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[ This was inspired by my memories of a friend’s house after I read a story she’d written. I hope people like it, hope they vote on it, hope they comment on it, hope they email me and say hi. ]
It wasn’t so much a fantasy of something I would like to do as what it would’ve been nice to do.
The birthday party was fun, people gradually getting sozzled and needing to be poured into taxis, or the back seats of cars of those not quite drunk enough to be drunk, but maybe a little nervously allowed to get behind the wheel. I was glad you convinced me to crash on the couch – heading home at this late hour was looking distinctly unattractive and I would have missed all the entertainment the late evening had provided. Me being me, of course, I hung around the kitchen, making myself useful… starting work on the dishes, plates, platters, upon which the evening’s feasting had been despatched to the backyard, then the glasses as they arrived. Washing up I can do – cleaning up, well, not so much, not on my own, but an emu walk across the back yard (what little there is) and two or three pairs of hands and many garbage bags and cleaning up wouldn’t take that long at all. If we separated out the beer and wine bottles from the rest of the rubbish, there just might be enough room in the recycling bin and the ordinary bin for the night’s detritus to all fit in one go…
I watch you from the kitchen as you farewell the guests. Your folks, mildly astounded at the (now) lack of washing up head home, your father leaving my hand with some feeling after a hearty, bonecrushing shake. Your birthday shirt was soaked a few hours ago from an unfortunately-placed glass of beer and you’d changed from your lady-of-the-manor glam into your chic-d’ouest trakkies, uggies, black t-shirt and cardie. You wear it well – your curves, that awesome butt and gorgeous boobs, mean it all clings just-so – and I think you look even more gorgeous than you did at the start of the night. You throw your head back with a loud guffaw as you farewell another guest.
When you greeted me at the door tonight, you looked beautiful, dolled up, gorgeous. As you say goodnight to the now-trickle of guests leaving, you look relaxed, wired, raunchy. A contradiction, maybe, but that’s you. And it’s having an effect on me.
“Where’s the loo?” You point, not even turning, still caught bursa escort up in your conversation at the door. I let my prick lead the way, as it does its best to push through my jeans.
I waddle into the bathroom and close the door behind me, undo my belt and force my jeans and boxers to my ankles, sit down on the toilet and stare the the door and catch my breath. My cock, free from its confines, seems also to be taking a breather, although it continues to firm up as my thought turn again to you standing at the door.
– If I have a wank now, I can continue to be the perfect guest and crash out on the couch and everyone has a nice restful night…
I lean forward, my off-hand gripping my dick (since it’ll take longer and feel better that way) and my right hand gripping the edge of the tub. I close my eyes, get my rhythm and soon I can barely hear my breathing through my open mouth. It’s not the first time I’ve had a wank in someone’s bathroom, probably won’t be the last.
Those lips, such red lipstick… the arched eyebrow then the grin that follows, that can hardly contain itself… mmm…
At the door – to the bathroom – and you just lean against the door jamb and watch…
Well, not just watch. You bite your lower lip and one hand goes down under the waist band of your trakkies… I imagine your fingers slipping under your undies and down to your clit… Our eyes lock and I begin to pick up the pace on my cock, my breathing now starting to become a little ragged. Now your other hand slips up under your t-shirt and finds your nipples, rolling one then the other between your fingers and thumb…
The situation is more arousing than I realise – I’m cumming sooner than I expected, before I’ve had a moment to shift backwards on the toilet seat, aim down into the bowl – I’m cumming, so I sit up straight, catching the milky white spurts like liquid soap in my hand. Your eyes half-close and tear themselves away from mine, fasten onto my hand, my cock, the unexpected scene before them. Not as much as I have on other occasions but more than enough to fill the palm of my hand. You look up to my face and now I grin and wink. You look surprised, then surprise turns to shock? amazement? as I raise my right hand to my lips and suck the jism into mouth.
I’m surprised your hands can move so quick – suddenly they bursa escort bayan cover your mouth, then just as suddenly you cross the four or five feet from the door to the toilet, push me back against the cistern by my shoulders and kiss me hard, your tongue hot and wet against my own, the taste of cigarettes and wine mixing with the salty tang of my cum in my mouth. I’m surprised that I’m suddenly hard again, without even thinking about it, and I stand up, trying and finally succeeding at kicking one foot loose from my jeans, my shoe one the floor hard up against the bathtub.
Still we kiss, my right hand wanting to grab your arse but me fighting to keep the sticky cum-covered palm away. My left hand, however, has no such qualms, is cum-free (though a tad sweaty) and snakes around your waist, under your t-shirt to the small of your back, pulling you tight against me. The head of my dick presses against the elastic waist of your trakkies, the sensation making it twitch all by itself.
You break off the kiss, looking left, searching for the hand held out to my right, then grab it and pull it to your mouth. I groan as you lick the cum from between my fingers, sucking on each digit like a musk stick, swirled around in your mouth, then pulled out with a soft “pop” and replaced with the next one. You lick them clean, lick them dry, then turn back to me to kiss me again.
My left hand reaches all the way around to your left hip and spins you around to your left until you have your back to me. I hug you close and your head snaps left, right, looking for where my mouth is waiting for yours. “Here,” I murmur, craning my head over your left shoulder, and we kiss again. Your left hand snakes up behind my head, taking a fistful of hair and directing nothing in our kiss should change, but I feel your sharp breath as my right hand makes its own way up the front of your body, under the cardie and the t-shirt to your breasts.
– No bra! Hmmm… and I feel the glorious, bountiful weight of them as I tease first one, then the other nipple, rolling them like pencil erasers between my warm, slightly sticky fingers. As my left hand dives below the waitband of your trakkies it is less surprised (pleasantly nonetheless) to find no undies after all… your right hand directs my left where you want it to go, where it was going in the first escort bursa place, the warm, slick, pulsing nubbin of flesh between your lips, between your legs…
We both groan, both breathing ragged but in unison, still kissing hard, and your right hand, satisfied I know what I’m doing, reaches behind you, between us, takes my cock firmly at the base and begins to tug in rhythm with our breathing. Mine quickens, we’re out of synch, but not for long.
My fingers flick past your clit, leaving my thumb to take their place, as they delve inside the silky smooth, slippery, hot depths of your pussy. You’re too wet for there to be much resistance, and in fact my fingers slip up inside you as if they’re being vacuumed up your hot cunt. Scissoring together, thumb outside and fingers inside, I massage your pussy from both ways until I touch that spot and the hair you’re gripping in your left hand is almost pulled out at the roots.
“Uh-h-h!” you groan, pitching foward slightly as the shock spasms your body, but my right arm holds you tight to my chest, keeps you up as your legs weaken slightly –
And then we are back in concert again, tongues wrestling, hands keeping one another close while others hands threaten to tear us apart with the pleasure rolling through us. Your hand almost feels like it’s ripping the top off my cock and it’ll hurt like hell in an hour or two, but right now the pain is pure pleasure. Your pussy is dripping wet, my fingers now slipping, now gripped like a vise as your muscles begin to spasm in waves of ever-growing intensity.
Again, I feel a churning in my balls I’m surprised by but this time I don’t care about keeping my cum off your clothes – all I’m interested in is bringing you to the point I’ve already reached – and suddenly you’re there too, and I’m holding you up as your legs give way and your pussy gushes its juices all over my hand and down your legs.
I pull my hand from under your top and flip the lid of the toilet seat down just before I sit down heavily on it, cradling your hot, hot body (burning up on my chest, I can feel you through my own shirt), your head lolling back on my right shoulder as my own lolls forward onto your left.
It takes us a while to get our collective breath back. My hand is still down your pants, and as you twist left on my lap, I pull it out and begin to lick my fingers. Your right hand slips up and slaps my cheek, then pulls my fingers from my mouth and guides them to your own.
I nuzzle your neck, kissing everywhere I can reach, as you lean back and begin to purr in contentment…
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