Fucking Bluffing

Special thanks to kenjisato, a generous volunteer in Literotica.com's Volunteer Editors program, for editing this piece. All remaining errors and questionable stylistic choices are the sole responsibility of the author.

******

It's not much of a record-scratch or freeze-frame moment; I'm not, say, running away from a pack of angry chihuahuas while wearing a bumblebee costume and carrying an oversized pineapple. I'm just drowning in my girlfriend's pussy -- her smooth, fresh, clean pussy. We're both naked and in our bed, so, yeah, pretty boring all around. We're not even being spied on by a lecherous, diaper-wearing German or an alcoholic clown or anything.

How did I get into this situation? Well, the way one usually does, I suppose: my hot, horny girlfriend walked up behind me as I was sitting in my office chair, leaned over, teased my nipples through my T-shirt, gave me a kiss on the cheek, and informed me it was time to eat her pussy again. When I swiveled around to face her, she was naked from the waist down, save for some little socks. It was awesome. I always get dinner and a show.

It's a Saturday, roundabouts seven in the evening, and this is the third time today I've gone down on her. Work sucks and then you die, so on the weekdays, it's usually just one trip to the buffet. On the weekends, we play catch-up. We both really, really like sex, and Ness really, really likes getting her pussy eaten.

"Fuck," she grunts, over and over. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." It's her word; she can put a lot of meaning into it. Right now, it's shorthand for, "Fuck yes, you're eating my pussy so fucking good, you little bitch." It pairs nicely with the action. I'm kneading her taut little bubble of an ass like it's stubborn bread dough and sucking on her cunt like a starving runt who finally got a turn on the teat. Her long, toned legs are draped over my back, and she's got one hand firmly attached to my head by the hair. If she had a cock, she'd be awkwardly skull fucking me from her mostly supine position on the bed. Instead, what she has is a small, shy little clitty that doesn't fuck around with foreplay or ramp-up. It needs the hardcore treatment, and I'm just the hound dog to give it to her.

My thumbs move closer to her pink pucker. Predictably, her next words are, "Oh, you little fucker." Pure poetry, that. She humps me harder; I suck her harder. She feels the pressure from my teeth, and growls out a satisfied warning: yeah, I like it, but I might punish you for it later anyway. Her thighs start to squeeze; I press in with my thumb, threatening anal penetration, and it's hardly an idle one. There's something uniquely satisfying about the fantasy that I make my girlfriend cum -- make her cum, whether she was ready to or not -- by breaching her cute little asshole.

That's exactly what I do next.

"Uuuuungh!" she cries out, and despite the deeply sexual overtones of surprise, offense, and even defeat, it's victory for both of us. Her other hand comes down -- from her nipple, I assume -- and grabs at my hair, trying desperately to put even more pressure onto her core. Her asshole spasms, and so do her legs; her heels aimlessly strike against my lower back. Everything gets muffled except the sound of my own heartbeat; the temperature and humidity shoot up inside the prison of flesh she's created for my head. I just keep on sucking and tongue-lashing. She likes getting overloaded. She likes to hump and grind right through the orgasm.

I'm a cautious, attentive, caring lover when I need to be -- honest. The best part about going down on Nessie is that I don't need to be. She likes it hot, heavy, hard, and rough right away. If I'm not diving in between her legs and attacking her pussy, she's pushing me down onto the bed -- or any flat surface, really -- and humping my face like a bull who decided it was his turn to be the cowboy.

Someday, I might suffocate or die from heatstroke down there, but today is not that day. Nessie paroles my head, and I slip my thumb out of her ass. After taking a beat to recover, I crawl up the bed. She's waiting for me -- waiting to suck on my face like I just sucked on her cunt. She loves the taste of her own pussy, and especially when she's just used it to mark her man.

"I fucking love you," she says between forceful licks and conquering tongue kisses. She always has that one last "fuck" to give after the orgasm. It's endearing. She's pawing and grabbing at me like a wild animal, too, and I fucking love that.

"Love you, too, babe," I barely manage to say. Half of it gets garbled by the extra tongue in my mouth.

Equally adorable is the businesslike followup once she's calmed down a little: "How do you want me?"

"Anal?"

"Yeah, sure. Get my stuff and get me stuffed."

And they say romance is dead.

Here's where I prove I'm more than just a rabid dog. I retrieve a vibrating pussy plug and the magic wand from our sex drawer -- plus the lube, of course. When I return to Ness's sexy booty with the sex booty, she's lounging on her back, idly running her hands over her lanky body. She's sending all the right signals -- relaxed, receptive, even seductive -- and I check in with a romantic kiss to her forehead, then another to her cheek. Her eyes soften, and she gives me a beatific smile. She did just cum her brains out; I'd be a little disappointed if she weren't slightly stupid from it.

"You're beautiful," I tell her.

"I'm happy," she replies. It's one of our corny couple things, and it makes my heart flutter. Of course, when she reaches out and tickles my balls, that's pretty great, too.

I make a show of lubing up the first toy, then head back down to my second home. "Okay," I say, "let's make sure you're wet enough."

She snorts, because it's hilarious. I give her a few little kisses and licks down there nevertheless, and she playfully threatens to lock my head back in its steamy cage. I fight back with a tickling finger against her anus, and while she's squirming, I slip the vibrating pussy plug inside of her. She gasps and groans, then rolls over and assumes the position. With a steadying hand, I ensure the toy stays inside while she rises up to her knees and then spreads out. She's got that perfect runner's ass that's high, tight, bubbly, and just flared enough. Even without a hand or two to spread the cheeks, her asshole is mostly visible and ready to be prepped.

"If you're gonna fuck it," comes her pillow-muffled voice, "you'd better be willing to eat it."

Turns out this story doesn't have a record-scratch moment; instead, it has a flashback, triggered by another one of those corny couple things we say to each other.

Before Wayne and Garth "diddley-oop, diddley-oop, diddley-oop" us into the past, though, I want to take a moment to just appreciate the view. My Nessie has an amazing ass, a pretty little asshole, and a killer body all around it, from her head to her toes. Her primally submissive pose makes her even sexier, as does the lavender toy firmly ensconced inside of her pussy. I love everything about her, and I think she loves me, too. We've been together for about a year, now. She's been brows-down smooth for nine months. Just a bit before that was the first time she uttered those fateful words.

This isn't the story of how or why we got together, and thank goodness for that. That one is boring and forgettable: friends of friends, overlapping educations and careers, discovering we lived reasonably close to each other, wandering through the first-few-dates minefield and not getting any limbs blown off, one giant yawn for mankind, wake me when it's over and maybe we'll have sex. I genuinely think she and I are on the same page about all of that. We're not one of those couples that creates a dozen different twee "anniversaries," and we're not much for telling "Our Story" to other people, or even reminiscing about it privately. Maybe that'll change if we get married. I sure hope not, but you never know.

Okay, now that's getting way too far ahead of things. I have an ass to eat and then fuck. You've got a story to read.

******

It was a Saturday afternoon, believe it or not. Ness and I were side by side on the bed; she was propped up on some pillows, working her tits and nipples like crazy. I was tilted towards her, my half-hard cock rubbing up against her smooth leg. My right hand and arm were the ones on the job, though, doing their level best to pleasure her pussy from the outside -- and maybe her clit, wherever it might have been hiding.

Ness was very frustrated, and it was very cute. I was smart enough not to express that particular opinion. Instead, I kissed her tenderly, over and over, and tried to listen to her -- to her body, since she didn't seem keen on using her words. She was rutting and squirming around, trying to get my fingers where they needed to be, but not knowing where exactly that was herself.

"Baby," I said softly, "you know I'm totally pro-sex-toy."

"Yeah, I know," she replied dismissively. "I want to cum like this."

"Anything you need, babe," I said, pointedly ignoring her bitchy, pissy, childish tone. It didn't bother me. In context, it, too, was very cute -- another thing I absolutely did not mention.

"More pressure," she groused. "Go harder. Stop being gentle with me."

"Inside?"

She huffed impatiently, but stopped moving around and seriously considered it. I just kept rubbing -- harder than before. Her pubes were scratchy against my fingers whenever they strayed too far from her central slickness. "Maybe," she said eventually. "I really wanted to cum with you rubbing me, though. Fuck! Is this what it's like for guys with tiny dicks? This is bullshit!"

I kissed her shoulder sympathetically. "Not sure," I said. "Maybe? I think there's usually still enough to do the two-finger pincer."

"Fucking bullshit," she repeated, that time in a mutter. "Figures girls would have the biggest small-dick problems. We can't catch a break."

There was nothing for me to do but to keep rubbing and keep being a polite, caring, attentive boyfriend -- and so naturally I risked fucking everything up. We'd been together for a little over two months; I figured it was about time to start letting my true colors show. If we were going to get more serious, we both needed to know what we were getting into. For my part, I needed to know where I was getting into -- or not.

"You know," I said, "if you think more pressure would help, maybe..." With that, I let my hand stray down the full length of her soaking slit until the pads of my fingers tickled her back door -- not necessarily forbidden, but thus far barely explored. I didn't apply any real pressure. It was the merest suggestion and the slightest tease. Her little hole twitched; I took it as a good sign that she didn't pull away or stop mauling her breasts.

She rolled her eyes. "What is it with guys and the ass?"

I kissed her shoulder again. "No idea, babe," I told her honestly. "Deep, primal mystery. Your ass is incredible, though. Even if I weren't super into it, I think I'd give yours a second look -- and a third, and a fourth."

I brought my hand back up to her clit -- or the area roundabouts where it surely must have been hiding -- and got back to work. She turned her head towards me, giving me her full attention for the first time in a while.

"I do have a nice ass," she said.

I breathed a sigh of relief before replying; the conversation wasn't plummeting straight down a hole into hell, and that was a win. "You've earned it."

It was the truth. She wasn't obsessed with sports, but she walked a lot -- almost every day, even though work sucks the life out of you. Truth be told, she was putting me to shame in that regard. I was coasting on my relative youth and the testosterone advantage.

I'd said exactly the right thing -- at least that time -- and it won me a smile. She nodded and kissed me. Then, quite intentionally, her tone and her expression shifted. "But you are super into it. That's what you're telling me."

I shrugged guiltily. "I am. Anyway, it was just a thought. Tell me what you need."

She never told me to stop rubbing her, but she moved her body around in such a way that communicated the experiment was over. She wasn't sending "shut it all down" signals, though. Her hands started wandering around my body, then up to my face. She nestled herself down into the pillow, on her side, and nudged me to join her. Once I did, I found her warm, deep, brown eyes probing mine. She looked vulnerable, all of a sudden. She wanted to talk.

"You want to do... that, though," she said. "You want to put it back there."

I returned light caresses and nodded, feeling the pillow brush against my ear and cheek. "I do," I said.

"So, like... all the time? What about, you know... regular stuff?"

I kissed her forehead again. She let me, which I took as another good sign. "Baby," I said, "I love having all kinds of sex with you. I can't get enough of you. Anal is one of my things, though. I haven't even really done it that much. I just know I want it, and know I'll love it."

Her lips screwed up into a pout. "So we're not talking about birthdays and Christmas, then."

I offered her as sympathetic a look as I could. "No. I'd really like it to be a regular thing."

She rolled her eyes at me. Then she rolled away; then she was off the bed. Naked, frustrated, absolutely stunning, and redolent of unfinished sex, she placed her hands on her hips, then walked aimlessly around the bedroom's limited floor space. Half of me was sickened with dread. The other half was soaking in the view. The two halves weren't necessarily at odds with each other. I figured there was a twenty percent chance that I'd never get to see her naked again, and I wasn't going to avert my eyes out of some sense of guilt -- or decency. Right then, she was still my girlfriend. I was going to wring the most out of every moment I had left.

Ness was a vision, truly. Nasty boys and girls might have called her a skinny bitch, though her sculpted ass would've outed them as envious and vindictive. You know what, though? I fucking love skinny bitches in general, even when they don't have the greatest ass ever. Ness was the ultimate skinny bitch, standing at around five foot ten with long, lanky limbs; small, perky tits; and a stomach that was flat all the way down to her pussy. That ass of hers was definitely a crowning achievement, but almost everything else about her was perfect, too. She was the mousy girl next door who'd sprouted up ten inches, gotten fit, and gotten hot in the span of a single summer, and all without one of those clichéd makeovers. She'd never needed to dye or chop her long, straight, yet surprisingly voluminous auburn hair. She'd never needed to change up her fashion choices or experiment with heavy makeup. I was incredibly grateful that she didn't care to grow out and decorate her fingernails; that shit creeps me out. She was perfectly capable of scratching my back with her shorter, rounded ones anyway.

Honestly, I could understand why those hypothetical nasty boys and girls might have been so green with envy. Her wide eyes, full lips, and smallish nose all came together to bridge the divide between cute girl and beautiful young woman. Even her eyebrows seemed like they were just naturally perfect -- not too wide, not too thick, not too dark. I know it's a cliché, but she was so hot that I didn't really understand why she was with me in the first place. Since one good cliché deserves another, here's an eye-roller for you: I genuinely love the fact that Ness isn't a girly girl. In my defense, I realize how lucky I am that she's naturally feminine and ultra hot. I get that a lot of women have to put in extra work to live up to whatever ideal they think they need to. That work gets a bad rap as being "girly," but us guys sure do love to ogle the results when it's done right.

See? I'm only like fifty percent piggish asshole. Of course, there was one thing about Ness back then that poked and prodded at the porcine part of my personality. She turned around to face me, and there it was: her wide swath of short, scratchy pubes.

Ness never had much of a bush; think lawn, rather than jungle. Her hair down there -- more honey-brown than reddish -- darkened and swirled a bit where her groin became her legs, but it was never really curly, either. Her backyard has always been almost completely hairless, and she'd always shaved all the usual spots. It was a "so close, yet so far" situation for me. I like my girls smooth, and Ness was almost there.

Had I ever made a peep about the pubes, though? Of fucking course not; don't be ridiculous.

She looked at me, then looked away. She heaved a sigh. Her gaze steeled up a bit, heated by the hint of a defiant spark, and she turned it on me again. "Well," she said bossily, "if you want to fuck it, you'd better be willing to eat it."

My heart leapt, and then it fucking sang. I'm sure my cock swelled and twitched, too, but I'd found myself in the rare situation wherein I was more cognizant of my ticker than my pecker.

That was a moment worthy of freezing, right there: Exhibit A in the never-ending arms race that is sex between a guy and a girl. Deception, brinkmanship, false bravado, body language betraying truths -- or not -- fractal uncertainty spiking through decision trees that look more like briar patches... dear lord, we are an absolute mess of a species, aren't we? What's a lie? What's a bluff? What's a negotiation?

What's a breakup, or the start of one? What's the start of something exciting and new?

"Well," I replied readily, "if you want me to eat it, then serve it up." I scooched up the wall, pushing the pillow up along with me, then patted the bed. "Get comfy, babe, and present. You want a toy?"

The next few moments didn't freeze, but they did stretch. The tension in the air between us was palpable. The war of the sexes was simultaneously hot, cold, silent, and potentially deadly, and Exhibit B might well have been Exhibits B through triple-Z.

"Yeah," she said, walking back towards the bed. "Gimme the wand."

I'd like to say that that meant that we'd both won, but, well, I don't want to be a smarmy little bitch about it.

I had to force myself not to jump off the bed. While Ness got herself situated, I retrieved some extra pillows, then the "personal massager." After plugging it in, I handed it off to her. She accepted it warily, her eyes still searching mine for some hint that I was bluffing, or that I would chicken out. I leaned down and kissed her cheek; credit where it was due, she was already face-down, ass-up, and spread for me. If she was bluffing, she was doing a good job of it.

"Seriously?" she finally asked. "Just like that? You're just going to lick me back there?"

"Baby," I replied, "if it's fresh and clean, and there's a real chance you'll let me fuck it, I'll eat your ass whenever you want. I'll eat it three times a day."

That brought her up short for a moment. "It's not exactly clean. It's probably soaked."

"With your pussy juices, you mean? That is most definitely not a problem."

Her eyes brightened a bit at that. Then her expression shifted again, back to vulnerable. "You'll warn me when--"

I shook my head, cutting her off. "None of that today, babe. Just licking. Maybe some pressure."

The callback got me a bemused smile. She did seem to relax, though. Then it was back to skepticism. "Seriously? You're just going to eat my ass, and that's it?"

I stroked her back lovingly. "Baby, this isn't porn. Anal is a process. Today is all about relaxing and enjoying the new sensations."

"I'm nervous," she said. It melted my heart. I don't think she knew just how powerful those deep, brown eyes of hers were.