Another step, this time, with me reaching for my fly. I make a production of unbuttoning, slide the zipper down with a slow, terrible precision. If we were out there, where I could look at her, I’d make her come to me, just to watch the fight in her eyes. But here, my senses are all occupied with the sound of her and that too-elusive scent.
Finally, I’m close enough to feel her body heat. It’s a warm shadow in front of me.
I could lean down and kiss her, if that were the sort of thing I did. I could reach out and wrap my fingers around her skull. I could turn her around, bend her over and take her, deep and hard, then pull out and leave her frustrated. Make her wait for the orgasm. Make her work for it.
I don’t, of course. Making people come is one of life’s greatest pleasures and I want it, now.
Instead of doing any of those things, I shove my pants down around my hips, pull my cock out, and let it bob forward against her while I give it a good, hard stroke.
My knuckles rub against a plasticky material. Vinyl, maybe latex. I rub her with my crown, smearing a fresh bead of pre-come against her tit. She’s small, I can tell. It’s perfect.
She still makes no sound. Which is fine. We’re not here to get to know each other, are we? We’re here to get each other off and leave. Wham bam.
Just as I’m about to reach for her, something touches my cock. It’s her hand—tentative, light. Not something I’m used to at camp. I shudder at the sensation, breathe her in, like a drug, and let my head hang back.
Oh, fuck. This is going to be good. Whatever happens, I’m already feeling more myself than I have in…since…
That strong little hand finally gets up the guts to tighten around my tip and, fuck me, it’s good. A little hesitant, which I apparently like. Who knew?
I lean in. She smells more potent here—like a…a… My brain’s giving me yellow flowers, and musk, sex. She’s turned on, maybe a little sweaty in the vinyl. I want to get my face in there, want to sink my nose into her skin and breathe in every primitive scent her body puts out.
Waiting is better, though. Waiting means this will last.
Her hand’s joined by a second, the two of them stroking up, circling my head, stroking down. I shift closer, wanting to feel her weigh my balls and, like magic, like the type of communication that only happens with a long-time play partner, she does it. One soft hand cradling them, mapping them out.
With a suddenness that hits me hard in the solar plexus, I want more. I want tight holes and nasty grunts, force and ferocity.
Before I’ve thought it through, I reach out to where I think her head must be, wrap my hand around her throat and clasp her, tight. Her gasp is a fucking gift.
In response, I tighten further and push her back a couple steps, letting my hand explore what my eyes can’t.
She grunts when her body connects with the wall, and I don’t give her time to do more. I investigate. A zipper. I drag it down, down. Something gets in the way at about her hips and, though I want to yank it all the way open, I can’t wait to get a hold of her tits, to feel the warm skin, to call up goose bumps, to bite and wet her with my mouth, mark her up a bit.
My hand slides inside, over a soft belly, lower, stopped by…a skirt.
I shove that down, just to where the waistband traps her thighs, keeping her here. My prisoner.
I take another foray under the latex, this time with both hands, one either side of her center, stroking up and up to those big, soft tits.
“Fuck, yes,” I whisper, without any sound, weighing and squeezing until her breathing’s absolutely haywire. “Look at these.” My words are pure consonant.
I can’t see her. Of course not. But I fucking want to. Are the nipples brown, the way I picture them? Thick and brown and getting longer while I tweak them. Fuck. I pinch them both, hard, and hold her up straight when she tries to crumple.
I grunt, feeling so close to the fantasy I’m holding in my brain I think I might need to punch myself.
The low groan she lets out shoots straight down my spine to grip my balls.
I pluck at her nipples now, one after the other, stretching, tugging so hard it’s got to hurt. She fucking loves it, her body’s writhing against me. I lean in and give her weight just to keep her up.
And then, fuck I’ve got to find out why she smells so good. Right this second. Right now.
Compelled by this need that feels like hunger, I drop to my knees, give my aching cock a hard tug with one hand, shove her skirt to the floor, and unzip her the rest of the way with the other.
Then I lean in, barely aware of the hot little whimpers filling the small room, put my nose to her, and inhale.
This. This is it. What I needed.
I don’t ask for permission before ripping off my mask and burying my face in her hot, wet pussy.
