I don’t expect to be on my back on a futon. We’re listening to music Jesse picked out for us. I feel my heart start to expand at this–this is what I will be doing in the old folks home. He’s biting, he’s going back the same spots over and over and I’m coming a little unravelled. I pull off my shirt and struggle out of my bra. He waits, it’s hot and he’s sweaty. Jesse's sweet, offering to obey boundaries, mentioning his past partners and their sexual abuse. I tell him I'm not interested in back story; only creation myth. Who the fuck am I? Who talks like this?
My nipples are getting rosy and he’s running his hands down my legs, calves, reminding me of the territory that isn’t my cunt. Off go my shorts–again–no one notices how I liked the colors. From shirt to bra to shorts to underwear–none matching but all together, truly, greater than the sum of the parts. I’m still on the futon, in eyesight of the bed, and I’m feeling slight pings of surprise. He’s been spanking me, solid and slow and irregular. It might be the quiet ones, right? He works down to my legs and leaves a red mark near my bikini line. I bruise easily, and my sense of time may be stretched. I watch his mouth go over my skin briefly, and I get a small purple welt in its wake. I cum, flat on my back against his tongue. He asks me if I did, I tell him, Yes, and now you’re just starting to tickle me. He stays fairly still, cheek against my thigh, and then a sudden swipe and I feel it through all of me. A playful swipe and I am laughing and with joy. This is who I want to be again.
The rest is not revolutionary. Our Young Man can cum over and over. I don’t mean to criticize this talent, but none seem bigger or more memorable than the last? (He cums a total of four times quietly and no earthquakes. I wonder if he continues after I leave.) We get into bed, make out and kiss. I am so careful–too much muscle memory and I worry I will slip him into me without a condom. We bury our faces in each other, over and over. He asks me what I’m going to do with his cum. I told him I didn’t have any special plans for it, and as per ushe, a literal answer to a nonsense porn question disarms. He cums for me and then after a few moments points out I can keep sucking.
Eventually we end up back on his futon with me on top, bouncing like a jitney. He’s biting and pressing into me, I’m feeling it in all the right spots and cum on his cock. I really am that straightforward. Clitoral + warm up + more + g spot and there we are.
The next time I saw him, he wanted me to wear a black pencil skirt, tights, and a tight sweater. I added heels, and quietly judged the tights request. (He also asked me to use emojis. Nope.) We ended up in his bed, and he got to sucking my cunt pretty quickly. Shouldn’t it have happened by now? And then I’m cumming deep and long. My orgasm continued gently and then I relaxed, my skirt bunched at my waist, bra still on. He stayed near my pussy and clocked me. Then he licked and dragged his beard places and made me laugh over and over. Eventually I moved and he stopped. He was giddy and powerful and told me I would have to ask him to stop, or he wouldn’t. I apologized. Was he really waiting for me to want to stop that? I wanted to draw out that moment, decadent and laughing, no hand at my back urging me forward.
Later I’m sucking his cock again, I think he’s close, but I don’t know with him. I’m curled on my side in a C-shape, and he leaned over and put his fingers in deep and finger fucked me rough and gorgeous. I’ve been listening to this beachy punk music he picked for me, his upstairs neighbors, and outside traffic. I’m surprised I recognize this new sound while I’m gurgling and trying to hold him deeper in my mouth. I hear that wet pussy sound I hear in porn.
Eventually we fuck, his dick has been sliding around my cunt, and when he finally goes in and I’m on top of him his focused face is wiped clean.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/2zyqqv/f4mfutons_playlists_and_pussy
The female William S. Burroughs of GWS. Beautifully written!