Page 51 of Carver
My mouth waters.
I vividly recall the delicious taste of her on the table last night. I want to fling myself off this chair and fall to my knees in front of her. It would be so easy to slide my hands under her hips, bring them to my face, and drink from her like a dying man.
It takes all the control I have left not to palm my cock, no matter how badly I want to take it out and jack myself.
Bronte’s belly trembles as she touches herself faster, applying a little bit more pressure to her clit. She circles faster, her breath shallowing out with every stroke. She’s swollen and making a mess of the couch underneath her. Sheneedsto be cleaned up with my tongue.
I keep my ass in this seat and just watch.
She keeps her trembling thighs spread wide open, moaning and whimpering in between those shallow breaths she drags in. The air escapes and gets drawn back in through her clenched teeth.
She’s not the only one who’s utterly soaked.
My cock is weeping in my boxers. It’s soaking through the fabric. It’s so heavy, but nothing compared to my balls. The base of my spine tingles as I watch Bronte get closer and closer. I’m so focused on what she’s doing, on how it must feel, but I can also taste her. I can imagine those moans fed straight to my tongue. I know what it feels like when she comes all over my cock, her tight walls clenched around me as her body shudders against the length of mine.
My thoughts run wild. I can imagine just how she’d feel as I sink my cock into her. How she’d writhe beneath me or on top of me. How warm she’d be, clenching over and over on my dick as she came, how she’d soak my balls in her juices.
I think dirty, delicious thoughts that I’d never say out loud. Not because she wouldn’t think they’re hot or because she wouldn’t want to hear them, but because it’s more my style to keep them locked in my head. Her asking me to talk to her tonight was the first time she’s ever broken into my thoughts and held out her hands for them to be placed in her palms.
As her pants and shivers increase, I think about all the times we’ve done this. The first. The last. Every single one in the middle.
I’m so far gone and so is she.
I study her closed eyes, flushed cheeks, and swollen lips. She’s panting while she touches herself and I imagine her on herknees, her hot breaths fanned out over my groin as she leans in. I’d tell her that she couldn’t use her hands. Command her in that bossy tone that she asked me to use. She’d lean in and nuzzle me, inhaling my scent through the fabric of my boxers. She’d tease my cock like that, run her nose down my length before she’d lick the wet fabric.
She moans and I can almost feel that sound pulsing through me. Her mouth against the tight cotton, whimpering at the salty precum that soaked it long before her saliva. She’d use her tongue to test the length of me, starting at the base, running all the way to the tip, still through the fabric. She’d want to use her hands, beg me even, to let her take me out and have me in her mouth, but I’d tell her no. Not yet. In her desperation, she’d find the tip of me anyway, drawing me into her mouth through the thin, soaked barrier of my underwear.
She’d beg me to let her use her hands on herself. She’d slip one between her legs and touch her aching, soaking pussy. Slip a few fingers through her soaked, swollen slit, and skim them over her entrance. She’d be even wetter, dripping down her thighs, slick all the way back to her ass crack.
She’d get bold and use her hand on me, cupping my balls through my boxers, squeezing, until she peels down the waistband and frees my dick to wrap her warm, wet, eager lips around the head. She’d slip those fingers into her tight pussy and fuck herself with them while she sucks me, taking me all the way to the back of her throat…
Bronte comes, her breasts rising and falling rapidly, swaying as her chest saws up and down, as the shaking grips her. She moans low and fast before she bites down on the sound. She’s always been quiet, like her pleasure is meant for us alone, and not the very air around us. She’s rough with herself,her hand churning through her wetness as she brings herself through the height of pleasure. Watching her pussy so open for me, growing swollen and weeping, her back arching off the couch, the muscles in her neck and throat straining, her pulse leaping, eyes closed, so sexy, so gorgeous, so captivating, throws me straight into my own climax.
My balls draw up even harder. The pleasure is a punch in the gut before it bottoms out lower. My cock kicks in my jeans and tingles of pleasure stab through me so forcefully that I let out a hoarse shout. I bend from the waist, leaning forward as the pleasure doubles me over like a punch to the gut.
Ropes of hot come shoot into my boxers, in my jeans. I come and come, so forcefully that black spots trip across my field of vision. Bronte is under my skin. She’s in every cell, every muscle, every scrap of tissue. She’s in my bones and in my blood. Flowing through my heart.
My cock keeps kicking even in the confined space. The pleasure grasps me tight, playing tricks with my head, with gravity, with a solid state of being.
I didn’t realize my eyes were closed until I have to pry them open.
Bronte’s wide eyes are on me. They’re so brown right now, magnified by her blown pupils, honey soft and whiskey bright. Her eyes drop from my face down to my lap. My legs are parted, I’m hunched down in the chair, half collapsed, a large wet spot on the front of my jeans.
I’m half torn between embarrassment, wanting to slam my hands over the spot and cover it up, and half still so blissed out that I don’t feel shame at all, but a rush of hot, base desire and even an even hotter burst of affection.
She unfurls from the couch, rising like a naked nymph who’s just been given life, glorious and sultry and seductive, but somehow also still so sweetly innocent.
She walks over, hips gently swaying, and kneels down in front of me. It’s not so different from the fantasy I just played out in my head, except that she takes my hand in both of hers.
“That was… that was really different,” she whispers reverently, her gaze locking on mine, so intense and earnest. “I loved it. Thank you.”
She stands and helps me up then leads me to the bathroom. She fills the tub and then strips away my clothes. I’m still half in shock and half mortified that I came in my jeans like a teenage boy.
Except I didn’t even do that when Iwasa teenager.
The tub is small, but that doesn’t deter Bronte. She motions for me to get in and then slips into the tiny little space that’s left in front of me. She bows her head, wrapping her arms around her legs, drawing her body into herself, but at the same time, making it possible for me to get my arms completely around her.
The warm water laps at our waists. She hardly put any in, but with both of us in here, there’s not much room and it rides dangerously close to the top lip of the tub.
