Hi. A month ago, I wrote about a one-night stand that I had. This weekend, that became a two-night stand, and I decided to write again after seeing a Sexual Achievement discussion thread on /r/sex. I've collected both portions for your ease. Please, enjoy.
Part 1
I find myself now, on the fringes of exhaustion, beginning to type this at 1:28 AM. On a whim last Tuesday, I wrote a friend, seeing if he'd be interested in going to a show over the weekend, and having a friend and I crash. He quickly cancels all of his plans and we begin scheduling (we're both the methodical type.) We drive a couple of hours to his place and start to unwind. His boyfriend's sister comes home from work and asks if my friend and I want to smoke. Rarely shying from doobies and sensing the eventlesness the evening would hold as we waited for the following day and it's excitement, I obliged. Calmly exhaling, I recalled a message I'd sent the hosting friend, jokingly suggesting that I sleep in the bed of his boyfriend's attractive sister instead of my predestined pullout couch, to which he laughed. We both did; she was pretty far out of our league. I felt her weight shift in the bed three of us were sat in, almost knowingly. My less than sober mind shoved the subtlety aside in favor of YouTube comedy.
I slept well on a spare mattress, victorious in at least dodging the infamous pullout. The following morning, the friend I drove with drags his unfortunate, now couch-crippled bones to a Starbucks alongside me. We speak of little other than the unusually small parking lot and how bad the drivers are here. We return to the host's and get everyone ready. As she walks to the aforementioned Starbucks, my gaze fixated on her high and firm ass, I ask the host's boyfriend if his sister mentioned anything. "She thinks you're cute. She told me to tell you, but I forgot." He's blase, but a smart and close friend, and a sensation much like realizing one's stove has been left on floods half of my brain, while the other half plays it cool. I ride with the latter. "Oh damn, okay" I probably replied. The show is great. We get home, I start into her room casually alongside her as she shows me something. The other inhabitants flow in and out. Soon it's darker outside. The door is closed. We're on her laptop, showing eachother music. I've casually placed an arm which envelops her minuscule circumference. We put on Louis C.K. We laugh. She bites me. I bite harder. She has piercings. Tattoos. I want to leave her with one. She is both a succubus-like evil I want to painfully purify and a glowing heavenly beacon that is ridding my soul of worry. I phase in and out of awareness of my quickly changing surroundings. As I come to, her silk night shirt is being undone, and my face brushes it as I lower my mouth onto her nipple. It, too, is pierced, and doubly so as I lightly squeeze it between my front row of teeth. Her back arches and my hand slides beneath it. I want to see her that way forever. I support her elegant spine and slide my free hand along her eternal frosted glass chest toward her neck, promising pleasure and tempting torture. She is proving herself to be evil, after all.
I squeeze slowly. She frees herself from my grasp and rises- a protest? Has it gone too far? We've only met twice. I could've misjudged her level of sadism. No. She loves this game. Now she wants to play. My shirt, too, is lifted. She is much more tender a kisser than I. I glance up foolishly, trying to guess her next move out of fearful curiosity, assuming the tender kisses mean that this is safe. I am quickly punished for it with a tight clenching hand to my trachea. She really loves this game. My denim-concealed erection could be noticed through a brick wall, but she ignores it. The suffering and schadenfreude continue until it's brought to light. She's quick, but slow, as though she were approaching a gentle orchestra at a breakneck sprint. This is the game she truly loves. If my cock was a desert in moments prior, her lips and tongue now filled it with lush vegetation. My buzzing and lulled and racing mind didn't know where to start. She dismounts from the bed again, only this time, I halt any assumption. She is quickly and completely derobed. The room is dark, but the streetlight across her window affords me a glance at her figure that will forever give me a new appreciation for residential night-time safety lighting. Standing, her piercing-crested breasts form the shadow of a non-existent flower. Her rib cage and hip bones are beautiful sculptures that emanate sharply beneath her ghostly flesh. Her hair forms the shape of a crashing wave across her head, whose eyes and lips I see now anew. Her ass curves perfectly in a way that jeans could only hinder. She is monochromatic and translucent in the moonlight, save for her tattoos, which are now only black stains splotched across her beckoning body. Our bodies thrive harmoniously as the streetlight flickers. That was three days ago and I haven't made any attempts to contact her. I could, easily, but I want the dust we've stirred to settle without interference. I sit, now, impatiently watching that dust fall, slowly, staring at a picture of Miley Cyrus's midsection in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle panties, fixated on how strongly her body resembles that of my one night stand. And that's how this situation has come about.
Part 2
She walked out of the shower and sat in front of her mirror to apply lotion for her Eczema. We had both just woken from a nap together, and a relaxed lull hung from our eyes. As she looked into the mirror, stretching that thin liquid over her eternal legs that carried all 5'8" of her, I appeared behind her and calmly began a friendly backrub. She quipped that I was smooth, and my mouth replied with only a smirk. I kissed her freshly washed neck, but really I was taking advantage of my lips' proximity to my nose. There was some kind of off-brand Cocoa Butter and Oatmeal soap she only ever seemed to use, despite the warehouse of supplies tucked impossibly into her shower. Her tightly-kept pixie cut blessed my olfactory with a warm floral scent as I switched to the other half of her neck, as a beast would picking flesh from a rib. Her towel was still clasped around the sphere she made herself into to apply all of the lotion. I sunk my fingers into her shoulders as my thumbs quickly dragged through the inside of her blades. She loved the depth and intensity I could reach with my large hands. She would love it more soon enough.
Her body is skeletal in the most amazing way you can imagine. Her hip bones nearly poke through the milky skin which covers them, and her rib cage forms gentle grooves as her back arches. These sights grace me once more, now in full sight, as the sun kisses her in a way I never could. Her body is tall and monochromatic, save for her rouge hair and two pink nipples gently molded onto her breasts. Her breasts. I could write of them for longer than they took to be created. She is quickly reminded of my enthusiasm for them as my mouth engulfs one entirely and begins to suck gently. As an accompaniment to this orchestra, my tongue played lightly with the metal bar pierced through her nipple. I've become addicted to the way it clinks on my teeth. As I relish the novelty, her posture relaxes and the cloth which once veiled her now only covers the floor. The part of her I most wish to devour has been revealed, but I can't spare a glance. I am excited, but controlled. She must be made to desire this as much as I have, and I must have the proof to taste.
I suckle her other breast as my right hand drags itself into the tissue of her thigh. My massage must be complete. Her legs relax, and now her lower half is flush with the floor. Her reactions cut short my patience. Such is the weakness of man. I contemplate how I'll recline her top half as I suck the skin of her neck away from its bone and move my way toward her stomach, the method I have chosen. As planned, her abdomen becomes weak as I flatten my tongue across it and my senses drown in her soft taste. I gently tease the top of her pelvis before adjusting myself to lye prone before her and begin the scheduled worship. She cannot help but lean her head forward to watch, but I must have privacy if I am to confess my sins. Her spine reacts favorably to my tongue meeting with her clit for the first time, shutting her eyes and sending them upward. My hands extend to feel the ribs rise below her breasts, but their climb does not end and my fingers meet her firm nipples and begin their dance. I roll them between the tips of my thumb and forefinger while reciting the Latin alphabet silently into her pussy. As I come to U, my impatience once again overtakes me, and I decide instead to plunge my tongue inside of her. The moan her lungs released would've made me blush, had my face not already warmed from her dripping slit.
As we finished, she rose to kiss me, whereupon I grabbed her towel and elegantly patted my mouth. I had just finished an excellent meal, after all, and the taste was too good to share.
shitwave