tagLesbian SexMy GF; Fucking & How We Met Ch. 03

My GF; Fucking & How We Met Ch. 03

byLesbianChickLit©

Continuation of "My GF; Fucking & How We Met" and not recommended as a standalone work.

Fictional story containing graphic lesbian sex.

Sex sections are bookended with "~~~" again.

Quick recap: Leading slutty pierced chick in purple cheetah skirt from Nic's girl bar in Seattle to my car after receiving oral to clear my head of the lovely blonde girl I helped...


*

I did relent and lend her the pocket square to clean the cum off her face before we walked out. Partially because I'm really not quite that much of an asshole, but mostly because she already looked like a whore between the miniskirt, 5" heels, makeup, and crop top. Nic stepped out and toasted me as we left. I told her fuck off again, pretty sure she just had.

I led the chick quickly to the parking garage, where Matt the valet nodded appreciatively and apprehensively.

"Hey Matt, can I get my keys from you?" I was more than ready to get to the elevator.

~~~"Hell yeah," He grinned wolfishly with this confirmation of my intentions after the earlier tease of when I brought the blonde girl home, and handed me the keys to my convertible.

"You should tip him," I said to the drunken slut beside me.

"I don't have any money."

"Give him your thong then, slut. You won't be needing it."

She blushed scarlet, but immediately wrapped an arm around my neck for balance and shimmied out of one of the tiniest thongs I'd ever seen. Even it was leopard print. She handed it to a delighted Matt with a sheepish grin and I led her to the elevator.

It was an old-fashioned 8' by 8' cage elevator that we rode to the third floor before I hit the lock button to keep the door closed. The muzak version of "The Wanderer" by Dion and the Belmonts played over the elevator speakers.

"Assume the position." She grabbed the cage door with each hand and stuck out her ass, clearly understanding what was wanted of her.

I stepped behind her and pressed three fingers inside her pussy with no resistance. She was wet as a spring rain.

I unzipped and pulled out my nine inch strapon and smoothly slid four inches into her loose vagina before she tightened drastically further in. I pulled back a bit, then used a grip on her nipple rings for leverage to slowly insert four more inches (my jeans buffer the last half inch). I could feel her stretching to accommodate the strapon, so I was careful keep the last half inch out.

Unfortunately for me, she was so very loose that the base of the strapon didn't consistently stimulate my clit no matter what angle or speed I tried. What choad had this woman been fucking? I gave up after a few minutes and pulled out. I could fix it at the car, but wanted to get off right away.

"Please, don't stop? I didn't cum yet." She turned her head and whined to genuinely object to my stopping.

"I don't really care, do I, bitch? Suck me off." I answered tactfully and backed up to the wall of the elevator.

She turned and dropped to her knees in front of me, taking the head of the fake cock in her mouth. To give her due credit, her technique looked like it probably felt outstanding. She swirled her doubly pierced tongue over the mushroom end and ran it up and down the underside of the shaft. I'm sure that I'd be utterly thrilled if I had any nerve endings in the strapon, but the fake cock obviously felt none of her spectacular efforts. Fucking straight girls, right? It's any port in a storm that late on a Friday night, but I don't understand the appeal generally.

Naturally, I took hold of her hair and tried to bob her head on the strapon, however her gag reflex kicked in as soon as the tip touched her throat. Seriously, who had she been fucking? What straight chick is that orally talented and can't deepthroat?

I called her a good slut and told her to lie on her back on the floor. There was no reason to make her feel inadequate. It's not her fault that her boyfriend lacked the equipment and I lacked the patience to teach her. Anyway, I had told her that I wasn't done using her face.

As she settled herself, I unstrapped and de-pantsed over my boots, then straddled her head facing her feet. I grasped the cage door behind me with one hand, leaving the other free to unbutton her top for a view of her large pierced knockers. Her breasts were plainly plastic, but substantial and charming nonetheless. I played idly with one of her nipple rings, then leaned further forward to find I could play with her labia rings too.

Her tongue actively sought my clit this time and she sucked hard on it right away. Not subtle, but learning. I broke the suction immediately by rising a few inches off her face.

"Use your tongue and keep up with me. I'll tease your tits while you do well and jerk your cunt rings when you don't."

Abruptly, I lowered myself back to her waiting tongue. She intensified her exertions and had me penduluming back and forth across her. I repeatedly excited myself anally on her sharp nose and clitorally on her sharp chin. Her pierced tongue snaked about inside my pussy, finding and exploiting sensitive nerves as I toyed more and less emphatically with her hardened nipples.

Soon her face was slick with my secretions and I rode astride her like a mechanical bull. Her tongue pulled out briefly to lick among my folds, but I tired of that almost instantly and my hand left her tit and tugged sharply on her labia rings. Just as instantly, her tip and barbell piercing returned to my tunnel. A second tug brought her back when she became too agitated by the index finger drawing her nipple so taut that her hefty breast was lifted off her chest entirely while the thumb and middle finger rubbed the sides of her rubbery nipple. A few minutes later, just my hand moving off her breast as I leaned my weight forward reinvigorated her when she slackened momentarily. Not exactly Pavlov's dog, but damned closed.

My orgasm built steadily and I began bearing down forcefully onto her face, no longer concerned with her nipple or labia rings. She seemed to sense the upcoming event and started thrusting her stiffened tongue into me to the tempo I set riding her face.

I leaned back on my heels, sinking her nose deep in my ass as I erupted in a more powerful than anticipated orgasm and covered her face in my cum again.

It required a few seconds for me to return to my feet. I was re-strapped and fully clothed (dick out) before she had caught her breath and began to sit up. I stepped over and helped her to feet as well. I think she had expected me to return the favor, but that wasn't going to happen.

Performing oral on either gender doesn't interest me. I do get gratification out of being the one who makes a paramour come that way. But when a quick trick will let me fuck her any way I please, giving head doesn't make the list. In fact, although I liked playing puppeteer with her hardware and wanted her as wet as possible for fucking, any orgasm for her would be incidental to my own. She probably should have masturbated herself earlier, but was new to cunnilingus and mayn't have had the concentration required for both.

I buttoned up her top before I led her by her collar into the third level parking lot. Not for the sake of her modesty, but so her nipple piercings wouldn't scratch my paint job. The garage is poorly lit enough to be pretty concealed in and of itself, but I also knew that no other customers were allowed in the parking lot.

My coming in was a deal I'd worked out with Matt -- and Warren who worked Friday nights too -- in exchange for respectable tips and occasional souvenirs. I imagine they've both watched and wanked off as well, but I don't especially care. Aside from them, complete privacy. But she didn't know that and, since exhibitionism and the risk of being caught both apparently turned her on, I didn't disabuse her of her misconception.

"The black Jaguar with the top down is mine. Bend over the hood and hold onto the windshield wipers." I had a few items to gather from the glove box.

"Here? We aren't going to your place?" Her sham objection and thrilled tone were duly noted.

"Bitch, I said we were going to my car, not to my home. Now bend the fuck, over the fucking hood, and fucking hold, the fuck onto, the fucking windshield wipers."

Legs spread wide, she beamed back at me from across my hood while I reached in and unlocked my glove box. I wrapped two snap buns on the base of the strapon. (They're hair accessories, soft and thick enough to take away that last half inch.) I brought back a very thick -- but short -- butt plug and a set of lined cuffs. Then I kicked her feet further apart to keep her literally and figuratively off-balance.

I brought each of her arms behind her back and cuffed her wrists together with no complaints. She made the same show of balking when I rolled her skirt up over her tramp stamp.

"What's wrong? Afraid someone will see you? Ass out, cuffed, getting fucked from behind in a public garage? Maybe someone who'll recognize you? And tell your boyfriend what a whore you are?"

"Yeah," She breathed out, licking her lips. Sober it may have been a real fear, but -- in her tipsy state -- being caught by an acquaintance appeared to be a fantasy.

After lubricating the plug in her still dripping pussy, I rather unceremoniously pegged it into her willing ass to her surprise and enjoyment. Of course the purpose was my enjoyment, to tighten her pussy foyer so I'd feel the pressure of my end of the strapon seated snugly against my clit. The oral had been fun, but I really needed to fuck somebody.

I lined up her end of the strapon with the entrance to her pussy and drove it in to the padded hilt. The butt plug produced the desired effect of a formfitting velvet sheath and the snap buns allowed me to fuck her without the worry of stretching her.

I pounded her.

Her hips bucked back to meet my turbulent thrusts. I rumbled and roared with the pleasure crashing onto my clit. She emitted a sexy mixture of sighs and little grunts, with a steady stream of verbalizations nearly as obscene as the sloppy sloshing sounds of her pussy.

"Oh fuck, so deep, keep, yeah, fuck, fuck, fuck, so fucking deep, fuck, keep fucking me, oh fuck, deep, fuuuuuuck, so, fuuuuuuuck!"

She came almost right away, although I only realized because I felt the dampness seep in through my jeans onto my thighs. I kept sawing in and out of her inviting snatch long after I felt her second orgasm add to the wet spots on my jeans.

I began verbalizing fairly extensively and more coherently as my ardor rose.

"Mmmm, take it! Your slackass boyfriend doesn't fuck you like this, does he? Damn you're good, bitch! Should get better, fucked better all the time! Keep moving your ass! Hooooooooooooh!

My climax overtook me without warning as plunged into her. I waves of pleasure rolled through me and I collapsed on top of her, strapon still inside.

I uncuffed her and brought her arms back above her head, then half-stood and half-laid in her for a fifteen minute break while we both regained ourselves. 3:53 by my watch when I recovered myself. Still time for a bit more, if we could find the energy.

My body was good for at least one more round, but she had consumed considerably more alcohol than me and definitely didn't have athletic sex regularly. Her legs were shaky just lying on the hood of my car.

Seeing her half naked with the butt plug peeking out was far too tempting and I decided to spank her sexy round ass and her dripping pussy while she rested. An effective way to wake someone back up, no?

I returned to my glove box for a small paddle and a pussy whip. Neither is designed to deliver pain. The paddle is wrapped in a layer of wadding and covered in patent lamb leather, so it makes a loud slapping sound but doesn't hurt much. The pussy whip is a short loaded riding crop, but loaded with foam. So again, loud, but not overly painful. They're primarily useful for increasing blood flow to erogenous zones. Also, the rosy pink color makes me happy.

She'd roused fully on her own by the time I'd picked the toys out. A wide smile with her tongue sticking out slightly told me that she may have needed to be fucked more than I needed to fuck someone.

"Do you like to get spanked?" I held up the paddle and whip questioningly.

"Yeah." She looked back at me, eyes clouded over with lust. Arms free and legs wide, she made no attempt to roll her skirt back down and she wiggled her ass welcomingly at me. I drew the plug about halfway out, so that it was even with her pliant cheeks

I brought the paddle down smartly on her upturned ass. First one cheek, then the other.High on the crevice, then low on the underside to cause a charming jiggle. A gasp of delight punctuated each whack, but a disproportionately large number of the swings landed squarely on the rubber end of the butt plug sticking so provocatively out of her asshole. Each of those swings was punctuated with a passionate moan as the butt plug was gradually hammered back into her quivering backdoor.

My left hand continued the paddling, but I began alternating whip snaps with my more accurate right hand. The first struck directly on her engorged clit, causing her whole body to jump. Following swats hit both of her labia piercings, her taint, and the insides of her thighs as well.

Her moaning grew more protracted and insistent and she began humping the hood of my car, so I stopped her spanking and leaned in to speak to her again.

"Horny little naughty bitch, aren't you? Turned on by a public spanking right after being publicly reamed. Does your boyfriend know you get picked up by strangers like a whore? Not like a whore, technically. Whores get paid and fucked. You're just getting fucked like a slut, aren't you, naughty bitch?"

"Anything, yes. Please fuck me deep again? PLEASE!?"

"Hmmm...I think I'll make you fuck yourself this time." I chuckled at the lewd plan developing in my dirty mind.

She whimpered, misunderstanding me, but would be enlightened soon enough.

I hauled her off the hood by her collar and over to my passenger side. I unsnapped the hair accessories from my strapon, unbuttoned my fly, and unclasped my thick doubled silver chain necklace, then hopped in my passenger side.

"Straddle my lap, facing me." I shut the door after her, leaned my seat back partially, unbuttoned her top, threaded the chain through her nipple rings, and reclasped the chain.

"Ready to ride, slut?"

I held her balanced over my strapon, just the tip inside her, waiting for eye contact. She nodded and I stopped supporting her weight. She dropped, impaling herself and stretching uncomfortably to take the full nine inches.

"Oooohh! Oh my! Oh shhhhit!" It knocked the wind out of her for a second. Had she just held still for a moment and let her body adjust to the size, she'd have been fine. It wouldn't be nearly as much fun though.

Despite the pleasant physical shock of having her 130 or so pounds of weight concentrated onto my clit, I retained the presence of mind to button my fly over the chain. She instinctively scrambled to lift herself off the lengthy cock - using my shoulders to push up -- and screamed at the apex when she drew tight the chain and pulled hard on her nipples. She only managed to elevate a few inches before thudding back down instantly, and repeatedly repeating the process.

She slammed into me again and again with impossible speed, pounding my clit and making me crazy as she fucked herself on my lap. She lived up to her animal print with the combination of jungle cat noises screeching out of her and her nails digging into my shoulders.

Before long, the excitement became too much for me to remain still and enjoy, so I unbuttoned my fly to release her breasts (I didn't want to risk actually damaging her). I dug my nails into her yielding ass cheeks for longer strokes. Like a madwoman, I pistoned forcefully in and out of her butt plug-tightened pussy, nearly pulling out entirely as I raised and lowered her inversely. Harder and harder, I plowed into her unforgivingly, vulgarly, and hastily. Her pussy had become so saturated by that point that I heard the slopping sounds of her wet sex being penetrated at full tilt.

Her climax came seconds before my own, head thrown back in a primal scream of pleasure. I came violently in my pants once more as images of the blonde girl flashed through my mind's eye. ~~~Somehow that ended my desire acutely. So much for a quick and dirty fuck clearing my head.

I got out of my car with her and made sure she could stand, removed the butt plug and pointed out the bathroom to her. At 5:21, she should have been sober enough to get on with her life.

"You can get cleaned up in there. Just go down and wait with one of the valets. A car will be along shortly to take you home." I was already back in the driver's seat.

(After Mrs. Quentin's son's last DUI, my company now provides free rides for each employee's and their family's use as part of his plea bargain. Only six employees are aware of the benefit, which morphed into a profitable luxury car service. It's a convenient and socially responsible way to take care of a drunken one night stand.)

"That was fantastic. I have a fiancée, but can I get your number so we can meet again?"

"Sorry. I'm strictly catch and release. You were a great lay though. Bye." And I drove away, still thinking of the blonde girl.

I kept driving for hours,listening to Joan Jett, Adele, Eminem, Johnny Cash. No help. I went home, changed and showered, detailed my car, , did two workout cycles, showered again, tried to watch a movie, tried to sleep, tried to read. Nothing got her out of my head.

The most aggravating aspect of my new single-mindedness was its ambivalence. The memory of her honey-golden brown eyes would inspire me to watch out for her in her innocence. Then the mental picture of her sexy, naked body would inspire much baser ambitions.

Sometime after 4pm, a text interrupted my pacing and brooding.

"where r u? u missed tennis. we,re @ nic,s 4 charity. B HERE!" Melody's texting style maddens me, but I had completely forgotten Dr. Hartford's "Seattle Mental Health" charity event.

We usually all went out somewhere on Saturdays (chosen by the winner of Tuesday's game night), but that week we were supporting Nic. (She gets a bit daunted by formal occasions.) Except Adrianne, who actually had to attend as one of Seattle's preeminent shrinks; Anne, who'd left for a six month stint with NOAA the week before; and Teeg, who was specifically and firmly not invited. So really just Melody and I were there supporting Nic. Whoops.

"Sorry, distracted. En route." I tossed a cocktail dress and some black slingbacks in my backseat and headed out to the Gin Blossoms' "Whitewash" blaring out my speakers.

Dr. Hartford lives with Nic at her huge hereditary home/mansion on Capitol Hill, a perfect place for Seattle's medical and general elite to hobnob under the pretense of fundraising for mental health.

Assuming the good doctor to be crazed, I let myself in the back and ran upstairs to Nic's room.

"Where have you been, o tardy one?" Melody is pretty much always nice, but hiding pissed behind playful in this case.

"I just lost track of time, Melody. I'm sorry, Nic."

"Doing what?" Melody countered, unwilling to let it go.

Melody and I developed a friendship as dormmates at UofW. (I wanted more and hit on her relentlessly that first semester. She's 5'8", with chocolate eyes, hair, and skin, and built like a swimsuit model. She remains decidedly straight though, so now I just hit on her habitually.) She practices law as well - but as a prosecutor specializing in domestic violence cases -- and keeps me in line as one of my best friends.

"Thinking about the girl from last night, okay?" I wasn't ready to discuss feelings I didn't understand, but Melody and Nic are the sharing kind and would pounce on any evidence of emoting from me.

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