Open Minds

 I want you. I haven’t seen you in four days, seventeen hours, and approximately thirty-nine minutes, and my body is craving your touch. I’ve told you, via the all-too-convenient resources of the internet and the phone, how I’ve spent the week torturing myself. Sure, I attend classes, but you can bet that my mind has constantly been elsewhere. I’m always imagining what would happen if I came home from my sociology class and found you lounging on my futon, or what would happen if I happened to run into you while taking some dark, rarely-traveled shortcut back to my dorm. Would you shove me back against a wall, your grip tightly holding my wrists above my head, forcing my breasts to be pushed out toward you? Knowing, reveling in your advantage, would you kiss leisurely from my fingertips, to my wrists, to the soft underside of my elbow, to my bare shoulders . . . then expertly part the material that shields my breasts, gingerly tug the cup down, and breathe softly over my nipples, smiling as they hardened and begged for your attention?

Would you cover one with your mouth then, or would you torture me, lick slowly, hotly, the underside of my breast? You might lick right up until I can again feel your breath on my pebble-hard nipple. Maybe you’d circle it lightly with your tongue, listening as I panted and begged and enjoying every second of my bittersweet torment. Finally, finally, would you slip my nipple between your smooth lips and suck, God, suck on it until you feel my hips bucking unwillingly and my arms are fighting to be released, to hold your head just where I want it? You’d stop too soon – it’s always too soon, and it’d be purposeful. You’d know exactly how aroused I was, you’d see the passion building in my eyes, the desperation, the hope that an exhilarating climax wasn’t too far off. And you’d stop, lean back, and smile. My nipple would be glistening wet, and I’d be pleading for you to return your attentions to it, but at that point, you’d probably point out that we were in much too public an area to continue in such a manner.

Thoughts of murder wouldn’t last too long in my mind.

I’ve told you how this entire week, I’ve been fingering my throbbing clit every chance I’ve gotten, thrusting my friendly lotion bottle in and out until I nearly cry out, but I’ve never let myself come. I’m almost desperate for an orgasm, but I didn’t, baby. I’d promised you I wouldn’t.

I’ve told you, haven’t I, how I’ve been rubbing my own breasts, pinching my nipples and twisting lightly, but it never feels close to as good as it does when you do it. All you have to do is brush your fingers lightly over a breast, even over three layers of clothing, and my nipples tighten. Merely covering my breasts with your hands, feeling how they fill them, just holding them, makes my body heat up. I swear I wasn’t this hot before you, baby.

I’ve thought of kissing you. Honest, just kissing. Your mouth amazes me, astounds me. I’ve always thought that claiming one “melted on the spot” was a mere figure of speech, but you won’t believe what my insides are doing the moment your mouth begins to manipulate mine. And, good God, what happens when your mouth begins its hot, moist trail down my neck, covering the cuff of my ear . . .

But today, baby, today I get to see you, I get to touch you,
and Lord, how I want to. I’m tired of using the damn lotion bottle as a substitute cock. I want the real thing, baby, and I want it to be yours.

We’d decided to meet for lunch. Well, okay, wrong terminology. We’d decided that you’d pick me up for lunch, and you do, right on time. Only somehow, I manage to convince you (and personally, I don’t think it took too much convincing) that we’d be much better off just grabbing some Wendy’s or something and eating it at your house. In your bedroom. Clothing is optional.

We arrive, we eat. I barely taste my lunch. You’re wearing your tight black T-shirt, the one that emphasizes your deep island tan and the muscles in your arms, and I wanted to jump you the moment I saw you.

I’m wearing a tank-top and a jean skirt, my feet curled beneath me in an unusually ladylike fashion. We’re already sitting on your bed, and eventually all of the food is packed into a garbage bag and shoved away. You start changing the channels on the TV. You’re hardly paying attention to me, but I haven’t waited almost five days to have you ignore me. I crawl up behind you, intending to kiss your neck and ears – y’know, rev your engine a little. When my mouth hits your skin, you tilt your head forward a little, allowing me better access. I speed up my kisses, slide my tongue behind your ear, enjoy the moan it elicits. My hands slip under your shirt to play with your nipples, and you push me back and just yank the shirt off.

I crawl around into your lap, raining kisses down your neck, shoulders, and chest. My fingers find your left nipple and squeeze, rolling the sensitive point between them. I can see that its having the desired effect on you and allow my right hand to drop and fondle the results that are still hidden beneath your zipper.

Somewhere in the middle of this you manage to peel off my shirt, but the moment it’s off I just continue. At last my mouth covers your nipple, and you groan, your hands skimming over my body, stroking my breasts absentmindedly but effectively. “Baby,” you gasp, then pull me up, meshing our mouths in a hot, hungry kiss. “Kneel.”

I obey, kneeling on the floor and unzipping your pants the second you step in front of me. I drag them down, along with your boxers, and find myself rewarded by your hard, pulsing cock. I smile, then lick slowly up and down the shaft, teasing the head until it moistens. My kisses ease back down to the base, my lips caressing your balls gently, and your head rolls back in pleasure. My hot breath is all over your cock but not encasing it, and your hips are starting to thrust just slightly. I know you want to fuck my mouth, and I relish the slight power I hold. “Baby,” I whisper, my hands massaging over your thighs before I let one of them ease between your legs. Your breath catches as my hand slithers over your cock, your balls, and to the small spot that I know you like to have touched.

“Y-yeah?” Your response stutters out.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Jesus.” You grab the back of my head, pushing me forward until your cock is pressing against my lips. “Please, come on.”

“Well.” I lick the tip, as if seeing whether I like the flavor or not. “I don’t know.”

“Please.”

Well, I never could resist your politeness. Your cock thrusts in past my lips, and you shudder as my tongue slithers over the skin. You fuck my mouth hard, gripping my shoulders in an attempt for balance. It’s not very long before you gasp, “Fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum –“ and I let your cock slip out of my mouth and pump my fist up and down over it. Your cum splatters all over my breasts, and I feel so dirty, such a bad girl, and so hot, the warmth of it dripping down over my nipple.

You collapse on the bed, and I grab a towel and quickly clean both of us off. I stand up next to the bed, tossing the towel onto
the floor before glancing at you.

You’ve recovered quite miraculously, your composure complete and your cock still standing tall. Before I can comment however, I find myself thrown face-first onto the bed.

You drag my hips up, letting my face remain buried in the sheets. I decided against panties today – what can I say, I was feeling frisky – so when you shove my skirt up around my waist, I feel so exposed, so . . . naughty? No one’s ever seen what you’ve seen. No one’s ever seen my ass in nearly the same manner, with my head down and it prominently displayed to your judgment. You spread
my legs just slightly, and I feel so hot – I love feeling like a bad girl – and at the same time scared, afraid that the view really doesn’t deserve the attention it’s getting.

Fortunately I have little time to dwell on that. I’m expecting your cock to slide up into my pussy, which, despite of the lack of foreplay specifically designed for me, I know is dripping wet. That’s probably why my entire body spasms as your tongue comes from behind and lightly flickers over my clit.

“Wh-what are you doing?” I manage, each of my hands gripping the opposite arm.

“Exactly what you want me to,” you reply, and then you don’t say anything else for a long time. Your tongue is no longer occupied; two of your fingers are merely running from the top of my slit (just above my clit) and all the way, well, up, almost touching the other entrance but not quite. You do this for quite a while, ignoring, or maybe savoring, my begs to have your mouth apply its skill to my poor pussy. I try to tell you that I need it, because I do, it feels like I haven’t cum in forever, but you don’t respond, just continue to skim your fingers up and down, getting a little further up every time.

My body is shuddering constantly now, your fingers don’t even have to be grazing my swollen clit, but God, it’s not enough. “Please,” I mumble into the sheet. “Oh, baby, now . . .”

My system receives the shock of its existence when your mouth suddenly closes over my clit and begins to suck. I’m moaning and writhing now, and you have to use both your hands to keep my hips from sinking to the mattress. “Oh, just fuck me, baby, please,” I cry, my hands fisting in my hair. “God, just do it, baby.”

You continue to alternately suck on my clit and lick it with your tongue while you smoothly slide two fingers into my lonely cunt. “Baby, oh, God!” I’m gasping, begging for more, more, and I don’t even know more what until you ease a third finger into my pussy. But as quickly as it was there, it was gone, and I feel a distinct sense of loss until I feel it pressing against the very hole that used to provide my secret, naughty entertainment.

With the slickness from my pussy coating your finger, it slid inside with more ease than I’d thought it would, and I have to cover my head with a pillow to muffle the moans – more like screams – that are pouring out of me. It feels so good, so different but incredible, and after giving myself a moment to adjust, I start saying, “Faster, baby, come on, harder, God, I need to cum, oh, baby . . .”

I think I stopped making any sort of sense at all, but at that point I could care less. I had your mouth on my clit, two fingers in my cunt, and one up my ass. I was in bliss. My breathing was coming so fast that I was afraid I was going hyperventilate, and I just started moaning every dirty thought that came to mind, and I mean dirty . . . your fingers slammed into me one more time, your tongue gave one last intense suck, and my body couldn’t take it anymore. I came, the climax flooding through my system in a wake of explosions, and I didn’t think I’d ever felt anything so incredible.

Afterward, I rolled over onto my back, afraid I wouldn’t be able to breathe otherwise. You were gingerly licking my cum off of your fingers (not the one that was up my ass, however, we do have limits :).

“Why’d you move?” you asked me, your gaze calm as it met mine.

I gave you a look that meant that I thought you had to be nuts to even be asking.

“Hey,” you protested, finished licking your fingers. God, I thought that was amazingly hot as well . . . not quite as hot as when you sucked mine clean after I’d fingered myself, but I thought it was so fucking sexy. “I believe you were just begging me to jam my cock up your ass. Baby, I’d hate to disappoint.”

For a moment I’m confused, then realize that when I had been rambling on with every dirty thought that had ever entered my dirty mind, my focus area had definitely been anal sex. Good God, I thought. I’d never crossed that barrier before . . . but hey, look what one finger helped accomplish.

It only took me a second to get back into position.