Chats in the Stairwell

"No. Commuting; it's only 45 minutes." His arm was warm around my back, the fingers creeping under my arm to find my right breast. I had no problem with that.

"That's too bad," I sighed. "'Cause I am. Might have made for a very, very comfortable night."

"Ha. Maybe I'll have to make it an early morning tomorrow, come wake you up." He had his lips in my wavy hair now, and I felt my eyes close.

"Why wait?" I twisted and lay down, moving the back of my head toward his lap and then arching up to find his lips and tongue. It was our first kiss in eight years, and it felt a little bit like putting on an old pair of boots that fit perfectly, but which then got lost under the bed. For eight years. He was, as before, just the right mix of force and passion and gentleness, our teeth nipping and gnawing at each other's lips, and at the end I could tell from his eyes that he'd truly enjoyed kissing me. And that was the best part. "We've got, what, half an hour? And then I'm getting a room right after the bitch lets us out for the day..." I put a thoughtful finger underneath his chin and stroked it gently down his neck and into his shirt collar, feeling the wiry hair there. "Seems a shame to let me waste an afternoon by myself."

He smiled down at me, passing his eyes over my body, his left arm supporting my head while his right moved easily across my belly to hook, quite naturally, around my left hip. "I think that's a great idea," he began, but as soon as he saw me smile he shook his head. "No, wait. I've got a kid I have to pick up by five, and I'm not sure about rush hour traffic this afternoon." He shrugged sadly. "I'm going to have to head out right away."

I pouted, but I wasn't really mad; there's nothing sexier than a man taking care of his kid, after all. "Well, shit," I said, my hands now going around his neck. "We'll just need to use this time wisely."

"Maybe..." he hesitated, looking sideways. "You, uh, should think of your plans for tomorrow. I can tell my wife we're all going out for drinks or something, or that traffic's so bad I'll kill time down this way." He slid has hand underneath my shirt and began palming the flesh underneath. I smiled a slow, slinky smile and realized how well this had all come together. "That is, unless you've got someone to go home to."

"Well, about that," I purred, drawing my legs sexily up. "I seem to be a fucking genius. You see," I went on, lunging up for a quick kiss, "I had plans for this weekend," another kiss, "that resulted in," a third, "an extra night here at the hotel." I came back up; these were crunches I could do all day. "And as for the other thing..." I paused, wondering what to tell this man.

"Let's just say I've got nobody to go home to this month, but that usually I do." I came back up, my abs straining happily, and finished with a much better kiss, the kind with copious tongue and a series of small moans. "Mmm," I hummed, dropping back down into his lap. I toyed with the buttons of his shirt. "You still kiss the same."

He raised his eyebrows and moved his hand higher over my ribcage. "Your life sounds complicated," he murmured. His fingertips were tracing across the bottom of my boobs, and I thought with satisfaction of the bra I'd selected today; I hadn't been certain this would happen, but I believe in being prepared as much as possible. It was a deep red silk thing with a line of black lace crossing the top, $61.99 at Secret Whispers. Worth every penny, according to Leon, and waiting like a snake in the grass for Scott's hand and eye.

"You've got no idea." I thought I could feel his erection coming to life beneath my neck, down his right leg. I stretched my legs, parting them slowly to let him know I was open for business... though not in a concrete stairwell. I looked him in the eye. "I've got a little backpacking trip planned up at Ray Peaks on Saturday and into Sunday. Thought I'd take advantage of being so close." I bit my lip and waited to see what he'd say.

"Huh." He was stroking the back of my neck methodically, sending chills down my back. The other hand was now tracing over my left breast. I was doing nothing to stop him. His eyes took on a faraway look; I could see him pondering what he could get away with domestically. I got tired of waiting; time was pressing.

"Well," I said hoarsely, "while you're going through your mental calendar..." I turned my head sideways, eager to get at his dick so that I could rock his world. "'Scuse me," I whispered, moving his hand so that I could shift my body. Both hands came up his legs to work at his belt buckle from the awkward angle. "I think it's time to get the show on the road. I want to get to my sandwich before it gets all soggy," I said, smiling wickedly up at him as the ends of his belt flopped sideways. He stared down at me in disbelief, glancing back and forth between me and the windowed side door at the bottom of the stairs, but I didn't plan to wait longer.

I shoved his shirt irritably out of the way, the hairy stomach behind no less flat than mine, and got the button undone. I was now one zipper away from the erection I now felt easily against my cheek as I rested my head on his right thigh; it felt fairly long and very pleasantly thick. I was not a size queen by any means, but a nice big dick was a definite turn-on for me. Especially if it was attached to a guy who really liked me; now he was stroking my hair with a tenderness he ought to have shown to nobody but his wife. I smiled smugly as I worked to get the zipper started, thinking about the nerves of this morning, the horrible apprehension at the lunch buffet, the decision, and now...

The zipper came crashing down, the boxers beyond dark green with ridiculous penguins printed on them. For an instant I was disappointed; this was typical of the difference between men and women, I thought. I'd spent hours agonizing over today's underwear; his had probably come straight from the laundry pile. The hole in the front gaped wide already, as they sometimes do; his dark bush sprouted out, and I could see the pale root of his dick as it disappeared down his leg. I paused then, savoring the moment, raising my eyes slowly toward his.

He stared back, his mouth hanging open, still in total shock. He pressed his shoulders back against the wall, his eyes flickering from my face to my chest and back. He was breathing raggedly. I no doubt looked the same; I sat slowly up, keeping my eyes on his and my hand braced firmly against his groin just above the hole in his boxers as I curled my legs beneath me and brought myself with deliberate sluggishness up, kneeling over his right side, looking sideways down at him. I straightened up, letting him see my boobs sticking out, my green top draping down from my hard nipples to flutter carelessly over my navel.

I let him get his eyeful of me clothed before I decided to start stripping. No way was I going to waste this bra today. I made sure he knew what I was about to do, moving with no haste at all as I took hold of the hem of my top and lifted it slowly to reveal my body. I saw him hold his breath just as my head disappeared inside the neckhole, and then the shirt was off, drifting into the shadows beneath the stairs as, kneeling straight-backed, I displayed myself for him.

I'm a little ashamed to admit how many men I've done that sort of thing for, though I'm a lot less slutty than my friend Gina; ten probably, certainly no more than twelve. Of course Scott had seen me like this before, but it was so long ago that today felt like the first time. Feeling sexy despite the squalid surroundings, I gave him a thin smile as I looked him over. "We left off somewhere like this, I think."

He blew out a long breath, stirring my hair, and got his shirt off almost as fast as I had. He still looked the same, though he had some unexpected grey hair around his nipples; I thought it was intriguing, as I'd never seen anything like that before. Instinctively I glanced back down to his crotch for comparison, but I saw only dark hair. My hand on his groin moved decisively now, grasping his waistband through the hole in the front of the boxers. I paused again; I could milk a moment like this for all it was worth, and even though we had limited time, I wanted to make this a winner for him. His mention of an early morning tomorrow had my mind racing. "Do you like my bra?" I whispered.

He stared at my tits; from past experience, I knew he'd be able to see the tops of my areolae through the edge of the black lace, my wildly protruding nipples leaving him in no doubt about my intentions. He licked his lips. "If I recall," he ventured, finding some control, "those tasted excellent back in the day." I took my cue, cupping my breasts and lifting them slightly before letting them fall; they jiggled despite their restraint, and his eyes widened. I felt his hand on my back and wondered when it had arrived there; he was already fiddling with the catch on the back of the bra, but I wasn't interested in a clumsy one-handed attempt. The bra cost too much.

So I made a show of glancing around, then put on an indignant pout as a swatted his right arm away. "Excuse me! We're in public here. I'm not about to get half-naked with an exit door ten feet away."

"Please," he replied, rolling his eyes. He looked meaningfully down at his undone pants. "You don't seem terribly worried about me."

"Stop that," I scoffed. "You're not showing your goods yet, and besides," I said, sultry as I bent over him from my waist, "once I get that out, I don't think it'll be exposed to the air for long. If you know what I mean." He got smart and simply moved the slapped arm to my ass, clutching me with some fervor. My God, but I was getting off on his attention. I debated pulling my yoga pants down far enough to expose my thong, which (of course) matched my bra, but he was ahead of me. My eyelids fluttered as I felt his hand scooping at my bare ass, the yoga pants down whether I wanted it or not.

There was no reason now to delay with his penis; he knew my plans, and we'd teased each other enough, my hand now pulling sharply up on his waistband. I brought my right hand up off his leg to assist, digging deeply into his underwear. The organ it found was heavy and solid, with the special warmth that only an aroused dick seems to have. My fingers burrowed into the shadows to encircle his shaft, barely able to meet. We both inhaled sharply, smiling with exhilaration; his eyes closed, and I was struck by that kind of vulnerability.

Eight years late, I got his penis out of his pants. Most penises look basically the same, and Scott's was no exception: reddish, angry-looking, smelling vaguely unpleasant, but at the same time more exciting than anything else in life. Cocks do that to me; once they're hard, and I know I'm the reason, there's nothing much else that seems to exist for me.

So I focused on this one. It was very ready for me, a clear drop of precum beading out of the hole at the top; the helmet was so engorged it was almost purple, the shaft meaty and ridged. The whole thing throbbed in my hand. Looking down, I could just see the beginnings of his balls, but there'd probably be time for that later. Right now, I was a lady on a mission. I noticed vaguely that his hand had stopped moving on my ass; his whole body was petrified, in suspended animation, waiting to see what I would do.

And, at the end of the day, that's the feeling I like when I see a rampant cock. It's about my power, my wants, my ability to deliver pleasure to my man. I snuck a glance at his slack, nervous face, the eyes still fluttering, and I kept looking at him as, nearly topless and increasingly bottomless, I held his hard greasy dick in my hand. This had to be something he'd dreamed about for years; I understood now that I'd made quite an impression on him in Monroe. I did nothing for a few seconds, waiting for his eyes to open, for I wanted him to see what would happen next.

As soon as they did, with his head tipped back against the cinder blocks, I grinned like a fiend and went down on him. He'd been sitting in an office chair all morning and his jeans, alas, did not exactly seem to be freshly laundered, but he didn't taste bad at all; just a brief, fleeting sourness before all I could sense was the rich, wild flavor of naked skin. I heard him grunt above me; "Gah," or something like that, and his hand tightened again very noticeably on my left buttcheek. His left hand, for some reason, lay on the floor; I willed him to do something with it. My tiny nipples, now on fire in the red silk, would have been a good choice; at that point, I'd even have welcomed that hand on the back of my head, driving me down his cock.

Not that that was necessary. My philosophy had always been that if a man was worth going down on, he was worth going down on properly, so I was already using all my tricks. He was too thick to get any kind of reasonable lip action, but I was relieved to see that he was the perfect length for the kind of deep, sloppy sucking I liked to do. My hands, having nothing better to do, clawed frantically at his waistband to try to get his clothes out of the way; the last thing I wanted was this guy spending three more hours at a workshop with cummy pants. As amused as I would have been by that, I knew he'd feel humiliated and uncomfortable. And I didn't want him to regret this for any reason.

His belly and chest were a solid, heaving wall against the left side of my face. I kept pulling doggedly at his pants, much to the detriment of my blowjob; for now, I was just holding him in my mouth and pulsing my cheeks in and out. Not that he was complaining. At last, with a muffled and triumphant squeal, I got his jeans and boxers bunched near his knees; I sent my right hand in to go after his balls, hauled them into the harsh light of the stairwell, and now had a toy to occupy that hand with. My left hand now rested on his bony hip as I moved my face steadily up and down.

Soon my saliva was bubbling past my lips and down his shaft, drenching my fingers as they danced across his scrotum. He was thrusting a little, and I couldn't tell why; he certainly didn't seem to need extra friction, as I was giving him the best head I could and he was definitely enjoying me. "This is abso-fucking-lutely incredible, Boyle," he gasped, and if my lips hadn't been otherwise occupied, I'd have smiled.

We were both in a zone, so much so that when the inner door opened and a pair of feet went thundering up the steps right above us, we barely noticed. The feet receded, but they reminded me that we didn't exactly have all day. Surprisingly my lips were not yet sore, though I knew that had to be coming soon. Hopefully, so was he.

His right fingers, quite surprisingly, had found their way into my asscrack; when had that happened? He wasn't sticking his finger in, but he was definitely knocking on the backdoor. I wondered why; I'd done a bit of anal before, but I couldn't remember telling him I'd liked it. Maybe it was one of his kinks. Whatever; his left hand finally got my frantic telepathic message, landing firmly on the back of my head and lacing itself into my wavy brown hair. His torso shivered beside me, his balls roughening, and all signs pointed toward an absolute honey of an orgasm from him.

I wasn't getting off, but when I'm with a man I like a lot I don't have to. I'd have likely needed penetration at that point anyway, and I wasn't willing to go that far in such a public place. Truth to tell, I hardly needed to cum; any woman who wasn't incredibly turned on to be in the situation I was in right then was probably either a prostitute, or dead.

Phlegm was building at the back of my throat, and I tried to clear it so that I'd have room for his semen. He was gasping rhythmically now, his hips thrusting more insistently against my face, and even as I ran my lips into his pubic hair for the last time I felt his balls jerk in my hand. So I stayed down, his cum blasting into the back of my mouth with some force. More force than I'd expected, actually. Much more.

I seemed to have misjudged how happy he was to see me.

I choked and spluttered, and now there was real pain as his cum started draining through my nose. In an extremely undignified way, I pulled myself off him and caught his next blast full in my left eye; great. More pain. I huddled there, clinging instinctively to his shaft, his sperm continuing to rain down on me in steady bursts. Poor man, he was frantically trying to shield me, gallantly pointing his penis sideways to spray the last of his load harmlessly to the linoleum beside us. "Shit! Sorry," he exclaimed, sitting straight up and taking my head in his arms. "You okay?"

I couldn't answer; I was too busy retching his cum out of my nasal passages. Thoroughly ashamed, I laid my wrecked head across his bare legs, twitching and making truly horrible noises as I tried to clear my throat and nose. His semen was everywhere, all over my hair and face, its smell and taste dominating my world. "I'm so, so sorry," he whispered, stroking my hair, my right eye seeing nothing on his face but worry. And I liked him, then, even more.

At some length I recovered enough to sit cautiously up; the linoleum felt hard and cold, my thong all askew and the yoga pants well down my thighs. He helped me lean forward between my knees. "Breathe," he ordered, his fingers light on my naked back; the splutters were subsiding, but I was still sneezing out a sticky mix of snot and cum. "Jesus."

I looked nervously over at him. "Um, can you find me some paper towels?" My wish was his command, and I found my way to the wall as he shot to his feet, stuffed his shiny dick back into his clothes, and dashed through the inner door.

Holy shit. I felt like a goddamned amateur, not the amazing sex goddess I wanted him to see me as. Usually I could take a man's load without batting an eye, straight down my throat with no fuss; this time, I was acting like a sophomore after a homecoming dance. How completely and totally embarrassing.

Scott came back in much less time than I'd expected, which was good because I'd glanced at my watch: our extracurricular activities had left us just ten minutes to get back from lunch. He'd even dampened the paper towels. "Got them from the bathroom," he said hastily.

"Thanks so much," I said with a pitiful smile, wiping gingerly at my eye. He just stood there, looking awkward and saying how sorry he was.

"I mean, I should have warned you, Shannon. I'm really sorry."

"No, that wasn't the problem," I said, shaking my head as I hawked up another cum-loogie. I must have looked incredible, sitting against the wall with my underwear half-off, both top and bottom, and my pants pulled down, my makeup smeared and my head covered inside and out with Scott's semen. I doubted I'd ever looked more like a whore in my life. "I knew you were cumming. I just misjudged the volume."

"Oh," he said awkwardly. "Huh." He thought about what had just happened, and shook his head in amazement. "You actually made me cum through your head, Boyle. That's incredible." I looked up at him, less than impressed.

"Out my nose is not 'through my head,' Scott," I snapped. "I feel like I've just done a pound of coke." I blew my nose, the snot still half-white. "Good Lord, but was that intense or what?" I frowned. "Did you go to the bathroom like that? Your shirt is completely unbuttoned."

"Oh." He stood there and sheepishly began doing up his clothes. "We've got a couple minutes before we need to get back."

"Yeah, but I'll need a bathroom trip." The towels were not quite doing the job. "Head back and wait for me. Oh, and leave my sandwich; I'm still hungry." The sandwich was small, and I was sure I'd be able to down it while I walked. The sprouts, I hoped, might help get the taste of the cum out. Not that Scott's cum tasted worse than anyone elses'; I just wasn't fond of the flavor. I smiled up at him. "Sorry I couldn't swallow; I don't know what happened. I'm usually better."