You’re a bit tipsy, still wearing the rather frightful birthday crown I gave you at the beginning of the evening, hand innocently clasped in mine as we lean into each other. Rings from wine glasses adorn the table; *Star Wars* is finishing up.
“When do I get my present?” you mumble, leaning down to trail your long hair over my face. “Oh, I’m sorry, is six drinks not enough of a present?” “No. And I paid for half of them.” I leer up at you and click my tongue. “Fine. Let me go get it.” You double over to hold me still. “Don’t leave!”
“I can’t give you your present if you don’t let me go get your present. That’s physics.” With a groan, you spring upwards, releasing me from your arms. “Fine.” I swish into my room, where your gift is already wrapped. But there’s still a bit to do.
The wine has made you impatient. “Is it a pony? I hope it’s a pony.”
“Not quite,” I yell back, “Sorry to disappoint.” “Birthdays are always disappointments.” My stomach twirls itself into a cord, but I finish tying my bathrobe and tuck your gift under an arm. “I mean, I can return it, but I thought you’d at least want to see it first.” No sooner have you turned to look over the couch than your eyes have grown into saucers. “No,” you rasp, “I’m sorry, I definitely want to see it.”
I move in front of you as you sit back on the cushions and frame your legs with mine, sitting on the edge of your knees. “Birthday boy picks. Bow or box first?”
“Is it crass to say bow?” you ask, fingering the ribbon around my waist.
“Definitely,” I chuckle, settling my hands on your shoulders to make space for you to reach. Your gaze fixes on my torso as you loosen the knot gentle as if you were diffusing a bomb. Your hands hesitate for just a moment, then go for the edges of my robe, glancing across my collarbone as you prod it down and off my shoulders.
You’re silent as you trace the black lace, winding and edging down my shoulder to my sternum. The most careful finger, running to follow the swirling up my breast before your hand settles on my chest. “Disappointing?” I pout.
You look up at me for the first time. “Far from it.” I can feel you shift underneath me, but thankfully you’re only moving to kiss me softly, one of your hands curling into my hair ever so lightly in the way that I can’t help but sigh into your mouth. When you pull away, you keep your forehead resting against mine so you only have to whisper, “What’s in the box?”
I hold it out, settling my own bit of sick feeling by saying, “We’ll get something else if you don’t like it.” “Why wouldn’t I like it?” you laugh, tearing at the paper.
“I got it on a hunch,” I say, worrying my nails a bit under one of your merciless cocked eyebrows. “You worry too much,” you tease, the understatement of the century, but my eyes remain glued to your hands as they remove the lid of the box and then freeze in midair.
You look up at me, then back to your gift with an expression I can’t read. Something like confusion, or fear? Your fingers go to trace the edges as I rest my hands in my lap, waiting for you to say something. You pull the thing out and set the box aside, turning it over in your hands for an eternity, inspecting the faux leather, the velvet lining, the single, somewhat delicate gold loop at the front.
“This is for me?” you ask in a strangled octave. One hand goes to scratch my ear as I avoid your eyes. “I mean, for me, but yes, for you. I just thought. You might like it. We, I can take it back if you don’t.” You stop rotating the collar to fasten your gaze on me.
“I didn’t say that.” I can feel my teeth sinking into my cheek. “What made you think I would like this?”
“I thought…” My cheeks are on fire. “I thought how much we both like the idea that I’m yours.” “So *not* like an animal thing, Kitten?” Now that I’ve met your gaze, I realise it’s barely covering a smirk. “No, not like an animal thing. Just a … belonging thing.”
“So it’s just a symbolic sex collar?” you grin, biting your bastardly little lip. “A symbolic sex collar, yes.” I nod, trying to work out your next move.
After making me wiggle a bit, you exhale and begin to work the latch open. I watch your fingers, feeling something boil in the pit of my stomach.
“Chin up,” you say, and I realise, though delivered in your carefree tenor, it’s an order. I lean back as steadily as possible on one hand, holding my hair out of the way with the other.
You look up at me appraisingly as your arms rise to wrap the thing around my neck. You put one finger to my pulse point as you tighten it, I realise to keep it from choking, and fasten off the band. Then your finger slides around my throat to the ring at the bottom, hooking in and pulling my face to meet yours.
There’s a hunger in your eyes that doesn’t seem to suit your thoughtful question. “Is that alright?” I nod. “Do you like it?” I ask, feeling a bit onstage.
Your finger tugs down as your hips roll up, pushing your half-hard cock against me through denim and silk. You pull me by the loop so my ear brushes your lips, so that I hear you murmur, “I like it.”
You slowly allow me the slack to rise and face you, and I realise the emptiness in your face is not disgust or apathy but reverence.
“Stand up, please,” you ask in that worshipful way, and how could I not, and then you’re tall above me, lifting my eyes with that hand under my chin, never letting go. You don’t say anything else as you turn, always facing me, and begin pulling me slowly, intently, to my room.
“Do you like it when I tell you what to do?” you ask, dropping hold of my collar to shut and lock the door behind you. I consider as you turn back to me.
“I like when you know exactly what you want to do with me. To me.”
You smile a beautiful, crooked smile as you crowd me toward my own bed, peeling your shirt up and over your head, shucking to the side.
“I’m going to watch you suck my cock, princess. And then,” you add, moving to divest from your jeans, “just before I come, I’m going to crawl on top of you, and I’m going to push my cock inside you, and I’m going to fuck you just how you like it. And I’m going to come so deep inside you, you’ll see fucking stars.”
I catch my jaw gaping and shut it just as you go to trace my lips with your thumb, amused sparkles dancing in your eyes. “What do you think? Fair dos?”
“I love a game plan,” I exhale, pulling you by your wrist to my level. “Get comfy, birthday boy.” You crawl back to sit against the headboard and hold out your hands. “Come here, baby girl.”
I crawl up so my knees rest between your thighs; your hands reach for mine and pull me in. “I think a kiss to start,” you wager, pushing my arms up and behind me. “I think that’s good form,” I agree, leaning over to meet you. You’re not ashamed to have your tongue inside my mouth, tracing my teeth, my cheek, and I remember I don’t have to be ashamed, either.
When you come up for air, I slink down, following the waistband of your pants as I peel them off you. Your eyes are almost pained as the air hits you, but you don’t take them off me, only moving an arm to bundle up my hair and hold it behind me.
I take your cock in one hand, pausing an iota from your head to whisper, “I love you,” before kissing you gently. You groan as if the earth had shook, and I don’t let you recover fully before swirling my tongue around your tip and then pulling you down my throat.
“Fuckfest,” you grunt, “Jesus fucking—” I come up for air. “That’s quite profane of you.”
“Your lips wrapped around my cockhead, that’s fucking profane,” you gasp, reaching up to hook the ring of my collar and pulling me back where you want me. “I didn’t ask you to stop.”
I run my hand up and down your shaft as I droll, “Tell me how good I am to you.”
“You are so good,” you cry, “Especially when your tongue is on my—” You’re cut off by an aforementioned organ trailing from your balls down and up the length of you, before I lick deep into your slit.
“Give me something,” I ask, stroking you still, “Just a little.” You whimper and a bit of precome runs out of you, quick and strong. I lap it up like a person starved before wrapping my mouth back around as much of you as I can take. “Here’s. More…” you grunt, jerking into my mouth as your cock pulses more liquid salt down my tongue.
I can’t help but smile, grateful for the openness, for being able to enjoy every bit of you, this special syrup you make just for me, and that’s when you tug on the ring again: “Come up here.”
You press your lips to mine, mouth open, tongue searching for remnants of your own flavour as you grip me by my shoulders and push me into the pillows. You’ve taught me that being rough doesn’t have to mean being uncomfortable, and now I’m nestled like an egg even as you fumble with my lingerie, even as I help you with a giggle.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, baby girl,” you sigh, looming over me, strong arms on either side of my chest, “But I can’t wait any longer. Open up.”
You reach between us, grab your stiff cock even as it drips onto my stomach. You rub the tip of yourself between my lips, in the tiniest circle around my entrance, wetting me with your waters.
“Morning after pill’s on me,” you smirk, but also it’s a question, and so I laugh but nod, and you nod back. “I’m right here, baby,” you say, and I feel your knuckles brush my mound as you push the first inch of your cock inside me, my walls grasping tight as I adjust. “Let me in,” you pray, pushing steadily against the fire of my body.
We both gasp when you come to a stop, your throbbing length fully sheathed inside me. “Two seconds,” I gasp, struggling with the quickness of it all. You nod, bring a hand to stroke my hair. “I take care of my things,” you tease, finger circling the collar before coming to trace my neck, my collarbone, cup my cheek.
I turn to kiss your hand before saying, “Okay. Go for it.”
You don’t wait to smile before inching back out of me, then pushing all the way in again. “I can feel it already,” you whisper into my ear, “welling up in my balls. All this cum, warm and waiting for someone special.”
“I’m someone special,” I manage, wrapping my legs and arms around to cling to you as you struggle to withdraw and thrust in turn. “That’s lucky,” you smirk, before shoving in swiftly. I pet your hair as you pick up what’s rapidly becoming an animalistic rut, smiling to myself that this is, in some way, an animal sex collar.
“I’m swollen. I’m throbbing. Can you feel?” You thrust once more then still, just enough for me to feel you jump against my upper wall. I nod, starting to lose myself. “That’s how fucking crazy I am about you. That’s how much every fucking cell in my body wants to put my cum inside you. All of it is for you, baby girl, you knew it and I knew it and now it’s welling up, ready to just shoot against your walls.” You know descriptiveness is half the toolkit for me, and I can feel my own heartbeat in my cunt, picking up, tightening around you.
“I’m going to pull it out of you,” I promise, “just don’t stop.” You move one hand to the headboard to steady yourself and keep from crushing me to the wall as you rail into me, hair flying. “I’m going to put all this cum inside of you,” you grit through teeth, “and you know how? It’s gonna shoot out of my cock because you make me feel so good, because my body knows your body, because my body only wants your body, because you’re mine and my cum belongs inside you, doesn’t it?” I’m floating off, but you jerk me back by the ring hanging from my neck.
“Tell me,” you demand, and it’s so close to begging that I scramble to answer. “I love you,” I say, “And all I can think about all of the time is the feeling of you swimming and swirling inside of me, rooting me out until you spill inside of me.” Your eyes are pressed shut, your lips a tight line, your cock hot and hard as it drags out of me and then slams back in. “I know you’re so close. You can let go. You have to come in me so I can come. I want to feel it. I want you to loose your cum inside of me, so it’s only between me and you, so it goes straight from your body to my body, I want to you to give me that. Can you do that?” You nod. “Give me your cum, honey. Please. Please, please cum inside me.”
“You pull me into you with all your strength as your hips slam so hard I’ll surely bruise, and your cock is flexing inside of me, cum running straight out of you into me. I’m almost there, you’re still cumming, still writhing to be deeper inside me as you say, “I love you,” and one more slam and the world goes white, or maybe everything’s black, and my walls burst and clench around you. You moan with the feeling of it, I moan with the feeling of your seed pooling inside of me, we moan at being joined, at sharing something primal and tactile and also entirely heartfelt.
—
A.N. ***please*** use protection, always, obviously x
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/jomx70/were_sitting_on_the_couch_in_my_flat_all_others