Tell Me a Story

I watched him as he read the stories I’d only partially planned on him ever reading. Stories of my fantasies of us, of things I wanted to do with and to him. I wasn’t worried what he’d think. But I had written them while he, himself, was still a fantasy. The idea of sharing them with him had been a far off distant curiosity that I thought may never be fulfilled.

His whiskey brown eyes scanned over the screen, the corners of his deliciously full lips curling with pleasure as he read something he particularly enjoyed. I longed to know which sentences, which images, which descriptions of flesh against flesh was eliciting these responses. His expression changed as he moved to open another story, to dive deeper into my dreams of us.

He couldn’t have read more than a couple of paragraphs before unfastening his jeans. Keeping his left hand free to continue his scroll, he slipped his erection free of his shorts, gently caressing it as he continued. I watched, hungrily. Knowing I’d made him hard with just my words made me as wet as I had been while writing them. I considering reaching for my clit, but decided to wait it out, see what he wanted.

The soft pink head of his cock glistened with his pleasure and soon he lifted his eyes to meet mine. He motioned for me to come closer, to sit beside him. “Which one should I read next?” I opened another file for him, a story where every bit of my pleasure came from his.

“Read it to me,” I coached, stretching out on my stomach across the bed, positioning my head at his waist.

He started to read, his smooth, heavy baritone gliding over the words on the screen. As he read, I let my fingers dance over the head of his cock and he let his own hand fall away, urging me to take over where he’d left off. I gripped the throbbing member in my hand and stroked from the head to his pelvis, pushing hard against his balls as I did, masturbating him more aggressively than he had been on his own. I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to come or just push him to the edge, but I was enjoying his reactions.

He wrapped the fingers of his left hand in my hair and guided my head closer to his body. I let his cock touch my lips, pressing my tongue into the eager fluid that had coated the pink flesh, licking at it ravenously. I loved how he tasted and it was even better than I had ever imagined in my writing.

His voice continued filling the air around us, faltering now as I sucked firmly at the head of his cock, stroking in time with the words on the screen. As he read my descriptions, I showed him what I had been imagining at the time. As the narrator in the story pulled at the balls of her partner, squeezing and massaging them, I gripped his firmly in my hand, pulling them back toward the soft flesh behind them, pressing them gently into his taint.

He stopped reading and pulled me up off his cock, kissing my throat and pushing the computer away. “I know how this story ends,” he whispered into my mouth. “Let’s write a new story, together.”

He pulled my shirt off over my head and leaned in to kiss my breasts, taking my hardened nipple between his teeth. He sucked and bit at the soft, tender tissue before kissing a path across my stomach, pushing me to lay back on the bed before stripping off my clothes. “Are you taking notes?” He pulled his fingers gently over the space between my legs, brushing past my clit, tracing but never penetrating my pussy, giving the same treatment to my ass, tracing without penetrating. I moaned a response, feeling the heat from inside my body dripping out onto him as he touched me softly.

He stripped himself free of his clothes and pressed in between my legs. He rest his throbbing cock against my flesh, letting me feel his heartbeat on my clit. He rolled his hips against me, never penetrating, only caressing my body with his, while he kissed me hard and deep. “Tell me what to do next,” he whispered. “Write this story for me.”

Every ounce of mental energy I had was directed into his cock and I moaned again, trying to refocus. “Reach between my legs and push your fingers deep inside. Get them wet and let me taste them.”

He did as he was instructed, touching two long, slender fingers against the front of my sex, pulling the muscles up toward his own body. As he stretched my pussy open, I felt a trail of cum drip past my ass onto the bed. He fingered me, hard, contorting his body so that his cock was still touching my flesh, bringing me to the edge of orgasm before pressing his wet fingers into my tongue. “Do you like how you taste?”

I licked them clean, burning deep into his eyes as I did, and pulled his head down to share, urging him to taste as well, touching my tongue to his. “You taste amazing.”

“Lick my pussy.” I pushed him by the shoulders until his head was between my thighs. He pressed his hot tongue inside, working it against the front wall, drinking in ever drop of cum he could get.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

I debated how to answer. Yes. I wanted him to fuck me. Hard. Fast. Deep. To cry out as he came. But I wanted to enjoy him a little longer. “Softly,” I whispered, finally, pulling him back to lay on my chest.

He pressed his cock into me, slowly, gently, centimeters at a time. I could feel him touch every bit of my pussy until he reached the top, still pushing, still trying to penetrate deeper. He slid back out, with the same gentle, slow movement, feeling every bit of me as he ascended. Soon we fell into a rhythm, in and out, slowly, taking seconds to slide in and out. When he was deep inside, he rolled his hips, pressing his cock into the most sensitive flesh. When he was barely in, he circled the head of his cock around the opening of my vagina, both actions triggering my body to shake, convulse against his.

He never took his mouth off of mine, moaning and sighing as he pinched my tongue between his teeth, and I, his. I wanted him to come and pushed his shoulders up hard enough to break the kiss.

“Fuck me,” I said, firmly, meeting and holding his eyes. “Fuck me hard. Tell me how it feels.”

He pulled his cock back to the edge and thrust hard into the vaginal ceiling. “You’re so tight and wet. You feel so fucking good.”

I rolled my hips into him, moving his cock to a new position inside me. “Yes, fuck, yes,” he moaned, thrusting into me again.

He pounded his cock into me, again and again, before pulling completely free. He pressed my knees into my chest with his own torso, pinning my arms above my head as he did and penetrated again. This time, I screamed, pressing into his body as best as I could, urging him to pound his cock into me again. He complied, and I urged him to do it again. “Harder.”

This time, when he pulled free, I pulled a hand free of his grip and wrapped it around his cock. “Do you want to come?”

“Fuck yes.”

“Come in my ass.” I pressed the wet head of his cock against my asshole, spreading my legs for the best angle. He pressed my own cum into the edge of my anus with his fingers and then slid his cock inside, the same way he had first entered my pussy, centimeter by centimeter, giving me a little at a time. He pressed two fingers of one hand deep into my pussy and I came, covering him in hot, salty juices. He lifted the same hand to massage my clit and urge me toward another orgasm as I felt his cock begin to jerk inside me.

He came, hard, filling my ass with his own juices, his cock pulsing against me. When he was finished, he lay against my chest, his still erect cock pressing into my clit, and fingered me, softly, without any real intent. I came again, easily and quietly covering his fingers, composing the story in my head as I did.