A fantasy: My heart jumped into my throat when I saw you ac..

A fantasy: My heart jumped into my throat when I saw you across the room. I thought you might be here at this party. But I didn’t expect this emotional reaction. Suddenly I’m aware of my pussy. I’m simultaneously hoping you’ll notice me and praying you don’t. We lock eyes and I know my face betrays me like it always does, the fucking traitor. “What were the odds of this?” I ask when you sidle up. I forecasting joke to nod at your weird-ass hobby. Then again, predicting the future accurately is pretty useful as hobbies go. You’re in some ways so practical and yet you can barely manage so much of the minutia of life. “Well, I wore my favorite shirt.” I smile, despite myself. You broke my heart, and, much worse, hurt my pride. But my pussy, she has no pride. In fact, she loves to make me debase myself. Beg for cock like a worthless, stupid slut. I try to reason with her but it’s for naught. She looks at your gorgeous thick black hair and full lips and light eyes and my brain involuntarily flashes back to what you look like when you’re inside me, getting close to filling me with reams of hot sticky cum. I want to flirt more while also wanting to go home and furiously masturbate. “Have you been here before?” You ask of the venue. I admit I haven’t, and you offer a tour. You take me up some stairs and I follow you down a hallway. I’m only looking at you when you open a door and gesture for me to go inside. I notice it’s a bathroom and turn around but you’re inside too and you lock the door before I get any words out. You look me in the eye, daring me to move. I step toward the door, which is also toward you, and you step toward me, put your hands around my waist, and kiss me deeply. You smell amazing and taste like you always do and I feel myself get damp immediately. I want to stop because fuck you. But I also can’t actually stop. It feels so good, and I can’t pry myself off your face except to pull back and look at you briefly before going in again. You’ve gotten better at kissing, and I remember you told me you were reading She Comes First. For someone you actually like, I think. It’s self-recrimination, but it’s not enough to get me to stop. I drown it out by pushing my throbbing pussy against you. You know what I’m doing immediately, subtle as I try to be. You learned how much I love dry humping on our first date after I came straddling your lap on a park bench in Delores Park after two cocktails at Wildhawk. I’m so close, but I don’t want to cum yet. I want to see your face in pleasure again first. I need to make you forget yourself. I want to make you whimper like you did when I blew you at the first sex party I took you to. I get on my knees and do just that. You’re just as hard as ever. Your erections were definitely in my top-5 things about you. I think about you cumming inside me, staying hard, and then fucking me to your second orgasm. I have to touch my pussy while I suck you. You stop me, pull me up to my feet and get down on your knees. “Please,” you say. I nod yes and you lift my dress. You know I’m not wearing underwear because I never do when I wear dresses. I cum hard on your gorgeous face, twice. Then you get up and spin me around, keeping your hand on my waist. You lift my dress again, and I start to protest. I am okay with fooling around a bit so I can cum. And now I’ve cum and I should go with some modicum of ego intact. I should deny you sex, but before I can say anything I feel your rock hard cock against my pussy and I’m immobilized. My head and my pussy are at odds. “No,” I say. But you push forward. “I’m sorry,” you say, sliding in, my extreme wetness making it trivial. “I need it,” you say, harkening back to when you would lose control and be capable of doing nothing but driving full-speed toward orgasm. I would resist, but I’m cumming too hard. I’m completely overwhelmed. Time stops.