I can spend days just thinking about your body, exploring every sweet curve in my mind. I imagine stroking your silky skin, touching every sensitive spot, tracing your delicate lines with my tongue. Just the thought of you brings a smile to my face. The way you light up the room when you walk in makes my heart skip a beat. I always want to kiss you right away, the moment I see you… I wonder how it would be if we held back all that heat and passion and animal attraction and let it build to fever pitch?
Honestly baby, I don’t know how long I can keep my hands off you. Resisting that heavenly pleasure we share would be the hardest challenge I’ve ever set myself. But what a game it would be! I imagine making love would be all the more intense after teasing each other with the anticipation. I’ll be so desperate for you… I don’t know if I can go for even a day without touching you, tasting you.
Who do you think will give in to temptation first? Will you be just as desperate as I am? Thinking about it makes my pulse race… my heart feels hot and my pussy feels even hotter! My craving for you has already begun…
Be honest, guys — does this sound like something I would say? I think you know me well enough to find it highly unlikely that I would ever delay the opportunity for sexual gratification (unless someone is tying me up and making me beg for it, of course).
No, this pretty little speech was written as a voice over for an erotic (that’s to say, pornographic) lesbian movie — and it’s well worth a listen, as it’s read by Bitsy la Bourbon, whose sexy voice could melt a polar ice cap. But it was obviously written for girls who have way more self-restraint than I do. Truthfully, I am more give it to me right now than tease me and make me wait. I believe life’s too short to deny myself pleasure, particularly of the orgasmic variety.
My fuck buddy Stephen is a keen chef — I wrote about our kitchen games in Popping his cork: Champagne and cock on the menu — and he takes the same gourmet approach to lovemaking as he does to cooking. He’s the master of the long drawn-out tease, favoring flirting over an exquisitely cooked dinner as his opening gambit. I appreciate his efforts, but sometimes a protein shake and wham bam thank you ma’am is all I need.
So tonight, when he shows up at my place laden with shopping bags full of exotic ingredients, ready to conjure up some four-course foreplay, I’m not in the mood to indulge his taste for the tease. It’s been a rare day of zero orgasms so far, rushing around with no time to fit in so much as a quick frig. The carnal appetite I’ve worked up has nothing to do with food.
“Sex first?” I ask hopefully, as Stephen starts to unpack little pots of spices and herbs.
“Hmmmm, I just need to grind these, where’s that pestle and mortar I bought you?” he replies distractedly, opening and closing cupboard doors.
“Sex first,” I say more firmly.
He stops and looks at me properly — really looks, taking in my skimpy outfit (sundress and no underwear, we are still in the grip of a heatwave), flushed cheeks and ravenous expression.
“Oh, it’s like that is it?” he grins. “Why don’t you show me how badly you want it… dirty girl?”
Damn. A few months ago, I had fun making Stephen dance for me, then jerk off for me, and over me — you can read about it in Stroke it for me, dirty boy — and he’s obviously been biding his time, waiting for the perfect opportunity to turn the tables. If I want his cock (and I really, really do) I will have to play along.
Hopping up onto the kitchen counter, I shrug my dress off my shoulders, letting it slide down to my waist.
“See how stiff my nipples are?” I ask, cupping my breasts in my hands like an offering and letting my fingertips brush over them. There are girls who can cum just from having their nipples played with, but all it does for me is send an urgent current of arousal down to my pussy, increasing the pulsing sensation there.
“Bet your pussy’s already wet, thinking about getting fucked,” Stephen says. “Show me.”
I inch my dress up, keeping my thighs together demurely at first, squeezing them tighter to feel the answering throb at my core. Stephen’s eyes are fixed on my crotch, enjoying the show, as I spread my legs slowly, baring my pussy. And it really is bare; I’ve had a full Hollywood wax for the summer, and I can see from Stephen’s expression that my moist pink folds look deliciously appetizing.
“Mmmm, juicy,” he says, reaching out and dipping a fingertip between my pussy lips, just deep enough to get it wet. He holds the finger up to show me the sheen of moisture, than licks it clean. I squirm, craving more contact, wanting to blurt out, just shove your cock in me already, stop teasing, but I remember how I made him stroke his cock slowly, made him stop and start, made him beg for it before I let him cum, and I know he’s not going to give me what I want so quickly.
“Rub your clit,” he says.
I lick my fingers and press them to my clit, the sensation nearly jolting me off the countertop. Leaning back on one hand and raising my feet up so I’m splayed wide open, I run my fingertips up and down, sliding over the stiffening nub of flesh, spreading the wetness around. I want so badly to push them into my blazing core; clitoral stimulation just heightens my need for penetration, and I know Stephen knows this, and I know that’s why he’s given me such a specific, maddening instruction.
“That’s right, stroke it for me, dirty girl,” he says, voice low and aroused, spinning my words back on me so that I remember how it was to watch him pump his cock in his fist, to see him sweating and flushed with the need to cum. I slide a finger either side of my clit, pressing them together to make it swell, fighting the urge to close my eyes and lose myself in the sensation; fighting the urge to push my fingers in deep, and to hell with waiting.
Stephen does something that surprises me now, kneeling to press his face to my pussy, his tongue seeking my soaked opening and exploring, pressing inward just a fraction, just enough to have me humping against his face. After a moment he pulls away though, lips shiny with my cream. He stays kneeling there, face level with my splayed, saturated pussy. It must be a beautifully pornographic vision.
“Fuck yourself for me, dirty girl,” he says. “That’s what you want baby, isn’t it? Stick your fingers in that hot little cunt and ride them for me.”
And suddenly I think, no, that’s not what I want, and without thinking I say bluntly, “It’s your cock I need, Stephen, quit teasing and just fuck me!”
The last thing I expect is to get exactly what I’m demanding, but it seems my words bypass Stephen’s brain and go straight to his cock. He stands, unzips his pants and thrusts into me balls-deep, before I even have time to register what’s happening. It’s like plunging a jack into a socket, my whole being suddenly lit up, the heat of our contact point so searing I swear I can feel sparks fly. My pussy grips him tight as he pulls me forward so my ass slips off the edge of the countertop, my weight supported by my hands, braced behind me, and his hands squeezing my ass cheeks as he powers up into me.
His cock feels like my reward for every good thing I ever did.
It’s driving deep with my weight sinking down on it, my legs wrapped tight around his waist to pull him in. It feels so big, skewering me in place so all I can do is hang on and let him hammer into me, bouncing me up and down on his dick.
He lifts me completely now, carrying me the short distance to the sofa and tipping me down on my back, still impaled. Now he has full reign to fuck me ferociously, pulling out all the way and slamming back in on each stroke. I think there’s no way he can last long at this full-tilt pace, but then he pulls nearly all the way out and pauses, making me squirm beneath him. The wicked look on his face as he tears off his shirt and pushes his pants down to his knees tells me he’s not done making me work for it just yet.
“Fuck yourself on my cock,” he tells me, holding still so I have to rock my hips to get the in-and-out action I crave going again. I can’t move enough in this position though, so even though I’m enjoying the lustful expression on Stephen’s face, I spin over onto my front, letting my knees slide down to the floor. Now I really can fuck myself on his cock, arching my back so his greasy pole slides in to the hilt, pulling away, then thrusting back again, over and over. I’m not usually a selfish lover but he’s given me carte blanche to use him as a living sex toy so that’s what I do, screwing myself to the perfect rhythm and at the angle that hits my sweet spot just right. I jam a hand between my thighs to saw at my clit, pressure building and flaring as I ride his cock until my orgasm explodes through me, making me buck and spasm around him.
He pulls out abruptly, groaning as he sprays his cum over my pussy, but before I can protest the sudden loss of fullness, he’s dabbling his fingertips in the hot, slippery mess and thrusting them into me, three thick fingers stretching me open again and grinding out the aftershocks of my orgasm into a fresh outbreak of shuddering bliss.
I sink down onto the couch, sated, brains most assuredly fucked out, and he feeds me our combined juices from his sticky fingers.
“Can I make dinner now?” he asks, eyes gleaming with amusement and mischief.
“That would be lovely,” I say politely. “I’ve worked up quite an appetite…”
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More confessions from me here — if you think you can handle it! Maybe have a cold shower first…