Quick & Dirty

Something quick. Something dirty.

…………………………………………….

The day I came home from work and saw her on the bed, face down, squirming in just a bra and panties. I dropped my coat on the floor and took a few steps towards her. I saw the cuffs on her wrists. Her fingers gripped the headboard. A large pillow was tucked under her hips. No, not a pillow. An indulgence of mine. A large black leather bolster. Her hips rocked against it.

I spanked her bottom.

I spanked her through her panties. I pushed my fingers against the side of her face. I needed to push her deep into the mattress. I spanked the backs of her thighs. I pulled her panties down to her knees and spanked her bare ass, sliding my hand between her thighs. Feeling.

The spanking lasted for only a few minutes before I climbed on top of her, clawing my way closer, tight against her. I needed to jerk off. This was for me. A display. Perfect and beautiful. A picture I’d had in my mind. Maybe I’d told her about it one night.  Maybe she just knows me.

When I climb on top of her, when I wrap my thighs around her and grind against her hip, she moans to me, happy. “Oh baby, yes,” she says.

…………………………………………….

I like to jerk off in the morning. She wraps herself around me. She tugs at my chest. Rubs the back of my hand through my underwear. She cups my fingers lightly, feeling me. She breathes against my ear or my neck. I look at her cupping the bulge my hand makes under my briefs. She tells me how handsome I am. I feel her tongue on the tip of my own. I come while she pets me. I come in her arms and let her hold me until my breathing slows.

…………………………………………….

Tonight I want to strap on a dick and fuck her. Slowly. Pull in and out. Over and again. For a long time.

I don’t want to tease my way in. I want to push her back and pin her against the floor. Pull her pants down, her panties. I want her to feel her bones against the hardwood. I’ll let the lube drip through my fingers. I don’t mind a mess. Lube on my dick. Lube on the lips of her cunt. I’ll push my fingers inside her. It starts rough. Aggressive. Impatient.

As I hold my dick in my hand and push it inside her, everything stops. Slow motion. I want her to hear how hard I’m breathing. “Put your hands on my back,”  I whisper. What I want is not her holding me. What I want is for her to feel how hot I am. The sweat already surfacing around my spine. My palms are flat on the floor on either side of her. My dick is inside her. I don’t want to look at her. Let me feel this. Everything. My belly. Hers. The hot sweat between us. Her thighs shifting open. I want to be deeper. I want to lift her hips.

Nobody comes. Not like this. I’ll kneel on the floor and pull her up onto my thighs, pushing my dick back inside her and grunting at her to jerk off. I like it when her fingers shake.

An Old Favorite

I was always kicking something as a kid. I’d find a rock on the sidewalk and stay with it. Half listening to whatever my friends were saying, I focused on kicking that rock. I liked rocks. Cans are too noisy and I didn’t like to litter. I was a kid who obeyed the rules. Rules made me nervous. I was too scared to try breaking them.

When I got older, it was the brass pole under the bar. Sitting there with my drink. Looking around. Kicking the pole or the wood with my boot. Or my heel kicking back against my barstool. My knees are always bouncing when I try to sit politely. I wipe the side of my thumb across my upper lip as a habit. I’m nervous. Jumpy. I’m never sure what I’m supposed to do. I like knowing what’s expected of me. Give me the rules. Give me a script and I’ll follow it.

Some of us need to be boxed in a little. Some of us need something wrapped around us a little tighter than the rest. I needed her warm hands on my face making me look her right in the eye. “Hush,” she’d say, “I’m here.”

I liked working hard and not talking. I worked in the yard. I hauled orders to the waiting pickup trucks. Bags of cement. Stacks of plywood. 2x4s. I came home smelling of wood. Sap stuck on the hairs of my arms. Early spring meant railroad ties and the smell of creosote. I hauled the loads and set them in the backs of waiting pickups. Laid everything out nice and neat. Stacked it all perfectly. Nodded to the customer when it was all there and walked back for the next load.

I didn’t have a girl at home. I didn’t have a girl waiting at the bar for me. I didn’t know how to find one. I went home alone. Ate alone. Opened a beer in the cockeyed metal chair outside my front door. And then another. The street light was right off my porch and shone too bright. I could see the raw skin on my hands. Too rough. “I look older than I am,” I thought, “I feel older than I am.” I didn’t mind. That’s just how it was. I felt old. I was pretty much done. And like I’ve said, I didn’t mind.

My story isn’t sad. Not to me. Don’t think I was sad. I knew what it felt like. Everything. All of it. I knew and that was enough. I didn’t want to bother with anything less. I’d tasted it. I would never forget that. She was everything.

I met her when I nearly ran over her kid. I was in my truck, cutting off work for the day. I rounded a corner and slammed on the breaks when I saw this kid, maybe 5 years old, standing in the middle of the road looking down. He had his back to me. I jumped out with my adrenaline racing, angry. I scooped him up roughly and tucked him under my arm to carry him over to the sidewalk. As soon as I let him go, he kicked my shin and ran back to the road. It was then that I saw the cat lying there. Dead. “Poor kid,” I said out loud. I walked over, more gentle this time. “Hey,” I said, putting a hand on his shoulder, “That your cat?” He nodded. “Okay,” I said, “I can help you out. Go get your mom.”

He ran inside and I grabbed the shovel out of the back of my truck. He came back with his mom. She stood there with her hand over her mouth. She was already crying hard. Gulping air. “I’ll take care of this,” I said, “We can bury her in the back.” “Him,” her boy said stubbornly, “That’s a he cat.” She put her arm around her boy and they headed around behind the house. I waited until they were out of sight before scooping the stiff cat up with my shovel. I went back to my truck and found an old towel to wrap him in. I left my car there in the road while I carried the sad little bundle of dead cat around to the back.

It was quick work. A shallow grave under a half-dead tree in their back yard. I stood off to the side, out of earshot, as they said goodbye. The boy ran over and hugged me after. I stood with my hands up in the air like someone had a gun pointed at me, not knowing how to comfort him, not feeling right about it. He ran inside and his mom wandered over to me. “Thank you, stranger,” she said. “My name’s Cyd,” I answered, “Don’t call me a stranger anymore.” She looked me right in the eye for a long time after that and I didn’t look away. It was different for me right from the start. I’m taller than I should be and tend to shuffle my feet and stare off in the distance most of the time people talk to me. But not her. I looked her straight on that day. From then on, she always made me look her in the eye. It wasn’t easy.

I remember that first day in crisp detail. What follows gets a little blurry. And the end is totally lost to me.  But that first day swims in front of me like a movie sometimes. An old favorite.

Maybe I should have more regrets about the whole thing, but I don’t. I did the best I could. I was never meant to keep a girl like that around. I count myself lucky to have had the chance at all. She was younger than me by six years but I’d spent so much time in the sun and smoked so many cigarettes that I looked a lot older than I should. We looked far apart. I know people talked even if they never had the guts to say it to my face.

She liked to dress me up and go out to the movies. I’d clean up after work, shower, she’d have a shirt waiting on the bed for me, pressed and ready to go. I’d grab my wallet and make sure I had enough to get us in and we’d go out the door, her arm in mine, walking to the cinema in the cool night. She loved the movies. Those nights, her kid would sleep at his grandma’s out in the woods. We’d come home to the house and have a good time. Drinking, fucking, she was all over me up the stairs to our bedroom. She liked to fuck before we got to the bed. Get me to fuck her on the stairs. She’d stop halfway up and bend over. I watched her kick off her boots and jerk her jeans down. Her ass pushing towards me. “Come on,” she’d snarl at me, “I want to feel it.” I’d stare at her knuckles gripping the banister rails while I jammed my fingers inside her. I couldn’t stop for anything. I’d piss my pants if I had to but I would not stop. My fingers felt rough inside her soft, wet hole. I could feel how her pussy pulled at me, wanting more. My leathered, wrinkled hand felt too bony, too skinny for her cunt, but I wrapped an arm around her and fucked her as hard as I could.

She would sigh and brush her hair off her face before walking the rest of the way up the stairs and heading into the bathroom. I’d stand there with a shaky feeling inside me, hoping she had come, not knowing for sure. Either way, she’d want more. Always more. And that made me feel good. I felt good being wanted like that. I liked the way she led me. She taught me how to fuck. Some nights, she whispered what she wanted. Told me to be rough with her. I never questioned any of it.

I’m trying to tell you so it’s clear. So you understand what this meant to me. Nothing in my life ever made me feel comfortable in myself. And it’s not that I felt at ease with her. But I never questioned. And that made all the difference. That was easy. She could tell me anything. Ask me to do anything. It was easy for me to follow instructions. It calmed me down.

Some nights, after she put her boy to bed, she’d come walk between me and the television. I’d grab her wrist and pull her to me like she liked. She’d play fight a little but it was easy pulling her knees apart. Easy to hold her still while I touched her. I could hold both her hands behind her back in one of my hands and unbutton her top with the other. She’d toss her head a little like she wanted to get free, but never struggled hard enough to make me think I should stop. She had to show me how to be in charge, but I followed easy. I felt it deep inside me. I felt her tap into who I was meant to be, who I would have been under different circumstances.

I thought it meant I was supposed to be raised a boy, but I know better now. I just needed people to let me be. She wanted that for me. She was sure I could get out of my head one day and just do what I wanted, get what I wanted. I didn’t want to disappoint her, but I knew it was too late for me. I never knew what I wanted. My mind was locked up and that key was so far gone I wouldn’t know where to look. What worked with us was how she could make me forget that sometimes. If I knew what she wanted, if I had the instructions, I could do anything.

She liked to be spanked. She liked me to take her over my knee and pull down her pants. She liked it when I’d drink too much and get a little rowdy, carrying her up the stairs and throwing her on the bed. My whole life I’d stooped and felt ashamed of being so big, but with her it felt like I was shining bright. I was big enough to take care of her. She’d melt in my arms. I knew how to hold her down with one hand and get everything else done with the other. I didn’t like to play the boy with her, strap on a dick. I know a lot of butches like that, but it just made me miserable. I’d fuck her with my hands. If she wanted something more inside her, I’d hold onto whatever it was I fucked her with. I didn’t need a dick. That felt too close to something I never wanted to be. I struggled all the time with figuring out what I wanted, but felt sure I already had it inside me. I didn’t need to change who I was, just figure it all out.

That first year was perfect. I’d come home after work and shower. I’d play with her boy in the backyard before supper. We’d all take long drives on weekends and go to the river or the woods. She’d pack sandwiches and I’d bring beer. I taught her boy to fish. It felt like we were any other family. The only difference was on birthdays or holidays they had to go without me to her parents. They had to go without me all the time to this or that. It was a regular reminder that we weren’t a real family. That was how it had to be. We couldn’t be like that. Somewhere else people might think I was her husband, but not here. I never tried to fool anybody. The whole town knew.

Her brother’s drank. I drank. She didn’t like to get us together. Mostly we stayed apart. Mostly she and I went our own way, nowhere near her brothers. Nowhere near her dad. But I guess we kept feeling like we were a family as much as anyone else and it made us stupid.

I don’t remember everything. I don’t remember a lot of things. But I remember that last Homecoming. I remember going out to the football game. I remember her sitting next to me, tucked under my arm, on the cold metal bleachers. I remember the whiskey in my flask keeping us both warm. I remember how she cheered seeing the Homecoming Queen wave at the crowd. She knew the girl’s family. She wanted to go see the lighting of the bonfire and warm up before we drove home. I wrapped my arms around her and felt that big fire warm on my face. I felt a little drunk. Happy for a minute. But the next thing I felt was a big hand on my arm, jerking me away from her. I heard her screaming. I saw everyone stare. And I ran.

I’m not proud of it, but I ran. I ran hard as far as I could go. I heard them following behind me. I heard people yelling back at the bonfire. I was scared. I jumped a ditch and headed into the sparse woods knowing that I couldn’t get away. Knowing this was only making it worse. But at least out here, this far away from the crowd, no one would see. She wouldn’t see. She wouldn’t have to be ashamed of me. Ashamed of us. Ashamed of who we were together. I got far enough into the woods and stopped, bending over and spitting. I threw up the last slugs of whiskey in my stomach before they caught up to me.

They beat me up bad. I got in a few good hits, but they beat the shit out of me. I was scared to move a muscle afterwards. I lay there on my side with a leaf stuck to my lower lip and felt the lumps swell up. I had held my arms close as they pummeled me and was pretty sure I’d kept them from breaking a rib. But my arms felt bruised and stiff. My eyes felt swollen shut. My face was warm from blood and snot and tears. I half wished they’d killed me and half wish I’d killed them.

She wanted me to call the police but I knew that would break everything between us. Everything we were together depended on a lot of denial. I was broken when she met me and only pretending to be whole. I’d know that the whole time. How could we got back to that? I should have known it was already over but nothing else mattered anymore. She took care of me. I was laid up in bed for awhile. She held my face and made me look at her even when I cried and begged her to leave me alone. When the swelling was gone but the bruises were still visible, she crawled on top of me, staying over the covers and asked me to watch her undress. She made me watch her touch herself. She told me she needed to feel my big hands on her. She told me she missed my fingers. She wouldn’t let me look away no matter how much I wanted to. She told me I could do this for her and she believed that I really could. But I knew it was all gone. It didn’t matter if I wanted to be the same person she wanted me to be. I just couldn’t.

When I could drive again, I’d leave her over and over again. Drinking in my truck out on some farm road. Driving slow on the gravel with the headlights turned off.  Watching the cows stand around in clumps. Scaring them now and again with the horn. Gripping the steering wheel until my fingers ached. I’d come home and stop up the street, letting the truck roll slow up to the house silent, so I could watch the windows without her knowing I was there. I’d drink until I stopped shaking. Drink until I felt sick. I figured she needed to hate me. I figured she’d get there pretty soon.

We still fucked, but now it was heavy and sad. We would fuck and she’d get soft with me. Too tender. Wrap my head up in her arms and pretend she wasn’t crying. I couldn’t grip her as tight as I used to. I couldn’t make her feel small and protected. I couldn’t stand up tall in font of her and close my arms around her. I’d see pictures of all the ways she liked me to fuck her and they’d make me shake inside. Anger would boil up and I’d have to go kick something. Grab a bottle and disappear.

I couldn’t stand being so useless. I couldn’t stand how she had to hold my face in her hands until I calmed down.

I got myself arrested. I did what I was always good at, fucking up. I fucked up driving drunk. I fucked up getting in a fight. I fucked up driving my pickup truck right into her mom and dad’s front yard and ripping up the lawn. I fucked it all up. I didn’t know what else to do. I wouldn’t do it differently now. I’d do it all the same.

We had a good couple of years. She loved me better than I ever thought I’d be loved. We had a nice little family. Me and her and her kid. She made me feel like everything was just right. Perfect. She made me proud the way she looked at me. She gave my dirty thoughts the sweetest place to land. I never felt more normal and right in all my life. It was all worth it. I don’t know how we could have kept going with her family thinking the way they did and the town looking at us they way they did. And maybe some people would leave, start over somewhere else, but I know she didn’t want to. It wasn’t meant to last. Not everything is.

I’ve got no regrets. I’m gone now. I picked up and went further South. Me and my truck and my hands. I’ve never had another girl. Not for more than a few weeks. Not sitting at the supper table with me. But I’ve got the gulf outside my door and a bar down the street and I don’t have to look anybody in the eye for too long if I don’t want. These days, I can remember everything good with her and it doesn’t rattle me anymore. I can jerk off remembering how I felt with her. I can think back on how sweet it all was and know I’ve had that. I know what it feels like. I can still feel it when I touch a girl and I can make that girl feel it for an hour or two with me. I know how lucky that is. And for me, that’s good enough.

She’s Good for Me

Jess had been teasing me for months. She had something in mind. Something she’d been wanting to give me. I hated not knowing and I hated guessing, but she wanted me to keep asking. The whole thing was driving me nuts.

“Aren’t you curious?” she asked. She always started in right after we fucked. I’d be carefully sliding my cock out of her pussy and she’d bug me about it, still catching her breath, “Don’t you want to ask me?” She made me growl. Angry. “Can’t we just fuck and enjoy it?” I blurted out. “Oh baby,” she sighed, “I know you want more.”

She was counting down the days. Towards what, I didn’t know. “Where’s this going?” I asked her. She just laughed, dragging her fingers down my chest and grabbing my cock, shoving it back inside her. Snapping me from angry frustration to blind lust. I’m easily distractible. Grab my dick and I take off like a shot, forgetting whatever it was we were talking or fighting about seconds earlier.

I thought it was just a tease. Just her way of getting an angry fuck, her favorite kind. Keeping me riled up and ready to pounce. I’m ashamed to admit it, but my defense of my own pride was on a hair trigger. Catch me off guard when I don’t have the answer or can’t figure it out and I get mad as hell. It’s the main thing I’d like to change in myself. It’s dumb and I hate seeming dumb. But she knew how to use me and my stupid pride for hot sex. It’s why we’re so good together. She’s good for me. So good.

I told her she was driving me crazy with all the build up. That I needed to get this over with, whatever she was working up to, her scheme. She told me to meet her at the bar later. She told me to book us a nearby hotel. She told me to pack a cock and look good. I shoved her off of me, but I know when to shut up and do what I’m told. I obeyed. She left me in bed struggling between wanting to know what she was up to and wanting to be patient and let it unfold. I heard the door close & lock behind her before I crawled out of bed and made my morning tea. “Drink it hot,” I told myself, “Burn your tongue.”

All day I was fidgety. I did little chores around the house before I showered. I left the lights off until the sun went down completely and I was shuffling around in the dark, eventually caving in and switching on a hallway light that bleeds a soft light into the rest of my apartment. Enough light to check myself in the mirror, which I did, changing my outfit at least 3 times. I was torn between wearing a new pair of jeans and my old favorites. A hard, tight bulge or more discreet? A blazer and tie or a worn, soft work shirt? “Goddamn it,” I swore out loud. I wanted something more to go on. I hate being caught unaware, unready.

I settled on a tight pair of bootcut jeans over my boots with a soft white button down and my worn leather belt. I was packing my biggest cock, overcompensating, a cliché. I threw a small bottle of lube in my coat pocket and grabbed my keys. A light rain appeared out of nowhere as I headed to my car. “I hope the engine starts,” I thought as I hung my head low to keep the mist off my face. My old car hates the damp air, especially after a dry spell like we’ve had. I knew I was half hoping for an excuse, but my car started up easy and I felt my stomach lurch with expectation. Nervous. Excited. Ready for whatever she had planned. ‘Let’s go,” I thought, “She’s so good.”

I walked into the bar thinking I was early but saw Jess right away. She had her back to me. Someone was flirting with her. Someone was always flirting with her. I liked catching those moments. I liked it when she saw me watching and turned it up. I thought maybe she wanted me to watch her tonight and was about to take a seat at the other end of the bar but she turned around and came right over, throwing her arms around me and kissing me long enough for everyone to take notice before wiping her lipstick off my mouth. “Let me buy you a drink,” she said, “Go find us somewhere to sit.”

There was a low table with a couple chairs off in a corner. I watched her lean onto the bar. She always looked so good. I stared at the back of her thighs peeking out from under her skirt. Her tall, thick boots rising up to her knees. My girl looks strong. She looks like she can take care of herself. She turns around and adjusts her top before walking over to me. I’m instantly jacked up and wanting to fuck before she even hands me my drink. “When can we go to the hotel?” I ask. My knees spreading wider to push against her leg under the table. “I want to watch you fuck someone else tonight,” she laughed, looking around, “We need to find her.”

My mouth hung open. We’d talked about this a lot, but somehow I didn’t see it coming. She pet my face and sweetly pulled on my ear. “You’re so sweet,” she said, “so easy to please.” And then her expression changed. All business. Looking around the room. I felt expanded. Larger than when I’d walked in there. I heard the jukebox more clearly. I smelled the whiskey and the beer. The stale cigarettes. I searched the faces around the room. I read the body language. “Sit back,” she said, “I’m taking care of this.”

I did just what she asked. I sat back. I let it sink in. This isn’t just my fantasy. We all want this. We all think about it. I looked around the room and soaked it up. I like the commonality of it. I get off on what gets that person off. All of you. All of us. That’s what’s so hot about it. We’re all the same in some ways. We’re all dirty and lustful. We all love to fuck.

I watched Jess approach her. I watched them talk. The woman was around our age. She wore jeans and a soft sweater with a deep v-neck. I noticed her curves. Her small hands. Her phone stuck out of her front pocket. She didn’t have a purse. Traveling light. I took another drink and unbuttoned my sleeves. My girl looked over her shoulder at me and smiled. They walked to the bar together. I watched them both. They were laughing. Neither one of them looked nervous. Not like me. The bartender chatted with them for a minute. I saw the solo butches at the bar look over at them. One butch started to walk over to them just as they turned around to come to my table. I saw a sad look pass over the butch’s face and she kept walking, heading into the bathroom.

I jumped up and grabbed another chair. Holding it as the girls approached. Jess looked right at me. Our new friend stared hard at my hands on the back of the chair. I gripped hard and twisted my hands, feeling the sticky bent wood tug against my fingers. Jess squeezed the back of my neck. The woman sat down, thanking me for holding out the chair. I sat back down, grinning.

Jess looked at me. Waiting for me to say something. I couldn’t think of a thing. We sat there silent. I could see Jess enjoying my awkwardness. The woman saved me and broke the silence. “Where should we start?” she asked. “I’d like you to touch my thighs,” I told her. Jess laughed, shaking her head at me. “What?” I asked, throwing my hands up in the air, feeling annoyed.  “Go ahead,” Jess said, “Get right to it, butch.” We all laughed at that. I couldn’t help myself. It’s true. I lacked subtlety. But the woman reached her arm over and lightly touched my thigh. Her fingers barely brushed against my jeans. Then I felt her grip. I felt her tease.

“Touch my thighs,” I repeated, “my arms.” We sat there quiet. I stared at her while she touched me, watching her face, her expression. Seeing Jess out of the corner of my eye. She shifted in her chair. I didn’t want to move a muscle. I couldn’t imagine standing up, walking out of there. This was perfect. I waited. I lifted my fingers off the table top. They both took a drink. We all smiled. “Let’s go,” Jess said. I watched them stand and move towards the door. I waited until they were out on the sidewalk before I stood up to follow.

I got the key while they waited in the lobby. We were silent in the elevator. Quiet in the room. Jess kissed me. She moved behind me and wrapped her arms around me. Her hands rubbing my chest, my belly. She moved her hands over my belt. “What’s your name?” I whispered to the other woman. She just smiled at me and turned her back to me. My hands moved to her hips, pulling at the seams of her jeans. I pulled her ass against my bulge. Jess backed away from us. I heard her slide the door chain closed.

The woman moved towards the bed but I grabbed her wrist and led her over to the small desk by the window. I pushed the chair out of the way, meaning for it to roll, but it toppled over with a thud. I liked the sound of it hitting the carpet. I thought about the people in the room below us and how they would wonder what that sound was.

Her hands hung at her sides. I grabbed each wrist and put her palms down flat on the desk in front of us. I undid her jeans and pulled them down, leaving her panties in place. I bent over her and pressed my belly into her curved lower back. Her ass pushed against me and I pulled back away. “I want you to struggle for it,” I said, holding her hands tight beneath mine. “Keep your hands put,” I spat behind her ear, “Come find me.” I reached for my belt with one hand, keeping my left hand firmly on top of hers. I struggled one handed to unbuckle it and undo my jeans. I let my fingers brush against her thighs as I pulled my cock out. I lingered between her legs, feeling the cotton of her panties. “Are you wet?” I whispered, “Do you want me?” I didn’t want her to answer. I didn’t want to hear her talk. I wanted her moaning. I felt Jess watching me. I wanted to put on a good show.

I pushed my cock between her legs. I pressed it against her, holding it still. She moved a little. “You like the way this feels?” I asked her. She groaned and shifted her weight. I felt her push down against my cock. “You’ve got to work for it,” I told her, “Press into me.” I watched her shift further forward. Her forearms on the desk now, palms flat, elbows bent out at an angle. I ran my fingers down her sides. I pulled at the elastic band of her panties. She moved back and forth, trying to rub against my cock. I circled one arm around her and reached between her legs. “Let me help you,” I said and held my cock against her as she rubbed it. I angled the tip of the cock higher for her. I felt her shift and drag her slit against the head. “Please,” I heard her whisper.

I reached forward and put my hand on her neck. I slowly rubbed my fingers along her jawline and cupped my palm under her mouth. “Spit,” I said. She turned her head towards me. “Spit into my hand,” I soothed. She opened her mouth. I felt her lips on my fingers. She spat slowly, repeatedly into my palm. The spit pooled in thick puddle. “Thank you,” I said and brought my wet hand down to my cock, slicking it up. I hooked my finger into the crotch of her panties and tugged them lower. I held the wet cock in my hands, my grip tight around it, the head bulging out, and waited. “Come,” I said and pressed my face into her back, bending my knees a little. Patient.

She moved. I heard Jess behind me. I heard her lift her skirt. I closed my eyes, picturing her hand between her legs. My heart was pounding. Exploding in my chest. I was breathing hard, gulping the air in the room. “Come,” I repeated and felt her pussy brush against my grip. She pushed herself down onto the head of my cock. I only let a few inches push inside her, keeping my hand curled around the base. She struggled against me. “That’s right,” I said, “That’s so good.” She pulled herself on and off the tip of my cock, rubbed her pussy against me. I pet her clit lightly with the tip of my finger. We were so wet between us. Her pussy so open. Her spit on my fingers. I held my cock steady and pushed her down against the desk with my other arm. “Yes,” I said and listened to her quiet sounds.

Her hips rocked harder. I felt her mood change, that shift when you move from enjoying the build up to needing a release.  I pulled my cock out of her. I wanted her angry. She had to back her ass up further to find me. “Just like that,” I said and grabbed her hips in both hands before I shoved my cock in hard. “So good,” I said, pounding into her.

I was going to come. I felt it. I looked over my shoulder at Jess. She was leaning against the door, legs open wide, her hand in her panties. I had to look away. “Reach down between your legs,” I told the woman, “Come for me.” She jerked off with a downward movement. A hard jerk, pulling on her clit while I fucked her hole. I get lost in the details. The way her arm looked like it was pulling on a dick. Like I was watching some guy jerk off from behind, not a woman. I love watching someone jerk off. I’m always so curious. “Keep fucking her,” I thought, “Don’t get lost.” I felt her come and moved my cock deep inside her. Holding her to me, my hands gripping her tight.

We stayed still, listening to Jess breathing loud behind us. I pushed her down again and pulled my cock out of her. I unbuckled the harness and let it hang to one side, reaching underneath to stroke my own clit. Coming against her ass.

I stood there with my hand still on my clit while she pulled up her panties and jeans. She washed herself up in the bathroom and started to leave, but Jess and I told her she should stay. We were going to go home. I handed her the key and we said goodnight. I grabbed Jess’s hand as we walked down the hall to the elevator. “You’re so good,” I told her. She squeezed my hand and kept walking. I couldn’t wait to get her home.