stains
“I am going to finger you now, but if you as much as breathe heavily I am going to stop and you are not going to get fucked tonight,” he tells me, his chin caressing my shoulder and his lips touching my ear lobe. I gasp for air and part my legs wider, as wide as I can part them without being noticed across the table. Oblivious, friends still talk about some country or a battle, and his index finger leaves my clit already coated with juice and pries its way between my labia, entering me without hesitation. It stings, but I don’t move. He rests for a while in there, letting my walls adjust to him before he starts moving it around, going as deep as he can inside me from this awkward, uncomfortable position. I want to shut my eyelids to concentrate on the feeling of having his finger inside me, but he knows me and orders me under his breath not to close my eyes, reaching for the glass of wine in front of him, and my eyes follow his glass to his lips, focused on the strong, thick strips of flesh and how delicately they touch the crystal. I shudder, because he is also touching me. He stops and turns his head, a stern look in his eyes. I lower mine and play with my food. “Eat,” he says, and I try. Before us, friends debate the elections. The moon. Sports. I just don’t care; my back is getting pearled with sweat from all the effort I have to make not to scream. I hold the fork hard between my teeth as he pumps his finger in and out of me slowly, only his hand moving under the napkin on my lap. From across the table I am just quiet, and he is just pensive. Nobody knows I am a frozen river, and he is stirring under me. Suddenly his hand brushes against my clit, and I let out a moan. Inadvertently. I beg in silence that he did not hear it, but his finger slides out of me, not without pressing on my clit for a second. The food in my mouth turns into stone, and I have difficulty swallowing. My cunt throbs even harder when he removes his hand from under my skirt and reaches for a cherry tomato on his plate; a wet finger takes it to his mouth; he sucks on it like I would suck on his cock, if he’d let me.
“I am getting up and excusing myself to go to the bathroom. Wait five minutes and follow me. I will be waiting.” The order was given straight into my stomach; I heard the fork dropping from my fingers and hitting the plate, as my interior contracted and even more juice flooded my underwear. When he got up, I could see his cock was hard under those jeans. Nobody else seemed to notice. War. Military. Inside me, a battle. How many minutes are five? How many cunt throbs fit into five minutes? My clit aches forever. I cannot count. I stand up in silence and place my napkin on the table. No one notices. Economics. Health care. My thighs are quivering as I walk towards him, my underwear soaked. I tighten the muscles on top of my legs and let out a muffled moan while I walk. Nobody notices, not even when I open the door to the man’s room.
It is a tiny bathroom and he is standing facing the door, smiling at me. “Close the door,” he signals with his head, his hands already undoing his zipper. My eyes are glued to him, and I part my lips as his cock is pulled out, hard and heavy, and I take one step towards it licking my lips. “Stop,” he says. “I want you to watch only. Take your panties off and watch me rub my cock in front of you.” As he says this, his hand cradles his shaft, and he starts to stroke it slowly. I lift my skirt hypnotized and slide my drenched underwear down my legs. “Hand them over to me, I am going to cum on them. And when I am done I want you to put them back on and return to the table with my cum soaking through your panties.” My knees melt, and I feel dizzy, and air escapes me while I hand him my underwear and witness as he takes it to his mouth and licks some of my juice from it.
“When we get home, I will fuck you from behind with your cum stained panties around your ankles, while you lean against the bathroom sink”, he says, rubbing the cotton bottom of my underwear on his purple, swollen head. “Can I touch myself while I watch you? Please?” I lean against the door and part my legs, my pubic hair being caressed by the fabric of my skirt. I am so turned on I could cum only with his gaze, but my cunt demands to be touched. “Yes,” he says, “you can touch yourself but you cannot cum. I want to make you cum later with my fingers and tongue.” I part my folds with careful fingers and slide two over my clit. “It is going to take me a lot of auto control not to cum,” I let him know, hoping for a prize. “You are a good girl. I am sure you can do it. Shut up now. Watch me.”
My fingers follow the rhythm of his hand. As he strikes his cock, my eyelids are heavy but I do not want to close them. He is maybe three feet away from me, and I can smell his cologne and his cock from where I am, and it just brings more saliva to my mouth. Unconsciously, I start sucking on my own tongue. He strokes his cock harder, looking at my face. He knows what I am doing. I slide two fingers where his own had been some moments before. A moan escapes my lips. “Do not orgasm,” he reminds me, “or there is no cock for you tonight.” I lick my lips and bite them, and stand still, feeling my own cunt pulsating around my fingers. He opens his mouth and breathes through it, and I can see precum oozing from the slit on top of his cock. He knows how much I love to bring it into my tongue, so he runs a finger over it, spreading the liquid over the head of his hard, swollen rod. I bite my lower lip and almost taste blood. “You like watching me, don’t you?”, his voice is hoarse. “You like to watch me masturbating to you, don’t you? You keep tasting this cock in your mouth while I do it, right? That is why you like it so much, isn’t it? The taste of my cock just takes over your mouth, doesn’t it?” And with every sentence he had my body jerking like crazy, stifled orgasm under control, and I wanted to cry so desperately I needed him. “Please, let me cum… please?”, I begged, but he shook his head and slapped his cock on his other hand, reminding me of how heavy it was. “No cumming,” and it reverberated through my body, my hand grasping my mound hard, clit being pressed between my labia, and I was so wet my palm was moist, and I took it to my lips and licked it and then he lost it, and grunted what I think was an order for me to look closer, and his cock started spurting cum over my underwear, the thick semen covering the bottom like white icing, and I sucked on my tongue so hard it actually hurt, while my eyes were licking the last drops of cum shooting from his engorged head.
He stood still for some time before wiping his cock on my panties, smiling. He did not bother to put it into his pants; instead, he kneeled before me and offered my underwear spread, the middle heavy with his cum. I touched his head and raised one leg, then another, and lift my skirt to give him room to slide the underwear up my legs. He did, but not without reaching for my cunt with his tongue first, pulling into his mouth a significant amount of wetness. The look in his eyes when he looked up at me made me gasp for air. His cold, thick cream in contact with my hot pussy threw chills down my thighs. He ran his hands down my legs and wrapped his fingers around my ankles, as if to remind me of where the underwear was supposed to be when he fucked me later. Only then did he stand up and put his dick inside his pants. I was exhausted. I could feel his sperm mixing with my own juices and spreading all over my cunt, penetrating my pubic hair, taking over a territory that – he knew – was his alone. “Can you walk?” he asked, as he unlocked the bathroom door. I might have nodded. He kissed me quickly in the cheek, and I could smell myself on his face before he made his way out of the bathroom, leaving me there. As I was walking back to the table, I was sure that, if I looked back, dogs would be following me.