Out of My League

I'd taken to my internship swimmingly, but burning the midnight oil there meant that, even after exams for the term ended at school, I was slammed. The going out and partying came to an abrupt end, save the occasional Friday night with the office folks, and I found myself trudging, tired and worn out, most nights well after dark.

This night was just another one of those late ones. The early summer air was cool and felt great as I stumped off the bus at the stop near my place. Well, pretty near my place. It was a half mile to mine from there.

Jacket in hand, shirt unbuttoned and half untucked, bag slung sloppily over a shoulder, I looked a right miserable sight. Certainly not overly approachable I'd think. I got to walking.

After a few minutes, the street lights began to kick on around me as I walked. Click, buzz. Click, buzz. Click, buzz.

Flip

Flop

That wasn't a street light. Not being a great neighborhood, there were plenty, and the aforementioned quality of the neighborhood also meant that they were poorly repaired and made all sorts of noises. But never a

Flip

Flop

I was a big lad, but even big dudes get mugged in shitty parts of town. I picked up the pace.

Flip flop flip flop flip flop.

I won't lie, I really did start to wonder about the possible need to hustle. Not run, not yet, but step lively maybe. A brisk walk.

FLIP FLOP FLIP FLOP FLIP FLOP

I was about to be mugged, without a doubt. Thinking there was nothing for it, I accepted that I'd rather turn and face things on my feet than run all the way home. A shadowy figure shouted an insistent "HEY!"

I couldn't believe my ears, as it was unmistakably a woman calling out to me, and then I couldn't believe my own stupidity for thinking the worst and jumping to conclusions.

I called back as she closed the distance between us. I could see she was carrying a box in her arms, a bag over her shoulder, and a knapsack on her back. I was given shit for not slowing down before the light even illuminated her enough to see.

She stepped into the light of a flickering lamp. She was not overly tall, but well built in the way of someone who stays causally active out of habit. Curly brown hair in loose falls framed a cute face with a wide, warm smile. A band of pale freckles bridged her nose and cheeks.

Her name was Mel, and all she had wanted was a walk home, only a few blocks away. And she could do with a hand, she told me, as she handed me the box. The thanks came before I really said anything back. Relief at not being in danger of making the morning news, and the realization that the same imagined peril must be that much worse for a 22-year-old woman walking home alone in the near dark. I recall thinking, briefly, that it would be a thrill to spend time with an 'older' woman. Hey, when you're 19, anything more than that feels like a feat.

We chatted idly on the way. I didn't know where the 'way' would take us, having been volunteered to escort her without much democracy, but that was fine. What was I going to do, go home and sit with my cock in hand for an hour before falling asleep on the couch? Mel went to the school too, a few years ahead. Not on track to graduate on time, by no fault of her own. She was in clubs, you see. All of them. She chose to stick around past the graduations of her peers, to continue networking. It sounded like she was trying to convince me, but I truthfully didn't care much.

Interminably horny though I was in those days, the week and day had been long, and I wasn't listening as intently as I might otherwise have done. It was a long minute before I realized she'd stopped talking. I muttered an apology. She simply walked along beside me, flip-flops slapping the pavement with their cracking reports. She was looking at me, grinning broadly, and laughed as I looked over to catch her in the act. I looked tired, I must be tired. I was, guilty as charged. I must work a lot, she accused. I did, I admitted. Wait, how did she know how much I worked? Maybe I was right to worry earlier; maybe I would make the 7 o'clock news.

Flight response beginning anew, I looked around hurriedly. Thoroughly confused, I recognized the gas station on the corner. And the pine tree across from it. And the red door to...the house where I rented an attic. I hadn't paid any attention, but it looked an awful lot like she'd walked me home.

"I live just there," I told her.

She knew it. I was a dummy. She lived down there, pointing down the street and across the road. We were neighbors, almost. Embarrassed, I apologized for not knowing that. She laughed, low and slow, and put her hand on my chest, telling me not to apologize. How was I supposed to know who she was, being several years above me at school? She'd just seen me walk by a few times. It wasn't anything weird. Her bedroom faced the street, on the top floor; she pointed out the window. She wouldn't be surprised if I could see the light from that window from my place. In fact, she wouldn't be surprised if I could see through it from mine. She'd better draw the blinds, she laughed, or I might just get an eyeful.

She seemed friendly, I thought.

"In fact, you can even see the door on the side of the house that runs up to a private entrance to my apartment," she said. I reckoned I could. Now that we knew we were neighbors, maybe I could stop by, to study or something.

Really friendly, for sure. I'd have to catch her when I was better rested some time, I decided. She reached out for the box, telling me to get some sleep. I told her I'd see her around sometime. She told me that it had better be soon, and I'm sure that she winked.

I dragged myself home, kicked the door closed behind me, slammed my things down on the floor, stripped down right in the front hall, and got right in the shower. As the fatigue melted away under the water, I was midway through soaping up before it hit me.

She literally chased me down.

She walked me right to her house.

She pointed out the door.

She told me it had better be soon.

I was a fucking idiot.

I didn't bother with briefs; a tee and jeans would have to do. I was still buckling my belt as I hurried down the block. God, I hoped I was reading this right. My heart was racing. This couldn't be real. Could it? Had she been so transparent? Was I making assumptions? There was no time to ponder. I was at the door.

I knocked. Nothing.

I knocked again. The sounds of a sitcom's audience laughter reached me from an open window above.

To knock, or flee home? Knock, one more time. 5 seconds. Another 10. Nothing. I'd fucked this up. I hoped I could make it back down the drive and slink home before anyone saw me.

"It's not as fun if you knock," she called.

I looked up to find her face and smile beaming down at me from a small open window, hair draping down around her. "Right," I said. I knew that.

I opened the door and made my way up the rickety old stairs. Another door stood there, cracked. I wondered if she'd left it that way since she got home, or whether her faith in me had evaporated and she'd just done it now. I pushed it open.

A large, open apartment in the attic of the house met me. It smelled of entirely too many fragrant candles and teas and plants and god knows what, but the bohemian aesthetic was found there in every corner to an exceptional degree. I peered around. A bird chirped in a cage in the corner.

"It took you long enough," her voice called from somewhere I couldn't see. I had no excuse to offer. I told her I needed a shower. She incredulously replied that she was sure that's what the delay had been. I turned a corner around a large freestanding bookshelf covered in plants to affirm that I had actually showered, and there she was, stark naked, reclined on a day bed, propped up on a large fuzzy white pillow, idly slipping a pink rubbery shaft in and out of herself.

"Oh wow," I breathed.

I'd taken so long, that she had needed to start without me. She hoped I didn't mind that, and I shouldn't have been so slow if I did. She continued to pump rhythmically. She bit her lip and looked down and herself; the sight of her there burned itself into my memory. If I had a shred of artistic skill, I'd paint a frieze of her just there and hang it in my living room. She was busty, square across the shoulders, with powerful legs that tightened briefly as she thrust her toy into herself. The toes of a foot dangling off the side of the bed flexed back and forth. She took a handful of one boob while she watched herself. She seemed happy to continue and paid me no mind while she worked slowly, so I undid my belt.

Between this and the comment about looking in her blinds, I finally put it together that she might have an inclination toward showing off. I dropped my trousers, and she looked up only when the belt slammed into the ground. I was as hard as I could ever remember being; she smiled briefly at what she saw before gazing back upon herself only to shut her eyes lightly and let her head fall back. An old reading chair sat across from her beside a small table with a stack of books. She really had cultivated an atmosphere here. I sat down and relaxed, legs spread, cock at attention. She let out a soft "Fuck," and began to work slightly faster, her breath coming a little quicker and deeper. I stroked myself while I watched her fuck herself in front of me. She had coated the toy in a thin fluid slick now, and a small amount of it shone on her inner thighs. She opened her eyes and looked over at me, still gnawing her lower lip.

"This is nice," she said. It felt good. It did for me as well. She liked that I was watching her. I asked if that was so. She nodded vigorously. I laughed. She had tried so hard to avoid cumming before I got there, but confessed she'd done so three times by the time I finally showed up; she'd never done anything like this before, and the thought of finally going for it had driven her over the edge. God, I was glad I had made it before she was spent entirely. I was silly, she told me, for thinking the window of opportunity would have been so limited. She asked if I saw a roommate anywhere. I did not. She lived alone and was too busy to date.

I wasn't watching anything that she was unlikely to be doing at any time on any night she was home. "This toy sees a lot of action," she shared.

I continued to stroke and she lost herself in her thrusting again, and we both smiled contentedly for a bit while we enjoyed each other. She asked to have me get rid of the shirt, which was only fair, so I did as ordered.

She commented on the pearly bead of precum that I had worked up, and that it was dangerously close to dripping onto her floor. I chuckled and rubbed it deftly over the head of my cock, making a wet squelch that she obviously enjoyed immensely. She worked the toy faster and moaned with a guttural purr. Another drop replaced the first, and I was told to do that again. I complied. "Yes," she moaned. Yes, that was so hot. Her appreciation compelled me to show off a little, and I held my cock in a two-handed grip for her, squeezing more fluid out. She swore loudly, the toy plunging deeper and faster than it had yet, wetly matching the rhythm that I now pumped myself to.

Determined to outlast her, I was thrilled when the breath she had been holding hard for the last few moments finally broke with a shriek, and she invoked her savior's name in vain. The toy was wet. The toy was very wet. Her leg was too, and something was dripping off the metal rail of the cheap daybed onto the hardwood below. I'd never seen a woman squirt, but this was entirely too much to be anything but that, and she continued to shiver with an orgasm that I felt entirely unworthy to witness. God, she was beautiful then. I should have told her that. Instead, I wondered why it hadn't shot 6 feet across the room, as porn had led me to believe it should have.

She fell back dramatically, arms splayed wide beside her, utterly spent. "That had felt good. That felt really good," she murmured. I continued to work myself, only to maintain the erection, while I admired every inch of her; laid back, covered in her long brown hair, sweaty, smooth, flush from chest to cheeks. I could have happily stared all night.

She told me she could still hear me stroking. I asked if that was alright. It was. "I'd be insulted if you stopped," she insisted. I wouldn't want that; I couldn't bear the thought of her being disappointed in me. It was enough that she had shared herself with me this much, I'd do anything for her now.

She rolled over, sliding half off the low bed, knees to the ground. Another toy appeared from nowhere, or beneath the pillow, and the fat dildo stuck itself flat to the ground roughly between her legs. She looked back at me over her shoulder and mounted it effortlessly. I told her that I loved this.

She loved this too. Her ass began to bounce and bob up and down while her hands gripped the sheets of the bed in front of her. I had an unparalleled view of her wide, firm ass from my seat behind her, and the rippling jiggle of it sent shivers down my spine. Her breathing had already become labored, her eyes screwed shut tightly. This wasn't going to take nearly as long. She turned again, demanding that I get the fuck over there; she slapped the bed right in front of herself with one hand, spreading her left ass cheek with the other.

I swung my legs over her head and sat down in front of where she bounced on her silicone lover. My cock stood firmly just inches from her face; I could feel her hot breath on the head. She thanked me, popping the tip into her mouth without hesitation. She didn't suck or anything, just held the head in her mouth affectionately while she squatted up and down. She put a hand around my waist and took a little more in as she settled down, wiggling adorably as she bottomed out on the floor.

"This is so much more fun with a cock in my mouth," she told me. Her mouth felt so good, I replied. She drooled a little, uncaringly, as she rocked back and forth, her one hand exploring my stomach, chest, and hips while the other wrapped around the base of my cock. The subtle vibrations of her moans on my tip felt heavenly, and she set off bouncing again; she comically mumbled about how good I tasted, with a mouthful of dick getting in the way of making the words any kind of coherent. The squelches and wet slaps from between her legs drove me wild; knowing how wet she was and having to settle for her admittedly talented lips was a tease.

She evidently read my mind, as she gave no warning before pushing me firmly onto my back, standing up as she did so, and climbing right up over my hips. "That's enough of that," she said sitting down, hard, right to the base of my shaft. Her moan told me that this was something she'd waited too long for. She drew tight circles with her hips, her ass pressed firmly down on me while she messed up her hair with her hands, biting her lip and turning her head into her own bicep. She wiggled, she giggled, and she drenched me from the waist down in no time flat. I felt something of her run down my tight balls and decided this was the best ride I'd ever had. She told me she was getting close again, so she planted her feet on either side of me and started to ride in a controlled squat-fuck, impressively balanced for longer than I'd have managed without the aid of something to hold onto. She did eventually lean forward slightly to put both hands spread wide across my chest, and worked me like a woman possessed. She must have been active; her thighs shouldn't have held up to the effort of her acrobatics, but she continued to slam up and down the entire length of my inches over and over again. I could only look on in amazement as she made me disappear repeatedly.

I was told to look at her. I did so, right into her eyes, though struggled not to go back to watching her pussy swallow me repeatedly. She told me she was close. I was too. "Good," she said, "I need it." Not being in the habit of leaving creampies in women I had just met, I asked her where she wanted it. "Inside," it had to be inside. She didn't miss a beat, squatting with abandon still. Was she sure, I asked. The response was long in coming; something else was beginning to steal her ability to form the words. Something was building. Yes, though, it was fine. She told me she was on the pill through gritted teeth. I needed to give her my cum. The choice was never mine to make.

I grabbed her hips and pushed her all the way down, pressing my hips upwards into her, hard, as I flooded her with my cum. I cried out, forcing my hips up as hard as I could, desperate to give her what she demanded. She joined my cries with joyful ones of her own, throwing her head back, and yelling an announcement of her own orgasm as a renewed warm, wet feeling started to spread across my hips and ran in little streams down my arched tummy. My stomach muscles grew sore from the violent, spasming orgasm, but I allowed myself to empty every drop I had deep into her. I relaxed finally, small amounts of my cum visibly squeezing out where her pussy gripped me.

She fell into my chest and we lay there breathlessly for a while. I scratched her back idly. She kissed my cheek. She hadn't kissed me at all yet, I realized. It felt nice. It was the best part, really. I saw the box and bags she'd had earlier in the corner. I asked what it all was anyway. She had needed to pick it up from her boyfriend's place. They'd broken up last week. A 6-year relationship. He'd been her first.

"You're gonna make a great second."