Dreamer 8

I'm a daydreamer. I'm also a night dreamer, but that's too random to matter. During the day I control what I dream about, so it's all about what I want to happen not what my so-called subconscious thinks it wants, which frankly is nothing I really want anyway. Yeah, my subconscious is a real dummy most of the time.

But, I digress.

I'm a daydreamer. I daydream on the bus, at work, at the gym, at home watching television. I sometimes catch myself daydreaming while reading, which should be a sure sign that a book is utter rubbish, but I can't say that's true at all. I've daydreamed through some really great books.

And again, I digress.

I'm a daydreamer. A by-day fantasy maker. I mean in all honesty, I must think of a sexual situation at least every three point five minutes, and that's on a slow day. It's not even that I'm on the lookout for opportunity because as freaky as I can be, I've never been easy.

Now no more digressing.

In this particular moment I was distracted from dinner preparations by the little spot of sunshine in the backyard. It's bright and cheery and the green, green grass seems like an ideal spot for a bit of afternoon loving. You know, the really sweaty, dirty kind. The kind that leaves you panting and limp with exhaustion.

I can see the scene in my head; I'm sprawled on my stomach and you're straddling my legs, eyes cast downward as you watch your cock disappearing between the round globes of my ass. My pussy twitches and I can almost feel the slide of you, the hard slickness penetrating me. It makes me wet and shivery and distracts me completely from everything around me.

So, that's how you find me; bent over the kitchen counter, hips swiveling to the beats of Low coming from the headphones hanging around my neck, my head resting on one hand as I gaze dreamily out the window. And that's why I don't hear you or notice you at all, so I suppose I got exactly what I deserved. Not that I mind or anything, but still...

My first clue that you're there is your hands gripping my hips and your groin pressed against my ass. I practically jump out of my skin and I would push you away but for your hand between my shoulders pressing me down. I try anyway, just for fun, but you have me pinned and I can't help but like it.

You rub your front on my rear and I can feel you're more than ready. I press back, my breath catching at the friction on my swollen flesh. I adjust myself a bit, trying to get just the right angle, but the counter is awkward and I'm just too tall and too short all at the same time. I make a frustrated sound and you answer with a quiet laugh. You gather me back against you, your hands gripping my upper arms and I crane my head around expectantly, silently pleading for a kiss.

You kiss me slowly, erotically, your tongue sliding between my lips, one hand gliding along my body to tease my breasts as the other hand strokes down, down, down between my legs where I'm already hot and wet for you. You growl in appreciation, your fingers spreading me, sliding along my clit towards my center. I buck against you, trying to slide you where I want you, but you tsk at me and continue your slow torture.

You turn us around, and before I know it I'm sprawled facedown on the kitchen table. Your hands bunch my short skirt around my waist as a foot spreads my legs and you yank my panties to the side, the fragile silk coming apart in your hands. You toss the torn material onto the table beside me and the sight of it mixed with the appreciative sounds you're making behind me turns me even hotter and I'm shivering with anticipation.

I look back at you just in time to see you bend down and then my eyes close as you lick me teasingly. For a brief moment I fear the torture will continue, but instead you dive right in, lapping, nipping, sucking, and it's not too long before I'm moaning and panting and writhing for more.

You sink a finger inside me then add another, pumping them in and out, flicking just the right spots until I'm squirming and breathless. I clench around you, adding to the sensation building at my center and the weight of it increases with every stroke, lick, flick and suck. I try to remember to breathe, but I almost choke on the pleasure and then you're pushing your fingers inside me harder, faster and your hungry mouth on my clit pushes me over until I'm moaning and whimpering nonsensical words that I'm sure are meant to be very, very, very dirty.

I'm still shaking when I hear your zipper, the rustle of clothing as you free yourself and I can feel my insides quivering as you slowly push inside me. I push back against you, pumping my hips, trying to force you in deeper, but you keep pulling away, only allowing the barest of penetration, just enough to make me writhe in frustration. I want more. I always want more.

I reach down between the table and my body, and then I'm moaning even more loudly as my fingers rub over my clit. I tighten my pussy around you and you sink in deeper, rocking against me, drawing out the pleasure, just the way I like it. You set a slow, steady pace, making me even more crazy as I play with myself, the duel sensations keeping me right on the brink of orgasm.

You bend over me so your body is draped across my back, your hands braced on the table on either side of me. You press me down with your weight over me and the sudden flex of your hips makes a slapping noise against my ass and moves the table beneath us. My arm is pinned beneath me and I continue to massage my clit, gasping and moaning and begging for it. Harder, faster.

You sink your teeth into my shoulder, a low growl breathed against my skin. I shudder underneath you, my face pressed agains the smooth wood of the table, my hips digging into the edge. Excitement pulses through me and I whimper a long line of frustrated curses. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck.

You rear back, your hand maneuvering me around until one knee is propped on the table. You grip my hips, your fingers digging in as you pull out of me then shove back in, hard and fast. I roll my hips, getting as much friction as I can and I feel the pressure building, building, building until I'm bucking against you, forcing you to give me what I want. Yes, yes, yes. Yes.

You're panting behind me, grunting with effort as you fuck me. You pull out and push back in and the loud slap of your body driving into mine gives me the final push and I'm moaning and whimpering, the only coherent words falling from my lips being the dirty kinds of things you do to me.

You shove inside me a final time, your body frozen over me, in me. You let go of my leg then lean over me until you're pressing your face against my neck, your teeth scraping against my pulse and then I feel the hot twitch of your release flood me and you're shuddering and muttering against my hot, damp skin.

We rest there, face down on the kitchen table. You're wrapped around me, still fully clothed with what I'm sure is a more than satisfied smirk on your face. I don't mind though, it likely matches mine anyway.