Something like a Love Story Ch. 03-04

# # # Chapter 3 # # #

In the end, we were both too worn out for anything but sleep, though the morning, or rather early afternoon, found us in as compromising a situation as the night previous. In our haste, we had failed to completely close the blackout curtains completely and a pale blue illumination cut through the conventional curtains to gently bathe the room.

I had neglected to collect my clothes and she had parted with what little I recalled remaining; we found ourselves naked in the classic "spooning" position. This would not have been a problem were it not for a feature typical of mornings; a very serious erection.

My cock had nestled itself in nicely; the base rested just between the cleft of her lovely ass cheeks and the rest followed the curve in the small of her back. While this felt delightful, the morning had brought with it the presence of mind to wonder whether the previous night was really such a good idea. We had made an excellent pair as friends partially because the sexual element of the dynamic was largely dispensed with: that drunken blowjob had essentially constituted a "been there, done that" kind of history that had allowed us to move forward without much by way of tension.

Last night had changed all that and I couldn't help but wonder just exactly what we were now. Dating was impossible. I was up for partner that year and there was just no way I could bring Allie to events. I instantly felt shallow and cowardly for thinking like that, but the truth was that the prejudices of others had the power to destroy my career. Hopefully, it would never come to the choice between her and the job; I was getting way ahead of myself. It was just as likely that she would wake up and decide it was all a terrible mistake and toss me out. I was not thrilled by that prospect either. I didn't know what would happen when she woke up, and more to the point, I didn't know what I wanted to happen.

The first thing that did happen was that she murmured happily and ground her rump into me, arching her back then releasing so that my cock received a near full caress from her ass as it slid between the curves of her cheeks. I'd heard of "hot-dogging" but never really considered it until that moment. She followed the movement with a little wiggle and a lazy purr.

"Mmm. Good morning, sexy." Then I suppose she felt my reaction to her teasing and she giggled. "Comfy?"

There were a lot of words to describe my current state but "comfortable" wasn't really one of them. Explaining any of the other words, however, was something that would have to wait. I simply gave something like a groan in the affirmative.

"Good" came her reply, with a kind of mischievous lilt in her voice. Her tone gave me just enough warning to know that something was about to happen but not enough to do anything about it.

"I like making you..." and her body began to roll again, the perfect globes of her backside crushing against me, my cock caressed by the channel between them.

"...comfy..." and she took my hand by the wrist and placed it on her breast, warm, plush, and firm. I managed a groan of half protest.

"That's not nice."

Her body continued the languid, lazy motions.

"What's not nice?" She punctuated her whispered question with a powerful grind against me, arching her back to press her breast further into my hand.

"Teasing me like this."

"Oh I'm not teasing, sexy, I'll take good care of you..." She reached back and let her fingertips toy with the crown of my cock as it crested the curves of her ass. Then her hand moved all the way behind me to grab my ass and pull forward, rolling my hips in a guided thrust, which brought a low moan from her barely parted lips.

"God, Jay, your hips are just made for fucking" and her body moved a little higher, taking my tip closer and closer to alignment with her rim.

"Allie..." she must have heard the hint of protest in my voice. I'd tried to soften it as much as I could, not wanting for her to feel like she had wronged me or that I was uncomfortable. I had tried to burry in her name the notion "I'm not ready for that" without forcing a discussion of what was and wasn't on the table.

Whereas last night, this protest might have been mistaken for a hard "no," she was bolder now. I didn't know what I expected, maybe tears, maybe wounded indignation, but I was certainly not expecting the response I got.

"It's okay baby, I know just the thing." She reached out for something in front of her then slowly began to move down my body, only turning to face me when my cock reached the middle of her back. I thought she was planning to take me in her mouth, but she stopped and grabbed my leg, throwing it over her and then rolling, trying to pull me on top of her. I followed her lead; she wasn't near strong enough to pull or push me anywhere but I was content to be guided.

By the time I looked down from my position straddling her flat belly, she was massaging her breasts provocatively, spreading a thin sheen of scented (and, as it turns out, flavored) oil over their lush expanse.

"Fuck my tits, sexy..." The ghosts of last night's makeup still lingered beside her eyes and on the edges of her lips and in the moment she looked a lot less like Marilyn Monroe and a lot more like Ashlynn Brooke, who had been a favorite adult film star of mine. She arched her body and gave a needful, solicitous groan.

"Fuck my tits with that gorgeous cock and make me a hot, sticky mess." Her eyes burned up into mine with a wild heat, as though if I didn't get down to business that instant, she might grab me by the ass as start doing it herself.

The psychology of the male sexual experience is not something that receives a great deal of thought by the average person, as evidenced by most of the "better sex" articles appearing in magazines like Cosmopolitan and the like. The focus on "techniques" and "tricks" always baffled me; the brute mechanics of eliciting male orgasm are fairly simple and there are really only so many variations on the basic themes.

The real source of anything extraordinary is the same for men as for women: psychology. No activity highlights this quite like tit-fucking. While a pair of slick breasts certainly feels lovely wrapped around a cock, there are usually at least two tighter, hotter, wetter options available. The sensation alone is not what makes the experience so pleasurable. The real pleasure lies in psychology of it all.

Nothing has quite the same dramatic flair as tit-fucking. There are no dignified names for the act ("fellatio" at least sounds like the pastime of the decadent but cultured Italian gentry) and this is because it is not "sexy" or "seductive:" it is absolutely and unapologetically pornographic. It requires lush, full breasts and a willingness to put them to uses nature never intended. It begins messy and ends even more so. It is not for the timid.

Allie understood this in a way that indicated she was either a natural prodigy or a seasoned expert, perhaps both, and her expressions had the slight exaggeration that would have put them at home on a top tier porn star.

At first, she looked up at me with wide, doe eyes, biting her lower lip with a look of concern , as though she was terrified I might not like it. As my cock eased between her globes, her face lit up with happy surprise and a mischievous grin, like she was thrilled that everything had worked and now intended to make the best of it. My hips began to rock back and forth and she pressed her breasts together more tightly, groaning like it was the best fuck she'd ever had. Thus began a masterful very personal, performance.

The drama unfolded across several acts. As with most dramas, the first act was largely a matter of presentation and logistics. The oil gave her pale skin a shimmering iridescence which snatched my gaze and forbade it from wandering elsewhere. Her hands framed her breasts perfectly as she toyed with them, smearing the oil licentiously, teasing her nipples, and sculpting them to perfectly embrace my cock. The first movements were quick and slippery, accompanies in equal parts by groans and giggles as we both figured out just here our hands, our hips, and our legs had to be to create the perfect stroke. Like a needle dropped onto a record, there were a few skips and bounces before falling into a delicious groove.

The second act was, perhaps, the most intensely erotic scene I had experienced up until then. This is not to say that a blowjob is not an erotic experience: in a blowjob, all the mechanics are on display, but that is the glory of it; it is a kind of unabashed revelry in the process of pleasure with only a few flashes of deep intimacy. Sex itself can be powerfully erotic for the opposite reason; the mechanics are hidden, leaving lovers to watch intently as their movements ripple through the other. The second act had the best of both worlds; the mechanics were provocatively presented, yet in an instant, eyes could lock and each little parting of the lips or flutter of eyelids could be savored.

The oil had burned off much of its slickness and each push was a decadent, slow, grinding slide between heated and flush breasts. As my hips rocked back each time, my face drew just a little closer to hers. The whole universe seemed to shrink down into nothing more than the space between us; it was a private world. Her eyes closed a moment and she gave a long, needful moan; when they opened again, there was a kind of smoldering heat behind them, burning less like a wildfire and more like slow, oozing lava. As she whispered, all other sounds seemed to fade.

"Those skinny little sluts you take home from the club can't do this for you, can they. I bet even the ones that can won't..." Her lip began to curl into a smirk, but it was interrupted by a luxurious purr. Mischief flashed in her eyes like cascading sparks in a steel mill and there was a smirk in her voice as well as on her lips.

"I bet they fuck like secretaries; diligent, dutiful, checking allllll the boxes..." The long "L" sound was accompanied by a slow arch of her back, drawing my cock deeper into the cleft between her breasts.

"I can fuck like a secretary... " and she gave a giggle followed deep, pleasured moan.

" I can fuck any way you want. I can squirm and whimper and beg for more while you punish me..." Her hands pressed her breasts together tightly and she panted ever so slightly at each thrust.

" I can drool and gag until tears run down my cheeks while you fuck my throat..." and her head fell back, the first tense lines of pleasure appearing beside her eyes as she squeezed them shut.

"I can put my hair in pig tails and call you Daddy while you make me your adorable little fuckdoll." Her eyes grew wide an innocent, plaintive and needful all at once and her voice took on that sweet girlish charm as she gave a little preview. "Please... fuck me, Daddy, fuck your good little girl." I throbbed, powerfully, and I could see the little smile as the throb registered.

The words were coming faster now, growing more wanting, more insistent.

"I can do anything you want, sexy... Be anything you want... anything for this cock... all you have to do is give it to me..." With this, she lifted her full breasts and craned her neck downward, parting her lips and reaching out with her tongue for the head of my cock, which slipped just out of its reach. She looked up with craving, pleading eyes.

"Please sexy... Please give me that cock..."Her mouth fell open, begging to be filled, but she did not release the vice grip her breasts held on my cock. Still. she had asked so politely, it seemed rude to decline her request, so all my effort went to driving my cock up through those luscious tits and between her waiting, wanting lips.

Each time my tip reached her lips the sealed them tightly around it, so that as I drew back, it slid free with a little "pop." She alternated between straining to look at me and watching the head of my cock drive up through her pale skin and slip just within her reach. Finally, she let her head loll back and she looked up at me intently.

"That's it sexy, give it to me, fuck these beautiful tits harder..."

And so began the third act; the dramatic race to the finish and the thrilling conclusion. While I needed little by way of encouragement by this point, she seemed to enjoy providing it, groaning and mewling, arching her back, licking her lips, and whispering hotly.

Most of her whispers were desperate entreaties to have my way with her, though one stood out, her tone sharper and more insistent: "Fuck my tits and cover me in cum like a good boy..." It was the first time she had called me that and I could not escape the feeling it wouldn't be the last. Not that I minded; there is a certain pleasure in knowing just what your partner wants and just how they want it, just as there is a pleasure in giving it to them.

Soon all words were lost, however, beneath her moans, my snarls, and the clipped staccato beat of my hips hitting the soft underside of her breasts. While I stretched the moment as long as I could, soon there was no disguising what was about to happen. Allie cooed:

"Oh sexy, that's it, I want it. I need you to cum baby, cum all over me. Please baby, shot that cum all over my pretty face... all over my tits... "

My head was swimming, but my hips were operating without instruction now, pumping wildly, her breasts slickened by my pre-cum. For her part, her face was alight in ecstasy and anticipation, a gentle, playful lilt to her words beneath their heat.

"Won't I look pretty baby? Covered in your hot cum? I need to feel it. Make my your pretty girl with that thick cock..."

On my last thrust my hips carried me up and out from between her breasts, pulling back to just over her flat belly as I stroked wildly. She toyed with her breasts wantonly, looking up and uttered two words in a tone that was at once pleading and commanding:

"Fucking. Cum."

Of course, I did. My fist was a blur as it moved over my slick cock for an instant and then my climax hit like a drop kick to the chest, As my shoulders moved back, my hips went forward and the first powerful pulse shot through the air, splattering her cheek and leaving a long, graceful tail over her breast to her belly. Pulse after pulse, wave after wave of pleasure sent thick, ropey arcs through the air to splash onto her face, slash across her belly, coat her breasts and drizzle down the curves of her body.

She arched wildly, her hands smearing the streaks of cum into a thin, glossy sheen on her skin where it mixed with the oil until her pale skin glistened like mother of pearl. She seemed to delight in every drop, greeting it with purrs and gasps, with sated eyes and parted, smirking lips.

When the riot of sensation had subsided and my climax coasted to a shivering, shuddering end. I found myself looking down at her, marveling at her face. "Angelic" is not usually a word people associate with a cum-splattered girl, yet there is no other word that quite encompasses that combination of almost painful beauty, girlish joy, and playful mirth.

When she became aware I was watching her, she giggled, taking a moment to study my face before chirping triumphantly:

"Oh you are going to jerk of for MONTHS thinking about that, I just know it!"

Not exactly "angelic," I know, but I am sticking to my guns on that one.

She wiggled her way down to kiss the head of my softening cock before insisting "Scootch!" as she deftly guided my knee of the way so she could slip off the bed. She strode toward the doorway but paused at the threshold, looking at me over her shoulder.

"I'm going to take a shower... Be here when I get back..."

The words of the second sentence hung in the air, difficult to punctuate definitively with either period or question mark. I gave an equally ambiguous nod either of understanding or confirmation. Her brow furrowed for just a split second as she tried to puzzle out what I meant, but she quickly gave up, sauntering away to wash me off of her. Meanwhile, I sat there on the bed, trying desperately as well to puzzle just what I had meant.

# # # Chapter 4 # # #

I have taken plenty of long showers in my life, so I had no trouble at all discerning one of the reasons for the length of time Allie was spending in there; I'd also be lying if I didn't try to picture it at least for a moment or so. Still, I have trouble believing there wasn't another reason: I think she was making sure that, if I had a sudden existential crisis about recent events and made a hasty exit, she wouldn't have to be present for it.

I did gather up my lounge pants from their landing place and recovered my shirt from quite a different part of the front room; I did not, however, make for the door. Instead I headed into the kitchen and began scrounging the necessary components of breakfast for two. This was not the first time I'd messed around with a friend, ill advised or not, and I knew full well that the first thing that would need saving was the friendship; benefits and so on could be worked out later.

I had made a point to note what she had ordered at that diner, that first, awkward night, which now seemed so long ago. Doing so was a habit; if you're lucky enough to be with a woman at breakfast, it means you did something right, if you can make what she likes without having to ask, you're a hero. Allie was simple enough; one egg, over easy, on buttered toast. All the pieces were available, so I got to it.

When Allie finally did emerge from the bathroom, clad in luxurious robe which appeared taken from an equally luxurious hotel, she gave a small start at the sight of me in the kitchen. I am not sure if it was out of surprise that I was still around or simply surprise that I was in the kitchen, but it made her do an adorable half jump, half wobble motion. I can't really recall if she said anything particular as she slid into her seat, the robe left a little loose, perhaps for my enjoyment, as she ate.

We spent the rest of the day lounging about and chatting; I don't think a blow by blow accounting as necessary, though it was the first time we ended up discussing her past in anything more than a tangential way. It is difficult to ask someone like Allie about her past, not because I assumed it was full of horrors and abuses but rather because it seemed likely to me that there was some vast gulf between "then" and "now." After all, I reasoned, she was unlikely to have a past that lined up with the present: prom, childhood toys, first dates, first times; all of these would likely clash with my conceptions of Allie as "Allie" and not "Alex."

As it happened, the past came tumbling out in one go as the response to a single, unassuming question: "So how do you afford this place?" Her apartment was not luxurious but I had worked out that she didn't have a "day job." She had grown up in a military town in a Southern state; dad was career military and mom was a government contractor. When she was ten, her mother was killed in an accident; she left out the details but it sounded horrific. Her father saw the whole thing. Ages ten to twelve was a haze of lawyers and frozen dinners; in the end, the family received an outsized settlement, a significant portion of which was put in trust. Once the dust settled, things at home got, in her words, "rough."

She had "known" (the word managed to encompass her entire sexual situation without giving the slightest detail) since she was young but as she entered her early teens, she began exploring. This did not sit well with her father; she had always looked more like her mother and that made certain revelations even uglier, especially as he had never parted with at least a portion of her wardrobe. The details get fuzzy here and she stressed, with a half-chuckle, that I shouldn't be "weirded out" if she called me Daddy.