I was roused from a Saturday afternoon couch nap by an insistent knocking on my apartment door. Rubbing my face to wipe out the sleep stripes, I glanced at the television to see a golf match. Huh. I must have really gone out. Last I remembered there was a ball game on. Who watches TV golf?
I've been in this apartment since my divorce about a year ago. It's not the big suburban home we had, but it's no hovel. Plus, no lawn chores, no snow removal, no repairs. Life's got tradeoffs, and if this is what it costs to end a bad marriage, well, I'm doing better than her. Lucky for us, no kids.
I opened the door to an unexpected sight: the wife of one of my co-workers, Mike, nicely turned out in a slinky cocktail dress and heels. She wasn't exactly tapping her foot, but you could see she was revving. I struggled in my stupor to figure out why she was here. I mainly remembered her because she was the hottest of all the office spouses. Had I forgotten a meeting? Did she need help?
"Marie, hey, ah, what are you ... I mean, how are you? What's going on? Is Mike OK? Are you OK?"
She eased her way past me into the apartment. From the way she scanned the room I think she'd expected bachelor squalor, but that wasn't my style. A decorator had supplied me with 'tastefully understated masculine' to the tune of a few thousand, and I kept it shipshape. Well, dusted.
As she checked the place out, I did the same to her. Five-five, 110 lbs or so, styled red-blonde hair, about my age at thirty-four. Nice trim shape, a runner's body with B-cup tits, strong calves, tight ass. Easy to see because she was dressed to show it, ready for a night out followed by a morning in. And if those pokies were any clue, not encumbered by feminine undergarments.
She stopped and half-turned to me. "John, would you say I'm fuckable?"
I was not ready for that. I mean, would you be? Plus, I was still muzzy from the doze, so my response was a bit below par. Ok, well below par. In fact, it was a gaping stammer, a slack-jawed, mumbling "Wha huh?"
She displayed some impatience. "Am I attractive, John, sexually desirable, somebody men would like to take to bed... ? You know, fuckable?"
"Well, shit Marie, sure you are. You know that. Men must hit on you all the time. Lots of guys would love to be in Mike's pants. Shoes. 'Fuckable' is weak, you're better than that, but sure, you're a ten in my book." What the hell was this? I looked around for the crew from Punk'd.
"Then prove it." She turned her back to me. "Zip me out of this dress, take me somewhere and fuck me."
I'm slow sometimes, but when you get my attention I can focus OK. Marie had my attention. Why did I just obey? I don't really know. Maybe when a sexy woman says 'fuck me' it short-circuits the male brain. I lowered the zipper to her waist, revealing a soft, tanned back and confirming the absence of a bra. She shrugged off the sleeves and wriggled a delectable ass out of the bottom half. And still by god, no sign of underwear.
She pivoted, took a step back, and struck a hip-shot pose wearing only her heels. Hell yeah fuckable, and of course she knew it. She had a fox-faced cuteness, with the slightly close-set eyes and direct gaze that suggested intimacy. Perky tits above a smooth torso, tapering to a slim waist that flared to hand-hold hips. Her muff was neatly trimmed and bikini waxed, a half shade darker than her head. Yep, I'd say fuckable. Damn.
I must have stared too long. "Well, John? Do I rate? Ah, yes, that bulge tells me I do. Your turn now, get out of those pants and show me your, ah, appreciation."
She flicked open my belt, zipped me down and pulled the jeans to my ankles. No fooling, I think she'd had some practice. She was right about the bulge, the tent in my briefs could've housed a Tuareg caravan. I helped by yanking off my tee and tossing it aside. Least I could do. When she stripped off my BVDs she almost got slapped by the sproing of a dick. Then she stood and kicked away her pumps, and we were both as naked as could be.
"Mmm, nice one," she said as she reached for my cock. I pulled her close and leaned down (6'2" vs 5'5") to kiss her inviting mouth. I wasn't sure where this had come from, but I was now sure where it was going. She kissed like she meant it, hot and passionate, our tongues searching out and twining, lips slick and greedy. Yowzah.
Her hand never lost its grip. She stroked and tugged, working me to high arousal. I was iron-hard, blood-purple and randy as fuck. She was obviously just as hot, probably even before she knocked on the door. The scent of an aroused woman wafted up from her pussy, and a brush of my hand showed she was already way slippery.
Half my brain was still trying to process. Five minutes ago I was nodding, and Marie was just a nodding acquaintance, someone I'd chat with (and OK, ogle) at the odd company event. Now she was here and we were naked, her pebbly nipples hard against my chest as we chewed each other's faces off. What. The. Fuck.
She broke the kiss. "Bedroom," she whispered hoarsely. "Now. Fuck me."
Short circuit. So we went. I made sure to latch the door in case this was some elaborate setup. I'm not usually paranoid, but, you know? I turned off the golf game too. That shit's just embarrassing.
We stumbled into the bedroom, which I'll bet she didn't even notice was as tastefully appointed and artfully masculine as the living room. She led me to the bed where she flopped onto her back, spread her legs and raised her knees in invitation.
"Do it, John. Show me how fuckable I am." Again with the fuckable. I was starting to sense a pattern.
I almost jumped right on, and yes that would have been fine, because she'd just asked for it. But the sight of her wet and open snatch, plus some experience with women, diverted me. I knelt at her feet and lowered my face to her bush. I worked my tongue around her parts, avoiding the pearl for now, and she clamped my ears in a fleshy vise.
A low, rising growl signaled that I'd chosen wisely. Her sounds became more rhythmic when I worked two fingers into her and teased my tongue along her clit hood. I pumped in and out with a slight curl to prime her G spot as I pressed on the bud. The combination proved explosive. She made me glad I'd chosen a building with good soundproofing. Ah, Jesus loves a howler.
I eased her off the peak, diminuendo. After a few minutes she was back on earth and limp as a string.
"Holy shit, John ... shit. How, where, what the fuck did you just do? Do you teach that? What did you touch in there?"
I am modesty itself. "Girl, I just took you where you were already headed. And what a tasty ride. I know you're too sensitive right now, but I could go for seconds later."
"Maybe way later. That was awesome, but I'm not here to find out if I'm lickable. Here, let me wet you up and we can answer the big question."
I hadn't lost any of my heft, but if I had, her oral talents would have revived me in a hurry. She knew as much about sucking cock as I knew about eating pussy, which is plenty. But I didn't want to conclude things like this. I wanted what she wanted, even if I already knew the answer.
"Ease up, Marie, it's real tempting to just fuck your face but you've got more to explore. Flip over and I'll do you doggy."
"Oh, John, in a minute. First just lay me back, pin me down and fuck me like a caveman."
I've heard worse ideas. One caveman coming up.
Way less than half my brain was still questioning things. Whatever else, she was here to get laid. Clearly she had some sort of agenda (duh, ya think?) but right this second it didn't matter one bit what it was.
I squished the head of my dick around her slit to lube it with her juices, making her squirm and thrust to get me inside. I lined up at the pulsing hole and pushed steadily in, watching her gaze turn inward as she gaped at the intrusion. She was tight, tight as any pussy I've ever had, but the foreplay, and whatever brought her here, made my entrance easy.
"Jesus, John, that is so fucking good. You feel huge. Is there more?"
There was a little more. I'm not big by porn standards, I'm not even the biggest guy at the gym (sure I peek. You don't?). But I know I'm thicker than most, and anyway, once you can reach bottom, length isn't an issue. Besides, it's not like something you can take credit for.
I held her down at the shoulders as requested, and started a slow but increasing tempo, rotating at the hips, the motion they used to call 'sweetback'. It allowed me to lean down and suck her lovely tits. The nips were still rock hard, with a delicious salty taste. Some women don't care for this during sex, but Marie loved it, out loud. Plus, this angle gave better friction between our um, special parts.
She took up a grunting, guttural chant of "Fuck, fuck me," or sounds to that effect. This kept on for five minutes or so, until we'd reached a nice combination of speed and power. Each stroke slapped our bodies together right at the critical junction, which is what she needed to reach climax.
She was still a howler. "Oh, fuck!" she shouted, redundantly, as she urged me close with arms and scissored legs, pressing her crotch up to me as she shuddered and twitched out a long, pulsating orgasm, one that clamped my dick in waves, as though milking out my seed. No mistake, that one was real.
Her pussy slowly relaxed its grip as the pleasure subsided, and I resumed a slow, steady motion.
"Christ, John, you didn't come? That was ... I don't know ... amazing, better than anything. Oh god, you're still fucking me!"
.... There is more of this story ...