Invited Intruder

I pace nervously, waiting for the door buzzer to go off. Finally, it does. I tell him I'll be right down. My hands shake as I lock the door behind me. A nervous buzz fills my entire body as I walk to the elevator and push the button. When the elevator doors open, I see him leaning casually against the wall. He steps toward me with a dazzling smile.

"You were supposed to wait downstairs!" I snarl. "You can't be here!"

He breezes past me. "Which apartment?" He asks.

"I'm not telling you. You were supposed to wait for me."

"But I really need to use the restroom."

"You'll have to wait."

"You're really going to make me hold it?" He pouts, giving me big sad puppy dog eyes. "You know that's not good for the kidneys. You don't want to damage my kidneys, do you?"

"Fine," I groan, walking back down the hall to my door, "but make it quick." I unlock the door and he breezes in. I gesture toward the bathroom, but he doesn't go in. He walks into the second bedroom, which is used as a home office.

"This is a nice setup. A little cluttered, but a lot of quality equipment," he says, admiring the shelves of books, double monitor setup, mechanical keyboard, and surround sound speakers. He picks up a notebook, frowns at the scribbles on the page.

"Put that down. This is his workspace, and you aren't supposed to be here!" I take the notebook from his hand and point toward the door.

He steps closer to me, takes my face in both his hands, and kisses me hard. I moan involunarily and go a little weak in the knees. He wraps his arms around me, pulls me into the firm muscled cocoon of his body.

"Stop," I say, placing a hand on his chest. I attempt to push him away, but he is an immovable object.

"Why? Isn't this what you wanted?"

"Not here. What if one of the neighbors sees you? Or hears us?"

He peers curiously out the window. "I don't think any of your neighbors are going to see us from here, but if it helps you feel better..." He reaches out and pulls the shades down. "As for hearing us, how would they know the difference between you with me and you with him?"

"I don't know, but if someone sees you leaving, they could say something. This was such a terrible idea. You have to go." I plead, gesturing again toward the door.

He crosses the room, takes me in his arms and kisses me again. "No," I protest against his mouth, "this can't happen here."

"So you admit you're just protesting the place and not that you've changed your mind?"

It's so hard to think clearly with his hand in my hair, cradling my face, his lips hovering a breath away from mine. "I still want you. I just can't here. It's not right. Not that anything about this is right." I say, my resolve melting.

"You said he didn't listen to you. You said you haven't had sex in months. You said you were suffocating."

"That's all true, but it doesn't mean I don't care about him. And I have nowhere else to go."

"Well, I'm here to breathe life back into you."

And then his mouth is on mine again, insistent and probing. His hands skim the curves of my body. He pulls my sweater off, unclasps my bra, massages my breasts with his big strong hands. When his lips close around the peak of my nipple, it's like lightning strikes my body to the very core of me. My pussy throbs in longing. It's been so long since I've been touched.

He kisses my neck and I swoon. He laughs against the hollow of my throat. His left hand massages my breast, as his right sweeps down my belly and down my pants.

"You're so wet for me," he breathes in my ear. "When was the last time you were so wet?"

"I don't remember," I whisper weakly, "maybe never."

He covers my mouth with his again as his fingers work inside me. I buck and writhe helplessly as a pleasurable pressure builds in my long neglected pussy. He walks me back toward the daybed placed against the wall opposite the computer desk, never stopping the delicious rhythm of his index and middle fingers working in and out of my wet vagina, his thumb making lazy circles around my clit. The backs of my knees hit the edge of the bed. He withdraws the hand between my legs, and I whimper in protest. He laughs again, such a confidently masculine sound.

He pulls my jeans and panties down in one clean swoop and helps me step out of them. "Sit," he commands, and I obey. He takes off his shirt and I lick my lips at the sight of his broad shoulders and chiseled torso. He kneels before me, a cocky grin on his face as he dives between my legs.

I gasp at the first contact. He starts slow, with long teasing licks from my opening to my clit. I purr in response, my hips wiggling involuntarily. He does this again and again until I come, screaming his name. He sucks my engorged clit into his mouth and I scream again. I almost pass out from the intense pleasure of it. He leans back with a satisfied smile.

"I'm not done yet," he promises, "I want you to beg me to fuck you."

He kisses my thighs, strokes the backs of my calves softly, letting me recover ever so slightly before bringing his tongue back between the slick engorged folds of my vulva. He tongues my opening before licking upward and flicking his tongue against my clit. This time his oral assault is hard and fast and I come screaming his name again and again. He stands, places the tip of his stiff cock against my opening, rubs it up and down my labia teasingly.

"Please," I moan.

"Please what?"

"Fuck me, please, John, please."

He slides into me and I'm wound so tight, I almost immediately orgasm again, but the pressure inside builds with each stroke in and out until it explodes and fills my body with an addictive rush of pleasure. He spins me around, pulls me onto my hands and knees and takes me from behind. The angle is deep and the head of his cock bumps my cervix with each stroke, which is a special pleasure of mine. Each deep bump brings me closer to the edge again. He fucks me hard and fast, alternating between grabbing my heavy pendulous breasts and squeezing my ass. It isn't long before another powerful orgasm clenches every muscle in my body tight before relaxing into the unique humming afterglow of good sex. With another stroke, he buries himself as deep as he can and groans with his own release.

Panting softly, he pats my bottom, "Good girl," he says. He pulls out, removes a condom, wraps it in tissue, and tucks it in his jeans pockets.

We cuddle on the daybed and try not to fall asleep. After a few minutes, he rises and gets dressed.

"See you next week," he chuckles, walking out the door.