Amity reclined against the wall, her smallish breasts thrust forward until they caught the light and glistened. She ran her thumbs over her coppery nipples, circling in under her areolae and then pinching the nipples between thumb and forefinger until they were hard as diamonds. Her little pink tongue lapped at her parted lips. She slid her right hand down over her flat belly, stopping at the sparse tangle of bush she kept above her otherwise bald pussy. She fluffed the curls into a neat little tuft.
"Spread your pussy lips a little, would you please?" I asked. "Good. Now, could you keep them spread while you slide your index finger in?"
Amity turned her head up and towards me and half closed her eyes. Her lips parted wider until I caught a flash of pale white teeth behind the peach pink. She moaned softly.
"That's great. Squat down and stick two fingers in."
Amity effortlessly bent her legs and slid down the wall. She splayed her legs, the toned muscles of her calves popping, the pale tan skin of her inner thigh looking eminently kissable. Her plump labia spread and shone under the light, showing a study in contrast, olive against shocking pink. She placed her right hand between her hip and her pussy, resting her thumb near the bud of her clitoris. She slid her index and middle fingers into her cunt up to the second knuckle.
"Okay, now lick those fingers. Oh, do you want a tissue?"
Amity shook her head, then opened her lips. With her index finger she tugged down her plump lower lip, while her tongue lapped at her wet middle finger. Her left hand dangled just in front of her cunt.
"Let's do the toy now."
Amity took the clear glass dildo and lapped at the head, miming fellatio. It was about six inches long, and she swallowed three of those, her arm bent above her, the dildo held like it was a microphone and she was a torch singer. All the time, her free hand played with her cunt.
"Doggy, please."
She knelt on all fours, showing her ass then rearing up and spreading her legs until I could see her pussy. She eased the dildo in, arching her head round so that I could see her face. Her eyes were screwed shut, her lips parted to give an expression half way between a snarl and a moan. She fucked herself with slow, deep strokes.
"Now frontal. Back against the wall, legs wide."
She pressed her back hard against the wall and looked me straight in the eye. Her nipples were peaked, her tongue pressed firm against the left corner of her lips. A blush suffused her cheeks and the tops of her breasts, down which trickled trails of clean sweat that ran in tapering rivulets down her smooth body. Her cunt was split wide by the dildo.
Her left hand kneaded her breast hard. Her chest heaved with deep, fast panting, almost silent on the inhale, then the exhale like a muffled explosion. On each exhale she rammed the dildo in to the base, on each inhale she tugged it back out until only the swollen head was inside her, making her labia bulge.
Amity fucked herself faster and faster, her right hand almost a blur. Her left hand abandoned her engorged nipples and began to flick swiftly at her clitoris. She began to moan, a long continuous "ooh" that was broken only by her intermittent gasped breaths. Her back arched, shoulders back and a delicious shiver ran across the taut, downy skin of her belly, and made her tits quiver like jelly.
"Well," I said, putting down the camera. "I think that should do it for today."
***
I first met Tom in a franchise coffee house shortly after I had scalded the wrist of a man in a cheap suit and managed to pour the rest of the mug over his laptop. Now, I don't claim I was the best waitress in the world, but this was a first even for me. It wasn't entirely my fault - a lady had come in with a toddler and a child in a pushchair, and the toddler managed to tangle the chair around my legs. As I fell I twisted to avoid pouring the mug of coffee on the kid - I assumed he hadn't tripped me deliberately - which resulted in the scalding and laptop-ectomy of the man. When he called me a "fucking bitch," I realised he hadn't taken it well.
"Do you have any idea of how much this fucking thing fucking cost?"
I looked the laptop over. It was polar white, very shiny and looked as if it would shatter if a fly landed on the half-eaten apple embossed on the lid. "Well," I heard myself saying, "about three times more than it's
fucking
worth?"
"You cunt..." The man raised his arm, though he kept his hand open so I didn't think he was actually going to hit me. I don't know what would have happened, because just then I heard a relaxed voice saying, "Oh, I used to have one of these. They're pretty durable, at least as long as you don't drop them in the bath. Let's see... yes, still works. Miss, could I borrow your cloth a moment?"
He was sitting with perfect ease in the chair the businessman had left vacated to better berate me. He was wearing a dark T-shirt, which clung to his broad, flat chest and followed the tapering of his body to his waist. His arms were pale and well-toned without being too muscular. I almost wet my panties when I saw his hands: the smooth skin and long expressive fingers. His long legs filled his jeans very nicely.
His icy blue eyes were shaded by dark eyebrows that were perhaps a little too full for his face. His hair was trimmed quite short, and I imagined that longer hair might soften the somewhat harsh line of his cheeks. His lips were thin, and there was a trace of cruelty in the carefully bland smile he turned on the businessman.
"Thanks," he said when I gave him the cloth. He dried the traces of coffee on the laptop with slow, deliberate strokes, then turned it toward the empty chair at the table. His cold eyes fixed on the businessman and he said, "Why don't you sit down and check that this still works? I'm sure the management will comp the coffee for you."
His accent was unusual, almost Radio 4 English, but with a musical lilt that sounded almost Californian. He gave the cloth back to me with a smile that made me wonder how I'd ever thought his face cruel. I quickly cleaned the rest of the table while the businessman, clearly furious, but not certain what this calm man might do, played around with his laptop.
"No charge for the coffee," I said.
The businessman sneered. "You've just lost yourself a customer."
The other man smiled. "Don't worry," he said. "I doubt you were much of a tipper anyway."
"Hi, he said to me, and smiled again. "I'm Tom."
"Felicity," I said and smiled straight back at him.
Three dates later my thighs were wrapped around his neck as he devoured my pussy. I remember thinking, my he knows what he's doing. His hands alternated between caressing my butt,stroking the insides of my thighs and fingering my pussy lips. His hot wet tongue was sandwiched between my labia, lapping at my clit as if it were a lollipop. I could feel my clit getting more and more sensitive with each pass of his cunning tongue.
"Oh god," I said, "I'm coming." What was unusual, at least for me recently, was that I wasn't lying. My ex-boyfriend hadn't been as diligent a muff-diver. I'd looked down once on one of the few occasions that I'd coerced him into eating me - usually by refusing to suck him off until he ate me - and seen him, eyes squinted shut, his tongue hesitantly extended, like a man forced to taste something he was certain he was going to hate.
I mean it's not like he was ferreting about in a huge bush, I've always kept my pussy well-trimmed. At least since I turned nineteen. He got me worried that perhaps I tasted bad down there, to the extent that one day after masturbating I licked my fingers clean. I tasted fine, I thought, though perhaps I'm biased.
I'd been distracting myself to prolong that delicious slow build to orgasm, but when Tom began tickling his finger around my asshole, I was shocked into an orgasm so powerful I actually squirted. Tom trailed his tongue slowly up my body until he was kissing my neck. I reached down and undid the button fly of his boxers.
Tom's cock flopped out of his gaping boxers, and I took it in my hand. I stroked both hands from the head down the shaft until I was cupping his balls, which I squeezed and twisted. He stopped kissing me and leaned back on the bed until he was looking right in my eyes. I looked straight back. "You can come in my mouth," I said.
Tom rolled onto his back and hitched up his hips until he could slide the boxers off completely. He threw them onto my bedroom floor, where the dress I had worn lay like a slewed snake skin by the door. Our discarded clothes made a trail to the bed: first the dress, next Tom's shirt, then the black thong panties he had almost torn in his rush to taste me. I had undone the matching bra myself as he went down on me, and it now hung off the bedside lampshade, casting an oblate bat-signal on the ceiling.
Tom's cock was long and fat, big enough that I could get both hands on the shaft with plenty of room for my lips, thick enough that my fingers couldn't come close to closing around it. My ex-boyfriend's cock had a very thin shaft, with a thickish, too long head like a stink horn mushroom. It was coloured like a mushroom, too, pale and unhealthy giving a sense that it might at any moment begin to ooze.. Tom's was genuinely beautiful: nicely proportioned, thick head and shaft, with an almost tan colouration. It felt solid in my hand,felt weighty and meaty and immensely satisfying.
