And hell, he’s already double the size of my ex. The thought of having every inch of Zane’s dick inside me is enough to have me feeling both panicked and lust-fuelled. I want him to fuck me like I’ve never been fucked before and perhaps he spies that in my eyes, because he cups his cock, dragging it fully out of his fly, before slowly pulling down his chinos and kicking out of them.
Stood before me with no clothes on, my pulse rockets into the stratosphere. This man should not wear clothes. To deny any female the privilege of drooling over him is a crime against nature.
Rippling muscles scored with ink, cut glass sinews marked with his battle scars, olive-tinted flesh gleaming with good health. And a cock that has my pussy pulsing with need.
I’ve watched porn with Marina and Eddie, a bowl of popcorn between us as we tilt our heads to get a hold on all the angles and this man, definitely, without a doubt, belongs in a porn flick.
Wow.
He jolts me out of my stupor by grabbing the skirt of my dress and pulling it down over my hips and legs, leaving me in my strappy shoes and panties. Thank fuck, I’m wearing my sole pair of bikini panties and not the high-waisters I usually wear, mostly because they’re cheap and this underwear set was a present from Eddie a Christmas or so ago.
I don’t care that it’s weird my friends buy me this kind of stuff. My poverty isn’t of interest at the moment. I’m just relieved to be wearing something sexier than granny panties. Next time I see Eddie, she’s going to get a thank you kiss, too.
In fact, screw it. I’m going to snog both women.
Mona’s got her groove back.
Woohoo.
With my insides doing a celebratory jiggle, Zane’s body is doing some reacting of its very own. His cock flexes and twitches as he looks at me, imperfections and all. And for that moment, I feel on fire, because this man wants me. He actually wants me.
He crouches a little to grab my feet and tugs me forward. His fingers grip the sides of my panties when he leans over me, and they follow the same path as my dress. On the floor, they go. His hands cup my feet and slowly, he spreads my legs.
Knowing where this is heading has excitement fluttering around my belly. As soon as my legs are fully parted, he bends them at the knee and presses down so that I’m completely spread, wide open for his gaze, and for his touch. He proceeds to bend down, and the first puff of air against my pussy has my back arching.
I’m an inch away from an orgasm.
Maybe not even that much.
A half-inch.
If I’m lucky.
Or unlucky. Whichever way you look at it.
That slight gust of air from the gentle stream he directs along the length of my pussy has every inch of me quivering and gooseflesh coursing over my body like a tidal wave.
The first lick, that slight flicker of his tongue against my clit has me shuddering, quaking internally. The moist muscle against the steadily growing slickness of my sex creates a soundtrack of its own. It should have embarrassed me, but as his lips and tongue slide through my pussy lips and down to the entrance of my body, I feel anything but embarrassment.
I feel full of life.
For the first time in my life, as a serial creature, I am alive.
The tip of his tongue rims the sodden entrance, his teeth tug and pull at the labia, and his nose—yes, dear God, his nose—nudges my clit.
My hands alternate between gripping the sheets and reaching for his head and shoulders, holding him against me. Slight muffled chuckles penetrate the haze of my pre-orgasmic bliss but I’m way too gone to give a damn he’s laughing at me. I’m just focused on what his mouth is doing.
And then, it comes. I cum. At that moment, I realize that the little bursts of pleasure I’ve found with myself and my own hand are nothing in comparison to the explosion that can occur with the right man. God help me, but this man is the right man.
The thought and the sensation pummel me with their power. Like a hundred punches to my head, body, and sex, I feel as though I’m being dragged through an assault course, but rather than feel the agony of such a beating, I feel delirious. My head is spinning, I’m almost light-headed, a brink away from my eyes fluttering shut to pass out or fall asleep, I’m not sure which.
And then, it’s there. He’s there. His cock. Sliding through my pussy lips, nudging my already drunken clit and then pushing through the slight resistance of my sex to be welcomed by tight, slick walls of still-pulsing, post-orgasmic heat.
As he penetrates me, the fingers of his left hand are tugging at my nipple, pinching it mostly. I’d prefer a light suckle, maybe a play of teeth and tongue, but with my dazed gaze, I can see the level of concentration on his face.
At his temple, there are beads of sweat and a pulsing vein. His eyes are focused on the area of our joining, something that encourages me to look as well.
As I do, my pussy quivers and the walls clench down on him, gripping him within their snug clasp. The move has him groaning and gritting his teeth. Spying his size, gauging it in comparison to my relatively inexperienced sex, his caution is appreciated.
In comparison to my ex’s hotdog wiener, Zane’s cock is enormous. The only reason I’m not on the brink of panic is the fact that I’m far too relaxed and sated after my orgasm. Plus, that powerful image of the flushed flesh of his cock, with its slight pulse as his arousal beats him hard, against the almost raw pink of my pussy… it’s hotter than any porn I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s intense, real, and as thrilling as all hell.
Apparently Zane is accustomed to inciting terror into the hearts of most women. Let them climax first and then they won’t run away in terror at his size… That’s his plan of attack and I’m mighty appreciative of it.
All my mind and my pussy is capable of, is feeling. At this moment in time, as discomforting as his size is, I’m feeling fantastic.
It seems to take an age for him to penetrate me fully. His hips rock back and forth, back and forth until he’s all the way in. Any bliss I felt has wavered slightly as he butts the throat of my womb, but it still feels too damn good to complain. Seeming to realize my quandary of emotion and sensation, he places his hands either side of my head and leans over, joining our mouths together.
The move does two things. Inadvertently, it nudges him deeper until I feel as though I can taste him at the back of my throat, but it also takes my mind off the fact that every inch of my pussy has been claimed by him.
With our mouths joined, he begins to thrust his hips. Slowly impaling me on his shaft and then quickly retreating, ramming into me only to pull all the way out. Keeping me entirely on edge has my body leaping toward another orgasm. No thrust is ever the same until finally, he reaches between us and pinches my clit.
And he hits a home run. The ball soars out of the park and my minute amount of baseball trivia flies out with it.
As do I.
I’m out for the count.
Yeehaw.
Chapter Three
“Wow.”
The first words to leave my lips are hardly profound, but I’m capable of little else.
When I think of what I’ve experienced in the past and what I’ve done tonight, I want to curse my ex for ruining sex for me.
My mind wanders to memories of being buried under the sheets as Dan rutted away on top of me, uncaring of my pleasure, only of his own. Then I compare it to tonight. Zane, a stranger, laid me bare to his gaze in ways that my husband of four years didn’t. He saw, tasted, and touched what feels like every part of me.
And what’s better, his softening, limp cock is still inside me. Just. It’s less terrifying in this state, less enormous, but still, pretty damned impressive.
At my inarticulate murmur of wonder, Zane chuckles. I’m pleased to say that he sounds a little hoarse himself.
On my back, with him on top of me, I stare up at the ceiling. What do I spy? Nothing less than a damn mirror. A laugh bubbles up inside me, but it fades away as I note the differences between us
.
His lean length of olive perfection compared to my pale and peaky white skin. The short tight waves of black hair compared to my strawberry blonde, tangled waist-length locks. His face is pressed against my breast, a light stubble bristles against the tender flesh, but in the mirror, with his head turned to the side, I can see his eyes are open.
The comparison between us is immense.
I’m light to his dark. Day to his night.
Lifting a hand, I raise it to his head and run my fingers through his hair. It’s soft and thick and tickles the tips of my digits. “I don’t usually do this, you know.”
“I know. Me neither.”
Unable to help myself, I snort. “Yeah, right. I’m sure.”
He turns his face to press his forehead between my breasts. “You’ve no idea how infrequently this occurs.”
“Seriously?” I ask, unable to believe it. A nasty thought pops into my head. “You are single, right? I should have asked that before. You’re not married? You don’t have a wife and kids?” Dammit, this is another reason I don’t do one-night stands.
How will I live with myself if I know I helped some guy cheat on his wife?
“No, no wife or kids. There’s no need to worry on that front.”
Sighing with relief, I let my fingers continue their slight play with his hair. As I lay there, completely squashed by him and loving every minute of it, I’m trying to build up the courage to ask him something.
I really want to touch him. All over. I want to taste him and revel in his flavor, because this is one night out of my mundane existence and I want to fulfill my own desires. Even if it is selfish.
“Spit it out, Mona. I can hear the cogs working in your head.”
There’s a gruffness to his voice that almost has me frowning, but I ignore it to burst out, “Can I touch you? I mean, really touch you?”
A stunned silence fills the room for a moment and then, his muffled laughter rumbles across my breasts, urging my nipples into life.
His lips open, but not to speak, to tug at the still-turgid peaks of my tits. I moan a little as inside, my belly squirms with the power of such a gentle touch. His answer eventually comes as he heaves himself upwards, letting his cock slip out of my warm sex to roll on to his back. “Knock yourself out.”
The invitation is too much to ignore. My body is limp and my limbs are like wet noodles, so much so that as I sit up and press my weight on to my elbows, I almost fall backward. But I force some starch into my arms and legs, and crawl over to him.
Immediately, my eyes are glued to his cock. It’s glistening with my moisture and the condom covering his length is filled with his cum. It’s a statement of how my mind had imploded that I didn’t realize he’d protected the pair of us.
Thank God one of us had the foresight to be careful.
I’m momentarily ashamed of myself and then my eyes wander over his balls and my attention is captured. Hanging heavily between his slightly parted legs, they’re a darker brown than his body. And it’s only then that I realize he’s completely bare down there. I’ve never done more than a quick trim and before I can let myself dwell on worries of my un-denuded state freaking him out, I urge myself to touch him.
Gripping the base of his shaft, I slowly roll the condom upwards, revealing the slightly brown, purply pink flesh to my gaze. This too is wet. With the condom in my hand, I climb off the bed, uncaring of my nakedness—something which has never happened before—and I stride toward a door I can only assume houses the bathroom.
The opulence of the suite astounds me. The bathroom is a mass of Italian amber marble complete with chrome and glass accessories. A huge tub fills one corner, a shower with an astounding amount of shower heads another. One wall is taken up with a vanity mirror and sinks. Spotting a bin underneath the vanity, I dispose of the condom and then, spying a wad of washcloths on the counter, I grab one, turn the faucet and run the water until it’s tepid warm then douse the material in it.
Retreating to the suite with its impressive decor, a bed that takes up half the room and soft furnishings that I would love to have in my own place but could never afford, their luxuriousness disappears as I focus on Zane.
He’s still laying there, his body bared to mine, but his arm is covering his eyes. Wondering if he’s embarrassed, I say nothing, just wrap the washcloth about his cock and clean it as gently as I can. Marina said to me once that I didn’t have to be careful when giving a guy a hand job. That they liked a hard and firm grip. Whether that’s true or not, I don’t know, but I’ll give it a go tonight. My ex didn’t like me to touch him.
I’m only now starting to see how weird he was.
Zane hisses as I slowly stroke him with the washcloth, and I’m thrilled when his cock is once more revived into an erection with only that slight touch. His breathing comes harder, I watch the fast fall and rise of his torso. The tattoo on his bicep, a hissing snake, undulates as he tenses his arms, seeking control.
Removing the washcloth once I can feel it grow cold, I lick my lips at the sight of the impressive piece of flesh in my hand. It’s huge. My hands are pretty small, dainty I guess you could call them, but my left one barely fits around him. I press down and start to stroke him, while with my right, I cup his balls and begin to squeeze.
In my mind, I’m running through everything Marina and Eddie ever taught me. The advice and tips they gave me during the drought years of my marriage, as I sought to entice and please my husband.
That might have been a waste, but those lessons are coming in handy now.
My own body quickens at the sight of his pleasure as I gently fist his balls and rub the two together like two Chinese Baoding balls, only without the chime. All the while, I’m trying to be careful, but mindful of the fact that men supposedly like a firm hand.
When a bead of pre-cum appears, I bend down and lap at it with my tongue, pleased at the visual confirmation that I’m doing a good job. It tastes salty, slightly disgusting if I’m honest, but it’s more than just semen. It’s arousal. A physical reaction that I alone inspired and as such, it tastes like amber nectar.
My tongue laps away whenever a bead appears and at my touch, more and more make an appearance. I begin to suck down on the glans, pleased when his hips jerk and one hand reaches down to grip the back of my head.
The pressure from his clasp is urging me down and I allow myself to sink further on to his cock, accepting the thick shaft between my lips. The placing of my hand prevents him from choking me, nevertheless I try to swallow as much of his length as I can. Wanting to please him and slip my way into his memory banks. The thought makes me feel a little pathetic, but I ignore it. Telling myself that thinking is for the morning. Not tonight.
My oral technique is inexperienced and filled with imperfections, I know this—I’m not stupid. Christ, whose first blowjob could win an award? But his reaction is a confidence booster in itself. I can hear the panting of his breath, can hear the rough in- and ex-halations as his need pours out of him. Pre-cum is drizzling down my throat and his once-soft balls are now tight and drawn up against his body.
Moving my head up and down, I suck and lick and do my damnedest to make him cum. And when he does, I’m relieved.
I did it.
Phew.
His hand tightens in my hair, almost to the point of pain, as he climaxes. In a sick way, the bite of discomfort thrills me. As his cum hits the back of my throat, I almost gag, but force myself to calm down and swallow. Accepting every single drop, I pull away and stare as a strand of saliva connects my mouth to his dick until distance breaks it apart.
It’s hardly the kinkiest sex act in the world, but I feel as though I’ve just won the gold medal. I did it. He came. An interesting feat considering the fact he’d only just cum a short while ago. That has to bode well, right?
Feeling pleased with myself, I collapse beside him and stare once more up at the ceiling. The crimson paint beside the mirror blends perfectly with the natty gold
and black wallpaper print that is set on the back wall behind the bed. The soft furnishings match, and even though it’s all very expensive and tasteful, I feel like I’m in a bordello. After what I’ve just done, my folks would probably condemn me to hell.
What a way to go, though.
Feeling smug and pleased with myself, I grab a pillow and turn on my side, tucking it under my head to ready myself for sleep. When he curls about me, his now lax cock butting my ass, I murmur, “Wake me when you’re ready for round three.”
Smiling at his chuckle, I allow myself to sleep and am not surprised when it takes two minutes to toddle off into the land of nod. Pass out I might have done, but I’ve just come twice, when I’ve never really climaxed before. And with the power of a supernova, I’d say I deserve a short nap after expending such energy.
How long he let me sleep, I don’t really know. The first inkling that something was happening, was when I felt a finger twiddle with the nubbin of my clit. Just a flicker at first, then a pinch as it was drawn between two digits and tightly pressed.
The move jolts me out of sleep and into wakefulness faster than a bat out of hell.
My legs clamp down on his wrist, not in rejection but welcome. I want to keep him there. Whatever this night heralds, I want to enjoy every damned minute of it.
His hands, those strong, dexterous paws, clamp down on my thighs and force them apart.
It’s only as he slides into me from behind that I realize I’m still lying on my side and that he’s lying tightly pressed behind me. In this position, he hasn’t exactly diminished in size, but I don’t feel as impaled as I was earlier. He’s still an enormous presence inside me. I feel scorched, branded. Desperate to feel the friction as he pounds into me.
The rocking of our bodies has an edge to it, as we can’t move as smoothly or quickly as before. It takes a while to maintain a proper rhythm, where each and every time he thrusts, he butts something inside of me that has never been touched before. My panting breaths grow increasingly loud, embarrassingly so, but I’m too far gone to give a damn. My entire body is shaking with need as we work together to climax.
Sinfully Theirs: Naughty Nookie Part I Page 4
