Page 94 of Callan

Mackenzie Prince.

The simple thought of her makes me hard, which is to be expected. I’ve already jerked off at the thought of her.

Twice.

Once in the early morning hours, when I came home and had a raging hard-on. As tired as I was, and as tipsy as I was, I only went back for a second to relieve every moment I had had with her.

The sweet taste between her legs.

Her wet pussy.

The tension in her thighs.

And did I say she’d shaved for me?

I said nothing about that, and she surely hadn’t confessed.

But she did it for me.

Her folds were smooth like velvet.

Her clit, pink and swollen.

I wanted to bite her pussy off.

I wanted to savage her, and that was the thought that got me off when I rubbed myself hard.

I couldn’t wait to get in bed.

I stood in the shower, the water running down my neck, my pecs, and my legs, my fist tight around my girth, and my eyes closed.

And all I had in mind was having her in front of me, on her knees, those pink lips wrapped around me, her tongue sailing around it, her cheeks hollow from sucking me hard.

It took me very little to get to the peak and shoot my load onto the marble floor.

Later, I walked out with a towel wrapped around my hips, still semi-hard. And still needing to revisit that moment when I had her legs around my neck like a collar made of silk and a woman's flesh.

I crashed onto the bed, rolled to my stomach, and tried to forget about her. It didn’t work in the slightest.

I grew harder and harder until I cuffed my engorged length and teasingly started running my fist up and down, thinking about her. Imagining her hand on my dick, her eyes sparkling, the tips of her breasts hard and round.

The second I had the image of her pussy spread open for me to lick, suck on, and then fuck, I made a mess on the sheets.

My chest was still heaving while I indulged in every bit of throbbing creating turmoil in my body.

And when that feeling left and got replaced by frustration, I pushed out of my bed, cupping my dick. I rolled the sheet off, tossed it into the laundry hamper, and cursing under my breath, I went to the small bedroom down the hallway.

Meaning here.

The memory puts a smile on my face, although the feeling is still there. Annoying irritation tinged with frustration, both gnawing at my patience.

I haven’t had a woman say‘later’to me in maybe a decade or more. It must’ve happened when I was nineteen. Not even then. Perhaps that’s what’s been fueling my need for her.

Or maybe it’s just the way this woman talks to me straightly without overthinking everything and attempting to seduce me.

Whatever it is, I will wait for her.

Now that we’ve taken a chance, we will get to the end of it, whatever that ending will mean to us.

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