I write a great deal of sex stories, stories about everything from futanari girls with massive cocks to the girl next door who can’t get enough of the neighbors cock. This one was inspired by the pic below and answers the question: what’s she waiting for?
I sent him the picture because I knew he would get angry.
He had already told me that we couldn’t talk on the phone, no more text messages, no more Facebook, nothing that left a trail. His wife had been too close, nosing around his email and phone. I still don’t know what set her off, the perfume he likes me to wear is light, like spring flowers, and I only spray it across my breasts.
But two nights ago, after she had gone to sleep, he had called upset and worried that he was going to lose everything. “We can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep seeing you. I can’t take a chance on losing everything just because I can’t keep my cock out of you.”
Of course, I tried to calm him down, tried to be a friend and a good listener. I told him that it was alright, that he was worried about nothing, that there was nothing for her to find, that we had been careful.
It took almost an hour, but he finally seemed to soften a bit. For a minute, I thought he was going to cry, but he came around, said it wasn’t my fault, said he was sorry for brining me into his problems, that he didn’t need this kind of shit happening right now, but that I was the only good thing in his life. You know, all the right things when you are confused between the woman lying in your bed and the woman downstairs.
From my window downstairs, I watched his wife drive off the next morning. I wondered if he was up yet or if he had decided to sleep in. And I’ll be honest, I thought about leaving him alone. There was a little part of me that felt sorry for him, but then I liked what we had, I liked him.
So, wearing nothing but my skimpy little bath robe, the one that hits me right in the middle of my thighs, I walked from the second floor to the fourth. The whole way, I wrestled with what I was doing. I mean, he was trying to be a better man, right? Trying to keep his failing marriage together, but I didn’t like the fact that everything was his decision. Wasn’t I part of this too? I mean, I liked us, I liked the way we fit together, his cock, the way he held me after we were spent. Can’t a girl decide what’s good for her too?
The front door was unlocked and I could hear the shower running. I looked around the place. There were bills on the kitchen table, his suit jacket was hanging on the doorknob to the second bedroom, his office, and I leaned down and smelled the lapel. I do love the way he smells.
After sneaking around a bit, the adrenaline pumping through me as I thought about the possibilities of getting caught – his wife coming home was my biggest worry, I carefully opened the bathroom door and stepped inside.
The room was filled with steam and the smell of his soap thrilled me. I pulled the curtain back and dropped the robe from my shoulders.
His eyes went wide and wandered over curve of my body.
I tucked my hair behind my ear and took him in. It was that moment, that moment where you can almost feel the energy between two people and, as I stood there naked, the steam from the shower washing around me, his eyes glued to my form, he didn’t say a word about mistakes or getting caught.
No, as I stepped under the warm spray, dropped to my knees, and wrapped my fingers around his stiffening cock; it was like he had forgotten all about his wife, all about the way we had talked the night before.
I have no idea how late he was that morning, but I could feel my pussy for the rest of the day because that morning he had taken me like I was his. After I had bobbed my head on the end of his thick rod for a few minutes, long enough to taste the precum that oozed across my tongue, he had pulled me to my feet, kissed me, and then turned me around.
“Bend over,” he had growled.
Excitement shivered through me, like I said, I’m a girl that likes cock, and his was one of my favorites. I bent over and shot him a coy glance over my shoulder as I spread my legs. “Like this?” I asked innocently.
Without a word, he gripped my hips, his fingers dug into the crease where my thighs met my waist.
I closed my eyes and took a breath as he lined himself up. The anticipation was enough, I was soaking wet.
And then he was in me, his cock stretching my pussy wide as he buried himself to the hilt.
I tried to dig my nails into the tile, it felt so good, the force, the way he pushed and pulled me onto his dick. I was his fuck toy, a rag doll to his animalistic thrusts.
I had never seen him last as long as he did that morning. That morning he was unstoppable, a piston, a machine. Gone was the man that usually fucked me only when I asked for it. No, that morning he was an beast – from behind under the spray of the shower, then on the edge of the sink after we toweled off, my legs wrapped around the small of his back, and finally on his bed, my hair dripping wet on his wife’s pillow.
My phone beeped. It was him. Under the picture of me, sitting in my little breakfast nook in the naughty new outfit I had gotten just for him, were the words: Don’t move. I’m on my way.