It all started with such a small thing. Just a single phrase — if I had ignored it maybe it would have ended there. But I didn't and the course of our relationship was never the same afterward.
I had only been dating Erica for about 6 months before she moved in with me. We were definitely still in that new-relationship bloom when something like moving in together would have seemed like a good idea even if it wasn't. Her lease was up and it just made sense. She worked as a first grade teacher at a small private school and her apartment was 40 minutes away on the train. I worked as an architect and had a nice apartment in a high-rise downtown. I could walk to work, and my apartment was only a ten-minute ride from her school, so it was a win-win for both of us. Plus having her living with me meant we got to see a lot more of each other.
Erica was younger than me at 26, compared to my 34. She had long dark hair that reached about halfway down her back, with curls that gave her some nice volume when she pulled it back into a ponytail — her favorite look for teaching. She had big brown eyes and a cute face with pale skin and a few freckles — more of a pretty, girl-next-door look rather than sultry sexpot. She was about 5'4" and petite, with a slim waist, a flat tummy, and cute little B-cup tits. But I was always partial to her ass. It was the ideal heart-shaped ass, perfectly filing out her round hips and emphasizing the thigh gap between her legs. She did yoga regularly and that was one place it definitely showed. I kept offering to show her around a weight room, but she always turned me down claiming she didn't want to get bulky. I could never convice her that wasn't likely to happen, but she did keep herself nicely toned from the yoga. All the handstands and static holds are no joke! Erica usually dressed pretty simply in jeans or slacks with plain v-neck shirts or sweaters. When she wasn't wearing workout clothes with tight yoga pants, her outfits only hinted at how good her body really looked.
Having a woman's presence was definitely a welcome change around my apartment. She insisted on keeping everything cleaned up, and even started cooking for me most evenings since she was usually home first. I was never the type to enforce traditional gender roles, but we fell into them fairly quickly nevertheless. Of course, I had handled all the cleaning and little chores just fine before she moved in, but it's like she felt the need to deal with those things sooner than I would, so she would end up taking on the chores herself. Whereas I would have been fine with leaving the bed unmade, or leaving dishes in the sink for a day, she would immediately make the bed each morning and clean everything up right after dinner. It didn't matter if I told her she didn't have to do everything — any time I tried she would just make a point of cheerfully ignoring me. Fine, I thought, maybe that's just how she was raised. She wore down my objections pretty quickly, and I decided I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. My apartment looked better than ever, after all.
Predictably, we fucked like rabbits the first week after she moved in. After that, we settled down into a nice routine of having sex three or four times a week before bed. It was pretty vanilla, really. We were both satisfied, but it wasn't like we were having mind-blowing sex every time. We'd make out for a while with our hands roaming over each other's bodies until the dam broke and we'd each rip off our clothes and she'd lay back for some missionary. Early on we had mixed in oral sex as we were first exploring each other's bodies, but at this point it really only ever happened if I insisted on going down on her before we had sex.
I don't mean to imply the sex was bad. It just tended toward the "making love" end of the spectrum, and missionary is actually great for that feeling of closeness and intimacy. Her body was always amazing, of course. But the best part for me was that Erica was very vocal. I love it when a woman is clearly enjoying herself, and her soft moans and verbal encouragement went a long way toward keeping me satisfied. Even just the basics can really transform a vanilla session into something more: "you feel so good," "yes, right there," "just like that," "I'm close, keep going," "I'm cumming." I would try to keep up with some grunts, mmms, yeses, telling her how I loved the way she felt, or encouraging her, but I wasn't particularly explicit.
I also loved watching the reactions on her face — she was never reserved about showing her pleasure. And once she had her orgasm she would encourage mine: "come on Dave, cum for me, I want you to cum for me," while looking deep in my eyes. I never lasted long after that. She was on the pill, but after we had decided early on that we didn't want to use condoms I would always pull out and cum on her stomach, stroking myself through my orgasm, shooting rope after rope on her body as she sighed in delight, streaks of cum stretching from her cute little tits down to her trimmed dark patch of pubic hair, always marked by the last few white drops.
Afterward she would just beam in the afterglow, blissed out and smiling at me with heavy-lidded eyes. She might kiss me tenderly, or nuzzle my shoulder, or whisper about how good it had been. My favorite was when she would absentmindedly rub my cum into her skin, though she never talked about it specifically. After a few minutes of recovery she would get up to shower, braid her hair, and change into pajamas — usually loose cotton pants but occasionally cute little shorts — before going to bed. I would often have to do a little more work in the evenings, finally slipping into my side of the bed after she was already asleep.
One Friday we had a big date night planned. I had just finished up a big project at work that had required a lot of late nights, and she was wrapping up a summer certificate program before her new school year started. We got dressed up — me in a suit and she had on a nice blue dress with some low heels. The top was sleeveless and fitted, with the waist near her natural waistline, not far below the bust. The skirt of the dress was a little looser, but the thin fabric would cling and offer tantalizing little hints of her form underneath — I spent the whole evening distracted by the way it teased the shape of her hips and round ass.
We went to dinner at a nice restaurant not far from my apartment, then to a theater for a play. We each had a few cocktails with dinner, and glasses of wine before the show and during intermission, keeping a nice low buzz through the evening. She was flirty and we would find opportunities for a little physical contact — her touching my arm at dinner, my hand on the small of her back as we made our way through the crowd in the theater lobby, holding hands or my arm around her shoulders during the show. All in all, just a fun night together, with some of the excitement of an early date with a new partner even though we already lived together.
By the time we walked home we weren't ready to end the night yet. I popped open a bottle a bottle a prosecco and poured us each a full glass. "To a clean slate and the start of new year," I toasted. Not literally a new year of course, but I was expecting to get bumped up another year in seniority at my office soon, and she would be welcoming a new class at school the following week. We kept drinking and talking until the bottle ran out. I was sitting at one end of the couch angled toward her, and she was leaning back against the opposite armrest with her feet in my lap, her heels long since kicked off. I don't know if it was intentional, but I felt like she was making eyes at me so I set down my empty glass and moved over to her, sliding my hand up the side of her neck to the back of her head as I kissed her deeply.
This wasn't our usual lovemaking. This was needy, almost desperate. She started unbuttoning my shirt almost immediately. I slid one hand up her thigh to press against her panties, her pussy already radiating heat as I rubbed it through the fabric. She tugged my shirt out of my pants and pushed it back off my shoulders, rubbing my chest and tracing along my stomach with her fingers. Our mouths never separated as our hands were all over each other.
I don't like to use alcohol as an excuse for anything — I tend to think it only releases whatever impulses were already there that we might be to scared or reserved or inhibited to act on. But I doubt this night would have gone the same way if we hadn't both been pleasantly drunk. My fingers pulled her panties to the side and quickly found her pussy. I ran two fingers up and down her wet slit before easily sliding them inside. She bit my lip lightly and pulled back before releasing her teeth. "Fuck!" she exclaimed. "Oh fuck yes, I've been so horny all night."
"Mmm, tell me what you want, baby. You look so good in this dress you've got me so hard for you." I moved my hips and pressed my bulge against her thigh to make it obvious.
"Ohhhh," she shuddered. "I need you. I need to feel your dick inside me." She pawed at my bulge through my pants, grabbing and rubbing the shaft of my cock hungrily.
I looked straight into her eyes. She seemed dazed, almost overwhelmed by her desire. "Take off your panties", I told her. I pulled my hand back so I could undo my belt and slide down my own pants as she pulled her thighs together and shimmied her panties down her legs before kicking them off her ankle. I spread her legs, holding her thighs in my hands, pressing them wide open as I lined up my cock and sank into her.
"Ohhhh, fuck yes," she hissed. "God, I love the way your cock feels in my pussy." This was much more explicit than usual for her — and I loved it. Her eyes flashed at me, as I took a couple deep strokes, grinding my hips against her as I felt the head of my cock bottom out inside of her.
