Not stopping his rhythmic grinding, he uses his other hand to wrench my sweater down my shoulder, ripping the front part of the ‘v’, so that he can pull my breast out, thumb brushing over the oversensitive tip. It hangs over the front of the sweater lewdly, and he looks in awe. I preen under the weight of his gaze, my tits my favorite part of my body.
“Touch me, Oliver; please, I need your hands on me?—”
Coming to himself, then, he makes sure both my feet make it to the floor safely before stepping back. I whine, suddenly bereft and ready to beg.
“Take it off,” he commands, and I pull my arms out, rip it over my head, and throw it on the floor.
He stares and stares. “I fucking knew it,” he says, mostly to himself. He meets my eyes. “Touch them. Push them together.”
My body is on autopilot, incapable of coherent thought, blindly following his orders. I take them in both hands, massaging, making sure my nipples are visible between my fingertips, feeling good, but not enough.
Growling, he steps forward again and slaps my hands away, replacing them with his own. I moan, closing my eyes, incoherent at the feeling of his rough, calloused hands againstthe softness of my tits. He alternates between soft and hard, tenderly kneading, then pinching, twisting the tips until, groaning, he bends down to wrap his lips around the end.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I’m chanting, as he holds my left breast, squeezing lightly with his hands and sucking and licking the tip with his hot, wet, heavenly mouth. He uses the thumb of his other hand to make tight circles around my other nipple. The feeling is indescribable, as he switches to bite on the other side.
“These tits, Georgia,” he groans, in between licks. “I’ll be fucking these later,” he says, pushing them together and admiring the sight. He slaps one, a quick tap, more noise than force, and my eyes cross, the sharp feeling directly connected to my clit. “Is that okay?” he asks, quietly.
I nod.
He smirks, and I watch his beautiful mouth close around a nipple again. I see his hands working the button and zipper of my jeans open while he sucks. He manages, with one hand, to get my jeans and my underwear halfway down my thighs, then seems to get distracted and stops, my legs pinned in place. He reaches around, mouth still working my boobs, and squeezes the bare skin of my ass obscenely.
“You’re beautiful,” Oliver tells me, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I congratulate myself for getting a wax over the weekend. He slides his hand down my front, in between my thighs, and I almost fall over. “Christ,” he mutters, “you’re fucking dripping,” and I canfeelit, feel that I am, as he gathers my slickness and moves it towards my clit, circling. “Is this all for me, angel?” he asks. The rough pads of his fingers rub me from front to back, back to front, stopping to circle my clit each time.
He reattaches his mouth to my nipple, biting and sucking, while his hand finds a perfect rhythm. I’m so close, embarrassingly so, after edging myself for hours at this point, whiningand moaning and grinding down on his hand. He dips a thick finger in, one, then two, then pumps in and out while maintaining a rhythm on my clit with his thumb. “So fucking tight.” He groans. “You’re soaking, princess.” He lets me ride his palm now, two fingers still inside me. “Are you about to come all over my hand? That’s it. Right there. Give it to me, gorgeous,” he mutters in my ear. He wraps his mouth around my breast and takes one last hard pull.
An explosion of brightness behind my eyes, fireworks that start from my center, and I’m coming like a freight train, warmth and tingles radiating outwards towards the tips of my fingers and toes. I’m rambling, half crying, making unintelligible noises, as Oliver lets me ride out the aftershocks on his hand. “Good girl,” he murmurs. “You’re so beautiful when you come.”
I open my eyes to see honey whiskey eyes gazing down at me, warm, open, honest. I laugh, a sharp one. “Unbelievable,” I tell him. “Five out of five.” I feel like melted ice cream. I tell him so. He chuckles and kisses me, once, softly on the lips. Then again, deeper, hungrier.
Oliver steps bank and yanks my underwear and pants down to my ankles, taking one foot and slipping it out of the contraption. He kneels, takes my leg and rests it on his shoulder. He gazes at my core with something like wonder in his eyes. “I need a taste,” is all he gives me, before he dives right into my pussy, starting with one long lick up the center.
I’m still incredibly sensitive from my orgasm not moments ago, so I’m squirming, half-screaming as he circles and nips. He takes the fingers of one hand and uses it to spread my lips, exposing the hood of my clit. Licks up one side, circles, licks down the other. He works me perfectly, expertly, as if he knows my body, reading my cues at the beginning and doing it over and over and over. “Give me another, Georgia,” he murmurs, as he slides his fingers in, two at atime, shallow, rubbing in the spot he discovered earlier and lapping at my clit with a stiff tongue.
This one hits quickly, out of nowhere, sharp, yet not as all-consuming as the first. “Holy fuck,” I groan, grinding on his face like a lunatic. “The fuck, Oliver?!”
Oliver pulls away, then, a smirk on his beautiful lips, now wet with my release. He wipes his face with the back of his hand, that motion in itself getting me hot for round three.
He stands, looming over me, nipping at my lips once more. He backs up towards the couch and sits down, still fully dressed in his suit. He loosens his tie.
I watch him like a hawk, unsteady on my feet.
He leans back and spreads his legs, spreads his arms along the back of the red velvet couch, owning it and claiming it as his own personal Porn Couch. I’ve never been so aroused just watching someone.
He cuts his eyes to my bag laying on the ground. “Put on more lipstick,” he orders, in that gravelly voice, hoarser than usual. Then he dips his head once, gesturing down at his crotch straining behind the zipper of his pants, and commands, “Then take it out.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Oliver
I’m trackingGeorgia’s every movement, feeling impossibly hard under my pants. She takes off the rest of her clothes. This time, I get to fully appreciate her from afar. She is slender, yet impossibly curvy, tits perfect teardrops, punctuated at the ends with small, rosy nipples. Her waist dips in and hips flare out, and I remember the feel of the plumpness of her ass under my hands.
I press down on my pants, seeking some relief.
Her skin is flushed, hair everywhere, limbs loose and trembling slightly after her orgasm.
She turns around to walk over to her backpack, bending in half dramatically to retrieve her lipstick. I find that I don’t mind that at all, because now I can see the plump, flushed lips of her pussy, wet with her arousal. “Hurry up,” I say.
“You can’t rush these things,” she tells me with her smart mouth, not fully aware of how I’m about to punish it. “I need a mirror; it gets everywhere?—”
