Stories tagged with "blowjob"
Cum True
A couple plays out their kinky fantasies together.
I thought you said this wasn't going to work. I barely opened the door of my apartment. The latch was on as I whispered the words through the crack peering with my face half showing. Marty leaned against my door, speechless. In the background, you heard David Letterman. Is that Dave? He's mild. Not gonna work, Marty. I sighed, ready to shut the door. A sharp pain shot through my stomach. I was praying. He'd say something convincing for me not to close it. Ice cream, he blurted the word out like it was some discovery. Suddenly he was Archimedes leaping out of the bathtub crying Eureka. Give me 20 minutes. He put his hand on the door. Peanut butter and chocolate, peanut butter and chocolate. He trailed off half-teasing. 20 minutes, Cindy. That's all I'm asking. We get our ice cream and walk around the park once, once around the baseball field, and then I'll take you back here. Silence, Come on Sunday. He asked, despairing little. I saw the circles around his eyes behind his glasses. He hadn't been sleeping as he resorted to sleeping pills again. Before Marty met me, he told me he suffered from acute insomnia. There were stretches of time; he said when he'd survive on one or two hours of sleep a night from herbal teas to a hypnotist, cognitive behavioral therapy, etc., etc. Friberg bourbon works for me. I joked when I first met him at a dinner party. He laughed. Yeah, don't think I didn't try that. I just became a sleepless drunk. He said. After that, we exchanged a few more jokes and ended up talking throughout dinner, nearly ignoring the celebrants who sat at the head of the table. By the end of the night, we decided to share a cab. I have herbal tea. I teased before jumping out of the car. I was the first stop. He smiled and blushed a little. We sat in silence for a few moments. He'll take it. The cab driver was irritated. Now get out. We burst out laughing as we tumbled out of his taxi after over-tipping him. Did he have a lisp? Marty took a spoonful of ice cream. He was about to reminisce. After two minutes of quietly ambling in the park, he became eager to make conversation was nearly midnight. The street lights barely illuminated the field. But this was the path on our daily jobs, and we knew the terrain. That was two years ago, Marty, I answered, not wanting to talk about it. That was the time when we laughed so hard. We fell on the floor crying. It was the first time I touched him. He took his glasses off, and I brushed the moisture from his lips as he laughed uncontrollably. Please, Marty, please don't mention it. I pleaded in my mind privately. Three. He marched on Marty. Three years ago, he corrected as he spooned a huge portion of mocha fudge from his cup. I held my breath and licked my ice cream cone. We walked on the outer edge of the field close to the driveway—less than a quarter of this walk we had barely tracked before reaching the bleachers. The openness bared us to the wind. Cold. He noticed me shiver slightly. I'd forgotten my coat in my rush to walk with him. I seem to have forgotten everything. I hadn't seen Marty in two weeks after he moved out. In spite of my apprehension, I was thrilled to see him. He looked at my sweater and was about to take his jacket off. I'm fine. I protested. You love that shirt, but it's really not warm enough. Wait. He put his cup down to get his arm off of one of his sleeves. I'm okay. I was about to refuse, but it was too late. He has taken his jacket off and hung it on my shoulders. There. He said, picking up his cup and started walking. That night, three years ago, when I first invited him to my place, the apartment was a mess. Newspapers, books, magazines, all were strewn everywhere. And a trunk that doubled is my coffee table had a cup and an ashtray perched on it filled with cigarette butts. Do you smoke? He said matter-of-factly, Yes, but I also do yoga and meditate. Not to mention I'm a vegetarian. All in all, it offset my deadly addiction. So maybe I'll live as long as a nonsmoker. Well, maybe not. Hey, I don't sleep, so that must be killing me slowly. He was agreeable. Well, maybe you'll sleep better tonight. The smile What do you have for me, flower? I looked at him. He and I knew he had begun the dance. He just called me a flower. Marty walked in front of me and was about to sit on one of the bleachers when a teenage couple rushed in front of him, heading towards the center of the baseball diamond. What the hell? He's about to curse, but the youngsters were undeterred. They giggled towards their destination. The girl wore a leather jacket over her cotton dress. Her long black hair flailed in the wind while the boy chased behind her, stroking her back. I stood mesmerized. Marty ignored them. Weight was on his mind. Was it lavender? he said. He was conjuring the past. Lavender. I mouth the word as I settled next time, that oil. He looked up at me that first time when you massage my back. I could smell the lavender as soon as he said it, but I was lost. I was looking at the girl in the middle of that baseball field. She was taking her jacket off. The boys stood close to her, twirling and twisting our long hair around his wrist. Marty, I said. The girl bent down to lift her dress and pull it over her head. Look, I said quietly, pointing with my finger. Underneath, she was naked. Marty followed my gaze. He and I watched the boy. He walked back five paces to look at her. Her breasts did supple, and her nipples pointed erect against the wind. Wait, are they I cut him off from saying anything like a mother gagging a child in church. This felt sacred. I was watching a ritual. The young man intent on his lover pulled his pants down along with his underwear and tossed it off of his ankles. He was excited. He can see it well from where we sat. His erect penis brushed the base of his abdomen. This was Adam and Eve, and I sat watching outside of time. Then, taking his hand, he began circling his palm around his penis, jerking it up and down, up and down. She watched and learned suddenly. She took her middle finger and touched herself, thrusting it inside her vagina slowly at first, and then followed his rhythm. He jerked, and she thrusted, each looking at the other. Then he walked towards her, grabbed her other hand, and placed it on him. He was going to teach her how to touch him. His hand guided her as it circled around his penis, jerking him off. Their eyes were locked. Soon she followed his lead up and down, up and down. She jerked him off, taking her hand out of her groin. She grabbed his face, urgently pulling him towards her mouth. Her hands sped up as he sucked her lips hungrily. She could feel him. He was building inside, and she knew she wanted him before it was over. So she pulled his body close to her, opened her legs, and begged for him to mount her. Their bodies locked. Wrapping her leg around his calf, he stumbled. They lost balance together and fell. She uttered a sound she hit the grass. Immediately he climbed on top of her and slid inside her. The girl groaned. We knew he'd entered. His buttocks pulled up and down gently, slowly afraid to damage her. Then unable to control his own pleasure. He drove himself deeper and faster through her. His flesh slapped against hers, and the wind echoed them deeper and deeper. He went while her groans rose higher and higher baritone versus soprano. They battled as he plunged, finally, like a duet. They crescendoed then, silence. All Martin I heard was our breathing. He and I had wept. Party. I whispered moments after the climax. Yes. And he grabbed my hand. Both of us were shaking in the dark. Marty. He knew what I was about to say. That was us, Marty. That was us. He squeezed my hand. I know flower. I know. That night we went back to my apartment, in my medicine cabinet. He found the lavender oil. I felt the laughter bubble up when he showed me the bottle that night. I knew I'd collapse in his arms, drenched in the sweet scent of flowers.
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