Thursday, February 28, 2013
Needed a change of pace so I completely reworked a short story from last year and would very much like to get a few reviews.
Its FREE on Smashwords - which covers just about any format you can think of.
Hope you enjoy it and please leave a review!
Friday, December 21, 2012
I like to get sticky.
I could tell you weren't expecting it. You are always such a gentleman when we go out, never assuming how the evening will end. I have always appreciated that about you, always enjoyed the look on your face when I invite you inside, or agree to go back to your place. It's so cute, that little flash of excitement, that mischievous grin, it's as if you won a prize and can't wait to receive it.
But last night was different. Last night we both knew what was going to happen before we even left for the party. I'll be honest with you; it was all I could do not to strip you of that suit the minute you showed up at my door. God, you looked so good. I love it when you come straight from work; you're all dressed up, those perfect pants, leather shoes, and starched-crisp shirts. You fit so well into a suit all I want to do is take it off of you; it’s like unwrapping a present.
At the party, I couldn't stop watching you slide around the room. It was exactly how you described it, all those bankers and brokers, everyone playing at civility even when you hate each other. The women are just stuck there. We are little more than arm candy, your little trophies that are supposed to sparkle under the chandeliers. I don't mind as much as some, I like getting away with you. You could take me anywhere and I would be happy. I like the way you show me off, the little looks you give me from across the room that tell me what's really happening behind the smiles, handshakes, and quiet laughter. I love to watch the people, watch them look around, watch their faces give away what they are really thinking when they think no one is looking.
You should know, every woman in the room watched you. I caught more than a few glancing your way, checking out your ass, or just admiring the shape of you under that suit. I would bet money that most of them would have paid to get away with you. Your bosses wife linger on the back of you as you walked by. I watched her eyes glaze over as she imagined what you look like out of that suit. It was hot. I kept coming up with stories for the scenes she was imagining. But every cocktail I slipped off a passing tray made me more and more anxious to steal you out of there.
That cab ride back was difficult. Just keeping my hands to myself and concentrating on what you were saying was almost exhausting. All I could think about was touching you and you kept going on about all of the people at the party, all of the things that were happening just under the surface at the firm. It was like I was barely there, but I was determined. Smiling and nodding like I was listening, all I wanted was to tear your shirt open, and lick your chest. I wanted to bury my face into your neck, smell your cologne, and nibble the skin just under your earlobe. I wanted to feel your arms pull me into you. But you kept going. I caught the driver’s eyes in the mirror and he gave a little shrug like he knew exactly what I was thinking, that I wanted to straddle you, spread my legs across you, and press your bulge against my soaking panties.
All of that is what made me do it. All of that build up, that unrequited anticipation is what bubbled over the minute I closed the door. I couldn't take it anymore. All I wanted was you, your lips, your tongue, your skin, your heat against me. That's why I did it. Why I yanked you inside, pressed you against the wall, and tore your shirt open. I couldn't control myself.
Buttons bouncing across the wood floor. I keep running it over and over again in my mind. It still makes me wet. The way we kissed against the wall, the way your tongue and lips tasted like bourbon. Your cock, as hard as I have ever seen it, was so thick and throbbing once I slipped it free of your zipper. Every nerve in my body was on fire while you squeezed my tits through my dress. I felt like I was going to explode, like I could barely breathe, like I wanted to crawl inside of your skin and become part of you.
You looked so happy when I started to kiss my way down your chest. I had an orgasm just dropping to my knees. I couldn't help it. Kissing the ripples of muscle along your belly, my fingertips sliding along your skin, that fat dick twitching in front of me, I let go.
My fingers wrapped around the base of you, the tip of you between my lips, the swelling of your flesh as you slid deeper into my mouth - I'm wet just remembering the way you wrapped your fingers in my hair. God, it felt so good, your cock sliding in and out, throbbing as you got closer and closer. My pussy throbbing as you started to moan. I knew you were about to come. I looked up, pulled my arms out of my dress, and let my breasts slip free. You grinned and then closed your eyes.
I slipped a finger into my dripping hole determined to come when you did.
God, you tasted so good, that first splash of hot, salty cum. I swallowed and then showered my chest with the rest. Every tug on your slick dick and another bolt of cum would spray the curve of my breasts.
I like to get sticky. And I know you loved it, watching me decorate my breasts with your dripping pleasure.
I like to get sticky and let you watch me play with it, lick it off my nipples, swirl it around my skin.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
I dry off and put on a pair of black lace undies and a matching bra before wandering to the closet to pick out the perfect dress. He'll be here any minute, I know, but I want something that stirs him the moment I open the door, something that immediately makes him want to unwrap me like a present on Christmas. It has been two months since he has been in town and a day hasn't gone by that I didn't think about him, miss him, long for his touch. There have been others but he is the one always haunting the back of my mind, lingering in a way that others don't or can't.
Fingers fumbling through the fabrics, sliding through the double row of bright colors - blouses, dresses, pants, camisoles. I can't find what I want. I pull out a dress, hold it up, check myself in the mirror, and decide against it. I slap the metal hook back on the rack and my eyes fall on the clock. I have two minutes, maybe less, before the doorbell rings and he's standing there. I grab a little black number, poly-rayon blend, it's low cut in the front and hits just about mid-thigh. I grab the shoes I bought to match it, high, metal heels and lots of little straps.
I throw the dress over my head. The fabric hugs me, outlines every curve. I sit on the edge of the bed with the shoes. I have always loved these shoes, so many straps winding around the ankle and up onto the calf. I feel sexy just cinching the buckles tight.
Hair is next. No time for something fancy, I comb it straight, twist it into a bun, and impale it with a long, jade hair pin he brought from China last year. As soon as my fingers touch it, my mind tumbles back to the day he brought it for me. The first time I used it. The first time he slipped it out and my hair fell to my shoulders.
Our relationship is not a terribly complicated one. We met in an airport. He is a pilot. Tall, dark, and handsome in a Southern California high school football star kind of way. If there is a pilot pinup calendar, he should be on it.
He likes black and white movies and a Highland Scotch - neat with a water back, the same way I do. When our eyes met from across the room, he made his way over to me. I was sitting at the bar waiting on a flight and he had just landed.
We stared at each other as he walked from the gate to my side. It was instant magnetism. We both knew the score before he made it half way. He asked what I was drinking, a typical question when I am sitting at any bar, but his reaction to the answer locked us together in the way we are today.
"Did I tell you that you could drink my drink?"
"I didn't ask," I answered incapable of taking my eyes off his.
"You will from now on."
It's been over a year and I have seen him probably ten times. I look forward to little else as much as the time we spend together. Our relationship is unique in a way that thrills me.
My heart is racing.
The mirror reflects and I start to check for details that might be out of place. It was a rush job but I need to look as close to perfect as possible. I already have a strike against me, the glistening moisture between my thighs.
My eyes check the clock again. He's seconds away, I can almost feel it. I close the closet doors, straighten my glasses, and roll the lint roller over my shoulders. As close to perfect as I'm going to get, I think as I take one more overall look at myself in the mirror. Lipstick! I rush to the dresser and grab a deep red, his favorite color and start to apply it.
I'm just smacking my lips together when the doorbell sounds. It's him. My breath catches, and I can hear my heart beating. He's here.