It's been another of those days. Those days where I only have a few moments of respite from the constant pleas, and moaning, and sarcastic looks. I barely have a few seconds to myself, but when I do I find myself thinking about the night before.
I see flashes of what we did last night.
I see your eyes closed and your mouth slightly open as you quietly moan.
I watch my hands run over the smoothness of your thigh, squeezing the muscle between the top of your leg and your gorgeous cunt.
I can almost feel your hand on the back of my head pulling me towards you. To taste you.
A voice pulls me back to reality. I try to hide my annoyance, but realise that it's probably a good job as I'm getting hard just thinking about you. I resolve to go home and have a wank as soon as I can get out of this meeting, and it takes the edge away slightly. I smell my fingers, and regret having a shower this morning. There's still a hint of you there, but not like this morning. Not like when I watched you dress at the end of the bed and inhaled your scent from my fingers. Nothing turns me on more than the physical evidence that I have turned you on.
The meeting finally ends, and I agree to a number of preposterous tasks just to get out of there. The need to cum winning over my need to not be a complete fucking doormat. I just want to pop back to the flat, find a quiet spot and 'make porn come on my phone'. I've gotten into this routine, and I almost can't remember a different time. I'll scan through a few pages until I find something that catches my eye. Something real, and more than a little dirty. It doesn't matter particularly what it is, and I'm only going to use it as a jumpstart. This afternoon, as always, I'm going to cum while picturing you and me.
It might be the time you blindfolded me, and sat on my face while I put my tongue deep inside you.
Or I'll imagine how my cock felt the night we had the dirtiest, sweatiest, drunken sex one night after we went clubbing. I fucking hate clubbing, but I'd go every week if we treated each other like that at 3am. The way we didn't even speak to each other, but you opened up to me and I dared to put a finger inside your arse. And with my usual reserve and cowardice obliterated by alcohol and lust, I rammed my cock inside there. We never spoke about that night, but I have thought about it as I've cum over and over since.
I walk into the flat and I'm already undoing my trousers as I bump into you. I don't know what I was expecting, but I thought you would be out. You seem startled, but don't say anything. You just stand there, with your phone in your hand. I look at your dress, which you say is slightly too short but I obviously think differently. You're wearing tights, but I can see your painted toe nails through them, and it feels like minutes have passed as I stare at them, and then up your legs. You surely can't have missed my open belt and my semi hard-on poking out.
This is going to happen. I'm going to have sex with you and I don't care how inconvenient it is. We enjoy fucking each other. We're pretty good at it as well. We deserve it.
I pull you into me from the small of your back and kiss you. Not like we usually kiss, but with our tongues forcing themselves into each other's mouths. How we kissed when we were horny teenagers. I'm not going to make it to the bed before I need to see you naked, and I'm not going to let you stop me. My hands move from your backside to your thighs and I slowly push what little dress there is there up over your waist. I want to feel the nylon of your tights on my fingers, and on cock. On my face.
You never wear stockings or tights 'for me' anymore. I still remember the night you walked into where I was working in a short dress, stockings, and no knickers. I was a dumb teenager who didn't have the experience or fucking togetherness to tell you how fucking amazing you looked that night, and I can't believe I didn't fuck you properly, as you deserved, in the store room that night.
