Story Time

"Once upon a time," he said, "there was a girl who wanted to be fucked."

"What was her name?" I asked.

"It doesn't matter. There's only one thing that matters in this story."

"That the girl wanted to be fucked?"

"She really, really wanted to be fucked. She wanted to be fucked deep and hard and long, over and over and over."

"By you?"

He paused, the silence suggesting, Of course, who else? "That's understood," he said finally.

"How did she want to be fucked?" I asked, eager for his answer. The fingers poised at my vagina were twitching, rubbing together, slick with juice. My breathing quickened.

His deep, throaty chuckle sent chills and heat chasing each other all over my body; god, I loved his voice. "First," he said, "she wanted to be kissed for a long time, mouths open, tongues in each other's mouths, both of them getting hotter and hotter until he was fucking hard and she was begging him to fuck her."

I moaned quietly and closed my eyes, thinking of that moment, my hands on his chest, his ass, his thighs, sliding over smooth, tight muscles and bristly hair, thinking of the body that housed him, who he was. I thought of his hands on me, rough palms on smooth, sensitive skin, holding my breasts, fingers pinching my nipples. Could you ever get tired of touching, of exploring the contours and textures of that other person, of the frantic sexual tension and anticipation? I didn't think so; although it probably would depend some on who the other person was. Right now, I was grateful that he was my other person. "Then what?" I asked, nearly breathless.

"Then," he said, losing the detachment of the narrative, "I'll put my mouth over those tits and suck those big nipples for hours, one after the other, until they're so sensitive you scream. And I'll slide my fingers into that warm, wet pussy and rub my thumb over your clit until you come."

I groaned, louder this time, as the waiting fingers dived right into my slick, waiting cunt, and I started humping that hand like it was his hard dick in me.

"Yeah," he said, "like that. Your body writhing and twitching under me while I make you scream out your orgasm. I'll feel your cunt gripping my fingers and that'll make me so very fucking hard. And after you come the first time, I'll put my dick to your lips and fuck your mouth until I spew cum down your throat, and you'll swallow it. You want me to come in your mouth, don't you?"

"Yes," was all I could say.

"Damn straight." His breathing was faster now, too. I loved that I could turn him on so much. "And I'll kiss you deep and put my tongue in your mouth so we can share my cum. And I'll still be big and hard after that so I'll turn you over on your stomach and shove my big hard dick into your wet pussy so hard and so far you'll feel it in your throat."

"God, yes," I groaned, "oh god yes. Fuck me."

"Say it again," he demanded. "Keep saying it."

"Fuck me," I moaned; my climax was ready to claim me. "Fuck me, fuck me, FUCK ME." I screamed as I started to come hard, legs spread wide, cum drooling down the inside of my thigh.

"Oh, god," he groaned, "oh god, baby, oh yeah, come for me."

I kept screaming and he lost his control finally, groaning and grunting and panting like a runner pushing for the last few yards of a race.

"Oh god," I groaned out, the familiar sounds of him coming one of those things I loved most in my life. I could never hear him come enough times.

"Oh, fuck," he said, in the aftermath. "That was fucking amazing. You are fucking amazing, a fucking amazing beautiful woman." I took a deep breath and then he said, "Look, I'm sorry but I've gotta go."

"Wait," I said quickly, still trying to catch my breath, "what happens next? What do they do next?"

"Baby," he said, "it doesn't matter. It's just a story." And he turned off his phone.

Yes, I thought as my heartbeat slowed, he's right. I thought of the days and the weeks that I'd had him as mine, and they'd been wonderful. He'd made me feel like the beautiful and sexy woman he said I was. Cell phone pressed to my ear, I willed him to call back. I wondered if I'd ever hear from him again and knew, in the deepest part of my soul, that I wouldn't. He had become like the blood in my veins and the breath in my lungs; all I had to look forward to now was death slowly reclaiming those places in me where he'd planted life. Yes, I thought, hearing my husband's key in the front door lock, he's right; it was all just a story.