I've had a lot of fantasies of you and me on that chair.
I know you're on the computer, I see you at the top of the stairs. I'm coming honey. . . for you. And soon I'm going to be cumming . . . for you. I'm getting quite a workout going up those stairs for you, first showers, now chairs, soon, the bed, and hopefully, later we can work our way around the downstairs, the couch, the kitchen, the table. But right now we must claim the chair, make it ours, not just yours.
When I get to the top of the stairs you turn and catch the look in my eye and you smile. Yes, playtime will begin. Right now. I'm so glad you just got out of the shower and have nothing but a towel on. I'll deal with that in my own good time, right now you are reaching out and tugging on my shirt, pulling me towards you, ornery sex covering your face. I want some of that ornery sex.
Ornery honey isn't wasting our time, that shirt is off! Oh, honey, your hands feel so good on my breasts, even through my bra, squeezing, caressing the satin fabric before unsnapping and peeling it off. Taking one full tit in hand you lift it to your lips and I am melting as I feel your hot, wet mouth close over my nipple. The tingles and warmth that were playing like background music in my body have spread lower, and that deep, loud longing buried inside is now throbbing and rolling in waves back across the nerves and an electric current is moving between my tit and my cunt. I can't hold still, I need some relief and my pelvis starts grinding against your erection.
Thank God, honey is not one usually to wait around, and my pants are open. You have to touch, to feel my wetness. But it's not enough, the pants have to go. God, I hate to have to climb off you, but it must be done. I need to be fucked. You need to be fucked. Soon the jeans are a stomped-on mess at our feet, instantly forgotten. We have important things to attend to: my tits, your dick, my clit, your chest, my fissure. My very wet, dripping fissure.
Before I know it I'm back over your lap and I feel the soft hair of your legs rubbing against mine as I settle across you. I don't want to wait, I desperately want you in me. But honey wants to play a bit. It's a sweet torture I enjoy. I guess I can wait since you insist on playing with my clit. Just. That. Way. Oh... God! And slide your fingers, your cool fingers inside my warmth, my honey-dripping warmth. And kiss me just the way your are, your tongue letting me know what your cock is going to give me in just a few moments, if I can just hold on, be patient.
My hips can't be still, that age-old instinct has taken hold. I have to help, to rock my hips against your fingers, and my pussy wants your cock, my hips know it and pretty soon your hands have given up. It's a tight fit down there as my pelvis creeps its way toward your shaft.
I break our kiss. We're now both gasping a little for air and my hands on your shoulders are shaking. I want to see your eyes, make you talk.
"Can I fuck you now?" I ask. As if I need to.
I love to hear you talk. I love your words, an attractive, interesting mix of modern slang, and what sounds to me like well-versed, romantic, and sometimes oddly quaint word choices with a heavy dose of man-speak. Surprisingly hotter than hell. So, I'm waiting for a reply, come on babe, don't keep pussy waiting another second.
"Babe ..." you say. You know I'm playing, the question is silly. But you're making moves even as you speak. Playtime is over and the serious business of fucking is about to start. I'm giddy with excitement.
