No listening notes
The Story
“The hardest part of a broken heart,” she said, apropos of nothing, “Isn’t the ending so much as the start.”
“That’s Feist,” he said. “Great track. Now, get over here.”
She snorted a laugh and stalked towards him.
“You know that soon they’ll wonder where we’ve gone,” he said.
“But they’ll never think to look in here!”
She was probably wrong about that, but as quickly as they had slipped apparently unobserved into the side room, they were now upon one another. His hands quickly found her soft breasts struggling under her bra, and she had her hands inside his shirt, stroking at his chest, her fingers coursing through the hair and thrilling to the heat of his body. Realising he needed rescued from his pawing at her chest, she loosened the shoulder straps and eased the cups up and out of the way, knowing how viscerally he needed to suck on her nipples. It always bemused her, but she always found herself looking, watching him suckle at her, wondering what instinct drew him to them, and marvelling at how it seemed to make her cunt tingle with a need to be fucked. Such thoughts!
He knew they didn’t have time, so he switched to the more important job of determining how best her skirt could be made get out of the fucking way. When seconds mean everything and when time is desperately of the essence, the essential need is to spend less time pissing about with clothing and more time making it drop to the floor. He was on his knees now and she was leaning against the chest freezer, her legs spread as far as she could, holding up the skirt and letting him get on with his oral fixation. And this, she completely understood.
She felt his urgency, his deep satisfaction as he licked at her lips and kissed her mound; she knew he wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to slide his tongue inside her before he did what he was good at, sucking on her clit. It was for this, his solid head game, and the excitement she knew she could arouse in him, that she kept him around. He would do anything for the opportunity to taste her, to feel her sticky, slippery wetness and, she knew, to experience the scent of her lingering on his nose and face. He was a greedy little bastard, and she was here to feed him. It amused her. And it felt incredible to have that power.
Time was, however, marching on, and the sounds of footsteps outside reminded her of the need to keep things moving. Whilst she loved the sensation of his eager mouth, on this occasion it wasn’t what she was here for. She took him firmly by the hair and stood him up, then bent herself, face first, over the freezer, presenting her now soaking vulva and ass to him. She knew him well enough by now. She heard the sound of his belt connecting with the concrete floor and then felt the sensation of his stiffening prick like up with her; she reached under and guided him into her and then she tugged on his hip to pull him inside her. He penetrated her slowly, as she knew he would; he had told her often enough about his delight at watching her skewered on his shaft, how her flesh yielded and co-operated with his need to see the beauty of the moment. She indulged him for almost twenty seconds, as he drove into her all of five times. She had indulged him enough.
“I don’t fucking know why I only love being fucked from behind like a fucking animal,” she said. “But I know I love how big your cock feels inside me. I’m such a fucking slut, aren’t I?” she demanded, and the fact of a momentary pause between her words and his meant that, for sure, she had him.
“You’re nowhere near as slutty as I need you to be,” he intoned, breathily aware of the game she was playing.”
“I need you fucking me to make me feel like a real woman,” she said. “Make me your slut.”
He took hold of her hips and thrust into her with all the reassuring brutality he could muster at the moment without wishing to make too much noise; he was into a rhythm into which she agreeably pushed back, and he thrilled to the feeling of her demanding more than he could give; he did what she was demanding of him and fucked her harder.
If he could have seen her smile; the smug grin of a woman who knows she had him hooked, drunk on her overwhelming sexuality, and doing his level best to fuck more filthy language out of her. She obliged.
“That’s fucking right, give this little slut cunt everything you have. I need your cock to fill my slot. Make me yours, baby!”
He thrust and withdrew, thrust and withdrew until he was out of breath and ideas; he rattled the freezer and shook the shelves; she noted the passing of time, pushed him out of her and knelt in front of him.
“Will you finish in my mouth?” She asked. She tugged him by his cock towards her and ostentatiously licked and kissed his shaft, until she felt his building climax and engulfed him in her mouth. He placed his hands on her shoulders, because they had already discussed how she wouldn’t tolerate his hands on her head as she sucked him; she needn’t have worried; suddenly his hands were fists as he tried to fight the inevitable. She looked him in the eyes and begged him to cum for her and he did; she counted seven gushing spurts of his cum in her mouth, which she swallowed down as quickly as she could; he stifled a moan; she kissed his shaft, stood up and kissed him ; he could taste his spunk on her tongue, and she savoured the moment.
She kissed his cheek, refastened the bra and straightened herself in the reflection from the window. He pulled up his trousers, fastened his belt and took a swig from his bottle; she grabbed the bottle and swirled some round her mouth.
“That was fun,” he laughed, in astonished orgasmic remembrance. She agreed, blew him a kiss and returned to her pew.