All I want is Abi Pt. 01

This is all purely fantasy :) hope you enjoy

I didn't know her name at first. Not when I saw her standing there, barefoot on the grimy carpet, one leg slightly bent, her toes curling against the threadbare floor like it was made for her.

But even before I knew she was called Abi... I knew she was the one.

It was a Halloween house party. Some shitty student flat with bad lighting, worse music, and too many bodies pressed together in rooms that smelled like warm alcohol and desperation. I didn't even want to go. I hadn't planned on staying. But then I saw her.

And everything stopped.

She was standing by the full-length mirror at the end of the hallway, posing with her phone, devil horns perched perfectly on her head, her body poured into the tightest red costume I'd ever seen. It zipped low across her chest, framing her breasts like a gift barely wrapped. The material hugged her hips, clung to her thighs, and stopped just below the curve of her ass -- high enough that I could almost see the bottom crease of each cheek when she turned slightly.

But the part that ruined me -- that rewired something in my brain -- was what she wasn't wearing.

No shoes. No socks. Just her bare feet.

Right there, exposed to the stickiness of the hallway rug, standing like it was nothing. Like it was normal. Like she didn't have any idea that her soft, naked soles were turning someone into a fucking lunatic behind her.

Her legs were flawless. Long, smooth, golden. One knee bent slightly, giving her this playful stance that looked effortless -- as if she'd never once doubted how perfect she looked. Her toes flexed a little when she shifted her weight, and the arch of her foot lifted just enough to flash a glimpse of pale sole, already darkened slightly from the floor.

I couldn't move. Couldn't blink.

She was laughing. Probably with someone. But I couldn't hear a thing. All I could focus on was the way her foot pressed down, the way her toes curled into the rug like she owned the ground, the way that red costume framed her body like she'd been gift-wrapped for a man like me.

But I wasn't that man. Not even close.

I didn't speak to her. I didn't have it in me. I just stood there and burned.

That night, Abi became my world. Not because I knew her. But because I didn't -- and that made her limitless.

I left the party early. Not because it was bad. Because it was too good. Because she was there.

Abi.

I couldn't breathe with her in the room. Couldn't think. Couldn't move without the shape of her body flickering behind my eyes like flame. The image of her barefoot on that hallway carpet had set something off in me -- something old and buried and fucking starving. She hadn't even looked at me. She didn't need to. That made it worse. Made it perfect.

I didn't say goodbye to anyone. Just slipped out, hard and aching, my heart thudding in my chest like I'd stolen something.

Because I had.

The sight of her. That outfit. Her bare soles darkening with every step. Her smirk. Her thighs. Her toes.

I walked home in the cold, head spinning, cock swelling in my jeans, every step uncomfortable. I was soaked in pre-cum before I even got to my door.

I didn't turn on the lights. I didn't take off my clothes. I didn't even close the door all the way. I dropped onto my bed, breathing like I'd run ten miles, and pressed my palm against the bulge in my jeans.

That was the first time I said her name out loud.

"Abi..."

It came out like a prayer. Like a confession. Like I already knew she'd never be mine, but I'd still give her everything.

I unzipped slowly, deliberately. My cock sprang free -- red, swollen, desperate -- already leaking for her. I lay back, eyes closed, and brought her into my mind again. Exactly how I saw her. That red costume. Those devil horns. No shoes. No shame.

She's in my room now. In my head. Standing over me like she owns me. That red outfit clings to every curve, stretching over her hips, her thighs, her perfect tits. Her soles are dirty from the party floor, toes slightly smudged, one foot lifted and flexing like she needs to stretch them out.

I want to get on my knees. I want to crawl to her. I want to fucking beg.

She walks closer in the fantasy. Each step thuds against my floor. Her feet leave little marks. Her toes twitch. She knows I'm watching. She wants me to watch. That smirk is still there -- half amusement, half cruelty.

Without saying a word, she climbs up onto the bed. Straddles my chest. Her pussy hovers just inches above my mouth, hidden beneath the tight red fabric of her costume. I can smell her. I swear I can. Like heat and sweetness and a faint, sour sweat soaked into the crotch of that suit.

She doesn't ask for permission. She reaches for the zipper at her chest -- slow, theatrical -- and pulls it down.

Inches at a time. One tooth. Then another. Then more.

Her cleavage widens. Her breasts begin to spill out -- soft, round, glowing in the dark. Her nipples are already hard. She watches me squirm as she reveals them, one by one, the zipper finally open to her belly.

She peels the suit off her shoulders. Down her arms. Then down her waist. Her hips. Her thighs. The red fabric pools around her ankles before she steps out of it -- barefoot, naked now except for the devil horns.

She's the most beautiful thing I've ever imagined. And she's sitting on my chest like I'm furniture.

Then she speaks.

"I know what you want," she says. "But you don't get to touch me."

She turns around. Her ass looms over my face now -- round, tight, slick with arousal. A tiny black thong hugs her curves, soaked through. She peels it down slowly, exposing her pussy inch by inch. I groan -- in real life and in the vision. My tongue flicks the air like I can already taste her.

And then she sits. Full weight. Her pussy finds my mouth. And I devour her.

My tongue works frantically. Inside her. Around her. Over her clit. Her juices are thick and salty and perfect. I bury my nose between her cheeks, inhale deeply, hum against her wetness like it's the only thing keeping me alive.

In the real world, my hand grips the base of my cock. I stroke slowly, teasing myself, feeling every twitch. My boxers are around my thighs, the head of my dick slick and glossy, aching for release.

But I don't let it happen.

Not yet.

In the fantasy, Abi moans. She leans forward, resting her hands on the wall, grinding her hips down harder against my mouth. Her thighs squeeze my face. I suck her clit like it's candy. I'm drooling. She's dripping. I'm dizzy.

"Don't stop," she says. "Don't even think about stopping."

She begins to shake. Her voice rises. She's close. Her toes curl into the mattress. Her foot slides up my chest and presses over my throat, holding me down while she cums all over my tongue.

She cums hard. Riding my face. Grinding. Flooding my mouth.

I whimper as she moans my name -- not lovingly, but like a command. Her foot presses harder against my throat. My cock pulses in my hand. I squeeze harder. I'm right there -- right fucking there -- aching to explode.

Her bare thighs clamp tight around my head, slick with sweat, trembling. Her ass presses down until her weight feels unbearable -- until my nose is buried in the warm flesh between her cheeks, my lips locked around her clit, my tongue lashing wildly, pathetically, like it might earn me mercy.

I'm moaning into her. My cock is jumping in my fist. The room is silent except for my desperate breaths and the slick sound of my hand.

In real life, my hips lift off the bed. My abs contract. My whole body stiffens. My other hand grips the sheets hard, knuckles white, heart hammering so fast it hurts. I feel like I might pass out.

And then it happens.

My cock erupts -- violently, uncontrollably.

Hot ropes shoot up my chest, one after another. Thick, heavy, explosive. The first pulse hits my stomach. The second spatters my hand. The third reaches my neck. I groan -- loud, ragged, broken -- as I stroke myself through it, milk every drop from the tip, wringing it out in time with the image of Abi's pussy grinding against my face.

In my head, she's still riding. Still moaning. Still using me like I don't exist except to serve her.

My thighs twitch. My cock jerks in my fist even after I'm empty. I'm still leaking. Still whimpering.

And she never once looks down.

Not a single glance. Not a thank you. Not a word.

Because I'm nothing to her.

Just a mouth. A tongue. A surface. A pathetic man who came untouched to the thought of her cunt on his face.

I lie there, completely still, chest heaving, skin sticky with sweat and cum, body aching in the best way. My hand is soaked. My stomach, a mess. My bedsheets stained. My cock slowly softening but still twitching every time I breathe too hard.

I blink into the darkness, and she's still there behind my eyes. Her naked body. That smirk. Her bare foot stepping off my chest without a sound. Not a single glance back.

She leaves me ruined.

And I whisper her name once more.

"Abi..."