That Was Easy

After writing two long, multi-chapter stories on Literotica over the past couple of years, I wanted a break. I generally like reading -- and writing -- long, smouldering, slow-building stories where the erotica is in the journey two characters take to bed, not in what happens when they get there. Since I wanted to do something different from what I had been writing, I challenged myself to write a story that was as coherent, complete, and hot as I could make it, in as few words as I could manage. This one came in at just over two thousand words. Hope you like it.

Ravenna933 edited this story, as she has done for all my work the past few years. Her contributions are always helpful.

Sometimes it takes work to find a sexual partner, and sometimes one falls into your lap.

It was January 2006. I was sharing an apartment in Toronto with Peter Cordeiro, a guy I knew through friends. I was a new graduate, flush with cash from earning an income for the first time in my life, and with no real responsibilities apart from showing up to work five days a week at my entry-level office job. Apart from that, I saw friends, went to movies and concerts, and had a few hobbies on the side, one of which was playing squash once a week with a group of guys I knew from university. We'd usually go out for a round of beers or two after the game.

I got home from squash one frigid Saturday night near midnight to an apartment that was quiet and dark. Either Peter was out or asleep; I didn't know or care. I grabbed another beer out of the fridge and undressed, throwing on flannel pyjama pants and a t-shirt. I flipped on the hockey game to decompress as I drank my beer. The Sabres were in Calgary that night, playing the late game on the CBC, and I stared at the TV in the dark for several minutes, zoned out, unwinding.

Suddenly I became aware of a presence behind me, and I turned and saw her. A woman I'd never seen before was standing in the threshold of the hallway leading to our rooms. She was tall for a woman, with long, straight brown hair, wearing a black pencil skirt and crimson-coloured bra. I couldn't see her face in the shadows as she fiddled with a purple top in her hands.

She seemed to suddenly notice the television was on, then she registered my presence with a start. "Oh! Hi!" She quickly covered her chest with her blouse.

"Hi," I greeted her.

"I was just..." she trailed off.

"Are you with Peter?" I asked, making sure that she wasn't a burglar.

"I was," she confirmed. "I'm just leaving now."

"I'm Peter's roommate."

She noticed the game on the TV. "Is that the Sabres game?"

"Sure is," I answered. "I noticed you didn't call it the Flames game."

"No chance. I'm a Sabres fan," she answered matter-of-factly.

"For real? Me too!" I said incredulously.

"Give me a second." She disappeared into the bathroom for a moment, then came out wearing the blouse. Now that I could see her a little better, I could see she was pretty, with soft features, brown eyes, and a cute smile accentuated by slightly crooked eye teeth. She had wide hips but was otherwise slim, with small breasts making a gentle curve beneath her top.

"So how did you become a Sabres fan living in Toronto?" she asked.

"I'm from Welland," I responded. "I grew up half an hour from the arena on the Canadian side of the river. My Dad and I used to go to games at the Aud, and I still make it down to the new place a couple times a year. You?"

"I'm from Cheektowaga, just outside Buffalo," she answered. I suddenly noticed her Western New York accent. "I'm a dual citizen, and I'm in grad school at York." She turned to the TV. What's the score?"

"3-1 Flames," I answered. "Halfway through the third."

"Do you mind if I watch the ending with you?"

"Be my guest. Want a beer?"

"Thanks. Don't get up. I can help myself." She headed for the fridge, picking out a bottle and then coming around the couch. She sat down at the other end of it and curled her legs beneath her.

We sat in silence watching the game together for a few minutes. She seemed antsy, like she was having trouble sitting still.

"So how do you know Peter?" I eventually asked, making small talk during a commercial break.

She blushed. "I don't, really."

"Ah." An awkward silence descended.

"We met at the bar tonight," she finally volunteered. "I don't normally do this."

"Oh, no judgment," I said. "Peter's a good guy."

"Peter fell asleep on me." She grunted, with an air of frustration. "Things were really heating up in there, and then... I don't know what happened. I didn't think he was

that

drunk."

"I'm sorry to hear that. He's not usually a big drinker," I volunteered.

"It's just my luck," she answered. "I haven't had much success with men since moving up here to Canada."

"No boyfriend back home?" I asked.

"Nope." She thought for a moment. "How about you, any women in your life?"

"I'm single," I confirmed.

She nodded, taking a big drink of her beer. "My friends told me I needed a one-night stand," she finally volunteered, embarrassed.

"Were they right?" I prodded.

She smiled weakly. "I've been so stressed with my thesis, and the idea of stress relief sounded good. They talked me into giving Peter a shot, but the ending is the same as always. I'm going to bed alone tonight with my vibrator.

Again.

"

"What if I made you a better offer?" I asked, locking eyes on her.

She raised her eyebrows. "Smooth. I'm impressed." She smiled. "There's something about me you should know."

"Oh? What's that?"

She bit her lower lip coyly. "I'd never sleep with a man whose name I didn't know."

"I'm Brendan," I said immediately. "What's your name?"

"Sarah."

We sat watching the hockey for another few minutes as Sarah appeared to be lost in thought.

"Would it make it weird with your roommate if we..." she finally spoke up, trailing off at the end.

"No," I said honestly. "We're roommates, not really friends. We both work up in this part of North York, and that's the only reason we live together. He's a friend of a friend. I like him just fine, but we don't really hang out."

Sarah nodded.

Just then, Shean Donovan scored an empty-netter for the Flames, putting the game out of reach for Buffalo.

"I guess that's the game." She quickly finished what was left of her beer. "I should probably get home."

"You never said yes or no," I pointed out.

"I know." She bit her lower lip again, eying me.

I stood up, and slowly advanced on her as she watched me. I leaned over her, watching her for any kind of sign. Once she closed her eyes and angled her face up to me, I knew she was mine. Our lips touched, then we started kissing, first slowly, then with more intensity. I sat beside her on the couch and she wrapped her arms around me as we kissed for a few moments, then I moved over to her neck, kissing, nibbling it, then focusing on the base of her shoulders for a moment, right up near the neckline of her blouse. I heard her starting to sigh quietly to herself.

I felt Sarah's hands exploring my back, up under my shirt, then down into my pyjamas, touching my ass. I started to explore her body as we kept making out, letting my fingertips explore her tummy, then up to her chest. Her breasts weren't huge, but they were sensitive, and I could feel her breathing in heavily each time I circled around her nipple, my hand imprisoned by her bra.

I pulled up a little bit at that point, and we eyed each other.

"Yes," she confirmed, reaching down and touching between my legs. I never wear underwear with pyjama bottoms, and within seconds she'd taken me from mostly hard to fully hard.

I reached down, touching her bare inner thigh, then allowed my hand to glide upwards, heading for the warm spot. Her skirt had ridden up, and I was surprised to find her matching crimson panties were soaked through. I looked at her lustily as she blushed.

"I told you, things were heating up in there. I was ready to go."

"Peter's loss." I found her button at the top of her opening, pressing gently it through the damp fabric as she sucked in her breath. Her hand chose that moment to pull my package out from its prison, starting to stroke me gently and expertly.

"Take your shirt off," she suddenly ordered.

"You too."

I stripped out of my shirt, then, for good measure, dropped the pyjama bottoms. Sarah stared at my erection as she undid the buttons on her blouse, one-by-one, opening her top, then unclasping her bra at the front, exposing her breasts. Her chest was flushed in the low light, her nipples firm atop pink areolas. She then peeled her panties off too, leaving her only in the skirt bunched around her waist. She had a dark landing strip, and I could see moisture glistening in her slit, illuminated by the low postgame light coming from the TV.

She spread her legs for me. "I don't normally do this," she said again, almost apologetically.

"I don't either." I moved between her legs, holding my cock, poised and ready as she eyed me.

"But apparently I'm doing it tonight."

I slid inside her in one movement. She was burning up inside, desperately aroused, and once I'd bottomed out, she wrapped her legs around me, holding me inside her.

"Yesssssss," she breathed. "I needed this."

"Your pussy feels so good."

"You feel so good inside me." Her legs released me. "Fuck me like you mean it."

I knew I was the beneficiary of a buildup that had begun long before she ever appeared in my life, and I recognized the desperate, needy look on her face. I started to fuck her, hard, pounding her into the corner of the couch, as she lay, biting her lower lip, watching me, her body full of unreleased tension. Her fingers went to work on her clit with one hand as she continued exploring me with the other.

"Brendan," she said breathlessly. "It's not going to take me very long tonight."

"That's okay," I reassured her. "I'm a man, we can always cum quick. It's pacing yourself that's the mark of a good lover."

"Don't pace yourself tonight," she ordered, picking up speed on her clit. "I'm already close. Don't cum in me. My tits or stomach is fine."

I started to pound her faster as she yelped helplessly. Her legs were high in the air, one resting on the back of the couch and one on my shoulder. Her pussy was wet and tight around my cock; her face was flushed; her was hair a mess, strewn across her face. Her wide hips were bouncing in rhythm with my movements. The unsure woman of a few moments ago was gone, replaced by someone wantonly desperate.

"I'm gonna come, Brendan."

Her body tightened up, her legs squeezed me deep inside her, and she came, arms tightly wrapped around me, holding my body to hers as she climaxed. I was close, but mindful of her order, I desperately tried to keep from cumming inside her as I felt her pussy squeezing and massaging my erection.

She finally relaxed as her fingers stopped moving. "You didn't cum in me, did you?"

"I haven't cum yet, but I'm really close."

"Cum for me, Brendan."

I started fucking her again as she stroked her clit lazily to stay wet. It didn't take me long, and I withdrew, jerking myself off for the last few strokes as I erupted onto her. She watched, smirking, as I covered her stomach in semen before collapsing into her arms.

We lay like that for a moment before she pushed me off, gesturing that I should hand her a tissue. I did so, and she cleaned herself up, then started to dress.

"I'm on transit home, and it's already late," she said, almost apologetically.

"I guess you shouldn't be here tomorrow when Peter wakes up, eh?" I asked.

"That would be awkward." She finished dressing, then headed for the door.

"Let's go, Buffalo!" I whispered as she turned to leave. She clapped out the rhythm of the team's chant in return, smiled, and departed.

I shut off the TV and headed for bed. Sometimes you just get lucky.