A Ripe Peach

"I think you want me to fuck that dress right off of you," he said.

"What?" she said incredulously.

"You heard me," he said, "I'm going upstairs if you want to discuss it in detail...."

Perturbed, she followed him up the stairs, as he threw her coat onto the bed with the others, she entered the bedroom.

"Now just a moment. What makes you think that that kind of comment is in any way appropriate?" Hands on hip, indignant, she stares at him, while he looks at her reflection in the large bedroom mirror.

"Let's see. You're pregnant. And you're incredibly hot in that dress. And I think, hearing that, from me, here, is exciting for you. And already I know that you're attracted to me, and so involuntary reactions underneath that dress are underway as you think about the possibilities, especially the possibility of being caught. So all those delicious thoughts are taking root and in a few moments, you'll be wet for me. Go ahead, deny it."

"I'm not having this discussion with you."

"Yes, you are. And you don't want me to stop. You can't help but think about it. What would it be like? What would it be like right here and now? I can help you with that."

"You're really full of yourself."

"Sweetheart, you're going to be full of me in a few minutes. And you'll love every second of it."

She should have told him to fuck off there and then. And a month ago, maybe even a week ago she would have. But instead, and she couldn't believe this, she had butterflies in her tummy. And worse, between her legs she could feel the warmth, spreading in spite of all her rhetorical efforts to the contrary.

"If I'm wrong, show me."

"You're dreaming. I'm not showing you...anything."

"OK. Maybe you're right. I'm not going to do anything you don't want me to, so maybe we should just go back downstairs."

He turns, and in exaggerated and drawn out gesture, he works his way toward the door. She catches herself ogling his behind. She's also in the process of making a decision. She's not sure why she's deciding as she does; in fact, she's quite uncertain just how the trains of thought are bringing her here. But the increasing excitement overrules logic, and the die is cast. He's in the doorway when she says, quickly" Look" and she grabs the hem of her dress and in a rapid motion flashes it up to show him her peach, flowered underwear.

He turns, slowly and drawls, "Just what am I looking at?" His left hand, nonchalantly, closes the bedroom door (most of the way, but not all the way, she notices) as he approaches her in front of the mirror.

"I just flashed you. And you saw how wrong you were."

"That's not what I saw." He slides behind her, much closer now, his breath in her ear. She's frozen, afraid of what's going to happen next, glancing nervously at the door, but unable to do anything, because another part of her wants things to progress, and right quick. Visions, tawdry, lurid, glorious visions are flooding her imagination. His hands on her, his hands down there. This can't be happening, she thinks, jolting herself back to the moment.

But happen it does, as his left hand touches the small of her back, as he slowly lifts her dress, and reaches around her waist, fingertips on the elastic band of those peach panties.

"I'm going to check for myself." he whispers. "And you're going to let me." Everything in her proper being should reject this, but her wanton self is in charge and she can't.

"Y-y-es" she whispers, her pussy on fire and her hips pushing back into him, her buttocks rubbing against his jeans. She inhales sharply as he slowly (too slowly, she thinks) feels her rounded tummy and then pushes his hand under the rim of the elastic band.

She starts to say something (she's not sure what), but his hand is on her mouth and she hungrily takes his finger into it, suckling it. More visions. She suddenly wants to suck his cock. That has never (well, almost never) been her thing, but here she cannot stop herself. She must have him, now. That thought, though, is lost as his hand plunges into her panties, bathed in her wetness, and she moans.

He flicks her slit once, then again, and withdraws. She's still sucking his fingers when he withdraws them and she whimpers, but his hands have her dress above her hips and he's tugging down her panties. She quickly wiggles her hips, to allow the damp panties to slide to the floor. Her hands are on the dresser. Her back is arched, her bare ass and pussy presented to him and she can't wait. Her panties lie clumped on the floor. She cannot believe the sensation as she wants him inside of her, desperately.

She sees him slipping out of his pants, and she stares straight ahead as he enters her, slowly but deliberately. "Oh yes. Right there. Oh." His cock is heavenly...so different here...and there. Her eyes flutter.

He's silent, but his hands are at the top of her dress, tugging her breasts over the top of her dress as he thrusts in and out (almost all the way out) of her. She cant help herself: "Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Fuck me." She's biting her lower lip, feeling herself being deliciously and joyously fucked.

"Oh yes. Yes. OH YES." Looking in the mirror, she sees herself being steadily fucked forward, she's pushing back against him, trying to increase the speed, trying to take him as deep as she can, as she careens, quickly to the edge of her orgasm. She wants to close her eyes, but he catches her and says "no...watch...look at yourself...." The sight of her, his hands squeezing her tits, her dress askew (and glimpses of him) intensify her pleasure.

His cock slides up and in and out of her, and she moans and pants uncontrollably as he steadily increases the tempo. She's jolting forward with each thrust, mouth open, so fucked, so fucked, so fucked....

"I'm going to..I'm going to..." The edge of the cliff is upon her and, somehow, he knows exactly where the edge is as his hand plunges to her clit, flicking over it in time with the thrusts from his cock. "Please don't stop. Please. Please..."

She mews in pure rapture as the hand moves over her clit faster, until his cock plunges into her to the hilt, and he lunges forward and bites her left earlobe and squeezes her tender nipples. The sudden mix of pain sends her careening. Her words are unintelligible, and then "Oh my GOD." She comes. Wave upon wave, hard (not harder than ever, but harder than she had in a long time). Her knees buckle but he holds her up.

As she floats from bliss back to reality, she feels his pulsing subsiding in her, but her pleasure was so intense, she realizes she missed the precise moment he came. Still coming down, she's panting, wobbly, as he withdraws, and she's swept with the emptiness, her count not wanting to let him go as he slides out and free.

"I'm not the kind to say I told you so, but...." he teases, as he lowers her dress and gently rubs her ass.

She laughs. "I didn't know..." He shushes her.

"I told you how hot you were, and you saw it for yourself. Now I have to get back downstairs. Au revoir, hottie." He kisses the back of her neck, reaches down to pull up his pants from the floor, and he's out the door.

Still flustered, she's composing herself in the mirror. Allowing her breathing to come back to normal. Did that really happen? Here? Did she really allow that? She looks down and notices the missing flowery peach.

Uh-oh.

Finis.