It's early in the morning. The touch of the sun's rays is just pouring over the edge of the hills outside the window as you start to wake. It's a lovely sight and you blink a few times, taking it all into your tired brain.
You yawn and stretch, sitting up, and then rub your eyes a little.
Your hair is hanging loose down your back, long curls tangled and unruly around your shoulders, something that seems a bit bizarre and then everything comes back. He had been serving you that single coffee, that single meal for weeks, and just last night you noticed him.
Him. You look over, and there *he* is.
Dinner and a cup of coffee accompanied by a book. You're good at being alone. Better at it than being with other people. You're at peace in a quiet house, refusing to nervously turn the television on or leave the radio yammering. Quiet is your middle name, your best friend.
It was a good restaurant so you went. Usually every three or four days. Not much of a cook, so it worked out better that way. And he was always there.
"I brought that extra cream," he murmured too close to your ear and jolted you from the exploits occurring in your book. His breath was warm, he smelled like warm, clean man.
You looked up at him and offered a little smile, no teeth least he get too presumptuous. It was at that moment, that concerted effort to keep him at arms length, you first picture it. You, naked, wide open, on the table top, blanketed in the sinew body of this handsome waiter. No light fantasy -- him, his thick cock plunging into you, your cries echoing through the crowded restaurant, everybody noticing you, everyone looking at you cumming hard beneath the ministry of his prowess.
You knew that color crept into your cheeks, but you kept coming there. Kept eating the food he served, appreciating the way you never had to ask for a warm up on your coffee or extra cream. You knew what you wanted from him; that was half the reason you couldn't stay away even if you don't like that kind of complication.
Closing time came sooner than expected and you'd been bold enough to order glass after glass of wine. You were tipsy, drunk, wild with wanting. You couldn't help smiling at him, talking too loudly about having trouble with your keys and thinking you were too drunk to drive. It was a calculated effort aided by a little wine for bravery.
"Do you need a ride home?" he asked, strolling from his car over to yours.
An innocent shrug. "I don't usually drink wine."
He smiled. "I know."
You smiled back. "Yes, please."
He knew from the way you were looking at him. He started to ask directions to your place but was silenced when you started rubbing his thigh methodically back and forth. A glance and he knew what you wanted, what you needed.
He parked the car and got out, coming around to open your door. He offered a hand to help you out and you took the opportunity. His mouth was like heaven, tongue slipping, sliding deep, darting, hands molding your body to him, proving that the cock of fantasy was very much a reality.
Getting inside, getting the clothes off -- a mere shadow of a memory. He kicked the door closed and you and he made your way to the cool floor of the entry way, clothes dropping right and left, till you lay on your back with his thick, hot cock nestled between your swollen, wet lips. His mouth molded yours, then moved to suckle your luscious nipples, until they were tight and almost hurt, and still you arch to press each one during its turn into his delicious mouth.
He teased your clit, flicking it with his finger tip, rubbing it in slow circles, pressing that sweet little nubbin till you could barely breathe. Then he sank into you... at first only the head of his cock, wet and pressing ever so slightly into your aching tunnel, driving you to the point of no return, desperate cries dripping from your lips.
"Fuck me, please, please... oh-God! I need you inside! please!" you cried, loud, out loud, voice echoing in the quiet peace of the apartment.
How could he resist? He pressed into you, then a deep hard thrust, all the way. Deep in that dripping pussy. Pulled out, slow, while you squeezed, then deep, hard, again. He pressed his hands into the floor on either side of your head and your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, hands holding his ass, pulling him into you all the further with each thrust. Thick cock slick with your wetness, fucking you, answering your pleas. He fucked you hard, deep... hard dick buried in your desperate pussy... fucked you there on the floor till you thought your body was going to split in two.
Now you're here, you're lying in this bed. Your body aches a little from all the stretching and the thorough fucking from the floor to the bed, the bathroom... tired but not wholly satisfied.
You look at him and just the sight of him slumbering there gets your thighs slick. You reach over to him, sliding your hand under the covers, and take that lovely cock in your hand, jerking it gently to life, standing at half mast in your hand then, with some encouragement and some strong strokes, at attention and think about how you want to wake him up. |