Simpatico - An OFS Story Pt. 02

"It's my birthday. I wanted to spend it naked with someone beautiful."

SIMPATICO: AN OFS STORY, PART 2

Naked, I sit on the edge of the bed and pat the middle of the narrow mattress.

Also naked, she lies down, face up, legs closed, arms at her sides, like a body in a tomb.

I lie down on my side next to her-there isn't much space, and my ass is off the edge-and I prop myself up on my elbow. I lay my hand on her soft tummy, cupping the prominent lobe of it below her navel.

"Let me do the work," I say. "If anything I'm doing to you makes you uncomfortable, say 'pause.' Okay?"

"Okay."

"If I tell you to do something, I want you to do it. If it's something you don't want to do, tell me."

"Okay."

By now, I'm stroking her lovely pubes. Not sexually, necessarily. Sensually.

"Remember," I say, "'pause' for stop. Or tap me. Anything else, I'll assume is part of the play."

"Okay."

"Spread your legs."

She does-rigidly, like a tuning fork.

But without hesitation.

"Put your arm around me."

She does, and I get down in the crook of her arm and kiss her pursed lips. She accepts the invitation, and soon, we're necking under the slatted streetlight while my fingers massage the pad of her pubis.

I don't touch anything sensitive. At least, not directly.

But I'm definitely moving sensitive things around.

I move my mouth to her neck. She tilts her head to the side to let me in. I'm hearing her breathe a little more heavily-finally relaxing.

Her fingers thread themselves into my hair. She's loosely clenching and unclenching her hand, pulling dully at locks of hair, stroking my scalp, and it feel so good.

"Do you like your nipples sucked?" I ask.

"Mmhmm," she half-sighs.

I lower my mouth to her nipple, making a broad "o" that covers most of her areola. I suck gently and lap at the nub with the point of my tongue, in time with my pubis massage.

After about 30 seconds, she tenses up, then she cries out. Her hips buck underneath my arm. Her breaths come out in hot, shaky puffs.

I don't slow my attentions until I'm sure she's ready to come down.

I hold her while she settles limply into the bed, waiting for her breathing to even out.

I ask, "Did you just come?"

She nods. Still fuzzy.

"Just from that?"

Again, she nods.

A little clearer, she says, "I've never come before without a toy."

"That's a little perplexing," I say.

"Why?" she says.

She sounds a little defensive.

"If you come that easily," I say, carefully. "I wonder what everyone else has been doing that they haven't been able to give you an orgasm."

"We have sex until they come, then they watch me take care of myself. Or I take care of myself after they leave."

I have more to say about this.

But I hold my tongue. I don't want to mess this up. I start kissing the side of her face, hoping to get her motor running again.

"Don't I get to do you now?" she asks.

I say, "Oh, I'm not done with you yet. We'll get to me soon enough."

We make out. My hand roams, over her arms, her fingers, her belly, her thighs. I take it easy on her, staying away from sensitive spots while her orgasm is still subsiding.

She seems more in her body this time. She isn't a tuning fork anymore.

I'm enjoying her. I discover just how agreeable her nipples are. Not as hair trigger sensitive as mine, but I'm starting to understand how she was able to come so quickly from such indirect stimulation.

And I'm baffled by how none of her previous partners figured it out.

I suckle her nipple, much more measured this time, and toy with the other with my fingertips. She's relaxed, she's warmed to me by now.

When we've got a good head of steam going, with her brain fogged by arousal, I move my hand between her thighs.

Frankly, I purposely waited until she got horny enough that she's unlikely to tell me no.

"I'm going to finger your pussy now," I say. "Is that okay?"

"Mmhmm," she says, then adds, "Yes."

She raises her knees up, her legs splayed. She reclines on her elbows, her back and head supported by her half-flattened pillows.

"Is it okay that I call it your pussy?" I ask.

"Yes."

I kiss her mouth. She eagerly kisses me back. At the same time, I swirl my palm broadly around her vulva. She's oozing wet. It takes very little time before my hand and her pubic hair are slick.

I'm getting a sense that she's distancing herself from the reality of what's happening, that she's focusing purely on the sensations to avoid thinking about the sapphic nature of this encounter.

I sit upright.

"Watch me," I tell her.

Obediently, she watches as I kneel between her legs, sitting back on my heels, hunching over her. Her eyes travel up, over my thighs, my bush, my belly, my breasts, my face.

If she was distancing herself before, it's impossible now. The fact of my body, large and bare and brown before her, can no longer be denied.

Her pussy is beautiful. Her pubic hair thins out over her thick white labia before thickening again around her asshole. Just a hint of pink shines through.

She follows my hand as I slide my middle finger insideh her, curled upward, pressing into the roof of her. With my other hand, I press down on the fat of her pubis and bracket her clit with my fingers.

She's delightfully wet, warm, and soft, like touching steam. Her smell is like sweat and old books. It electrifies my brain, blanketing me in pleasant sense memories.

I lock eyes with her, lean towards her. If I drooled-and I might just; she looks absolutely delectable-it would land in or around her deep navel.

I start finger fucking her.

I keep my wrist and my finger mostly rigid, letting my arm do most of the work. The more she melts into the mattress, the more her eyes cloud over, the more her mouth hangs open, the firmer I press.

When she's thoroughly loosened up, I add my ring finger.

I remind her to watch me. She does. Her gaze follows my jiggling upper arm, my swaying breasts, my steaming eyes.

My small, strong hand, pistoning its way in and out of her vagina, sending ripples through her fleshy body.

Don't close your eyes.

Don't look at the ceiling.

Watch me.

Soon, her gaze upon me has taken on a trancelike character. The hills of her torso rise and fall, slowly, evenly. Around my fingers and on her perineum, a pale froth is gathering.

"I, uh," she murmurs.

I don't stop.

"I think I have to pee," she says.

"Did you have to pee before now?"

"No."

"It's normal. You don't actually have to pee."

Her eyes, heavy-lidded, widen a little.

"I don't want to wet the bed," she says.

I slow down.

I don't stop. I stroke her slowly, leisurely. A holding pattern.

"I won't lie to you," I say. "You're probably going to have to change your bedding. But I promise you, you won't pee."

She looks concerned.

"It's my birthday," I say, sweetly but firmly. "Isn't that worth changing the bedding?"

She gives me a doubtful look, but doesn't say anything.

"Are you calling pause?" I ask.

"No," she says, definitively, as if challenged.

Girl code, baby.

I start working her back up to the intensity we were at, and the concern in her face starts to recede. Her brow furrows. Sweat stands out on her skin, her breathing quickens, her hips start to roll.

It's all I can do to keep up.

With my free hand on her pubis, I brush her hooded clitoris with the tips of my finger and thumb, avoiding direct contact. I'm pushing hard inside her, rocking her swollen flesh back and forth.

At first, she's so silent that I wonder if she's holding her breath.

Then her thighs lock, her hips tremble, and a guttural gasp escapes from deep in her chest, and I look down in time to see a jet of clear liquid lurch out of her, wetting my wrist and the bedding beneath it.

The force of it is over almost as soon as it begins. Thin, warm fluid dribbles out of her, lazily, like spring water, soaking my fingers and running down the crack of her ass.

"Oh god," she mutters, higher than a kite. "Oh fuck, I pissed."

"Don't worry, baby, you didn't piss," I tell her.

She loses her train of thought, and I keep her going, bringing her swiftly through her orgasm.

As she lies there, wet, limp, fucked into a stupor, I find what is presumably her dirty laundry pile and wipe my hand.

She looks up at me with gauzy eyes.

"Mmm. What's next?" she says.

I help her sit up, making a cushion of pillows between her back and the wall. She's a little weak right now. It's understandable.

Then I straddle her lap, kneeling, my ass hovering over her thighs and my breasts in her face.

I tell her, "I have a thing for being watched while I get off."

"You just want me to just sit here and watch?"

I laugh. "No. You're going to take care of my nipples. And you're going to look me in the eye, so you know what my face looks like when I come."

She smiles, that brilliant megawatt smile, and I wonder if I've awakened something in her.

Maybe she gets off on watching.

My eyes are on hers. I reach down in between my legs and lay my hand over my vulva. She and I are close enough that the back of my hand is against the roll of her belly.

Her hands are on my tits.

I want to warn her to be careful with my nipples, that too much, too fast might send me screaming down the road.

But her hands slide down to my big, dark, low-slung areolas, and the though the contact is a lot, I find that I can take it. The feeling pings in my belly, but resonates somewhere further below.

"Not hard," I say. "Firm, but not hard."

She nods. She raises my heavy tits up wih her palms, makes slow, forceful circles at the edges with her thumbs, raising a warm, intense, dizzying feeling in me that goes straight to my head.

I breathe slowly, trying to maintain my composure, but my breaths are already ratcheting in and out, making my shoulders hitch and my body ripple.

She's watching me carefully, watching what my face does while she learns her way around my nipples.

I thread my free hand into her hair, stirring her scent into the air, but mostly supporting myself.

I begin to masturbate.

I draw my fingers slowly up and down the cleft, dipping a finger inside, swirling myself, pushing the fat of my labia around, relishing the fleeting satisfaction of my own touch.

She's getting braver, playing with the nubs, smirking with delight everytime she does something that makes me coo with pleasure.

The bolder she gets with me, the bolder I get with myself.

I make wide, swirling, wet circles on myself. Long, deep tissue massage strokes, up and down from my perineum to my clit. My hand moves as though possessed.

Already, I know that this is it, that I'm going to have to come, and I realize I've been looking through her into the middle distance.

I've been so hard-up for so long. My resistance is weak.

When I refocus myself on her face, she's still watching me with big, curious eyes.

The thought of my image, my masturbatory glory, being drunk in through those eyes, projected inside her neophyte mind, of being watched by someone fresh and new and strange, makes it so much better.

Her mouth descends upon my nipple. She makes a broad, sucking "o" over it, an imitation of what I did to her earlier. The tip of her broad, soft tongue touches the nub of it, pushing it around, playing with it.

Fuck.

Oh fuck.

My body is screaming for relief. My arm moves between our bodies like a great machine, jiggling my belly and hers.

With her mouth occupied, her breaths come through her nose in tickling puffs on my boob. Unconsciously, her breathing has fallen into the same slow, shallow rhythm as mine. In sync.

Sympatico.

Everything from my thighs up to my belly tightens. I feel a star gathering within me, growing, pulsing.

I flick my eyes up and down the soft, pale, sweaty girl below me, gazing up at my sex-drunk face, and wonder how much of this inner fire is apparent to her from the outside.

Then the star bursts.

I vaguely recall what happens next.

I'm squeezing her face into my tit, my fingertips are agitating my clit, I'm squeezing her between my thighs. Somewhere in the distance of my consciousness, I'm crying out in a delicate falsetto.

At some point, I'm coming back to awareness. I'm sitting in her lap, holding her to my breast, my face buried in the crook of her neck. She holds me. We sweat together. The air smells heavily of mingled sex.

Quietly, she says, "You sounded really hot."

As keenly as she watched, as erotic as I felt being watched, it was the sound that did it for her.

I could say something witty, something sage.

Instead, I kiss her. Unself-consciously, she kisses me back. It's sweet, and it's horny.

But it's one of those kisses where it's clear that the evening has run its course. An ending kiss.

We linger a little longer, then I peel myself off of her. I get up on unsteady legs. She sits there, reclining against her pillows, not minding the wet spot under her bare ass. She watches me get dressed.

I pick up my bag. She gets up and unlocks the bedroom door for me. Any embarrassment about being nude in front of me has long evaporated.

Before I can leave, she grabs her phone from her bedside table and opens the screen.

"Can I get your number?" she asks.

I mull this over.

Not whether or not to give her my number, but to give her the real one or a fake. Usually, I'd give her a fake one, to send her out of Wonderland and back up the rabbit hole. Back to her normal life.

I take her phone, write in the real one, and put my name in as "[my first name] - donut bumper." She laughs when I hand it back to her.

Before I let go of the phone, I say, "We have to make something clear, though."

"Okay," she says.

"I'm happy to be your booty call. I'll teach you anything you want to learn, let you try anything you want to try... just don't let me be the only one, okay?"

"The only what?" she says.

I fix her with a look. "You know."

"You want me to have sex with other girls?"

"I want you to have sex with people who care about your pleasure. I don't want you to..."

I search for the words.

Then I say, "I don't want you to go back to shitty sex with straight boys."

"Gotcha," she says.

At the other side of our encounter, she's in an assertive mood. Not a needy mess, like I was when I was her age.

I open the door. On my way out, I pause.

I say, "Don't call me until you've had an honest orgasm with someone else who gives a shit."

She nods, and closes her door behind me. I hear the lock click.

I exit through the co-op's spacious living room. There's nobody here. Its emptiness makes me feel suddenly lonesome.

Outside, whatsisface from the bar is still here, smoking on the outdoor porch by himself.

"Nice meeting you," I say, preparing to breeze past him.

"How do you do it?" he says.

"Do what?"

He drops his cigarette on the bare cement and crushes it out with his foot.

"I tried so hard to go home with one of them," he says. "First, the blonde, then her."

Inwardly, I sigh.

It's a nice night. I'll stay and talk for a minute.

"It's your desperation," I say.

"I'm desperate because I want to get laid?"

"A lot of people want to get laid. If you don't approach them with kindness, all they see is desperation."

He appears to think this over.

Then he says, "What are you up to tonight?"

I almost laugh at his audacity.

Instead, I feel pity for him.

And I start thinking to myself, am I really ready for the night end?

My pussy is thrumming with satisfaction, like tastebuds after a spicy meal. I don't want to disturb it.

And I'm not going to suck his cock, mainly because I don't have much of a hankering for it right now.

But...

I set my handbag on the rail at the edge of the porch, go through it, produce a condom and a travel lube.

"I don't know your name," I say. "I'm pretty sure you don't know mine."

He's listening. Very keenly.

I say, "You're going to fuck me in the ass. You're going to get yourself off, then I'm going to go home. And after tonight, you're going to at least learn people's names before you try to fuck them."

Carefully, he asks, "What do you get out of this?"

I can't blame him.

If I were a gormless 21 year old manchild, I'd be suspicious if a hot piece of ass like myself offered up anal sex without any strings attached.

I tell him, "I'm feeling pretty good already. I just want something in my ass for a minute, to cap off my night.

He starts taking his pants down.

"Don't take anything off," I tell him. "Just get your cock out."

He does.

Admittedly, it's pretty nice. Not long, but thick and handsome. His hairy balls hang over the elastic waistband of his underwear.

I offer him the condom and the lube, which he takes. I wait patiently as he rolls the condom on, then slathers himself in more lube than any cock has ever needed.

While he's fussing with himself, I turned around, facing away from him. I pull over a nearby lounge chair and prop my leg up on it. I hike my skirt up around my waist, exposing myself to the world.

When he looks up, he sees my big brown ass, naked in the warm nighttime breeze. I'm bent over with my elbows on the railing. I look over my shoulder at him.

"What are you waiting for?" I say.

He suffles awkwardly over to me and positions himself behind me.

"How do I..." he begins.

"You'll have to find my asshole," I say. "Just use your fingers."

I feel him touching me, on my damp perineum, getting close to my pussy.

"Wrong way, Magellan" I say.

I feel two fingers glide to the closed pucker and stop there.

"Bingo," I say.

The fingers vanish. They're replaced by the touch of a wet, pressing dickhead.

I squeeze down hard.

Then I say, "Tip it in. Just the head."

I relax, letting my anus loosen its muscular grip. I'm rewarded with the invasion of his slippery penis.

As he's told, he stops after the first inch or so.

"Oh, fuck," he says, "This feels so good."

I roll my eyes.

"Slowly," I say, "push it until you're all the way in."

He does, and little by little I'm filled, until I feel his bony hips against my fleshy buttcheeks, and I sigh at the simple pleasure and slight discomfort of fullness.

"Keep it here for a minute," I say.

It is a nice cock.

This is all I really want out of him. I want it to linger.

I let my butt do all its semi-involuntary muscle contractions, letting myself feel grounded and present and reminded of my body with every little convulsion.

When I've had my fill, I tell him okay, and he starts humping.

He says, "Do I just fuck hard, or what?"

I tell him, "Thank you for asking. Just do what you'd normally do."

Then I add, "But always ask."

He starts fucking, hard, and it feels pretty good. His fingers dig into the fat of my hips as his body claps against mine.

He doesn't last very long. I don't mind.

I leave him sitting in the lounge chair on the porch, in the daze of ejaculation, gathering himself, his half-erect cock still damp and condomed in the open air.

My pussy thrums. My asshole thrums. This was a nice night.

I'm not about to ruin it by waiting for him to ask me for my number.

As I walk down the street, I think back to my last birthday, one year ago today. Walking home from a college dormitory, covered in the cum of the defensive line, wearing nothing but tattoos and a smile.

My phone buzzes inside my bag. While I walk, I get it out. It's Melissa, texting me so I can put her number in my phone.

I'm not sure why I do it. Maybe it's whimsy. Or maybe I really like this one for some reason.

I put her number in my phone, and I enter her name:

Melissa - My Favorite Slut.

~THE END~

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