You gift me a few more aching, arduouse, agonizing seconds, nd then break away. The abrupt removal of your firm, warm, mentholated lips (a mint on your way up, maybe?) and tongue from their intimate caressing of my own jerks me back to the reality of th current moment with an unwanted jolt. Like a dart piercing a high-flying, helium filled balloon, causing it to float down to earth & land lightly on the ground below.
“Wh…wha…what…What do you think you are DOING? HOW DARE YOU?!” I exclaim, wiping angrily at my mouth with the back of my hand-no doubt smearing my ruby red lipstick across my cheek & making myself look all the more guilty. I am more than complicit-I was, for a long moment-TOO long a moment-a willing & active participant in this crime. My body responding with the innate, inevitable surge of longing we are programmed for upon contact with a devilishly attract member of the opposite sex-yes, that much is true. But, also, that tiny screaming ego still alive in the back of my mind, insisting, “No! Stop! You aren’t this kind of person! This is wrong! WRONG!” and now, with scorn dripping from every word, “SLUT! HOMEWRECKER! How COULD you?!”, and then, the thought which makes me hang my head in shame, “If he hadn’t stopped, you would have willingly continued.”
Was it really guilt that made me ask that accusing question, ‘HOW DARE YOU?’…or was a merely hurt pride, a bruising of that archaic feminine need we all try to deny or ignore these days, but which still remains. That aching desire to be the “Most Attractive”, that deep-seated lust for attaining the status of “Most Desirable”. Like a public “America’s Next Top Model” hierarchy where from week to week, day to day, second to second, we feel in constant competion with the women around us. Yes, we LIKE to say that as a society, we have moved beyond all that trite, outdated, self-effacing bullshit (because, no matter what you ACTUALLY think, you can NEVER declare that you view your own self as attractive, NEVER not follow up another womans criticism of an aspect of her own features or figure without a yet-more deprecating criticism of ones own self), have we, really…? I rather think not. And,” I acknowledge to myself, in a moment of lucid self-realization & acceptance, “ I have always felt like the runner-up to my best friend.” With her long, blonde hair & long, tanned & toned legs to match, I, myself, short, curvy, dark-haired, have always felt , like the runner-up, in comparison with her.
So, perhaphs I DID find your attentions a bit flattering…But, I barely have time to develop this into a fully cohesive thought before I hear your phone, on speaker, ringing loudly, disruptively. “Who…what…who are you…?” I struggle to force my lips to form the thoughts racing through my head into an understandable sentence.
The answering machine takes over, and I recognize my girlfriends voice. “Thanks for calling, guess I must be busy right now…Sorry I missed ya, leave a message after the beep!” Her pre-recorded, chirpy voice shrills out into the room.
Finally, you dignify my attempted questions with some type of response.
“What do you THINK I’m doing? I’m seducing you…”, you chuckle. Once again tossing the phone aside, you stide towards me, just two long-legged steps bring you directly beside me. You sweep me off my feet-literally! Scooping me up in your strong arms, well-muscled & barely contained beneath the formal, starched button-up striped shirt you wear, you carry me to the bed and toss me unceremoniously down on top of it.
I am already half-naked, and you must have decided to match my state of undress, because you unbuckle your belt (I have never been able to figure out men’s belt buckles-I think they must be God’s response to women’s bra straps), and then unbutton & unzip your pants. You find the hem of my neglige with the fingers of your other hand, and push the thin, silky material up over my breast to pool in dark, oily spills about my neck.
Your pants are on the floor now, and you are checking to see if I am still wet for you. For a moment, you struggle with the buttons on your shirt, fumbling, then must have thought the better of it, for a second later, you are astride me, your cock replacing the area your fingers had inspected only a moment before.
You guide the head of your hard, well-proportioned dick (the grotesquely huge, unnatural cocks you see in porn have always disgusted me-who would want something that enormous & veiny inside of them???) inside my warm, wet pussy. You are about six inches long, reasonably thick, with a nice, firm head, and you fill me completely.
I inhale as you penetrate the mouth of my womanhood, and then let out a half-sigh, half-moan as you glide all the way up into me. You gaze down at me for a moment, your eyes blazing with a ferocious passion that excites me all the more. I have always longed for a man to look at me this way-like he wants to devour me. And the deliciousness of the fact that you are forbidden fruit-my best friends husband-only serves to arouse me all the more.
“Does that feel good, baby?” You ask me in a low, raspy voice, half croon & half growl.
“Yes…oh, God, yes…YES!” I moan, as you, apparently encouraged or perhaps excited by my ardent assent, begin to thrust in and out of me.
Slowly at first, then faster and faster, you plunge the length of your pulsing manhood in and out of my throbbing pussy. My warm, wet, pink walls open to accept you, expanding and contracting, the juices of my excitement wetting both my thighs and your cock, allowing you to glide so deeply into me it feels as though you are pushing on my belly button from the inside.
I can feel the culmination of my arousal welling within me, like a balloon about to burst, the pressure so intense I can hardly take it. “Don’t stop! Don’t stop! Don’t STOOOOOPPPPP…” I moan out, as I orgasm, more intensely than I have in longer than I can remember.
At the same time, you groan as your dick pulses & you spew your cum deep within the warm recesses of my body, and the lock on the hotel room door clicks open…
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