Sinful Pleasure
Sometimes, I just couldn't believe what a lucky woman I was. It's amazing, really, the way some things just fall into place, and how satisfied you can become once that happens. It was early morning, and I mean very, very early, and I found my eyes fluttering gently open, processing the very early morning in a daze and making a light whimpering noise, like the sound of a cat, flexing my spine and getting myself good and relaxed for the day ahead.
I flared my nostrils, and took in the scent of my boyfriend, his sweat and his breath, everything about him creating a pleasant haze about him. Turning me on first thing as the sleep gradually drifted away from my blurred eyes. I yawned, and stretched, the blankets rippling down from my naked torso, and the cool air of the room feeling absolutely glorious on my breasts, my arms, my heaving abdomen, all of which were lightly perspiring.
The contrast in my body heat with the surrounding atmosphere caused a ripple of goosebumps to come erupting all across my skin. I stared down at my arm, savoring the sight of my perfect flesh being mildly interrupted in this way, and then turned back once more to look at Mark, sleeping there still, dead to all thought and sleeping like a damn log at my side.
What a beautiful man, I thought. His dark hair, his penetrating eyes, and that face of his. Lord, what a face... It was like being committed to a male model in a lot of ways, astonishing specimen as he was, getting me so hot for him even this early on in the morning that I thought I would have to tone things down a bit if I wanted to avoid pouncing on him right there on the spot.
His broad chest, partly hidden beneath the sheets, heaved seductively with his breath, his nostrils flaring and his muscles shifting, sliding, and pulling my eyes unavoidably along their slopes. Making my mouth water, and causing me to desire above all else to be nestled away once again in his arms, to be held there forever and to never wriggle free, even if, for some perverse reason, I should ever have such an absurd desire.
I gave a momentary glance at his crotch, then, obscured as it was by the sheets, but enough of a bulge still visible that it really got my feminine fantasizing underway. A shudder ran through my body, and I smacked my lips in an effort to get a hold of myself. As lucky as I was to have this beast of a man in bed with me, I had an awful lot on my mind right then and there, and needed to consider just what I was doing if I didn't want that which I had planned to blow up straight in my face.
I turned back onto my back, folding my hands behind my head, and stared up at the ceiling, thinking, pondering, and getting so lost in my thoughts that I nearly fell back asleep again a few times. I considered, between bouts of near unconsciousness, how the two of us had met. I had, quite literally, run into him at a bar one evening during my senior year of college. Spilling my drink down the front of his clothes and apologizing profusely, before getting caught up in his smoldering gaze and so sucked into the man that trying to escape was completely pointless.
It had been finals week at the time, of the fall semester. It hadn't, perhaps, been the ideal time to go out drinking given that, you know, my girlfriends and I had test crammed into every day that we needed to be prepared for, but by this point we were all just so damn exhausted by the process that a break seemed almost more necessary than deserved.
We sort of thought our brains would up and burst if we didn't take some personal time to unwind ourselves, and we thought going out and getting hammered might just be the precise sort of antidote we needed.
I hadn't at all expected to find myself flirting with a handsome stranger after having just doused him with alcohol, and the fact that I was doing so came as something of an extreme surprise, I assure you. But, as the two of us started talking, I found that I was able to communicate extremely well with this man. I felt understood by him, and as though my words were appreciated, which, I have to be honest, wasn't something that a girl could expect to come across just every day.
And plus, this guy was cute... Damn cute... The kind of cute that you only think one can ever only come across in the movies, and that is almost a sin to let slip through your fingers once you happen to stumble onto it.
And perhaps most of all, I didn't expect to find myself going home with a stranger from the bar that evening, slipping into his bed with him, and the two of us making hot, hard, passionate love until dawn the next morning. Nor did I expect that beautiful, excruciating roll in the hay to eventually result in the current, months-long relationship that it now was, the two of us moved in together, sharing a bed and slowly merging our heretofore distinct lives into one.
It's amazing how life pans out that way sometimes, isn't it? One thing leading to another to another, sometimes on a path that's completely random and unpredictable, but in a manner that ends up leading you to a place that's happier than anything you might have ever imagined.
But here's the kicker- when Mark and I first met, I was already seeing someone at the time... Sort of... In a way... But not quite exactly...
God, what a mess this all was, and at present it felt like it was all coming back around to choke me just when I'd thought I was through the thick of all of it. Maybe I should start from the beginning here.
The other man, the one I left for Mark, had been a high school classmate, named Justin, and things between the two of us had been a little bit difficult to define on any certain terms. I guess it's really hard to say whether what the two of us had was a traditional “relationship” relationship, but as far as that goes I don't know if it's really easy to define what that means, period.
But, at any rate, the two of us had started having sex together when we were eighteen, during our senior year, banging with enough frequency to call it something, but without enough of a direct emotional connection to know just what sort of label to slap on it. I'd been a cheerleader at the time, and Justin a football player, which, as far as a sexual relationship is concerned, is a coupling that goes together like peanut butter and jelly.
Justin was a huge dude by comparison to me, hulking and a stud, and I loved being pounded by him, torn into and thrusted inside with vigorous force, pushed beyond my limits every time I leapt into bed with him, and left screaming with pain and pleasure with every lethal, smashing force of his body.
In many ways, it's really difficult to describe just what it was the two of us shared, because even if you want to call it “just sex,” it really seemed like so much more than that at the time. I mean, sure, both of us had had our share of experience up to that point, and it wasn't like we were two clumsy virgins just discovering ourselves for the first time. That wasn't at all the sort of thing that made what the two of us had so spectacular, or so significant in our lives as to warrant more consideration than just a simple “casual fling” label.
The fact of the matter was, the two of us mutually agreed ourselves to have unleashed a hotter, spicier side to our sex lives together than either of us had thought possible. Our trysts began to grow absolutely mind-blowing as they progressed, kinky in every way, each of us pushing ourselves further and further beyond our comfort zones whenever we happened to be in one another's presence.
Quite simply, our sexual chemistry was a devastatingly remarkable thing, and our inner beasts were routinely unleashed whenever the two of us were around one another. Prior to Justin, I hadn't even thought of myself as a remarkably sexual person. I liked sex, sure, but no more so than almost the entirety of the human and animal population.
But when it came to Justin, I loved sex, I craved sex, and I felt so much lust for him, so much damn want, and so much burning in my loins, that I became like a damn firecracker any time he climbed on top of me, or mounted me from behind, or I got on top of him, or any number of other positions, really.
The lengths to which our sweet depravity spanned really didn't know all that much in terms of an end, and it seemed that as our time together spanned on and on, things only got hotter, stickier, sweatier, and far, far more intense. There wasn't much at all that the two of us wouldn't do, really- oral (mutually), anal, sex with toys, humiliation, bondage, role play, handcuffs... He even asked me to peg him a few times, an act which I carried out with a strangely carnal fury, feeling empowered and enlivened with the strap-on harnessed devastatingly around my waist.
Nothing seemed beyond the realm of possibility in the bedroom for the two of us, nothing too depraved or too scandalous, and in fact the more and more we progressed, the more desperate and kinkier we became for one another.
And for a while, at least, our arrangement, nameless as it may have been, seemed like a suitable one. The two of us ended up going to the same university together, even living in the same residence hall, on different sides. So whenever the weekend would roll around, as well on a fair share of our weeknights, I would simply hop on over to his dorm room wearing booty shorts and as scandalous a top as I could squeeze into without getting booted from the hall, and the two of us would lock ourselves away for however many hours, for him to bust me up and leave me moaning like a banshee at the force of his tight poundings.
But then things got just a little bit complicated, I'm afraid to say...
The kicker came when Justin ended up transferring universities, moving across the state, and leaving us uncertain as to what the hell we should do with what was left of this. I mean, we'd more or less gotten dependent upon one another as far as sex was concerned at this point, and even the prospect of having to find and to settle for someone else seemed deplorable in the event that the two of us split up.
Yet, on the same token, the connection that the two of us shared was almost exclusively sexual in nature. I craved being pounded by the man, but to this day I'm not sure whether I can clearly recall a conversation that the two of us ever shared, the gist of our interaction being mostly physical in nature as it was, and the need for words almost entirely superfluous between the two of us as a result.
And so, I guess we kind of had to face the facts, that if the two of us couldn't fuck routinely any longer, there really wasn't much point in keeping whatever the hell this was alive any longer. We decided, then, to tone this down to a friends with benefits thing. We could screw one another whenever we happened to both be in town, but we were under no obligation whatsoever not to see other people and have sex with whomever we damn well pleased.
But then, of course, Mark had come along, and his love had been largely the opposite of what Justin had offered me. I mean, he was still dynamite in the sack, but he didn't thrill me, really, the way that Justin did, pushing me to the brink and then plowing me over the edge... But that really didn't matter all that much, because, you know, I actually had an emotional connection with Mark, and something deeper to relate to him on than just sex alone.
The only thing I regretted was that, in taking on a “traditional” relationship, I was sealing away that part of my life with Justin for good, making it impossible to engage with him, even on a short term, occasional-roll-in-the-hay basis.
I thought I could deal with that, though, and for the longest time I really more or less did just that. Justin was out of sight, and out of mind, and so I was able, for the most part, to pretend that that aspect of my life was as good as gone and buried, and therefore not worth giving another thought. I was with Mark now, happy and carefree as could be, thrilled to have found someone who felt for me the way that he did, not to mention to have someone I loved just as much in return.
And then the time for my high school reunion rolled around...
It was this juncture that became problematic for me, instantly filling me with nostalgia for the good old days of being smashed by Justin, and not totally sure how exactly I could go about dealing with my fondness for days gone past. It was almost certain that I would end up seeing him again if I ended up attending the thing, and at this point I felt for sure that seeing past one another in a sexual context would be tantamount to impossible.
There was just too much heat still lingering between the two of us, too much passion, and I didn't know if I could handle being in his vicinity for that long without my old feelings popping up all over again, my old lusts and cravings, and my insatiable desires for that sweet sexpot of a man.
And that's when I'd had an idea... A very, very, very naughty idea, one which titillated me nearly as much as it frightened me, and which left me so on edge with desire that I couldn't resist waking up my boyfriend in the most pleasant of ways.
Slowly, I reached over to him in bed, putting my hand on his thigh, and beginning to caress him. My fingers glided across his pelvis, massaging him gently, and pushed up against the bulge in his boxer shorts, the warmth feeling beautiful, and the slight growth and pulsing at my touch turning me on like you wouldn't believe. I stroked him, very slightly, not wanting to tug him abruptly into consciousness.
He began to moan, blinking hard in confusion, looking around stupidly as he gained his bearings, but then a sweet, lustful smile spreading wide a cross his lips.
“Well... Good morning... What a pleasant wakeup call...”
I took this, then, as a signal to proceed. I leaned over in bed, and planted my lips onto his. Neither of us had especially splendid breath at this time of morning, but there was a remarkable sensuality to it all the same as our mouths dissolved into one another. Our tongues melted together with a soft, wet squelching sound, each peck of our lips so delicate and so tantalizing that it drove me wild.
He grunted with satisfaction as the two of us proceeded to ply one another with intense, almost furious kisses, our sexual frivolity lighting up quickly despite the two of us having just woken up- or perhaps due in large part to that very fact.
I put my tongue in his mouth, licking his cheeks, and as I did so I slid my right hand down along his body, slipping it beneath the covers, and creeping into the dank confines of his boxer shorts. I peered into his eyes as my fingers crept down along him, step by step by step, and at last I wrapped my grip around the shaft of his penis, which was hot and slightly sticky, but not quite hard to the extent that I needed it to be just yet.
I could, of course, go about fixing that quite easily, however...
Slowly, I began to play with him as we kissed, loving the extent to which my efforts tormented him, occasionally forcing him to pull away groaning when I pumped too much, and sweat beginning to bead from his body as he struggled to contain himself. In desperation, he reached over for me, and grabbed onto my left tit for support.
Squeezing hard, his claws digging so severely into me that I came close to thinking he would leave a mark. I had to close my eyes at this, sighing contentedly with his lips mere inches away from my own, his hot breath rolling into me, and my hand squeezing tighter, tighter, and tighter around his shaft as the sensations rippled through my anatomy.
Finally, he let go of me, and I opened my eyes, leering into him like a damn animal, with such an extreme lust in my eyes that I thought he would melt into putty on the spot. Then, just to make matters worse for him, I ducked my head beneath the covers, diving into the blackness and creeping down along through the sheets, the warmth and the stickiness of his body getting me so hot for him that I could hardly stand it.
I heard him shudder up above as I applied my lips to the tip of his penis. I worked up a quantity of saliva, and allowed it to trickle through the slight hole in my parted lips. It dribbled along the shaft of his erection, sliding from his tip to his base, and I repeated the action several more times after that.
I began to lick him, running my tongue along his cock and slurping, lapping, rolling up and down, not wholly consuming him just yet, but getting him nice and lubed up, not to mention tormenting him playfully in a manner that I knew must have driven him damn wild.
I seized hold of him once more, then, wrapping my fingers around his erection, and beginning to stroke the skin of his shaft, pulling it up to around his engorged tip, and then peeling it back down to around his base, holding it taut, and allowing the sensations to mount. I savored the soft, sensual squelching as my fingers passed repeatedly through the slicks of my own saliva, his cock getting harder and harder as the moments slipped by, inflating in my grip, the veins protruding further and further, and his manhood becoming like steel beneath my touch as at last it seemed to come to a head.
I opened my jaws wide, then, and slowly brought my face up to him, allowing my lips to melt around his throbbing tip, and to slide down, down, down along every long, engorged inch of his cock. He shivered as at last I pressed down against his pelvis, his tip jabbing lightly against the back of my throat, and I held myself there for a long, agonizing moment, allowing his sweet, sweet punishment to sink in. I knew how much he enjoyed the hot, wet nook of my gullet, and I wrapped my tongue around him in that moment just to drive the point home.
Slowly, then, I began to slide my skull back up along him, working my compressed cheeks up, up, up to his tip, building up suction as I progressed, and then holding steady, allowing the sensations to mount. Then, Lord help the poor bastard, I snapped my lips clean off of him, inundating him with an intense blast of cold air and causing him to tremble with need for me.
Putting him out of his misery, then, I promptly put my mouth back onto him almost the moment it was away, downing his cock once more and sliding it down along my windpipe, gagging myself on the beautiful thing, and twisting my tongue around that glorious shaft of his all the while.
For the next several minutes, I was little more than a bobbing bulge in the covers as my skull heaved in and out, in and out, in and out against his body, taking his dick like a champ, and as though it was the most delectable thing I had consumed in ages. Admittedly, it had been Justin who had once helped to refine my excellent deep-throating skills, and given the context of my present actions, it was just a bit difficult not to have thoughts of him as I sucked and slurped and gouged myself on my boyfriend's fat cock.
Finally, at the point that I thought he was about to spill over up into me I slid my lips off of him, giving him a few final strokes with my wrist, and then proceeding to clamber my way back up from beneath the bedspread.
As I emerged into the light once more, Mark was sighing contentedly, yet looking somehow disappointed all the same. “Ohhhh, God that was nice. Why'd you stop?” he asked, his chest heaving, and his skin now soaked with sweat on behalf of the beautiful things I'd done to him down there.
I didn't answer him verbally, but instead just grinned like a devil at him, reaching my hands once more beneath the covers, and wriggling my body with the motion of my arms. Then, a moment later, I came up with my lacy black panties dangling between my fingers, his eyes wide at the sight of them as I tossed them over the edge of the bed.
“Oh... Got it...” he said, the need for explanation vanished given that those skimpy little things had been the only thing preventing me from complete nakedness up to that point in time.
I rolled over onto him, loving the heat of his thighs against my own as I straddled to him, and I began to grind up against his pelvis, dry-humping him, and the sliding of my pussy against his washboard abs feeling absolutely tremendous. Slowly, I slid him up into me, piercing my flesh with the sharp, devastating blade of his erection, savoring the manner in which he peeled me apart, and at last came touching down, down, down inside the deepest depths of my hot, wet cunt.
I moaned, and he began to thrust up into me from beneath, churning up my pussy by rolling his ass back and forth against the bed, the creaking of the mattress springs like some sweet, perverse music in my ears. The sounds from my throat began to peel out in sheer torrents, as much for my own benefit as his, as I savored the hot grinding of his cock through my cunt.
The friction agonizing as he pushed and pumped and melted up into my vag, each long, liquid stroke more devastating than the last, and the union of our hot, throbbing loins perhaps the most desirable start to the morning that I could possibly fathom.
And soon, before I knew it, he was filling me up inside, his cock throbbing up against me, and the hot, molten gel of his sperm launching up into me, pulse after pulse after pulse of the stuff, setting me over the edge. My body tightened around him as I rang with orgasm, the cheeks of my ass clenching as I struggled to contain myself, and at last, when I thought I could take no more, I collapsed on top of him.
The two of us were a sweaty, heaving, glorious mess as we lay there in our exhaustion, stars snapping in my brain and the moments passing by with beautiful slowness, my ears ringing in the silence, and the opportunity for making my request seeming as though it was becoming a more and more pressing thing to take advantage of.
At last, things seemed to grow interminable, and I bit the bullet, knowing that things would only get harder and harder the longer I waited. I spoke in barely a whisper in his ear, anticipating him rejecting me outright on the spot, yet hoping against hope that I would be wrong in my prediction.
“I want to have a three-way with you and my old high school boyfriend.”
I said it flatly, in a matter of fact tone, and he looked up at me, astonished, not saying a word for a long, long moment.
And then, his penis still inserted in my body, I felt him harden just the least bit inside me...