"Hm hm hm, hm hm hm." Standing in the bathroom, fixing her hair, Samantha found herself humming the words to that ridiculous song. "Birth day sex, birth day sex." It was a silly song, but it was appropriate for the occasion. Birthday sex was definitely on her mind.
She looked back at herself in the mirror - *his* mirror. It wasn't her birthday; it was her Anthony's. And here she was in his bathroom, in his place, and he had no idea. Or so she hoped he had no idea; it certainly sounded on the phone like he had no idea. They had spoken no more than 20 minutes ago, and she knew he was on his way home. Tony sounded so heartbroken that - she had him believe - she couldn't be in town for his birthday. She had been away on business for two weeks, due back in four days from now, but managed to cut out and swing an early flight home to be with her lover, Tony Liu.
She smiled into the mirror at the thought of the word "lover." In their six short months together, they'd already established rhythms that left a certain ache whenever they were apart. Rhythm, she reiterated to herself, not routine. Nothing about their time together was routine; together, nothing felt boring. Everything was about taking chances, about letting go. If she was playing it safe she wouldn't be planning this surprise party of one.
The smile tempered. She looked at herself and saw an older face. The occasion of his birthday gave her an excuse to dwell on their age difference yet again. He was turning a mere 28 years young: a personal trainer by trade, a physical specimen in his prime. At her age of 33, her prime was fading; weight was staying on, skin was wrinkling.
Yet he didn't seem to mind at all; in fact quite the opposite. His favorite outfits of hers were always the ones that extenuated curves that weren't there 5 years before; and he lamented aloud whenever she applied even a stitch of make-up - don't hide your beauty, he always said. Didn't he know she used to be skinny? She found it hard to agree, but then, she knew she had to let it go, at least for tonight. Tonight was for him.
Or was it? Because one thing age had given her she could appreciate - and lord how he helped her appreciate it - was an absolutely carnal libido. If tonight was just for him, what could explain the burning anticipation, the torrid butterflies in her stomach?
This she could readily admit to herself: she loved how her outfit felt on her body. It was a black dress - a little black dress - that left little to the imagination. It clung to her hips like a second skin, and she relished the sensation of the fabric strafing over her bra-less nipples. She also enjoyed the lace of the pair of black stockings rough against her thighs. Tall black heels elevated her an inch or two too, giving her a definite feeling of power. She liked feeling sexy, feeling 110% ready to ravish him.
So she wanted this very much, she decided. But was this what Tony wanted? After a long day at the gym, was he just going to want to come home and sleep?
Samantha had been gone back and forth in her head about this all evening, to the point she knew she was getting ridiculous. Sitting around Tony's place waiting for him was driving her silly, every scenario of how the evening could play out once he got home running through her mind. At one point, after she found herself staring at the kitchen counter, she'd taken her panties off; "easier access," she thought, "in case he simply wants to bend me over and take me right there." After 15 minutes of sitting around with no underwear, doubt set in and she pulled them back on.
That's how she'd found herself back in the bathroom, fussing in the mirror. And that's when she heard the sound of his key unlocking the front door.
.............
Tony took his time on the long march up the stairs. It had been a long day, and yet he wasn't in a hurry to get to his apartment. A wallowing trek really suited his mood. He had to prepare himself for another night without Sam.
She'd been gone two weeks but it felt like an eternity. They said absence made the heart grow fonder, but he didn't think it was possible to grow any fonder of her. He missed it all, from her wit, her intellectual acumen, her laugh, and her smile, to her demeanor: the way she carried herself, an always considerate but somehow still take-charge manner that extended into the bedroom (and only half the love they made was in the bedroom).
She was away in Florida for a work conference, but he knew how those conferences went - an hour or two in sessions, three or four hours at the club or hotel pool. He imagined how she'd look in her bikini, lounging about with little on. Sam was half-black, and the sun could change her complexion dramatically - from a pale brown into a delicious caramel. It made his belly burn just thinking about it, and thinking about how she was gone turned that pleasure into an ache. He'd laid in bed every night thinking about her, feeling himself, imagining the warmth of her soft parts against him, the small whimpers and moans she'd sound when they really got going. But memory was no substitute for the real thing.
Tony finally reached the door, unlocked it and entered, his mind resigned to another night alone. But something made him jump. A figure was walking down the hall towards him.
He stopped. It was Samantha. He knew as soon as he heard the words "Surprise! Happy birthday!" His heart immediately began racing at the sound of her voice, the void of loneliness filling over with joy.
She approached him quickly. He noticed she was in heels because of the sway of her walk closing the distance between them, and because they elevated her almost so their eyes were level. She held her arms out to him and they embraced in a deep kiss.
When the kiss was through he was still speechless. She looked into his eyes trying to get a bead on him. She could see a stunned smile on his face but he wasn't saying anything. "Hello?"
"Thank you." It was all he could stammer. He embraced her again and struggled to articulate his feelings. "I was so sad you wouldn't be here."
What a softy, she thought. Weren't personal trainers supposed to be incessantly gruff and hard-nosed? It was such a part of what drew her to him. "I caught an early flight back - sorry I didn't tell you on the phone."
"Don't be sorry!" He corrected her. "I really thought you'd forgotten my birthday."
"No way I could do that" she replied, her thoughts turning to the small gifts she had for him. She turned away, walking towards the kitchen, where a few presents and a single chocolate cupcake sat on the table. A full step behind, he didn't notice what was on the table. He was too suddenly taken in by what Sam was wearing.
She had on a short black dress, cut low in the back showing a large share of her upper back. The spaghetti straps were very thin, almost superfluous, clinging helplessly onto her bare shoulders. He noticed the garment was real snug around her waist too, extenuating the dramatic flair of her hips and accentuating the movement of ass as she walked away. The hem was just short enough to offer a peak-a-boo hint of lace surrounding her thighs where sheer black stockings ended. Those thick thighs that made his heart quicken, inspiring endless fantasies about how one might get between them...
Distracted, Tony didn't see Sam was lighting a candle. She turned holding a cupcake out to him, one single candle flickering, and began to sing Happy Birthday. His attention was torn between the lit cupcake, the melody of her voice, and the beauty holding it. He struggled not to stare at her chest, where the dress was cut straight across. Her breasts were too small and hung too low to muster cleavage, but he didn't notice it missing: the dress outlined her tits so snugly they still demanded attention.
He tried to concentrate his attention on her face. It was back-dropped by her long hair pulled back with a few tussling brown curls escaping. She had minimal makeup, which was exactly how he loved to see her: big brown eyes, striking enough without any artificial extenuation; freckles popping minus any cover-up. Her skin was a shade browner, evincing a tan she'd collected on her trip. And those pouty lips, specifically the thick lower one, currently curled into a mischievous grin.
From the dress to her face to everything - he swore to himself he had never seen her sexier. It was like she had scientifically determined how to most extenuate the lovely parts of her body that so turned him on. The sudden warmth in his groin was so strong it was painful.
She finished the song. "Make a wish," she said, urging him to blow. He didn't hesitate. He knew exactly what he wanted.
....
Moments later they were making out on the couch. Whatever initial guilt he'd felt in wishing for sex had been swiftly assuaged by the question Sam posed to him the second the candle had gone out: "What do you want now? Presents? Do you want to eat your cake.... or." She'd paused and smiled coquettishly. "Do you want to fuck?" Not only was she beautiful - the woman was a filthy mind reader.
Holding him in her arms now, Sam's blood was racing. It had taken all she had to be so blunt. The question still nagged her: was this what he wanted for his birthday, or what *she* wanted for his birthday? She wanted him so bad now her toes were tingling, but she still feared the question. The question didn't linger though, what with the signals he was sending through his tongue, tangling with hers, and his hands: squeezing her hips, smoothing over her back, fingers delicately tracing along the skin at the edge of her dress.
Reassured in the midst of their kissing, her fingers traveled to the waistband of his sweats - he had come home straight from the gym - and clumsily started tugging down. He broke the kiss and gasped her name. She took advantage of the break in the action to slink off the couch and reposition herself on her knees in front of him. She resumed pulling. He raised his hips off the sofa to make it easier. His cock was already hard and sprang free.
Glancing up, she could see he was lost in the moment. His eyes were one moment watching with fascination, as if they couldn't get enough of watching her descend on him; then closing as a groan of satisfaction got the best of him, causing his erection to twitch in front of her. That sent a pang right down between her thighs, causing her pussy to swoon. She loved the way his cock looked as her fingers reached out to touch it, lightly, to stroke where it was thick around. He could only groan again as his hips thrust forward. She knew what that meant. No more passive admiration - Sam took him in her mouth.
Immediately, he could feel everything in amazing detail: the swirl of Sam's tongue, the friction as her lips sucked up and down his cock leaving a trail of saliva behind. She tickled the tip for a while before finally taking him all in, to the back of her throat. The sudden sensation made his hips buck, causing her to gag.
"Sorry!" he said, ashamed at his inattention. "Issh okay," she managed to mumble back, mouth full of cock. She returned to sucking on the tip and wrapped her hand around the base of him where the spit collected and used it as a lubricant, working back and forth in unison with every bob of her head.
"Oh, God, Samantha," he groaned her full name. He was trying hard to stay ahead of the sensations, but god he could feel that burn at the base of his balls already building. He moved his hands to her arms - her soft, bare arms - in an effort to get her to stop, to move on to other pleasurable things. "Sam. Please."
