Short Smut(3)

Maybe she knew, because she said, “It’s okay, baby. I’m here. I’ll always be here with you.”

And it was enough for me, so that I could lick tenderly at the smooth outer lips. Plant kisses on the fold between her legs and her mound. Warming her up for the true pleasure, worshipping her.

I made my way to her center, sliding my tongue through her pussy lips that were already slick. For me. She was always wet for me, ready to take me. I lapped up the moisture there, each new taste zinging straight to my cock where it pressed against the bed.

She opened to me, her sex slowly unfurling and her moans grew louder. I found her clit with my tongue, circled it, pressed against it with the flat of my tongue. My face was covered with her juices, and I pushed it farther, trying to enter her this way, push inside and join with her.

Her hips found a rhythm, and I knew she was close. I focused on her clit with fervor then, sucking it in the same beat.

“Oh God, hon. Oh God,” she cried, which was fucking hot. But it got even worse for me when she said, “Make it a good one.”

My brain short circuited, my whole body jerking, writhing, as I lashed at her clit with my tongue, forcing her into climax, while pushing my own desperate cock against the now-damp comforter.

I held my mouth against her until the last of the spasms shook her, until she twitched with every touch of my tongue. Even then, I dared one last lick at her opening, where her wetness still dribbled out. Savored the proof of her arousal, of the pleasure I had given her.

Then I rested my damp face against her leg, waiting for her next command. Hoping she would want to finish me off, or at least let me touch myself. Anticipating it, because she always pleased me.

Today was no exception, but instead of sucking me or wanking me off, she went to the drawer and pulled out an egg vibrator.

“Lie back,” she ordered. I fell back onto the center of the bed, my legs and arms spread, bound only by her wish. She climbed between my legs and examined my painful hard-on. It glistened at the tip, and pulsed when she bent over it.

She put the plastic egg right on the end, wiggled it around until it was covered in the wetness there.

“Go ahead,” she said. “Touch yourself.”

My hand flew to my cock. I slowly slid it up and down, unsure if this was allowed.

“That’s right,” she said. “Masturbate for me. But you aren’t allowed to come until I remove this.” With that, she flipped on the vibrator. It sent pleasurable pulses through my already throbbing cock. Combined with the steady stroke of my own fist, the pleasure was almost unbearable.

Up and down, and too soon I was ready to blow. But I couldn’t, not while she held the damned vibrating egg to my cock. My strokes grew jerky, almost pulling away from the vibe each time in their vehemence. Little sounds escaped me, whimpers maybe. Pleas definitely. Her eyes, though sated from her own release, twinkled at my predicament, making it harder to hold back.

She pressed the vibe down harder on the head of my cock, and my eyes rolled back. The pressure built through my balls, up through my cock like a goddamned volcano exploding, and then she lifted. For one second I thought it was my hopeful, desperate imagination, but no.

My eyes snapped to the sight of her licking the wet spot on the vibrator. “Finish it,” she said softly.

I exploded, wet bursts of cum all over the fucking place, my stomach, my own hand, the bed. Everything went black and muted and wonderful. When I came back to, I saw Melissa examining her hand, where a stray stripe of cum had landed.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “I’ll clean it.” With a washcloth or with my mouth, however she wanted.

But she cleaned it herself, with her tongue, then closed her eyes as if to savor the taste. My cock, soft against my thigh, twitched at the sight.

She noticed. “Ready for round two?”

A grating sound pulled me from my memories. I looked up from my desk. My temporary secretary cleared her throat again. I snapped my mouth shut from where it had hung open, and tried to remember her name. Bambi? That couldn’t be right.

She peeked over my desk at the bulge in my pants then smiled smugly. She propped her hand on her hip, pushing it out and pushing up her cleavage. Clearly she thought she was responsible for this. And she was, her damn lookalike shoulder, but not the way she thought.

“Need anything, Mr. Tripp?” She smirked.

Not from you. “No, thank you.”

“Are you sure? I’m at your service, you know.”

“Uh… I’m good. Why don’t you take the day off early?”

Well, I certainly wasn’t getting any work done in this condition, and she never did any work, period. Once I got my erection under control, I headed home to wait for Melissa’s call.