes replaced with a firm grasp, cute little forehead kisses and questions of “Love it, baby?” By the time she’d pulled out my dick and scooted down to blow me and slap it on her tongue and stare up at me with mischievous eyes and an apparent smile, I thought, “This is what sex should always be like.”
She rose up on her knees and kissed my throat (ladies, if you want to make me tremble, do this unabashedly), ran her hands through my hair, and said, “I want you to hit it from the back tonight.”
She crawled down and propped herself on her forearms and arched her back. Knew exactly what she was doing, and her heart-shaped ass in the air in front of me made me almost lose control. I moved those red panties to the side and entered her, and it was even better than the previous night; she took me easily, wetly, and immediately moaned.
I don’t know how long I railed her, how she lasted in that position, but she did eventually cave and collapse, and I scooped her leg up, knee to rib, and continued. She asked me again and again, “You love my pussy, don’t you? It’s yours, it’s yours..” and affirmed, as a good girl should, “You’re so deep. You feel amazing. Go, go, don’t stop..”
Rolling hill orgasms, sweaty pillows, occasional screams from turning it up to 11, laughter from mistakenly banging her head on the wall, and finally, my own shot painting her belly, to which she sad, succinctly and adorably, “You’re so hot. That was sick. I love it.” Two of those statements haven’t been uttered to me, so all I could do was kiss her, clean her up, and stretch.
I pulled the comforter up to our hips because of how hot it’d become. She burrowed into me, nose in the dip of my collarbone, and I rubbed her neck, trying to remove all the tension that had built up for her over the last few weeks. Eventually, she fall asleep on my chest, and I drifted off too.
There are, occasionally, weekends seemingly taken from the life of some parallel universe and spliced into mine; this particular scenario was no exception. I’m just happy to have given her three days of unashamed adoration, and that she could return it, sweet girl she is.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/w441q5/a_fun_weekend_with_a_guest_fm
You’re a damn good writer, too.