A writer writes, always...  

FuzzyDad 56M
26 posts
10/19/2005 8:18 am

Last Read:
4/29/2008 8:47 pm

A writer writes, always...


I wanted to surprise you in the worst way, I never suspected the tide would turn.

I guess you didn't hear me come in. There weren't many lights on, but I could see the glow of the monitor coming from your room, and the scent of sandalwood incense was heavy in the air. I knew the kind of mood you were in when you called, this was going to be an interesting evening...

The door to your room wasn't entirely open, and I tried to sneak in quietly. You had a few candles lit, as well, and the shadows played on the walls, like so many spectres jostling each other for a better view.

All I could see of you was your leg propped up on the desk, and your one hand was beneath your yoga pants, slowly circling yourself. You had your headphones on, I couldn't make out what you were listening to. I didn't realize how hard watching you made me, so hard that it hurt, trapped under my jeans.

I knew you were in the chatroom, and someone must've caught your, um, attention, well. You were half-heartedly singing along with your CD, almost a whisper, but I could hear little catches in your breathing, as your fingers kept finding just the right spot.

Slowly, and out of your sight, I slipped my jeans off, and out I popped. You always had a way of making me hard, this topped them all. I knelt behind you, took myself by hand, and crept quietly to just behind and to the side of you. You were making little writhing movements in the seat, reaching your hand deeper in your pants and pressing just a little more insistently.

One thing that made me catch my breath was seeing how hard your nipples were under your shirt, the way it looked, bathed in the light of the monitor and candles, was almost more than I could bear.

I wasn't exactly sure what I wanted, but I did know I wanted to taste you, touch you, surround myself in your heat. Quieter than an evening breeze, I slipped under your leg, looked up, and slid my hand to your wetness. You nearly jumped through the ceiling, smacked my head for scaring you, and blushed a little that I found you this way.

You began to get up from the chair, but I pulled you back down, and got those pesky pants out of my way. I told you to keep typing, and I spread your legs as best I could. I could smell you and it made me shudder, neer could figure out which I loved more, the way you smell, or the way you taste. I know that I loved to make you wet, and started to work my lips up the inside of your thigh.

You slid down a little further, reached up and grabbed my hair, forcing my mouth to you. I wanted to prolong the act, tease and taunt you beyond reason, but you had other things in mind.
I latched myself onto you, my tongue flicking hard across you and sucking. I felt your thighs jump and shake with each lash against your spot, your sighs and moans pushed me beyond wanting to tease you, just wanting you to cum on my mouth.

Letting go of myself, I slide my hands under your ass, lifting you and pulling you harder against me. you wrap your legs around my neck and back and begin to move against my mouth, just the way I like you to. I squeeze your ass as you dance against me, my one finger finding its' way to the spot between your cheeks (I know you sometimes like it there, but I never force you) and press there, not entering.

I wanted to look up at you, to see your face rapt with the insane pleasure I so love to give you. Your eyes were shut tight and your mouth was open and quivering; your hand was squeezing your breast. I knew you were close to cumming (is that really a word???), and I slid my tongue into you as deep as it would go. I licked up and out, into you and over you, pressing against your hardness as I began to feel you spasm above me. I could feel the inside of you swell, pulsing with heat and wetness, then subsiding, wanting.

You lay your legs down on either side of me and pull me up to your mouth. We kiss deeply, your tongue tasting you in me. I pull you against me off the chair, holding you tight, then sliding you down until my hardness, after what must've seemed like an eternity to it, slides against, then into, your hot center.

I swear I can feel you pulling me deeper inside you, and I offer my help by holding your ass and moving you against me. My mouth finds your neck, that sweet spot just at the base of your throat, and I gently lick you there. Once more I can feel the inside of you clench me, like there was some other entity inside you silently insisting that I thrust deeper and harder.

It's almost more than I can stand myself, the urgency of your desire, like we hadn't fucked since lifetimes' past. I push the chair out of our way, reach onto your bed and pull the fuzzy blanket we both like to cuddle under, onto the floor. You pull me down, nails digging into my shoulders, a look in your eye that begged and promised more than the night could possibly offer.

Once again, and without guidance, I find you and slide as deep as your tightness will let me, and we resume our nocturnal dance...

to be continued, too...

rm_sj365 55F
2414 posts
10/20/2005 2:32 pm

a writer does indeed write. nice writing here. glad you're in the land of blog.


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