Ditzy Baby

Carelessly, clumsy, and dripping with sex appeal, my baby walked in through the front door with a dazed look on her face. I went to warm her up; she wanted to fuck. Though the scent of winter persisted on her coat, I could smell her yearning pussy, wet and moist, reeking of sweet, tangy copper on a summer day.

My baby never wore nail-polish, so when she locked the door behind us, I was quick to notice the darkened edges of her middle finger. She was on her period this week, no doubt, toying with herself like a bitch in heat, fingering herself off over and over, leaving her nail with a thick coating of pussy and blood, so much that she wasn't able to wash off the residual remnants stuck to her skin.

Slightly misshapen from the outside drizzle, but all the more beautiful, my lover looked good. Her lips were chapped, accentuating their full, rounded edges, emphasizing the ruby-red color she wore. Today, she was in a form-fitting uniform; Slacks, a silk shirt, heels; clothing I knew she would never be caught buried in. An interview, or an event of some sorts must've retained her in their professional glitz. I almost laughed out loud, but I couldn't deny the uncontrollable swelling occurring in my balls and my cock, stirring me with desire.

Often we'd go days, weeks, without breadth of communication, only the knowledge of a tacit reconciliation keeping us connected. My girl was never one to call beforehand, and definitely wasn't going to leave a message. Sometimes, we wouldn't be having a conversation at all. When she did show up after an uncharted period of departure, she didn't bother ringing the doorbell. Light knocks to a rhythmic tapping of her choosing was enough to grant my baby an invite into my home, imposing her free-will into my life.

You see, my baby is an artist, with plenty of free time on her hand. She doesn't live within the confines of sunshine, but through her hyperactive senses. She lives through her art, often letting it become her, consume her, her accomplishments designed to work as her muse. But most of all, she was slut. A true slut. My slut. A slut that couldn't wait, a slut with a head start; spending days at a time holed up in her studio, watching herself in the mirror, cumming to her fantasies, bringing them to life, spending hours lulling, crying, screaming, laughing, analyzing her feelings through hues and pigments of color. After her fits, she would come back to me, pussy chapped and swollen, an air of disappointment lingering above her. Her indecision gave me a nice, comfortable spot in her life- and between her legs. When she was with me, she was assuaged by my ability to assure her that it was okay to be who you truly were: An uncontrollable, insatiable, undeniable slut.

If I was to choose the thing I love most about my baby, it'd be her devotion. If she had it her way, she would suck my cock every moment of every day, burrowing her senses through my pleasure. When I tell her to play with her pussy, she lies in a puddle of her own juices, like a child in candy land. If I told her to lick my cum off the ground, the intensity in her eyes would pierce through me as she lowered her lips to the floor, tongue searching for every last glob she could swallow. My baby has never said no. I knew how to play my baby like a fiddle; She likes to be stroked behind her shoulder; She likes to be kissed on her neck; She loves to feel my warm, hard cock outline her ass, before slipping into her pussy from behind. Even in pitch black space, I know my baby's every curve and movement. She thrived off my touch, my praise.

Sometimes, she's all rainbows and sugar. Other times, she is stubborn and demanding. Today, she was neither. My woman nonchalantly circled my apartment for a while, fingers lightly pressing up against inanimate objects, as she, lost deep in thought, subconsciously observed the room. Her fingers touched walls, wood, furniture, and I awaited, patiently, her awareness. "Hey," I said after a few minutes of complete silence, but before bothering to greet me back, I watched as her eyes focused from nothingness down to my cock, and a slow, small smile spread across her lips, quickly dissolving into a tinge.

"Happy to see me?" She asked with a hint of condescendence, now circling in place, looking like an inane adult in skillful clothing. My dick ached. I hadn't seen my baby in over a week, you see.

"You look different."

"Professional."

"Sure," I agreed in an attempt to lighten her mood, "What's the occasion?"

She blew air out of her mouth, the slicked-back ponytail she wore now deterred wisps from sprawling all over her face, and sat down on my bed with dazed eyes.

"What's the point?" She asked. I walked over to her, readying myself. I knew some deeper, unnecessary realization was bound to be disrupting my baby's soul, so I sat down next to her and I held her neck.

"What's what point?" I said, leaning in closer, inhaling her shoulder blades. Today, she smelled like lilac.

"This," a gloom had overtaken her, and her eyes went beyond my bed, into the mirror directly across us. My lamp was casting a soft, orange hue onto her pale skin, as she bundled into my chest, and I caught sight of myself leaned over with her neck in hands, fingers toying with the looser part of her hair. I turned away from the spectacle.

As my body shifted, she shifted towards me, wanting my attention, frustrating as all women are. Spoiled brat, I thought to myself, both admiring and desiring her infantile humor.

At once, she stood up off me and began unbuttoning her shirt, watching herself in the mirror. First, she ran her fingers across her chest as she slipped off the silk. She gazed her reflection; scrutinizing herself as she would a piece of art, stroking her skin in ecstasy. She unzipped her slacks, and I watched them waterfall off her hips in smooth transition. I weakened at the way she unraveled her unruly hair, and ran her fingers through the roots. I was fixated on her, her lace bra and skimpy thong, until her eyes complied with mine, and she let me into her personal intimacy.

She pulled me into her, and she, with a tear in her eye, kissed me with the intensity of a thousand lovers.

"I don't know if there's a point," She whispered in depressive tease. She sniffed, brought her tongue into my mouth, as though she was searching for some hidden life secret, grasping onto the sensations. I was used to her childish moodiness. She was erratic, unconventional, and refused systematic order. My baby didn't know how to be fully happy. She would sometimes be affected by the emotion, but understanding happiness simply wasn't possible in her world. At the end of her crises, she often realized the only thing keeping her balanced was my cock buried deep within her, and my acceptance for who she truly was, all broken and smiles.

I kissed her everywhere. From her lips, to her neck, to her breasts, her stomach, her hips, her legs- I told her, "Let me make you feel good," enjoying the smell of her lust, strengthening every lick I left her on thighs. There always came a point when my baby would no longer be able to control her slutty instincts. When she could no longer handle my murmurs of tease onto her delicate, raised skin, she pulled me upward, bucking my hips into her.

Not yet, I thought, holding back a chuckle at her enthused, slutty nature. Her previous gloom, long abandoned underneath the moans and pants that seemed to dispel throughout her body sounded like laughter in my ears.

"You want this cock?" I whispered, cocking my head to one side, grabbing baby's hair. She nodded and eagerly shifted her pussy into me, fishing for my cock head.

"Open your eyes," I said forcibly. She obliged. "Why do you deserve this cock?" I asked, and she was back to kissing me, making love to me with her tongue. She guided me onto my back and I watched her transform into my personal slut. Scooping her hair to the side, she lowered her mouth onto my pelvis, softly kissing my balls, then my shaft, whispered, "Because it's mine," before she took my whole dick into her mouth, prodding the back of her throat. After a few moments of intoxication, her serpentine figure curved upwards, breasts perky and arched, and she lowered her tight pussy onto my dick.

"Bend over," I said, and she uncoiled alongside her shadow, held her knees apart and closed her eyes, waiting. I pushed into my girl expecting to be met with silk-soft tissue, but instead, she felt rough. Used.

"Ah," I exhaled, adjusting inside her, "I see you've been having fun, haven't you?"

She moaned, "Yes," and pushed her pussy juices onto me, squirt and thick, white coating all over my cock.

"How many this week, slut?"

"Just one."

"Who?"

"A guy named Jared."

"What did he do to you, slut?"

"First he ate my pussy," My cock swelled inside her.

"You let him eat your pussy, slut? Do you know him well?"

"Not well," She admitted, biting her lip in pleasure, "I just couldn't take it anymore."

"Couldn't take what?"

"I was so fucking horny."

"So you fucked the first man available?"

My baby surprised me by shaking her head no.

"He was my second choice," She lifted her eyes up to me, daring me to question her freedom.

"No surprise there slut," I didn't skip a beat, and neither did my cock. Though my heart ballooned with a jealous longing to keep her restrained, I knew her pussy was to be shared, the same way you would a juicy, dirty secret.

My slut didn't live her life in secrets. She was passed around town willingly, openly and most of all, proudly. "You always were so gracious with that communal cunt of yours." Her cunt, expelling liquid in agreement, pushed me out of her, and she licked my cock clean before earnestly opening her ass cheeks apart, practically begging me to shove my dick inside. I teased the surface of her asshole with aesthetic strokes, watching her skin contract and expand in haphazard gaps.

"After he ate my pussy for a bit," She said, slightly muffled by the pillow she lay her cheek upon, "I told him he could fuck my face."

I retaliated by thrusting inside my baby over and over, bringing her close to her first peak of the night, "You love sucking your cock."

"I do," She sighed in gratified agreement, her asshole's walls tightening over my dick. "I love sucking c- cock." Her moans and breath hitched, becoming sporadic in their lilt; I fucked her harder.

"You would suck my cock for the rest of your life if you had the chance, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," She panted in agreement with me and my question.

"And you're going to suck my cock dry tonight, aren't you?"

"God, yes."

"None of this depressed, existential bullshit. The only reality is that you're a washed up slut who's been passed around town, and my cock is your safe haven," I tugged at her ponytail, "Got it?"

She began to form words, but before she could master a sound, my baby's vocal cues turned into indistinct, scaled-pitches, as I helped her ride out her first orgasm all over my cock. She came, hard, and stirring to the rhythm, her heartbeat and mine in perfect unity. I adjusted myself, sitting upright, my baby's lips lingering over mine, as she liberated her final pants of pleasure.

We sat in silence for a minute, and she dropped her head on my shoulder, letting herself recoil from her first come-down. I stroked her hair, not daring to move before she did. I listened to her breathing, studied it's pace. I squeezed her tight. At first, she didn't lift herself out of my grace, allowing herself to be cherished and embraced. Softly, quietly, all at once, my baby shifted as she lifted her face up to mine, grabbed my cheeks and brought me into her.

"My turn," She whispered, the lament insufficiency now overtaken by blaze of purpose.

There's my slut, I smirked, and I let my baby work her magic.