Out of My League

When last we left off, I'd let myself be forcibly dragged across the finish line with Mel, the nosey neighbor that I'd never forgive myself for not finding earlier.

She was voraciously horny. Given the way things began between us, she obviously wasn't looking to dive into something in the ordinary way that the rest of us do. No, she wanted something, set her mind's eye on it, and made it cum inside of her hours after she came to possess it. Regrettably, cock wasn't the only something she was after; no, I'd not be let off the hook just by having a nice big dick for her to gobble and ride - she wanted a mature, comfortable relationship right out of the gates, and she didn't want to wait the years that it would have taken to earn that organic familiarity by dating. In anyone else, this would have felt like a classic "get too close, too fast, burnout, and fallout" situation, but I'm thrilled to report that it was actually really easy to fall into something like that what she was after.

She didn't mind that I was working too hard in those days - lord knows she kept plenty busy herself with her extracurriculars. I moved into her place in the right way, leaving a toothbrush there the next night and then slowly letting my things migrate up the road from my dresser to hers, bit by bit. I don't know what else to say. Things just felt right, pretty immediately. We found a rhythm of sharing space together, openly and unashamedly, right away. I didn't mind that her bathroom door wouldn't stick shut while I peed all the time. She didn't rush to get dressed in the morning if I was still in the room while she did so. Doing her laundry with mine in the basement of her apartment's house felt like just another thing that'd I'd done forever. Hell, I didn't mind being bored around her, because just getting to be near her was enough to keep me content.

The sex, I'm sure you're relieved to hear, was fun in the ways you'd expect for a pair who's foundation was entirely erected on the power of mutual appreciation. It wasn't the "legs behind head, pornesque, hardcore" sort of filth you might have come here for me to pretend we had.

No, it was so much better. It was lazy, head-in-lap blowjobs while we watched tv. It was kisses on the neck and fingers between legs while making breakfast. It was sliding it in while we spooned and the sun came up on the one day a week we could sleep in together. It was hopping in the shower with the door wide open in case the other did really have enough time for a soapy treat. It was the sex that couples have; it was so incredibly good, and we had it incredibly often.

Her body continued to thrill me to no end. She skied in the winter, endlessly; her family had a small ski house in the north and she grew up on the slopes. Her legs were amazing for it - she was powerfully built in the hips and upper thighs, with the most delightful tiger stripes of lightly stretched skin banded across her hips. Her core was firm from her time on the school soccer team, but soft to the touch in all the ways I loved to hold. She was so free with herself too; where other girls that you date as a young man will turn the lights off to fuck and pull the sheets up to cover themselves just as often, she wore clothes no more than was necessary. She walked around her place topless more often than not, or in a sports bra and pair of briefs if the weather necessitated having the windows open. I still picture her there in the morning light of her kitchen window, idly holding up the piece of celery she chewed, other hand on her hip, one leg crossed before the other, breasts gloriously illuminated for my sleepy eyes to enjoy, and the way the light highlighted the large areolas that I so loved to have in my mouth.

I found the trial of the work term's internship was much more tolerable when I had her to come home to, and my work showed the rewards of my new satisfaction. In fact, as the 12 weeks with the hosting company nearing an end, I was happy to hear that I'd receive a little commendation at the end-of-quarter party. Mel informed me that taking her to work parties meant that we were definitely dating. Yeah. Yeah I guess that's what we were doing.

She wasn't flashy, and neither was I, but we cleaned up well and enjoyed putting in at least a little effort for each other when we had occasion to go out. We showed up to a golf club, having smartly fucked hours before in case one of us had too much to drink, eager for a night of fun. She wore a simple black dress, I wore jeans and a blazer. For us, this was formal.

The dinner was fine, though the ongoing awards started to feel a bit like an unoriginal take on a classic episode of The Office. It was a decent sized company, and some of the directors were real windbags, so she started to narrate the unimpressed wives at other tables. I folded my napkin into a formless facsimile of an animal, or amoeba. She poked at an overly complicated appetizer like someone dreaming of a plain burrito to tide her over. We drank. We were bored, so we drank. I was young, bored, in love, at a company event, and there was an open bar.

She excused herself to run to the bathroom and the MC rolled on and on. After a few minutes, I caught sight of her coming back towards me in the reflection of a glass on the table.

I turned to smile at her just as she bent low to give me a kiss. The dress valiantly held her into it's top, defying conventional models of gravity and physics. The kiss was so sweet; she told me I looked handsome, and squeezed my thigh as she slid her hand from the pocket that I hadn't felt her reach into. She moved back around the table and sat down. She really was so beautiful. I think I might have been in love, and in more than the sheepish way you fall in love with someone on the subway for 10 minutes.

I reached into the pocket she'd invaded. "The line for the bathroom was a nightmare," she told me. There was a lump in there; I wriggled to reach in. "It was a nice bathroom," she said, looking around casually. I felt something soft. "There were these huge mirrors that went from the floor to the ceiling." I closed my hand around some fabric. "I looked good in that mirror, I have to admit." I began to pull what I was certain was lace out of my pocket. "I looked really good. Don't you think I look great tonight? I just wanted to look good for you, so I wore a matching set underneath my dress."

I pulled an ornate green thong out of my pocket.

"I didn't like the bottoms though," she said with a devilish grin.

I'm sure I squawked as I shoved them back into my pocket, hoping against hope that no one I needed to look in the eye tonight had seen me pull it out. She laughed loudly, with a snort. My mortification evaporated in an instant. One, she was so fucking cute right now and, two, I'm an absolute sucker for being teased. She winked and exaggeratedly side-eyed something across the room while she took a drink. I opened my mouth to tell her what I thought of her and heard my name called over the speakers. She told me that Mr. award winner had better get moving, laughing as she began to clap with the rest of the room. I gave her a little squeeze on the shoulder with a wink of my own as I walked up. We'd run a charity event in the city that I had headed - the company had looked good in the papers and I was happy to get some recognition from the people who had brought me on. I had eyes only for her though, smiling authentically from the audience while I talked. I hoped she noticed my hand clenched in my left pocket.

We mingled a while longer after the dinner ended. I shook hands, and introduced her to some of my colleagues. She looked so proud of me. That was pretty cool. She didn't hurry me to leave either, later admitting that she found it really endearing to listen to other people praise me. I remember thinking that I was heart horny, and then rebuking myself for being an idiot.

No, not an idiot. Just happy. I was there with a gorgeous woman who genuinely wanted to be there with me, I had a token of her affections hidden away in my pocket, and the constant proud glances as she chatted with my peers convinced me that I was in a good place with a great person.

So I told her it was time to go, and slipped my hand around her waist to scoop her out of a friendly conversation. She held my hand in the cab on the way home. I smiled out the window while she did the same on the other side. I cracked mine to let a cool breeze in. She put her hand on my thigh, pulling mine with it. I looked over to give her a smile, returned warmly from her side. We were a few minutes from home.

Her had slithered out of mine, and grazed over my pants between my legs. I snapped back to her with an incredulous look, but she didn't react and rubbed again, her cheeks tightening imperceptibly. The driver asked me to confirm which street I needed and I stammered a very distracted answer. She was being quite insistent now, obviously counting on the Cabbie not to look back. I looked at her with my eyes as wide as I could, trying to imply that she'd lost her mind, and the twitch in her cheek became a barely stifled grin. She had to bite her lip to keep from giving us away entirely. She gave her shoulders a little shimmy while keeping eye contact. I was getting harder by the second.

The cab halted abruptly, and she did laugh when I looked relieved, letting herself out her door while I paid the driver. I caught up to her as she unlocked the door to the stairs up the side of the house that led to her apartment. She asked what the matter was as she pulled out the key; I barked a laugh, and wondered, too, what the matter could be. "Come on then," she said, reminding me that she had started getting undressed hours ago. She bounded up the first few steps and lifted the hem of her dress as she did so. The sight of her ass got my feet moving, and I instructed her to get back here as she giggled and sped up.

She was just pulling the last of the dress over her head when I caught up at the top of the stairs; she flung it off into a corner and padded further into her flat to turn a lamp on. Her mood lighting game was second to none, and this was our sex having lamp. She turned back to me, undoing the detailed bra that I wish I had more time to admire, and crooked a finger to beckon me toward the bed. I complied, obviously, lobbing my jacket off to join her dress.

She always looked so gorgeous on her back, especially tonight, propped on her elbows, boobs hanging freely to either side, one leg bent, and her watching me come toward her with a wide smile. I got rid of the tie, and worked on the buttons of my shirt, staring at her. She wanted me tonight, she told me. I knew, and felt the same about her. I had looked good, she said. I could have looked at her all night, I countered. I shed the shirt, and next the belt. "This morning wasn't enough," she lamented; the night had gotten her a little excited. I tossed her panties at her with a laugh, and told her I could tell. She told me that there hadn't been much point in keeping them on anyway; apparently her thoughts had wandered naughtily during the duller parts of the dinner, and they were getting wet. I dropped my trousers, and briefs, and told her it had been a shame I couldn't have helped her out in the bathroom. "You could help make it up to her now," she cooed, "by starting with your tongue."

It was a small bed, so I had to dangle half off to lick her, but we had learned to make it work and had practiced often. She normally trimmed, but tonight had opted for a near flawless shave with a neat little strip above her slit. I kissed her thighs softly, and held her hips. She always let me know when I'd taken long enough and did so now, pushing her hips up at me to let me know that I should find my place. She liked me to splay my hands in a firm handful of her inner thighs while I licked, and to use my thumbs, up and down, on her outer lips while I licked her clit. She got incredibly wet as I did that now, and her low moans filled the room around us.

She lazily stretched a leg out and draped her foot over my back, telling me I was going such a good job - my cock twitched at that. She had wanted me so bad tonight, she narrated while I worked. She loved seeing me like that, looking smart and handsome for her. She had loved seeing me find her in the crowd while I talked about my project. She wiggled and writhed. She was so proud of me. She put her hand in my hair. I made her so happy. Her continued praise made my heart melt and my cock throb. She worked up close to an orgasm, and I felt the familiar burning desire to be enough for her. I loved making her feel like this, and the taste of her was an ever-undeserved reward for the comfortable sense of an independent confidence she built up in me daily. Feeling her cum for me, holding my head tight against her mound and shivering from head to foot, gave me the most tender satisfaction. She moaned my name, long and drawn out as she found her way back home from wherever she'd been taken. She laughed when it was over; she always laughed when she came. She brushed her hair out of her face.

I was told to come here.

She whispered the most affectionate "Oh." as I rose to crawl up from the end of the bed toward her; I was, undeniably, hard as a rock and practically dripping for her.

"Oh come here," she said again, pulling her knees up and open for me. We made no circumstance about our missionary, having found the angle that worked for us almost at once. I came to squat on my knees, very close to her own hips, and slid a pillow under her bum. She liked short, deep strokes, with her hips elevated so that she could better push upward with her feet if she wanted to. I sat up before her, sliding snugly in right to the base, where I held myself still for her to get used to again; a heavy exhale told me that everything was as it should be, and I started to work my hips for her. Slowly, at first, and not dramatically in any way, I rocked back and forth while she worked on her breathing. We had been at each other plenty of times, but I was quite large, and she needed to be comfortable.

We found our cadence and enjoyed touching each other's body; I'd never tire of running my hands on her skin. I fondled her tenderly, and her fingertips tickled my chest happily. She said all the right things - that it felt good, and that she loved the way I felt. She loved how deep I got, and it felt good here or there. I ran through her favorites; she looked beautiful, and I loved her body. She squeezed me so tight and I loved how wet she got for me. She took me so well.

It was fun. I was really at home here, and my feelings for her had me lost in the moment, and the minute details of it all. Her dirty sock on the floor. My deodorant fallen on the bedside table. Her hair spread over the covers. The ripple of her tummy. The soft jangle of her earrings. This was perfect. She read my mind, and told me what I already knew; this was so good. It was, I told her; it was the best. The look on her face told me what we hadn't admitted to each other yet, but twitched and wrinkled slightly as I continued to ride in and out of her. I should prove it to her, she told me. I should prove that it was the best.

I could do that.

'I know," she said breathlessly, "that's why I asked." I prodded a little harder for her cheeky reply, and she gasped. "Oh," she said, she knew all about how good she felt, and she knew just how much I loved fucking her raw every day.

She was just getting started.

She knew she was the only pussy I ever wanted, and that I was addicted to licking her whenever she wanted. She knew, no matter how much she sucked my cock on the couch, I was always dying to get inside of her. She admitted that she milked me in the shower so often just to keep me from bursting through my pants at work when I daydreamed about watching her finger fuck herself. She liked showing off for me, she continued while I drove ever harder and deeper into her, and she knew I jacked myself off to the thought of seeing her ride her toys. She was getting really worked up now; her breath was short and quick, he cheeks flush, and a light sweaty dew coated her upper chest and neck.

She loved my fat cock inside of her. Her toys were no match for the way I felt, and she hated that she couldn't cum as hard for her plastic cocks as she used to. God, though, she had fucking tried. Every time she was home alone, she was furiously fucking herself with her toys, fingers, pillows, and everything else she could get her hands or pussy on. It never made up for what she was missing. Without my cum, it never mattered. She needed it. She didn't care how she got it, she just needed what was rightfully hers. She'd drink it. She'd lick it up out of her own hand. Anything. She would do anything for my cum.

She had done everything she needed.

She'd never take my cum in any place but one, if she could help it. If I was addicted to her taste, she eclipsed me handily when it came to her feral need to be full of my cum. I left a load in her at least every day back then, and the act and moment of extracting her property usually drove her entirely over the edge when we fucked.

"Fucking cum inside me," she demanded.

So I did. I pushed with all my might and howled wordlessly, carelessly, as an entire evening's sexual denial and buildup rocketed inside of her. She yelled a loud "Fuck!" and pushed firmly back into me. I came for what felt like forever as her "Yes Baby"s egged me on. It seemed not to end, and my thrusts began to force some of my cum back out of her. She told me she could feel it as I wound back down to earth, wiggling her bum to imply it was running between her ass cheeks. I pulled out and backward to take a look. It felt like an awful lot to her, she said. She should have felt it from the other end, I told her. Laughing, she informed me that she had felt plenty, reaching down to feel her own squirted mess on the sheets below her bum. That was wonderful.

She trotted off to the bath room. I stripped the bed and remade it. She took a quick shower. I poured a nightcap for us. She pulled on some little shorts and one of my tees. We collapsed onto the couch with a movie.

I fell in love for at least the hundredth time, and kissed her on top of the head.