Condolences

October 3, 2014 Erotica 0 Comments

Submitted by Rachel Woe @storyofwoe

He shakes his head. “You’re nothing like I expected.”

“Oh? What were you expecting?”

“I don’t know. But whatever those expectations were, you’ve surpassed them.”

“Then they must’ve been set pretty low because I’m kind of an asshole.”

“Yeah, but I like that about you. You don’t take shit from anyone.”

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“Except my family.”

“That comes with the territory.”

I nod. Oakley hands me the bottle and our fingers touch. Heat rushes into my cheeks.

“You’re still quick to blush, though. That hasn’t changed.”

“Shut up.” I smirk, swigging Pinot Gris.

“I’ll admit to being a bit taken aback by your brashness.”

“You mean when I grabbed your junk on the ride home?”

“Yeah, that.” He grins.

The wine warms my belly and softens my mood. I’m coaxed back to that night in the backseat of Oakley’s car: our breath fogging the windows; his long, sinewy fingers sliding down the front of my shorts to stroke my clit; the smell of sweat and sex permeating the cramped space as we crashed into one another.

My pussy tightens. I swallow. He swallows.

Oakley sets the almost empty wine bottle onto the floor and comes to sit beside me. He stares at my mouth, his breathing heavier than before. I reach back and grip the edge of the couch, lifting myself onto the overstuffed cushion. He follows.

I lick my lips. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He strokes my face.

I lean forward and touch my forehead to his. Our eyes close as we linger in this brief period of sweetness, before lips and tongues and genitals collide. I lay my palm on his knee and slide it towards his groin. Oakley’s breath hitches.

Our lips graze one another and fuse. He’s cautious. His mouth brushes mine as though each kiss were a question, but as my palm settles over his swollen groin, a low rumble escapes his throat. Oakley’s mouth is insistent. His lips part to allow his tongue to stroke mine, to slip between them and coax my tongue to come out and make friends.

I squeeze Oakley’s cock through his black dress pants. He groans. With my free hand, I tug my skirt up above my thighs and grasp his palm, lowering it to my panties. His fingers touch the damp black fabric. He hums. I spread my legs wider, crossing my knee over his, letting him massage my pussy through the thin material.

My clit aches. Pushing his palm against me, I bite his lower lip. “I need your fingers.”

Oakley slips his hand into the waistband of my panties. I moan around our writhing tongues as he slides his finger along my slit, teasing me. I massage his cock as he slips between my pussy lips, settling his fingertips over my sensitive nub. I whimper as he strokes me, slowly, with agonizing care.

I find his belt buckle and begin tugging. Oakley releases my face and helps me loosen it, unbuttoning his slacks as I yank the zipper down over his erection. I slip my hand into his pants, remarking at how hot and firm he is through the skimpy fabric of his boxers. Locating the fly, I reach inside and take his cock into my hand, liberating it.

Oakley’s mouth devours mine as I run my hand along him, gripping his tightly stretched foreskin and drawing it back and forth upon his shaft. I break from our kiss to glance down at his erection, smearing the droplet of precum over the head. Gently pulling the foreskin down, I focus on the exposed head and frenulum as more precum oozes from the tip of his cock. Oakley’s mouth recaptures mine. He circles my clit harder, faster, and I can feel the muscles in my pussy clenching as the pressure builds. His cock pulsates in my hand as I tighten my grip, pumping him.

The ceiling creaks and footsteps thud overhead. We freeze, listening.

Oakley kisses my cheek, trailing delicate pecks along my jaw and down my neck. He slides his hand out of my panties and cups my breast, thrusting it upward and kissing the resulting mound of flesh. I whimper. He wraps an arm around my waist, easing me onto the couch lengthwise and positioning himself over me. I continue to stroke him, precum dripping onto the backside of my dress. Oakley tugs the crotch of my panties aside and resumes stroking my clit. I groan as his teeth claim a small swatch of my neck.

My clit throbs. I’m so close to coming it hurts. “Do you have a condom?”

He pauses. “Shit.”

I turn, shoving him off of me.

He tumbles onto the carpet beside the couch with a confused expression and his cock jutting out of his black pants. I climb off of the sofa and reach beneath my dress, sliding my panties down my legs and tossing them to the side.

Oakley watches me, arms splayed at his sides; his cock twitching.

“I’m going to sit on your face,” I say.

He beams. I position my thighs alongside his head, facing his torso. Bunching my dress above my waist, I lower myself.

About the Author

Rachel Woe is an Erotica and Erotic Romance writer who probably watched too many R-rated movies as a youngster. A long-time lover of racy fiction, she used to bring Story of O and The Sleeping Beauty Trilogy to school, folded inside brown paper bag book covers. When she’s not writing, you can find her camped out in the back row at the cinema, or in the kitchen sporting a cupcake apron and wielding a half-moon whisk. She is a University of Vermont graduate and currently resides in New England.