I See What You Did There

I'm not crazy.

...at least, I don't think I am. But I dunno. Here I am, lying down in a dark room, waiting. Hoping. Praying that those words meant what I thought they meant.

Nicki Roemer. The name sends a shiver through my toes. She hates me. Has to. All these years, anytime we're at a party together—which is a lot, since her little sister is dating my roommate—Nicki talks with everyone but me. I try to say hi, but somehow something always catches her attention, just at that second, and I'm left hanging.

Across rooms, whenever my eyes catch a glimpse of those fleshy haunches, and I look too long, I know she sees me. But she never makes eye contact, not for longer than a split second, and only when I'm in the path of someone she actually wants to talk to.

I get it. She's got her choices, and I'm not one of them. Though little sis Karla is supposedly the beauty queen, to me Nicki is far more captivating, with those wicked, knowing eyes. When I met her three years ago, she was thinner, but never thin. Her hips jutted proudly against any fabric she put on them, swelling irrepressibly, a tantalizing bounty just out of reach. Now, as that delicious meat has steadily accumulated on those bones, she is like a ripe peach, ready to burst at the slightest touch. It drives me completely insane.

Which she knows. Dear god, let this not be a joke.

It was Mark, always Mark who wound up in her crosshairs. Too damned smooth, with his aloof smile and complete lack of effort to impress her. I wished I could do that, just stop trying to sneak a peek at her amazing body and let her chase my mystery.

But I have no mystery. Just a quiet, lonely 23-year-old guy with champagne tastes and ramen budget. Maybe a bit too eager to please. An easy target for the needy girls who get way too close to sinking their hooks in before I come to my senses. Nicki isn't needy, just extremely picky. And yes, I would do absolutely anything to please her.

Like this, for instance. I knew it was her the minute I got the text. Her number's on my roommate's phone, and like a creep, I filched it. For what, I don't know. To call? Yeah, right. 'Hi, I'm that guy you never talk to. Wanna talk?'

And yet...

It's weird, because...well, it's weird for a lot of reasons, but partially because Mark's out of town. They're not official, never have been, but she always ends up going home with him, and tonight she can't. It's still weird, though, because there are lots of guys she does talk to, all right there, within easy reach. She could have any one of them in a heartbeat. How the hell could any straight male resist the attention of Nicki Roemer?

My heart beats faster, thinking about it. I don't know what it's like to be touched that way by her, much less looked at. Picturing those eyes boring into mine has my pants rigid. I'm sweating. Trying hard not to, pulling all my nerves together in a vain attempt to be absolutely cool when she comes in. If she comes in. Part of me is afraid she'll actually show up. What the hell would I say? Since when has she ever wanted to hear me say anything?

I want to read the text again, but I've re-read the words about a hundred times since getting the notice an hour ago. If it's not what it sounds like, then it's a set-up, and I'm tomorrow's punchline.

But if it's not...that's a risk I'm willing to take.

Who knows how long it's been since anyone was in this room. Paul's old family home is cavernous, with way more spare bedrooms than even our gang can use. Sometimes I stay over, but usually in one of the more frequented beds. This one hasn't been occupied in quite some time, I can tell, although it's been cleaned recently. Paul and I aren't really friends, we just know the same people. Being that rich is way outside of my conception of real life, but it's nice to get a look at the suite life now and then. If he weren't fabulously gay, Nicki would probably have nailed him down already.

I swallow hard. Nicki, nailing someone down. How many times have I dreamed it? Being the one her body needs. Giving myself to her. I wipe my glistening palms on the blanket, and let the cool night air chill my upturned face. I will be that for you, I pledge to this woman, wherever in the house her fantastically curvaceous legs are taking her at this moment. Maybe to me. Maybe to laugh with her friends about the joke she just pulled on that gullible guy. It doesn't matter. I've made my choice.

My hand resists the urge to take the phone out again. To goggle at the words. Those unbelievable words:

**

Zach.

Nicki.

Lonely. Thinking that maybe around 11:00, I might go to the seashell room and sit down on something. Something lucky. *whistles, walks away*

**

Hiding my erection, and my blush, was a lost cause. I'd slunk off in search of the seashell room in seconds, abandoning any attempts at finding her, catching her eye, verifying that yes, Nicki Roemer had just propositioned me. This woman who'd never said a word for my benefit. And now...

Well, now it's 11:00. Or it feels like 11:00, anyway. I've been in here for eons, although when I arrived, the hall clock only said 10:30. Maybe she's changed her mind.

A fumble at the doorknob. My skin erupts in goosebumps. I want to sit up, to see my fate as it enters, whatever it may be, but I can't. I'm frozen to the bed, terror and exhilaration fighting desperately for control of my nerves. I stay where I am, an offering, a promise. An easy mark.

I know it's her. Know it by the swish of her thin summer dress' fabric against the wooden doorframe. And I know she's alone. My heart leaps between my ears. Oh god, it's real, it's real...

There is a pause as she surveys the scene before her. Illuminated only by muted moonlight through the gauzy curtain, I could be mistaken for a mannequin, were it not for the steady rise and fall of my chest under my green button-down silk shirt. She inhales deeply, a long, satisfied sound that sends an aching throb through my crotch, surely casting a prodigious shadow across the bedclothes. I hear the slow, purposeful clack of her ankle-length boots across the hardwood floor as she circles the bed, moving ever closer to where my face rises from the mattress, eyes closed, ready to receive whatever blessing she will grant me.

A faint sliding sound, and I know she is slipping off her boots. My heart is a kick drum, pounding relentlessly in my brain, telling me things that cannot be true. Things that have only occurred in my dreams. And here, in the dark, one of them is coming alive.

I feel the heft of her heavenly weight as she places one knee upon the soft coverlet. I want to touch the billowing skin of her thick legs, want it more than life, but there are things I want more, and I restrain myself, begging silently for my reward. The gentle wisp of fabric brushes my nose, and to my fathomless astonishment, the air grows close against my ears as I feel her other knee press heavily into the bed, inches from my head.

My eyes open involuntarily, but of course I see nothing. Nothing to indicate the divine apparition which surrounds me, only the telltale tickle of a cotton dress upon my hair and chest. I am enveloped by Nicki's hindquarters, though they do not yet touch my feverish flesh. She is toying with me, and I have never been so happy to be exploited.

All at once, the sweet smell of her wafts into my nostrils, and I know that she is aroused. It is a tangy aroma, and I breathe deeply, openly, inviting her to be a part of my surging body chemistry. I feel a shift in her weight upon the blankets, and I know that her delectable backside is twisting, whether by her conscious volition or by the command of her wanton hormones.

Use me, I plead into the warm dampness that engulfs my senses. I am yours.

As if in response, this dream girl's shapely calves squeeze inwards, pressing against my ears, and in an instant, I am plunged into the slick, hot wonderland of Nicki Roemer's steaming nethers. My mind explodes, and I cannot stifle a muffled moan into the capacious flesh which now owns me.

The firm, insistent roil of her muscular undercarriage overtakes me utterly, the copious bulges of her buttocks pinching my nose shut as her juicy slit swirls rhythmically upon my eager tongue, which dives deep into the blessed sanctum inundating my senses.

"Nnnnnggghh..."

Her moan is felt more than heard, traveling down from beneath her pillowy breasts, through her soft white belly, and into the sea of muscle and baby fat surrounding my helpless head. I am pleasuring Nicki Roemer. There is no joy greater than this.

The motion of her pelvis upon me is oceanic, slow yet relentless. A force of nature. Even if my airways were not obstructed by the silken cushion of her supple skin, I might still be breathless. She has overtaken my body and mind, with preternatural ease. Nicki knows she owns me, has always known, and she takes command, as is her divine right.

I curse my frailty as oxygen grows thin, and my instincts rebel. Risking censure, my hands venture up the prodigious slopes of her capacious thighs, thrilling at the contact, but urgently communicating my regrettable predicament. She makes me wait a few more seconds—a reminder of who's in charge—then arches her back, and the valley between her majestic buttocks floods with heavy, damp air, the scent of Nicki's sweat rushing in to blend with the rich bouquet of her swollen pussy.

I breathe deeply, preparing for a long, fulsome journey into her nether world, and she rocks back, sealing me inside her once again.

Sliding aft, she plunges my nose into the slick wetness of her entrance, and my tongue gratefully makes contact with her hot, engorged clit. A sharp gasp escapes Nicki's full lips as I work her button, and the pattern of her pumping gains complexity: Long strokes, a side swirl, a rapid-fire burst of firm thrusts...she knows what her body needs, and takes it. I follow obediently, providing friction, meeting each swipe with its opposite, driving her on towards her glorious destination.

I want her to come, more than I've ever wanted even my own climax. Drench me, I beg, lost in chemical intoxication within her incomparable body. Submerging into her will, I know my purpose, and give myself to the heat of her animal desire. She takes her time, and I relish every second.

At last, something breaks. Nicki's urgency grows, and her pace upon my face quickens. Through the bottom of my mouth, a thin trickle of air keeps me from interrupting her single-minded quest for deliverance, and she rides me heedlessly, her moans growing breathy and ragged.

Her composure slackens, and now I feel the true Nicki, every bit as ravenous and passionate as I've always dreamed her to be. Safely removed from social expectations and any sense of propriety, she lets herself go, and I thrill to imagine the fire in her eyes as she savages her pleasure tool, a man who she knows will keep her secrets safely locked in his grateful memory.

"Ohhhhhh, fuck, fuck, fuck..." she gasps, and batters my face ruthlessly beneath her churning undercarriage, soaking me utterly in her sweet juices. My cock rages, throbbing hard in its denim cage, for which my divine assailant gives not a thought. My mouth is her steed, and all else is irrelevant in pursuit of her climax. I grip her mountainous thighs, which flex sensuously in my hands, heaving, thrusting, driving her mind into blissful madness. My dreams come true.

With a piercing shriek, Nicki Roemer explodes violently into my mouth and nose, drowning me in a deluge of unrestrained passion. Her thick hips jerk this way and that, working out the powerful surges of climactic energy from the pulsing storm overtaking her every nerve. Her voluptuous body weighs heavily on me, oblivious to anything but the tempest wracking her from within. Wordless barks punctuate mindless wails, and she is lost to animal instinct, existing only for this moment, this feeling.

Locked inside her heavenly chemistry, the dam breaks within me, and with a muffled cry, I come furiously, my straining cock spurting alone and neglected in my ruined pants. I am not disappointed. Nicki's sexual power is such that she has delivered me to orgasm without a single touch below the belt. I am a lucky man to experience such potency, to merge with the mortal incarnation of this goddess.

Slowly, gradually, the frantic pumping upon my face slows, and from the pace of her breathing, I feel her slipping back down the slope of the wave my tongue has delivered dutifully to her door. I slow my ministrations, keeping the pressure on her clit as she rides out the aftershocks, until eventually I sense that she may at last be finished with me.

Without a word, the buxom form of Nicki Roemer lifts its blessed bounty from around my dizzy head. In the moonlight, I catch only curvaceous, ivory-tinged outlines of the magnificence she has bestowed upon me this night. My thanks go unspoken, and I know well that no words will ever flow from her lips to acknowledge what I have done. She has taken her rightful tribute, and I have received more than I have given.

Her breath is still heavy as she slips on her boots, and I can almost see the luminous glow suffusing her heavenly flesh there in the summer night. My own breath is audibly deep as my lungs replenish their oxygen supply, drawing air past the thick layers of her juices that coat my nostrils and throat. I am rife with her, and it is amazing.

With no preamble or hesitation, the brain-boggling body of Nicki Roemer saunters towards the door. I do not look up as she exits, an effort that takes all of my will, no matter how intimate I am now with her spectacular bounty. She knows, and I hear the satisfaction in her step as she clicks the door shut and struts irrepressibly, if a bit unsteadily, back down the hall.

I float there for an untold eternity, savoring her scent, the residual warmth of her backside on my cheek, the total impossibility of what has just happened. I might well never get up.

After a long eon, during which the full moon inches its way past the windowpane, I can hear the party move out onto the patio, and my skin tingles as Nicki's unmistakable laugh rings out amid the revelries. I can't face her now. I don't need to.

Next week, Mark will return, and she will revert her attentions to him. The thought would anger me, but my imagination lights up with images of her destroying his cock with her powerful haunches. What must it be like? I envy him, but now I too have a relationship with Nicki. Furtive, secret, and unspeakable, but I suspect that tonight will not be the last time she uses me.

And when next she calls, I will answer.