The second round always makes or breaks the relationship. After 5 years of sexual tension, a few hours out on the town, and some illegal substance we had finally scratched the itch that had plagued us for so long. Another 5 months later, we started feeling that itch again.
Through flirty text messages where I told him my bed was cold and needed it to be warmed up, to him seductively nibbling on my neck at the bar over a game of pool, we finally whittled down a time for us to rendezvous at my place. It was a quarter till midnight and freezing cold. I walked down to meet him in the parking lot since he had forgotten which door was mine since he was last here.
"Nice pants," I said, looking at the beer mugs brimming with yellow and white froth that were printed all over in a gaudy pattern. "You look like you're dressed for a sleepover."
"Yeah, these are my beer goggle pants," he said with an enthusiastic grin. Spattered across over and over is some phrase about going home with someone due to intoxication, but I couldn't be bothered to store it in memory. I'm almost certain that he's had these pants from his early fraternity days. He'll be 27 in May.
We went up the stairs. I felt his eyes heavily on my ass as I walked in front of him. Strategically I put a little extra into every step I took, a little extra swing of my hips as I lifted my feet to every step and keeping his face right where I wanted it. I could feel his hands aching to stroke my curves. Once inside, we quietly stepped into my bathroom, what separated the foyer from my room. I held my finger to my lips, signaling that my roommate was asleep in the other bedroom.
I closed the bathroom door after him, and we moved into my space. Music from my stereo was in place to hopefully mask the noises that would soon follow. Tonight's playlist was Silverstein. "You look like you're getting ready to study," he said, motioning towards what I was wearing. I was tempted to answer the door in nothing but my college sweatshirt and maybe some boyshorts, but since I had to meet him downstairs that plan was thwarted. Instead I stood before him, college hoodie, rolled up boxers exposing the bottom curve of my rear, and my chunky black Dolce and Gabbana glasses. My long shaggy blond hair messily pushed over one shoulder. We both knew what he was there for. This wasn't a fashion show.
"Not like at the bar the other night at all. But," he said as he slipped his hand down my thigh, "I'd know that ass anywhere." His hand came back up, under my boxers, and gave my right cheek a firm squeeze.
I took the zipper of his own jacket in my hand and slowly but sternly yanked down on it. I kept my eyes on his while I parted the now separated black fleece to run my hands across his chest. At this point I started feeling less anxious and more relaxed. I didn't have to work for this; I already had it. I moved in to kiss him as I stroked his lightly defined athletic torso, feeling the light scattering of chest hair against my fingertips. He wasn't like the boys I had been with before. He had a rugged masculinity about him, from his demeanor to his facial hair that he had sported the entirety that we had known each other. I took comfort in his manly charm. This was no prepubescent boy I was about to fuck.
As I moved my hands up his pectorals, to his neck, and through his hair I took notice of the scents and sounds. My mind was trying to take it all in- anything needed to get me fully aroused. Unfortunately, the only scent I took in was the aftermath of his shower. Someone apparently uses Irish Spring, or some other version of cheap male-demographic bar soap, I thought to myself. It was no Abercrombie Fierce, but I forced myself to go with it. I listened to his breath quicken and the soft moans escaping from deep in his throat as we began kissing harder. I tugged his jacket off and slipped my hand between the elastic of his beer goggle pants and boxers. As the pants fell to the floor, his growing erection sprang upwards, free from the layer of clothing that kept it downward. I brushed the thin layer of cloth that sheathed him with my palm. He took his hands from around my waist and to the bottom of my hoodie and lifted upward. My hands went to my back and I undid the clasp to my bra, slid it down, and tossed it to the floor. I pushed my boxers to my feet.
My forwardness turned him on, and the soft light coming in from my window illuminated his glistening tongue as he took one of my stiffened nipples into his mouth. His hands ran from the natural curve of my breasts down to my thighs, much like tracing out an hourglass shape in the air. He sucked and lightly nibbled on them, paying attention to caress each of them evenly. His head came back up to meet my mouth, and we took a step or two back towards my bed to get into a more horizontal position. He started to breath heavier and heavier, turning into a drawn out male parody of a porn star. It bothered me the last time we hooked up but I was willing to overlook it. Besides, I never had been with a guy as vocal as him and it was a turn on the way he would say my name and cuss in between panting.
His hands found their way to the waistband of my panties, black boyshorts to be exact. His mouth and beard grazed the side of my neck, sending me into goosebumps and shivers as he slid my panties down to my knees and over my ankles. He began moving his mouth southward, taking long strokes with his tongue followed by soft kisses. Down my chest, over my belly, and down to my thighs he went before taking his tongue to part my lips between my thighs. He greeted my dampening pussy with a calm familiarity. Nothing new here- he knew the delicate metal barbell that I have piercing my clitoral hood. He played with it for a bit with his tongue before taking the tip into long wide strokes around my clit and to my opening. He fucked me with his tongue, sucked on two of his fingers, and drove them inside of me. He took his mouth and moved it back to the piercing. I gave out a gasp of pleasure, letting him know that he was hitting the right spots with his tongue, and that his fingers were the icing on the cake. My back moved up into an arch and he bent his fingers inside me to rub against my g-spot.
He continued this licking and rubbing for a few minutes. It felt great, keeping me on the cusp of coming. I was a little disappointed each time he would near pushing me over the edge because it was like he was distracted by another great idea he could do with his mouth. I started trying to guide him with my voice. "Oh my God, right there," I would softly moan, and I'd contract my muscles around his fingers, begging for him to continue what he would be doing. Then, as if seeing a shiny object off in the distance, he would switch gears and start doing something else. Eventually even the shiny objects didn't hold out, because after another five minutes he removed his hand from my cleft and crawled back up my body.
He sprawled out on his back with his erection in the air, obvious as to what would happen next. I sat up, pulled my hair over one shoulder, and positioned myself in between his legs. I spit into my hand and worked it over his shaft. He scooted his legs a little wider and wiggled his toes in anticipation of my mouth that would soon be joining my hand on his member. I had been slightly reluctant to sleep with him again, since the first time we had sex I felt deflated over his size. Now I found myself thinking, OK, this isn't as bad as I thought.
I gathered up some extra saliva in my mouth and bent down to meet his shaft. I sucked on the head a few times and traced circles with my tongue before moving my hand in unison with my mouth up and down its entirety. He started to whimper immediately. Silverstein was having a hard time covering anything up. At least when he was eating my pussy, his mouth was full and I could be the vocal one. The tables were turned, and I couldn't do anything but listen to his oh's and ah's until he signaled for me to sit up about two minutes later. Usually I give the guy I'm blowing a break to regain his composure and then dive right back in, but tonight I was on a bit of a time crunch as well as hoping to get off.
He reached for a condom and rolled it down his glistening erection. I like to start fucking on my back in good old missionary, but since he was not a member of the Seven Plus Club I figured I could start on top without risking the initial tightness I feel as my vagina slowly loosens up to take in large dick. His girth made up for his shortcomings- I could feel my lips giving slightly to the width of his cock as we slid on each other. I pushed my hair back and began massaging my tits with my hands- a striking visual for him as he lay underneath me. I rocked my hips back and forth as his hands wrapped around them. I would speed up my movement, then slow it down to keep him in check. His moans let me know exactly when to do this.
He sat up as I straddled him, and took my left nipple in his mouth. He was more aggressive this time around, nibbling harder to the point where I had to give a soft, "Easy," as I bounced up and down on his shaft. If he was too forceful, he would gently lick the sensitivity away before teething on it again. Eventually we rolled on to my back, and he bent my right leg up to my ear. He pounded himself hard into me over and over until the condom began to dry out. He removed himself and I spit into my hand to use as additional lubrication. Once well moisturized, he plunged back into me. I breathed deeply and in sync with the thrusts of his ass into my new wetness.
He pulled himself out of me after a bit. I rolled on to my side and cooed, "Are we taking a breather?"
