Competition Sex

On Thursday, I leave work early with a migraine. I am able to make it home, park the car in the garage, and unlock the front door, and then my mind is mush. I wake up on the couch a few hours later sweating under a blanket, my pants and shirt discarded on the floor, my underwear damp from sweat, but my head feeling at least a bit better.

The noise that woke me was the garage door opening. I only really hear it when it's quiet and I'm not busy doing something. But Jacob, the upstairs neighbor, has a loud truck, the engine echoing around the small concrete box that is the garage. The engine cuts abruptly, followed by the garage door shutting and the slam of the car door. I hear his footsteps passing in the hallway and heaving on the stairs.

Not that I think about him frequently. But I do live with him, I notice some things. Like how the hallway smells of cologne if he leaves in the evenings, but not when he leaves in the morning. How, when he comes home earlier in the day his footsteps stomp loudly on the stairs, but if he's coming home in the evening, he's slow and quiet.

I take a few more minutes on the couch to get my bearings, slowly sitting up and stretching, adjusting my bra when it pulls up over my breast.

There's more noises from the hallway, and I can't help myself--I choose to be nosy. With soft feet, I tiptoe to the door and hold my breath as I stand up tall to look through the peephole. Jacob's footfalls are coming down the stairs, then hit the ground, approaching my door.

All I see is a motorcycle helmet, the visor up. I can't see much of his face, since he's looking straight ahead. He's wearing a leather jacket and jeans, and boots. And he's carrying a white motorcycle helmet! He's picking up a girl! It hangs from one finger as he holds his keys in the palm of his hand and his phone in the other, texting while he walks.

I'm usually so level-headed about crushes--you get them for people you don't know, and then once you get to know them you either catch real feelings or the crush goes away. A crush isn't real. But having one on a neighbor is messy--I can't just bang one out with him and never see him again. So I've built him up in my mind instead and now I get nervous going to the laundry room because what if he walks past and sees me in my little tee shirt with no bra on?

I help myself to a glass of water standing at the sink, gulping it down. I hear the motorcycle roar to life, and I glance out to the alley behind the garage--I see the edge of the motorcycle tire come into view and then stop, idling for a few moments. I pour a second glass and drink it slower, keeping an eye out. Eventually the tire moves, and then he comes into view, his gloved hands steering the bike around the potholes, legs finding the pegs. The second helmet is secured somehow behind him, on the passenger seat. He disappears from view just as he flips the visor on his helmet down, and a few moments later I hear the bike revving louder as he leaves the neighborhood.

~ ~ ~ ~

I'm eating leftover pasta on the couch and watching Pride and Prejudice when I hear the rumble of the motorcycle engine again. I'm not going to watch through the peephole again, I tell myself.

But after a few minutes I hear two voices in the hall--a girl's voice. Without pausing the movie, I get up, untangling my legs from the blanket and setting the pasta down.

I'm too late to see Jacob, just missing his retreating back, helmet still on his head. But trailing behind him, a girl extricates herself from the white helmet, flipping a messy braid over her shoulder when she gets it off. She's gorgeous, and wearing clothing entirely inappropriate for riding a motorcycle--just a low-cut tank top and a cropped sweatshirt, and leggings low enough to reveal her pierced belly button.

They're laughing about something, and I stay listening at the door as their footsteps retreat up the stairs, a key jangles in the door. Just before the door shuts behind them, I hear a muffled smacking sound, and a squeal.

That's the other thing about this apartment--thin walls means we all hear everyone, pretty often. I pray that the older woman who lives upstairs next to Jacob's apartment can't hear very well, because both he and I have had some loud trysts here. Sometimes it's almost concerning, especially the first few weeks I lived here. If they weren't very clearly screams of pleasure, I might have worried what kind of operation he was running up there.

At first I tried my best to ignore. A polite neighbor runs the dishwasher and stays in the living room until the noises are quiet and the bedroom is safe to be in.

And then one night my date cancelled on me and I was horny and instead of leaving the room I listened in with a vibrator in my hand. I wish I could say I felt bad about it, but I didn't.

I don't listen in every time. To be honest, the louder she is, the less interested I am. It's kind of hotter to hear the muffled moans and faint scrape of the bed frame and have to use my imagination.

The walls are thin, of course. The building is old. But it's nothing crazy. I can hear the difference between two people's voices, or if he's on the phone. But I can't hear what's being said. I draw a line there anyways. It's one thing to listen in on the primal sounds we all are capable of making, and another to try to eavesdrop into a virtual stranger's life.

Maybe it's because of the migraine I'm still coming down from, but tonight I just turn the volume on the TV up louder and finish my pasta.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A short while later, I receive a text from this guy James. I haven't hooked up with him in a while--maybe two months. I didn't expect to hear from him. Last time we spoke, he was wanting to take things to the next level with a girl he was seeing. The sex was good, but I had no hard feelings.

His text couldn't come at a better time, I realize, when I hear a shriek from upstairs. It says, "Short notice, but are you around tonight?" I've never minded being a booty call.

I debate on my reply. After a couple of minutes, I settle on "What did you have in mind?"

I don't want to get my hopes up too far, so I keep the movie on and tidy up the room, just the normal things I do any night before bed. Hide the evidence of the migraine, clear my water cups and empty pasta bowl.

The text comes back soon. "Your place? My roommate is home."

Too bad the serious girlfriend didn't work out. James is not the kind of guy who does well single. But I can be around for him, I suppose.

"If I didn't know better, I would think you're wanting to skip the date and go straight to dessert." I send it off, but follow it up: "BYOB if you want any, I'll be waiting."

The shower takes a minute to heat up, and I use the time to pluck some stray hairs from my eyebrows. No followup text from James, which I'm guessing means he's on his way over. I'll give myself a 5-minute shower to wash and shave all the important bits and save the real shower for later.

I hear more thumps and bumps from upstairs, and more conversation. I'd be lying if I said it didn't make me just a little wet, thinking about two hot people upstairs having sex, and little old me down here listening in.

I select a lacy blue g-string and opt for a white tee shirt with no bra--casual but sexy. In the mirror, I admire my peaked nipples poking out from the fabric. A pair of shorts completes the look, and I let my hair down, shaking it out a bit, and glide chapstick over my lips.

I don't want to aggravate my migraine with alcohol, but I have half a joint leftover from the weekend, tucked into the drawer of my entryway table. I locate a lighter and let myself outside into the cool night, wrapping an arm around myself. The pavement is cold under my bare feet. I'm worried the cushions on the patio chairs are going to be damp, so I don't sit, but stay standing, looking up at the sky for some stars beginning to peek out.

Just as I light the joint, I hear a muffled moan from upstairs and glance over to where I see an open window, right above my head. Whoops. They'll be able to smell this, and know I'm out here, listening. Maybe they're into that--I'm always careful to shut my windows when I have a visitor. I try to blow my smoke in the opposite direction, but there's not much of a breeze tonight, and it floats right up. I hear a smack, and then another, louder, followed by another muffled moan.

My clit is all too aware of the thin fabric pressing in all of a sudden, and I can feel the slickness between my legs when I shift my weight, blowing out another puff of smoke. I let a hand drift down to rub the area, and I can feel my body's immediate response--a shiver runs up my spine.

After a few more minutes, the joint is almost finished, and I don't hear any particularly loud noises from upstairs, although if I really strain my ears I can tell there's some labored breathing going on, some whispered conversation.

James' car hasn't pulled up outside the fence yet, but I leave the door open, an invitation for him to let himself in. I press play again on the movie, and dance a little bit when music plays, swaying in place, the weed immediately going to work. I pick up a few more things around the house before I get sucked back into the plot, perching on the edge of the couch--grinding into the corner of it when my body once again reacts.

There's a soft knock on the door frame, and there's James, standing in the doorway with a six pack of beer and a tallboy cradled under his arm. He smiles as he enters, eyes raking down my body. "What are we watching here?"

"You mean you don't immediately recognize the iconic 2005 masterpiece Pride and Prejudice?" I ask, standing and rounding the couch to greet him. He embraces me, and kisses me on my cheek. His stubble scrapes against my skin, but he smells like spearmint gum and cologne.

"Ah, I see." He holds out the can for me. "I wasn't sure if you wanted anything but they had some cans of cider next to the beer so I picked one out for you."

I take it, the cold metal making my fingers ache instantly. "Blueberry lemon. Yum. I'm not drinking tonight, though." I place it on the entryway table beside my small stack of unopened mail.

"Not drinking?"

"Nah, I smoked a little before you came."

"I smelled it on you," he says, grinning. "Have any to share?"

"Maybe--it was the last of an old one, but I can probably roll us a fresh one if you want." I open one of the drawers beside my hip to see if I've got any flower left over in the glass jar that stores it. James rips open the cardboard of the six pack and retrieves one, setting it on the table before turning away to walk into the kitchen.

"Nah, don't worry about me." I hear the fridge door open and shut.

"Will you put my cider in there too? I might drink it tomorrow," I hold it out for him as he comes back into the living room. His eyes are on my breasts as he takes it.

"Not sure if I've ever hung out with you when you're not drinking," he jokes from the other room.

"Yeah, well, I had a migraine today so if I don't want to hate myself tomorrow I've gotta stick to water." I perch on the arm of the couch, distracted for a moment by the movie, still playing.

James comes up behind me, putting a hand on my shoulder. I hear his can crack open next to my ear, and he takes a long swig from it. His hand rubs a soft circle on my shoulder, running down my arm a ways, back over my shoulder blade, over to my neck. "Sorry to hear that. My mom gets wicked migraines, I get it. I've got a gatorade in my car if you want it."

"Nah, that's fine." I don't feel like explaining that a gatorade has too much sugar to ever help hydrate me. I lean back into his touch, and I hear him set the beer can down again, and his cold hand comes up to my other shoulder.

The massage is lovely, especially after a day of tense muscles. I sigh, letting my head fall back into him as he pushes at the knots in my neck. I'm a bit surprised to feel the push of his erection beneath my head, and I lean forward again. But it does send a jolt through me, my clit once again suddenly aware of the fabric confining my crotch. I grind a little into the arm of the couch.

And then there's a distinctly loud moan from upstairs. James stops rubbing my shoulders for a moment, surprised. I laugh, feeling my face heat. "We've got some competition upstairs," I tell him, turning halfway to face him.

He nods, listening still to the continued shouts from the girl upstairs. She's a loud one, alright. "Wow, are these walls really that thin, or is she just extra loud?"

"Both," I tell him, laughing at his concerned expression.

"Man, I didn't realize all your neighbors could hear us every time I've had you up in here moaning like that," he laughs, turning me back around to keep working on my back.

Yeah right--he's never had me moaning like she is. He wishes. "Yeah, basically putting on a show here. I should start charging."

Mr. Darcy is confessing his love on the screen. I reach for the remote to rewind it, and turn the volume up. "We have to watch this part for real," I tell James, taking his hand and tugging him onto the couch beside me. Before I can sit all the way down, he wraps his hands around my waist and pulls me into his lap, wrapping his arms around me. I relax into his warmth and absently draw circles on his arm with my fingers while we watch in silence for a few minutes. I can't help my gasp when they kiss.

"How many times have you seen this movie?" he asks softly, his breath warm on my shoulder.

I let out a breath that's half-laugh, half-scoff. "Loads of times. It's exciting every time, though."

We watch for a minute longer before James' hands start exploring--one of them dips down to grasp my thigh, while the other cups my breast over my tee shirt. I feel him hardening again underneath me, and I wiggle a little to encourage him.

"Hand me my beer, will you?" he asks, pointing to the coffee table.

I don't have to get up, just lean over to grab it. His hands find my hips then, one of them reaching down to squeeze my butt right as I sit back down. I twist to hand it to him, and our eyes lock, the heat between us smoldering in that look. I missed him, sort of. He sips his beer, his other hand still firmly grasping my ass. I lean into him and then he's kissing me, lips cold from the beer, breath hoppy and delicious.

The moans from upstairs momentarily grow louder, and then quieter again. When we break apart, James finishes his beer and hands me the empty can. When I lean over again to place it on the table, he grabs my hips and positions me between his legs, pulling me down to grind on him. I oblige, pressing our crotches together, feeling the length of him between my legs. My nipples harden in response as he grinds back against me, pushing us closer. I can feel the wetness in my panties, spreading around. His hands grab at my ass, and one drifts up to the arch in my back, a finger gliding along my skin in between my shorts and the cropped tee shirt.

I twist then, kneeling down to unbutton his jeans. Our eyes lock again and I hold his gaze while I unzip his pants and press my hand against his cock, over the fabric of his boxers. He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the couch cushions.

I hear another shout from upstairs, and I'm eager to get us going down here--the competitive spirit in me longs to be let loose.

I free James from the boxers, and he stands up proud. It smells only faintly sweaty, and more like soap, and I spit on the tip, not hesitating to put him in my mouth. His groan makes me look up at him again--he's watching, mouth slightly open. When he sees me looking, he takes a hand from his side and moves it to behind my head, cupping my jaw bone. He doesn't push, though--it's a gentle pressure that merely encourages me to take him deeper into my mouth. We continue like this for a couple of minutes and then another moan from upstairs comes that makes us both pause. It sounds closer now, like right above the kitchen.

James smirks. "Someone's having fun up there."

I pull my mouth away. "Good thing we're also having fun down here." I stand and drop my shorts to the ground, revealing the lacy g-string. Before he reacts, I bend down to grind on him again, wiggling my ass.

I feel the sting of his palm connecting with my skin, tingling and burning me in a way that registers as pain and pleasure in different moments. But my clit likes it. He slaps my ass again and I let out an exaggerated moan--to encourage James, but also in the slight hope that upstairs, they'll hear it and realize they've got some competition down here.

"You want me to fuck you on the couch?" James asks, pulling my hips against him roughly, the fly of his jeans hitting me in my sensitive area, making me wince.

"Uh-huh," I reply, arching my back while I brace my hands on his knees. His hands find my waist immediately, wrapping around me easily. I feel his thumbs massaging gently up my spine as I grind slow circles into his hardness beneath me.

"Fuck you're hot," he breathes, now pushing me down with his hands, grinding my hips into his.

These three little words are music to my ears. I can feel myself grinning as I glance up at the movie, still playing in the background. Sorry, Lizzy--unspeakable acts will be taking place here tonight, and your virginal presence needs to be extinguished before they do. I reach for the remote and click off the movie, selecting music instead.

I'm wet enough that I can feel his jeans beneath me getting damp now, too. I stand and he drops his hold on my waist, his arms sitting beside him, waiting to see what I'll do next.

I spin to face him and climb onto his lap again, scooting close so his face is in front of my chest, hard nipples peeking through the thin fabric of my tee shirt. His hands lift up, brushing my breasts through the fabric gently at first, before his hands find the hem of my tee shirt and lift it up. I help him out the rest of the way, pulling it over my head and tossing it behind me. His hands are firm, cupping my breast, eyes locked in as he squeezes them. And then one hands pull me close around my waist, and his lips find mine again. Our uneven breaths warm the space between us, as I rock my hips back and forth against his hardness.

We continue like this until I can feel the beginnings of an orgasm building within me, and I stop rocking on him and lean away from his lips. They find my neck, and he roughly places kisses along my skin, dipping to my collar bone and leaning down to go lower. His trimmed facial hair scratches at my skin but I let him continue anyways, tipping my head back to expose more of my neck and collarbone. I feel the gentle graze of his teeth along my skin and it sends a shockwave through me. I buck my hips against him again, chasing the tipping point of my pleasure.

He picks me up then, and I let out a screech as he hikes my legs up, wrapping them around him as he carries me into the kitchen and sets me down on the counter beside the fridge. He retrieves another beer for himself, cracking it open with one hand while his other hand slides between my legs, feeling for my wetness and then shoving the panties to the side, my wet cunt bare on the counter, his fingers teasing at my entrance. He takes a long sip from his beer before pulling me closer to the edge of the counter and bending down, facing my freshly shaved pussy, lips swollen in anticipation.

His tongue is cold from the beer, and it makes me gasp. But then I feel a finger pushing inside of me, and he alternates thrusting with his finger and licking my clit with his tongue, and I can't stop myself from moaning. My hands brace the counter on either side of me, and I tilt my pelvis toward his head, finding the best angle for him to enter me. His finger hooks inside of me, drawing down my walls, and then he pulls it out to exchange for his tongue, venturing inside of me now. I'm moaning, gasping for air. It's not the best head I've ever had, but it's better than he used to be--that girlfriend must have taught him some tricks.

He takes another break for beer, but his fingers enter me, his thumb rubbing slow circles on my clit while he shoves into me. "Ohh fuck," I breathe, and then louder, "Ohhhh fuck!" He's hitting my g-spot every time he hooks his fingers up, and pulling them down, and back up, down, and back up. I start to feel fluid leaking around his fingers, pooling beneath me, and the sounds his fingers make are wetter now, splashing. I'm whimpering now, my orgasm so close, my eyes squeezed shut, my hips rocking into his hand as he continues the motion.

And then he pulls his fingers out completely and I whimper again just before his delightfully cold tongue goes to work, licking voraciously.

"Fuck," I moan. "I'm gonna come, you're making me come." A moment later the pressure releases, and I hook my legs over his shoulders as my orgasm rocks through me. "I'm coming," I announce, one hand blindly finding the back of his head to make sure he continues exactly what he's doing while the sensations pulse through my body.

Just as the feeling subsides, he leans away, breathing heavily, and his palm presses into my clit, rubbing softly but quickly, and the motion has an immediate effect, making me buck against him again, sliding in my own juices. I feel more fluid leaking out, his motions making the wetness splatter against my thighs. My moans are loud and sharp and I realize I'm not exaggerating just for the neighbor anymore.

Finally, James stands and removes his hand, placing it on my back and bringing me close to his warm body, pressing my crotch into the top of his jeans, where I can feel his erection standing up just below where the waistband ends. I press my weight into it, my legs feeling shaky still, but wrapping around him so there's no space between our bodies. His tongue finds my earlobe, my neck, and I feel him bite my shoulder, first gently and then a second time harder.

"Oh my god," I say shakily, one hand still bracing my weight on the counter and the other now wrapping around his shoulder, pulling him closer still.

"Still want me to fuck you on the couch, or should we move things to the bedroom?" he asks, his breath now smelling of pussy and beer.

"Either," I tell him, pressing into his hardness and unable to stop from grinding against it. The front of his jeans are wet with the juices on the counter, and rubbing against the wet fabric only amplifies the sensations. I'm still coming down from my orgasm, but my vagina is longing to be filled.

He lifts me again, carrying me down the hall into the bedroom. I'm not hearing moans from upstairs anymore--which could mean they're finished, or maybe just taking a break.

I'm dropped onto the soft bed, shrieking again as he does so, but he climbs on top of me immediately, looking feral as he crawls on all fours to stand over me, a glint in his eyes. "Such a bad girl," he chastises, hands finding my wrists and pinning them to the bed on either side of me. His mouth crashes into mine, and I taste the metallic tanginess of my own juices mingled with his saliva and the yeasty flavor of the beer. We kiss sloppily, our lips wet and hungry.

And as soon as he lets my wrists go, I reach down to unzip his pants, feeling for him within his boxers and tugging him free once more. He doesn't need any more encouragement, as he pulls a condom out of his back pocket and rolls it on quickly, and then without bothering to take his jeans or his shirt off, he shoves my panties aside again and rubs his cock in between my pussy lips, smearing my juices over himself. I writhe against him, and our eyes find each other, an intense stare for the few moments it takes for him to wet his length enough to slide it into me.

So then he's pushing into my entrance, slowly, but with purpose. He's already opened me up enough that his girth isn't unbearable, but I take a moment halfway through to breathe and adjust to his size. He's patient, watching my face for signs of discomfort. When he's all the way in, buried to the hilt, he pauses again, closing his eyes.

I can't help myself from writing beneath him again, itching for movement now that he's inside of me. His hands find my wrists again. "Impatient, aren't we?"

He starts pumping slowly, bringing his shaft as far out as it will go, and then burying it again. I let out a moan every time he hits the back of me, and our breathing finds a pattern with the movement, him grunting at the same time I moan. I'm not trying to be loud anymore, since I didn't hear anything from upstairs. Just my normal volume.

James hovers his weight over me, our chests touching. His face is pointing away from me, and I realize he's watching us in my full length mirror across the room. I'm sure he can only see part of the action, with how narrow it is, but he's pretty distracted by it. His thrusts start becoming harder, deeper, just at the edge of uncomfortable. If we stay in this position I'll start to feel claustrophobic.

Luckily, he lifts himself up, staying inside of me, his hands finding my waist and his thumbs meeting in the middle, under my belly button. As he shoves deep inside of me, he presses down slightly with his thumbs. "Fuck yes," he breathes. "Look at you."

He's watching my breasts bounce now, and one hand leaves my stomach to paw at them, tweaking a nipple between two fingers and squeezing the other. He leaves his hand there, squeezing, as he continues to pump.

After a few more thrusts, I manage to say, "can you grab my vibrator from the drawer?" my hand points weakly in the direction of the bedside table beside his foot.

He places a hand under the small of my back to drag me with him as he leans backwards, fumbling in the drawer and retrieving my cordless wand. Perfect.

He doesn't hand it over though, instead bringing it up to his face to see the buttons in the dim lighting, and then pressing the power button. It buzzes to life, and he brings it between us, nestling it somewhere between his cock and my clit. His thrusts are slower now, measured, as he locates my clit and presses the vibrator into it, too hard. My hand reaches down to ease the pressure, and he gets the hint, lifting it and teasing me a bit, bringing it up and then down, touching me and then not.

This position can sometimes dry my wetness up, but now that the vibrator's in play, I can feel the juices returning to lube things up again. I cup my own breast and cry out when he finds the right spot with the vibrator. His thrusts turn vigorous again and he guides my hand to hold the vibrator so he can brace himself with both hands again. Every time he pushes into me, the vibrator presses in too.

"Fuck," he grunts, going slower and slower until he stops, holding himself carefully over me. I ignore the urge to grind into him, sensing that he needs a breather. He pulls out then and I notice a dot of precum in the tip of the condom. I keep my vibrator going as he stands and sheds his shirt, then his jeans, and finally his boxers and socks.

He settles back onto the bed, face up, and reaches over for the vibrator, using one hand to hold it to my clit and the other to slide two fingers into me, gathering more wetness, spreading it around on the outside of my lips, shoving back in to pull down the side of my walls. I'm panting, grasping at my nipple again with one hand, my head thrown back in pleasure, blind to what he's doing before me.

And then I feel myself squirting again, this time a full squirt and not just a trickle. I raise my head to look at James, see his fingers dripping and a wet spot on the bed. My shocked laugh escapes in the form of a moan.

"Get over here," he instructs, putting the vibrator down to reach for me.

I oblige, turning my back and straddling him, reverse cowgirl, my hands between his legs to brace myself as I glide my soaked pussy over his cock. I rub myself with it, feeling more juices escaping me now that I'm vertical, and the slippery condom beneath me makes my pussy ache for him. I reach up to guide him into my entrance, lifting my hips in short strokes, teasing him every time I push him deeper. Finally he growls, hands on my hips, and shoves me into him, his cock reaching all the way up inside of me. I stifle my gasp as he hands the vibrator back to me, and I grind on him, my wetness squelching in the space between us.

I ride him like this for a while, his hands occasionally reaching up to stroke my waist or grab a handful of my ass, or sometimes smacking it--he's gentle when he spanks me, but I don't tell him to go harder.

Just before I grow tired of the position, I place my feet firmly on the bed on either side of him and ride him harder for a few strokes, pulling his cock nearly all the way out and slamming back down onto it. He groans behind me, hands assisting at my waist.

When I collapse back onto my knees, muscles aching, he doesn't miss a beat--he rolls us over so he's on top, behind me. I tuck my knees up toward myself, arching my back for him, and feel his slick cock gliding in and out of me.

My second orgasm is building within me, so I reach for the vibrator and between moans, announce, "I'm gonna come again!"

His pace slows, which doesn't help--teasing my pussy just makes me more wet.

"Hold up, I can't hold on much longer. Wait for me." His breaths are shallow.

My pussy aches. "I could try for three," I tell him, squirming against his slow strokes.

He pulls out. "Yeah let's do that." His hands on my hips encourage me to flip over and he positions himself between my legs as I lie on my back. He takes the vibrator and turns it off but quickly replaces it with his tongue.

I help myself to a handful of his hair with one hand, the other hand reaching for his wrist on my thigh, to have something to hang onto.

The waves of pleasure start deep in my belly, and I can tell this one is going to be a good one. My moans fill the room, competing with the wet sounds of his mouth against my cunt. His tongue attacks my slit, occasionally dipping down to capture the wetness on my thighs, licking it back up to center. He approaches my clit softly, teasing it with soft licks that make me grind into his face.

"Fuck," I shout, as he continues to lick my clit, not letting up this time. "I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming," I tell him, just before the orgasm rips through me, my walls contracting around nothing but wishing desperately for a cock to be buried within me. His tongue continues its attack as the sensations course through me, only slowing when I stop writhing, my legs going limp on his shoulders.

"You sure you have another one ready to go?" he asks dubiously, rising from between my legs, wiping his chin. His palm cups my mound, as if keeping the juices inside, and the warm embrace of his hand on me makes me want to close my eyes and sleep.

But no--my pussy is craving his dick deep inside me for the next orgasm, and I won't stop until I get it. I nod my head. "Yeah, just give me a minute to recover."

He stands and retrieves a glass of water from the nightstand. His cock still stands at full mast in front of my face as he hands the glass to me. I gulp the water down and offer him the rest, which he swishes around in his mouth, and then swallows.

Then he's climbing between my legs once more, positioning his cock and wetting it against my slit once again. He's slow, waiting for me to nod before beginning to slide it in. I involuntarily contract my walls around him as he enters, and his sharp intake of breath tells me he feels every muscle pulling tight around him. One of his hands finds my breast, massaging it, and the other captures my wrists again, holding them together over my stomach. The pressure from his hand sends a pang of lust through me, and when he finally buries himself all the way, I cry out.

He finds a fast rhythm, clearly chasing his own release now. It's mildly uncomfortable for me, post-orgasm, but I reach for my vibrator and he releases my wrists to hold himself above me, arms on the wall behind me. His thrusts send the headboard bumping against the wall, softly--not enough to damage but enough to create a nice rhythm for us. My vibrator instantly has me squirming, arching my back into his thrusts and circling my hips for added friction.

"Fuck yes," he calls out, in time with his thrusts. "Fuck me."

Finally I can feel his hips hitting my own, thrusting deeper than before. My g-spot is feeling it too, and my orgasm is beginning to start already. I press my vibrator into the perfect position. "You're gonna make me come," I tell him, quietly, through my short breaths.

"Fuck yes I am. Come for me, Maura."

That sends me over the edge. Finally, my walls contract around his thick length, and he stills within me so I can really feel it, pulsing within me. I can't tell if he's coming too, or just watching me finish, but I'm moaning and pushing him deeper within me. This orgasm isn't as strong as the last one, but it satisfies that hunger within me much better. I'm nearly spent, my moans becoming long, drawn out sighs.

Then he's pulling out and ripping the condom off, barely in time to let his load out all over my stomach and boobs. He strokes the hot ropes of fluid out of himself, watching it all land on my skin. After the final short spurt, I lift a hand to rub the cum over myself, making sure to catch his eye as I do.

"Bad girl," he breathes.

And I do feel like a bad girl. A tired, spent, naughty girl who got exactly what she wanted.

To be continued...