mission accomplished [part II]
Hey you! Don’t skip part I of this post.
Listen to this song while you read!
I can’t stand those boys who know how to clock their hips, grab your arm at all the right moments, who aren’t afraid to lower themselves toward the ground and stare up at you with a sexy glare. By “can’t stand,” I don’t mean dislike. I mean they make me trickle and weak in the knees so sometimes I literally can’t stand upright.
Now this may seem counterintuitive, but I have to call him Colin Meloy of the Decemberists. I looked on youtube for videos of Colin Meloy dancing to see if there was any connection. Alas, none. But his demeanor, appearance, use of words…those all line up pretty well. So I’m just gonna go with my intuition here.
We circled each other in the pushy crowd. I assessed. I remember thinking to myself, “You can dance with him but you’re NOT allowed to fuck him.” That plan only lasted until his hands brushed along my sides and I leaned my head back onto his chest and trailed it down until it hit his belt buckle, eyes locked upward. I could sense the co-worker paralysis between us as we attempted to draw imaginary boundaries but consequently crossed each one. I finally faced the music and slammed my lips against him like our pelvises had been doing for several tracks.
After that, all bets were off. Drinks and pouring sweat kept us lubricated. He had such a great conception of distance…we would grind it back, down, around and then mutually back off so we could lose control with lots of space to spare.
I wanted to be close to his body though. Colin is significantly taller than me, which is rare considering how tall I am (5’9”ish). He’s barrel-chested but not jocky, still has nerd appeal. It never ceases to amaze me how dancing skill can seriously change how attracted I am to someone. While working with him we got along well, had thought-provoking conversations, but I wasn’t interested in jumping in bed with him. As soon as his body swung with the sporadic might of the infused beat, my curtains were drawn.
Our tongues worked synchronously, lightly tracing to the high tones and then shoving perfectly when everything around us dropped. I wanted more. Of the music (gah being anonymous sucks sometimes, I want to share tracks!) and of him. Midnight passes, the DJ yells into the microphone, “Happy Valentine’s Day you crazy bitches!!!” You got that right.
We took a break on the second floor balcony that surrounds the dancefloor. As we people-watched and swayed seductively, I kissed his neck. He nodded his head, grabbed my waist, and lifted me onto the drink counter. My legs locked around his ass and we lip locked furiously just as the biggest hit came on. Dirty dubstep interludes to the sweet melody perfectly encapsulated our interaction…public as can be, perched above the scene with him thrust-humping against my spread skirt, leaned back on open air with the coat check line staring at my crossed ankles and our gyrating bodies. I opened my eyes to a security guy leaning on the counter next to us, smirking at me. He didn’t tell us to get down, he was clearly enjoying the show. Colin picked me up off the counter, I jumped off his waist and we broke it down for the remaining minutes of the song. I’m not kidding when I say that’s my kind of romance.
Later when coats were retrieved, friends bid farewell, we headed to my place. I seem to have a system now. Boy and I canoodle on the leather sofa, do everything but have sex, move into my bedroom, recommence oral sex, fuck each other, fall asleep, wake up, fuck some more, talk for hours, then he peaces out. But that description obviously didn’t include enough details.
Our ears buzzed as we kissed passionately, not usually my style but I was getting into it. Shirts off, his body qualifies as just right for his stature.
Pants off. My immediate reaction: “Oh my GOD your cock is so thick!!!” His ego: inadvertently boosted.
My mouth dove for it. But he grabbed my shoulders a moment too soon and kneeled before my pussy. His look of concentration was endearing, except I couldn’t pay attention to it after only a few seconds because I was slapped across the face with an almost-orgasm. My moans skyrocketed, my head spun, my clit throbbed. His tongue lightly vibrated against my insides as my body flush increased. Soon the squirms kicked in and he had to pin me down as I escalated out an orgasm.
All the while his hard, wide flesh was calling for me. I took a quick breather, licked around the edges of my lips, and got used to the stretch of fitting him inside my mouth. I flashed back to us dancing, heads turning, the mix between overt filth and casual brush ups against his contained cock inserting mental pictures of us fucking the whole damn time. Now I had him completely naked before me. My hand gripped the base while I set my puckered lips to work, sucking him off through suction and then by easy mouth-fucking. His eyes were closed and my EDM playlist boomed in the background. I worked him up, saliva sloshing everywhere. Intentionally messy. After hitting my gag reflex many times in a row, I felt his dick twitch and he pulled my face away.
I tore open a condom unlike the night before. Now I had full and steady hardness to work with. My sore cunt, despite its wetness, rejected him at first from all the finger-fucking I had enjoyed the previous evening. I relaxed for his width though and he slid inside. I groaned with ecstasy (except I wasn’t on any, alas) as his tempo increased. I didn’t need the added pain for pleasure like Kevin’s ass smacking streak contributed. I just needed Colin banging the hell out of me to produce half the effect.
A delicious climax later, I climbed on top. My tits and hips swung, I placed a pillow underneath his head so he could get a more-than-desirable view. He was incredulous, I was on a sex high. I grinded and slammed onto him at close to breaking my own record speeds. I felt maniacal. I alternated pushing forward and hitting on my clit, then leaning back to clench my ass onto his thighs. Erupting with moans after a solid twenty minutes of working myself up and down, he stayed inside while we switched positions. More missionary. His mission was definitely to fuck my brain into puddle form and then lick it up off my chest.
We weren’t done there though. I don’t know why but guys usually ask me if they can do me from behind. Why do they ask? Are women seriously crazy enough to not want it from behind that they reject these poor guys and force them into a state of perma-asking? Just flip me around, lean me forward, thrust in and start slamming already! [Quick addendum: consent is great. I just get frustrated sometimes.]
After my sarcastic “no” to his question, his brief look of confusion, and my laughter that signaled both my humor and my assent, he fucked me until I couldn’t moan anymore. Tall and powerful, he creamed me until I oozed and collapsed on the mattress. At that point I mechanically started jacking him off via hand job as the clock struck 4:45am.
“Are you one of those guys who’s tricky to get off?”
“Yeah, I am. Don’t worry about it, seriously. I’m fucking exhausted.”
Happy with his answer after all the exertion, I laid back on the soft pillows. He got up for a glass of water. Rather than crawling up beside me, he went back in for seconds on my sleepy pussy. It woke right up to him as he gasped one more orgasm out of me.
“Okay, now I’m good.”
We crashed until 10am. Morning kisses, jokes about my occasional snoring, then him laughing to himself. “I can’t believe it’s Valentine’s Day.” Proceed conversation about the commercialism, insincerity, and romantic template of the ridiculous holiday I have never celebrated even during long-term monogamous relationships. He appreciated my sardonic approach. I know this because he said it and because he began fingering me after chuckling at my commentary.
Although he had done a stellar job in the prior hours, he hadn’t stumbled upon my clit. Or at least the way you touch my clit to where I literally cannot control my limbs. I buck wildly, my body reacts as if trying to escape because it doesn’t think it can handle the fantastic intensity of pleasure. He was pleasantly surprised when he stumbled upon this trigger and spent a half hour messing with me and my wild reactions. I sucked him off more, he fucked me more, it as quick and dirty and lovely. Mainly because we wanted to continue talking.
We spent the next two hours conversing in bed about Western philosophers, post-modernism and how various disciplines react to it, how he’s known as a big asshole in his classes because he’s not afraid to push the discussion intentionally without tact. I explained my perspective on polyamory, he provided details on his current relationship situation (no, thank god he does not have a girlfriend) involving two exes in nearby cities who he still sees from time to time. He wants to learn from me. And fuck me some more. I’m oh-so down.
So, to recap. Random goal of fucking two different guys in one weekend? Check. But not just that, as a bonus prize I also got magnificent head from two lovers of cunnilingus! Oh, and getting laid on Valentine’s Day? I’m gonna call that mission accomplished.
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