When I was in college, I stubled into a dominant, almost-anal-only relationship with a cute, nerdy girl. Years later, I ran into her a college reunion...
“I’ve masturbated on Zoom calls before,” Grace told me, her tanned knuckles gone white as she gripped the hotel desk, her muscular thighs spread before me, offering a glimpse of the tight ring of muscle gripping my swollen cock. She gasped as I worked another inch in, dribbling another happy dollop of lubricant onto my shaft. “But I’ve never taken it in the ass while discussing third-quarter sales figures.”
And now, the proverbial record scratch—there’s me, a charmingly unkempt high school English teacher celebrating the coming summer, pun intended. See my burly, hairy chest. See my beard, my tattoos, my gentle yet firm attitude, my red pen, forever poised to appraise pouting ponderings per poets primitive and present-day.
See, then, reader, Grace, born in Shanghai, raised in Toronto and San Francisco. A face rounder than round, with chubby cheeks she’d finally grown into, her body reforged by Crossfit and pre-packaged smoothies from the soft, yielding frame I knew so well in college. Her naked shoulder blade angles against a coding joke tattooed onto her back, which I admire without comprehension. I reach a hand beneath her, feeling her tight abs jump at the sudden caress, hips squirming as I half-stroke, half-tickle her taut belly, slicked with sweat and, no doubt, spit and precum. Her messy bun grows rapidly messier, can no longer be called a bun so much as a mass, and then I fling her useless scrunchie away and grip her by the hair, arching her back, thrusting her tits forward, bearing the proud bruises I’d gifted her the night before. Her camera is off, as I double-check approximately once every thirty seconds, and I only slow my thrusts when she has to speak, stumbling through a tech creole of Mandarin and Californese.
“Like, yeah, I think we’re basically solving for—” and here comes her flourish of wit, which draws chuckles from half the programmers on her team.
Let’s back up for a moment, though—I assure you, we’ll return to that hotel room, to that Zoom call, to Gace’s out-of-practice ass suckling my cock into her guts while she hangs her head, grunting like a conquered beast. Let’s back up ten years, and then a few more, to when we first met, as randomly assigned biology partners in undergraduate.
I never particularly thought of myself as a playboy or anything, but I suppose I was what my students now call a “chad,” in that I had several regular friends-with-benefits relationships that kept my uncomfortably overactive sex drive stimulated and almost nearly sated. I don’t think I stood out in a crowd; I reliably dressed in the hipster fashion of the time, drank IPAs, rode a fixed gear bike, experimented with my facial hair—all the affectations of 2010. Hook-up culture was still relatively new at the time, and it seemed rare, especially in the first few years of college, to date, while relatively normal to fool around, at least a bit, with your female friends. What I saw as my own modest successes, I chalked up to, contrary of the incel rhetoric, being nice and thoughtful and fairly funny. Oh, and community service—my main extracurriculars in college were organizing service events, and performing with a truly insufferable improv troupe. In retrospect, I realize now that on occasion, my community service events would end with two or three girls standing around, waiting one another out to see who might go home with me, since nothing, apparently, is more arousing than a man cracking borderline dad jokes and getting whipped in pickup basketball games by the neighborhood kids.
And so, that was my college life, the first year or two. Grace’s, as far as I could tell, was completely different. I had barely registered her existence in our massive biology lecture, and I felt bad, later, when she confessed that she’d actually met me once before on a soup kitchen trip, but had been too shy to speak to me.
She was, well—I still think she was cute, but I realize that she put little effort into her appearance, and would later refer to this as her ugly duckling stage. She was tall for a girl, but slight, which looked odd with her large, round head and her chubby cheeks which had a perennial sprinkling of acne. Her hair she simply parted in the middle, letting it get a bit tangled over the course of the day before driving a brush through it and leaving what seemed like half of it on the floor of the bathroom. I’d later learn that she had an absolutely exquisite, slender little body, but she hid it well in sweatshirts and dance pants or sweats.
Assigned to be my partner, she sat down daintily next to me the first day of lab, and barely spoke to me as we went through the motions of the experiment designed to teach us the fundamentals of lab work. Being that this was a class for non-majors, everything was dumbed down, well past even what we’d had in high school.
Still, that didn’t stop me from fucking up the experiment, only for Grace to save it, wordlessly. When our allotted two and a half hours were nearly over, we began to tidy, me anxious to redeem myself, and her, apparently, anxious to maintain her silence.
“I can type up our notes,” I blurted out. “And do the lab report. Since you did most of the experiment.”
She brushed a thick strand of dark hair behind her head, not looking at me. “You don’t have to do that.”
“This’ll be more fair.” I realized, of course, that this also ran the understandable risk of me fucking up the lab report, and I assumed that’s where Grace’s concerns lay. “How about I’ll do it, and you can look it over? Do you want to come over to work on it?”
I invited her over so naturally, without thinking about how it must have sounded, but she was squirming when she said yes. The next afternoon, she was in my room, hunched over my laptop next to me, pointing at the errors I insisted on continuing to make as we completed the lab report.
About an hour in, I suggested we take a break to watch stupid Flash videos, a reliable way to make friends in the late 2000’s. As we took turns, cycling through the NewGrounds classics and into the new standards of early Youtube, I noticed her sitting closer and closer to me. She smelled like sweat and shampoo and laundry detergent—not a hint of the overpowering perfumes the other girls I took to bed wore, nor a trace of the gaudy post-Jersey Shore makeup and fake tan that refused to go completely out of fashion. The warmth of her body was not at all unpleasant, and as she leaned over me to set up another video—she’d finally started smiling, and laughing—placing a hand on my thigh to steady herself, I slid an arm around her back. She settled into me, keeping her hand on my thigh, and, without looking at me, asked: “Do you want a handjob?”
I stifled a laugh, turning to her, but she still wouldn’t meet my eyes. “You wanna’ give me a handjob?”
“Yeah. I like giving handjobs.”
I reached under her chin and tilted her face to look at me.
“Do you give a lot of handjobs?”
She squirmed. “Guys really like it, right? And I really like dicks.”
“Then go for it.”
She slid her hand over my crotch, feeling me harden, and unzipped my jeans. She slid my boxers down, and wrapped her fingers around my cock, feeling it grow, and grow stiff, in her hand. I leaned close to her as she began to stroke me, my lips touching her ear as I whispered.
“How does my cock stack up?”
“It’s really nice.” I heard her swallow. “It’s really thick and meaty. And it’s a pretty color. It’s so pink.” She pinched the fleshy head of my cock and ran her fingertip around my urethra, collecting some precum on her finger. “That’s really sexy.”
“Who are these guys you’re jacking off?”
“Guys in my dorm,” she answered, matter-of-factly. “And guys back home. I just like dick.”
I angled her face towards mine and kissed her. She seemed surprised, at first, but let my tongue open her lips and explore, teasing, lapping at her teeth and tongue, which all tasted of the cherry cola she’d been drinking.
“They don’t usually kiss me,” she said when we broke apart.
“But did you like that?”
“What else do you like?”
“I haven’t done anything else.”
“Mhm,” she said, still stroking my cock. “The guys don’t want anything to do with me after they cum.” She paused to think for a second: “I’ve licked a lot of cum off my hands, I guess. Does that count as something?”
“Do you want to try other things?”
“Uh-huh.” She looked to me, as if waiting for instructions.
“You’ll need to tell me if you don’t like anything or if you want to stop.”
“I don’t want to stop.” She looked down, away from me, at the very swollen dick in her hands. “Every time I look at you, my stomach does a little flip.”
Again, I tilted her face up, kissed her, kissed over her cheeks, down to her neck. I slid her sweatshirt off, and found the t-shirt she wore, left over from orientation, and without a bra. She raised her arms obediently and I slid it over her head, before kissing down over her chest, finding her nipples and teasing them. Her breasts was small, barely A-cups, each topped with a dark brown nipple that became impossibly harder beneath my tongue and teeth.
“That feels really good,” she whimpered.
“You like playing with your nipples?”
“Do you touch yourself a lot?”
“Every day. I masturbate all the time,” she said, breathlessly, her confession turning into a moan as I slid a hand down her ribs, pressing out of her thin chest, down her soft belly, and in between her legs, where I found a warm, wet tangle of hair protecting her soft little pussy lips. I ran my finger gently along her slit, spreading the slippery wetness, before I found the hidden little nub that made her yelp as my finger grazed it.
“Did you masturbate before coming here?”
“Did you think about my dick?”
“Yes.” She moaned. “I’m so disgusting. No one would ever want to fuck me but I want it so bad.”
“We’re going to take care of that right now,” I growled into her ear. I led her over to the bed and she was already dropping her sweatpants, her panties, and then flopping onto my twin bed, the mass of dark curls between her legs dripping.
“How do you want me?” she asked, after a moment, while I undressed and found a condom.
“On your back. I want to see your face when I put it in.”
She shook her head. “No. I’m ugly. Guys like it from behind, right?”
“It’s your first time, though, right?”
“Don’t you want a kiss as you lose your virginity?”
This, apparently, hadn’t occurred to Grace. She thought about it for a moment and nodded.
“Okay. If you don’t mind.”
“Why would I mind? You’re pretty cute.”
She let out a groan and covered her face. I rolled a condom down over my cock and slid on top of her, pulling her hands away as I kissed her hard. She groaned, grinding her hips up against me as I maneuvered my cock against her wet slit.
“Wrap your legs around me,” I instructed, and she obeyed, just like that, and my cock disappeared inside of her, the no doubt delectable sensation deadened by latex. Still, Grace writhed around me, buried her face in my neck, panting. Her muscles spasmed around me—what a goddamned adolescent male fantasy she was, losing control the second my cock was inside of her.
“I think I just came,” she admitted, offering an explanation. “It feels really good.” I kissed her, and she was all too eager to kiss me back, clinging to me as I fucked her, twisting and teasing her nipples, nibbling her neck and her collar bone. Before long, I felt my cock tighten and swell and, pulling her hair a little as I kissed her, I unloaded inside of her.
“Fuck, Grace,” I whispered into her ear as I came down from my grunting, shuddering high.
“I loved that,” she whispered back. “Watching you cum. Feeling it inside of me.” When I slid out of her, she sat up and took my cock in her hands, inspecting it. “Can you feel much with the condom?”
She was already removing it for me, letting my still swollen cock flop out of its sheath.
“It’s good, but it’s different with a condom. It’s more about the warmth and tightness.” I watched as she held the condom up to the light, admiring the cum pooled at the tip.
“Taste it,” I told her. I was getting the sense that Grace was, in fact, as much of a freak as me, if not moreso. “If you want to. It’d be hot to see you suck it down.”
She giggled. “I was wondering if it would be weird to.” She held it to her nose, sniffing, and then, like some exotic delicacy, inverted the condom over her eager little tongue, turning it inside out and letting the milky glop dribble into her mouth. Once she’d gotten the first round, she kissed the condom, suckling the rest out, and swallowed, before showing me her mouth. “All gone, see?”
“That’s a good girl,” I cooed gently. I was already hard again after seeing this display and, while I couldn’t help but think about our lab report, Grace was eyeing my cock once more. “Taste it. Clean me up.”
That was all she needed. She slid to her knees, running her lips and tongue along my cock, pressing her nose and cheeks against it. “It smells like your cum. It smells so good. I want it inside of me again.” She took first the head of my cock and then my shaft into her eager mouth, whimpering around it as she gagged a bit before finding a rhythm, a depth where she could comfortably hold it and taste it without choking too much.
“You’re not on birth control, right? I shouldn’t go raw inside of you.” Cock still in her mouth, she shook her head.
“If I were, I’d let you cum in me all you wanted,” she assured me. Then, she added slyly: “But I mean… There is one other place you can cum where I won’t get pregnant.”
At this point, I’d had anal only a few times, and while I enjoyed the tight, taboo, dominating pleasure of bending over one of my girls and sodomizing her while she bit the pillow to keep from screaming, the preparation and clean-up involved didn’t necessarily lend itself to the relatively quick hook-ups that comprised my busy college sex life.
“That can hurt, you know,” I warned her.
“I don’t mind.” And after a second, Grace added, somewhat sheepishly: “Actually, I watch a lot of porn like that. With…” She visibly reddened as she stretched her lips around the word: “Anal. It’s, like, a fantasy.”
I led her back onto the bed and spread her legs, bending them back so I could get a look at her tight little hole, ringed with soft, stray hairs and glazed with her juices. She gasped when I touched it, and it opened graciously for me, accepting my finger up to the knuckle.
“I have lube,” I informed her. “Have you ever masturbated here?”
“Uh-huh.” I pressed my finger deeper into her.
“Tell me about that.”
“I, um, um, um,” she stuttered, the staccato of her voice increasing as I leaned down to lick her sopping slit. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”
“Tell me, or I’ll stop.”
“Oh my god,” she gasped as my tongue slid from the base of her slit up to her engorged clit, lapping at her juices. “Okay, I’ll tell you. Um. I had a drum set. From when I was little. And when I was home over break, I put the drumsticks into my ass. As deep as they’d go. And I masturbated.”
My tongue slid over her clit, while I forced a second finger into her ass. She squealed.
“And, uh, I took pictures and posted them on 4chan and guys told me other things to put in my butt.” Reader, it was a different time.
“What else did you put in?”
“Markers. A hair brush. Uh… A curling iron. A butter knife. I can show you the pics.” She arched her back, and I felt her muscles spasm with her orgasm, timed perfectly to hit at the same moment as her confession.
While Grace whimpered on the bed, a spent little mass of happy sex goo, I retrieved a mostly-unused bottle of personal water-based lubricant from beneath my bed. I slathered my cock in the slime, and then bent Grace’s hips back to angle some directly on her tight hole. She, helpfully, reached down to hold her ass open, fingers spreading herself as wide as she could, as I drizzled the lube till it overflowed down her thighs and ass.
“We’ll take it slow,” I assured her, as I pressed the tip of my cock against her ass. In the position she was in, I could see her grimace as the first inch passed into her, and then the next and the next. She was relaxed, and so well-lubricated, that I got inside far easier than I had expected, and all I had to do was admire the silent scream on Grace’s face.
“You’re so deep,” she said with a husky breath. “It’s so much. I feel so full. Fuck.”
“Do you like that?” I growled. She nodded, even as tears escaped her eyes.
“Yeah. I love it.” She bit her lip. “Um. Fuck me.”
The way she said it broke something in me, some last hint of civility and gentlemanliness. I all but ripped my cock out of her ass before slamming it back in, far harder than I should have, feeling her muscles struggle around me as I ploughed her. A stifled scream all but escaped her lips as she arched her back, pawing at me as I began to fuck her in earnest, my weight pushing down on her, doubling her over so that my cock was almost driving straight down into her. She gritted her teeth and dug her nails into my back, and I kissed her, and she kissed me back, frantic, as one of my hands found her pussy and plunged my slick fingers inside of her, feeling her wet insides grip me.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” she moaned in a steady chorus as I grunted into her ear. I bucked my hips against hers, smashing into her ass, all but tearing her in half as she writhed beneath me. I felt her cum once, and then again only a few minutes later, this second time pushing me over the edge as her ass spasmed around my cock. I sighed and unloaded, spilling stream after stream of my sticky seed into her used asshole.
“Oh my god,” she sighed as my cock slid out, bringing a trickle of cum with it. I held her, spooning her sweaty little body as she panted, her hands gripping mine. “That was awesome.”
We cleaned up, finished the lab report, and I walked her back to her dorm. The next week, our lab report session went about the same, and the week after that, and after that, all through the semester. In particular, Grace preferred anal sex. She was worried her parents would learn that she was on birth control if she went to the student health center for a prescription, and she clearly enjoyed the taboo aspect.
I knew she was jealous of the other girls I slept with, but she never once suggested we go exclusive, which I might have considered. If anything, she found a certain twisted pride in her weekly sodomy, as she was eager to remind me after I let it slip that none of the other girls I fooled around with wanted anal.
“Tell me again,” she would gasp as I fucked her ass. “I’m the only one who lets you do this.”
“Your ass is the only one I fuck,” I would whisper in her ear. “All those pretty bitches—” This is how Grace referred to virtually any other woman. “—let me cum in their mouths and their pussies but yours is the only ass I use.” Sometimes, that alone could push her over the edge.
That summer, we corresponded occasionally, sending Facebook messages and blurry pictures of our genitals, but that was it. After a certain point, she stopped responding, and I assumed she was busy with her internship. Somewhere along the way, she’d discovered that she was actually pretty interested in biology, and managed to score a lab tech position at a pharmaceutical company.
I more or less expected we’d start fooling around again in the fall, and imagine my surprised when I couldn’t find her anywhere on campus. It was only at a frat party, as I waited in line for my nth jungle juice of the night, that I felt two dainty hands descend over my eyes.
“Guess who,” the voice in my ear whispered. Even though I recognized it, I couldn’t quite believe my eyes when I turned and saw Grace transformed: she wore a crop-top exposing her mid-riff and then some, emblazoned with the name of a sorority, plus a dramatically short skirt. Her skin had cleared up, her hair was done and down, and she seemed to glow with an aura of, well, pink. She had begun a pretty bitch.
She covered her mouth, giggling into her palm at my expression.
“Didn’t recognize me, huh? I clean up pretty great!” We made small talk for a few minutes, and then grinded on each other amidst the conflagration of sweaty college bodies, and then one of her sorority sisters started puking. Grace gave me an apologetic grimace, and a peck on the cheek.
“I’ll catch up to you later, okay?”
And that’s how things went, for the next two years, more or less. Somehow, whenever we ran into each other, we’d start to hit it off, and then we’d have to split, sometimes within minutes, sometimes within an hour. During college, we never slept together again, helped in no small part by my decision to study abroad, and her graduating a semester early. For the next ten years, she lived in my social media notifications, a series of vaguebooked song lyrics, pictures of cocktails on the beach, and her profile picture changed to reflect her support for the tragedy of the day.
Now, we fast forward to the present day, only hours before my cock would again be buried in her ass, while her nose was supposed to be buried in an earnings spreadsheet. Impoverished educator that I am, I had skipped my five-year college reunion, but, after two years of pandemic, found myself ponying up for the ten-year, especially as I’d found free accommodation on a friend’s couch. I wasn’t exactly looking for Grace, but I was curious to know how the girls I’ve fooled around with in college were doing, and Grace was perhaps chief among them.
As I stood, once more, waiting for my Maker’s Mark on the rocks at the open bar, two delicate palms descended over my eyes.
“Call me a sixteenth-century radical Protestant, because I’ve had an encounter with irresistible grace.”
I heard her snort and she shook her head when I turned around.
“I’m sorry, babe, I don’t get that at all.”
We both armed ourselves with drinks and retreated to a standing table. She’d gone through yet another transformation—whereas she’d been slight in college, giving the impression that exercise had never once crossed her mind, now she filled out the tight, scandalously low-cut black dress she wore, with muscled-curves and a tight waist.
“You’re staring at my tits,” she said in a sing-song voice as we picked our way through the crowd of our classmates.
“You never had any before.”
“Oh, fuck you. You know, I’m half considering getting implants? Do you think I should?”
“I mean, I like what I see now.”
“That settles it, then. Saves me the money.”
“Well, don’t call the whole thing off on my account.”
As we chatted about the old times, and times since then—she worked for a giant international pharma company, had run the corporate gauntlet and clutched a VP position at the Singapore office; I had gotten an MFA in creative writing and a teaching license through a prestigious program aimed at prestigious college graduates; she argued with her parents about Hong Kong, I argued with mine about Trump, she also argued with hers about Trump—some of the easy familiarity we’d once enjoyed seemed to seep back in.
“So,” she said, a few gin and tonics into the night. I was slightly amazed at how callously she brushed off her sorority sisters and their polo-shirt wearing husbands (“The only ones I still like aren’t here,” she concluded with an eye roll which I didn’t investigate further), how we’d been talking for nearly two hours, taking breaks only for booze and the occasional canape. “I’ve got some stuff to get off my chest. Are you ready?”
I immediately searched my conscience—what had I done wrong? Have she ever been visibly intoxicated when we slept together? She had seemed so excited to fool around—she’d even been the one to offer the handjob at first. Had I ever pressured her into doing something I shouldn’t have?
“You have to take responsibility,” she said, jerking a finger in my direction.
“What do you mean? What did I do?”
“You made me the way I am. It’s been twelve years since we’ve had sex, and no matter who I sleep with, I always compare them to you. Sometimes it’s almost as good, but it’s never as good, you know? You’re a man, it’s all the same to you, I bet, but for me, I like—I fucking imprinted on your dick, man.” She burst into giggles at this idea. “Isn’t that fucked up? Like, you took my oral virginity, my vaginal virginity, my anal virginity—” I gestured with my hands for her to quiet down a bit. “The only one you didn’t get was my—hand virginity.”
“Manual?” I offered, ever the English teacher.
“Sure. That. Most girls have such lame first times, but mine was perfect and you were perfect and I still masturbate thinking about you.” She started digging around in her purse. “Here, look. This is a guy I’m sort of seeing in Singapore.” I was looking at a picture of Grace, in a bikini, a script tattoo lining her belly, and a tall, muscular dark-skinned man, with blonde dread locks, tribal tattoos, and approximately one-thousand abs. “He’s a capoeira instructor in Singapore. His dick is like, ten inches long. And he barely ever makes me cum.”
“Do you think it’s maybe just that you’re older and busier now? Not as carefree?”
She glared at me. “How dare you! The things you did to me. You know, that first time, when I went home, my asshole was bleeding. Bleeding!” She slammed down her glass, fortunately made of plastic. “I thought I’d gotten my period early but no, it was because you had to shred my asshole and I took it and loved every single fucking second of it. You know, I masturbated, lying in bed, wearing a pad, thinking about much I loved you inside me, how I was kind of proud that I took it so hard I was bleeding. I wanted to text you and make you come over and fuck my ass again and again.” She was panting a bit, staring at me, hungrily. “I need another drink.”
“What if, instead, we had some food first?”
Two hours later, once Grace had sobered up under the influence of some lukewarm crab cakes and hummus, we left together, her leaning against me, one arm firmly looped around mine.
“I’m sorry again for that,” she mumbled when we got into the elevator. She was staying at the hotel where the reception was being held, and so it was only a short ride to her floor. “I get kind of worked up when I drink gin. It’s usually not like this but—I wasn’t lying when I said you do weird things to me.” She reached for the crotch of my slacks, giving it an affectionate pat. “Hello, old friend.”
“You’re sure you’re okay?”
“As sober as a church mouse. Well, a slightly tipsy church mouse, but I’ve been drinking water like you said.”
“That’s a good girl.”
“Fuck,” she said with a shudder. “You’re going to make me crazy again.” I slid a hand down the back of her dress and underneath, finding her bare ass.
“I took them off ‘cuz they were getting so wet, being around you.” She clicked open her purse and dangled out a slinky blue g-string. It was, indeed, sopping wet still. “I wish I’d done it when I was sober because now my purse smells like pussy.” My fingers slid between her muscular ass cheeks, finding her pussy and she sighed into me.
“There are worse things to smell like.”
Grace had sprung for one of the nicest rooms in the entire block, and I only had a few moments to enjoy it before she was sliding out of her dress and climbing onto the bed.
“Come on, don’t make me wait,” she growled, and then purred when I grasped her by the hair, pulled her head back, and kissed her hard. “I’ve got a UDI now,” she whispered hungrily, between kisses. “So don’t hold back. As much as you want, okay?”
Even though she was so athletic now, I was still so much larger than her, and although we play wrestled a bit, I found it easy to pin her, force her ass up into the air, and press my cock inside of her. She groaned as I fucked her, her entire crotch and ass waxed clean now. The bourbon in my blood made me reckless and as I powered my cock into her, I lost control, grunting as my cock exploded.
“Already?” she gasped. “Can you—”
I was way ahead of her, my hands in her hair, directing her face to my crotch, forcing my slippery cock down her throat. She gagged and sputtered, and I slid her off my cock for a second.
“Let’s have a safe word. We never really did that as kids.”
“What should it be?” Then, she thought for a second: “Fintech. Nothing kills my boner more than white guys talking about fintech.”
With that settled, she was back on my cock, gagging. Twelve years earlier, she’d been able to deep-throat me fully, burying her nose in my pubic hair, and I was determined to get her to repeat the feat, letting her gasp for breath in between attempts.
“Fuck! I never get face fucked like this!” With that, she licked her lips clean and went in for another try.
We fell asleep somewhere around three am, woke up at four and fucked again after I spanked her, and then I only awoke much later in the morning, to Grace’s voice on the other side of the room. From my fort of pillows and blankets, I saw that she was dressed in a tight black shirt and jeans, had put on earrings and makeup, and was sitting down to a Zoom call. I checked my phone and saw a text from her: sorry babe!! Zoom call. Hide plz. No talking.
I listened to her chat, half in Mandarin, half in English, with her team for a few minutes before texting her back: turn off your camera
I waited what felt like forever but she replied: done
Still naked, I stalked over to her and she glanced behind me, a goofy smile on her round face. We kissed, hard, and she tasted like coffee and cum. I forced her jeans down, and then her thong, and bent her forward. She unmuted herself occasionally to chime in on the discussion, biting her lip while I touched her, found how wet she was.
“Do you have lube?” I asked, flicking her asshole with a fingertip.
“In my bag,” she whispered back. I found it, drizzled some on, and began to press into her. I could see her reflection in the screen as she gritted her teeth. “Fuck, did your dick get bigger since last night?”
“How often do you take it in the ass these days?”
“Not often. I guess I give it up with my mouth and pussy too easy, huh? I gotta’ hold out for anal.”
“You just need a pervert like me.”
“Fuck. That’s the spot. Fuck. You’re ripping me apart.”
She bit her lip hard, grunting in time with my thrusts, forming a chorus with the slap of our sweaty thighs. Finally, I came inside of her, and she sighed, pressing back into me, grinding on my cock as it dripped inside of her.
“Clean me off,” I whispered in her ear. Without a word, she slid off my cock, dropped to her knees, and I felt her mouth envelop me, slurping softly, eyes closed, as if she were playing some sort of musical instrument. I grew hard in her mouth once more and, finally, came. Just then, someone asked her a question and she scrambled to her feet, stuttering out an answer through a mouth of cum as I retreated to the shower.
After her call, Grace joined me in bed for coffee and cuddles, resting her chin on my chest.
“It’s not impressive, but you should come visit me,” I offered.
“I was thinking about it.” She walked her fingers up my hairy belly, played with my nipples. “But I better not.”
“Why? The guy in Singapore?”
“Him? Oh, no, I don’t care about him. I care about you. Like, maybe way too much. You know, my therapist didn’t even want me to come on this trip because I’m so, like, sexually hung up on you and suff.” She sighed. “Maybe she was right. I don’t know. But, you know, I changed everything about myself because I thought you might like it more, back when we were in college.”
“I did like it, but I also liked you the way you were, too.” She gave me a sad smile.
“Yeah, you said that back then too. You said that a lot, every time I got down about myself. I kind of wish I’d listened to you, but maybe not, because I do like myself the way I am now.” She shook her head. “See, if I’m around you, I’m just going to go into dark places and second guess everything. I don’t think that’s healthy. If you can just fuck me how I like once every few years, I think that’s what I need.” She thought about it for a second. “And if you want to send me a picture of your dick every now and then, I wouldn’t mind that either.”
I must have been pouting because she gave me the cutest grin and leaned forward, kissing me.
“Don’t look so sad. I work too much and you’d never see me anyway. But if it’s any consolation, I’ll do this—” And she reached for her phone. I watched as she pulled up her United business class reservation and changed it, moving it twenty-four hours later. “God, see? I just give into you! I’m almost scared of what you’re going to get me to do next.”
Even though she said that, I didn’t see a trace of fear on her flushed face as I slid on top of her, covering her lips with mine once more…
Our story ends here now, dear reader—I hope you’ve enjoyed it. Let me know—I’d love to know who is reading this and what they think about it! DMs and chat are open. Who knows, maybe I’ll have more stories about Grace and me from college coming up? When I sent this little bit of filth to Grace, partially to get her okay on it, and partially to tease her (well, mostly to tease her…), she remembered a litany of nasty things I’d done to her that deserve documenting, so—we’ll see! Thanks for reading!