I find myself smiling all the time, thinking devious thoughts, and craving that rough touch alllll over again. I am back. Or rather, my inner slut has returned. Hibernation was a bitch for her, so she was a little slow to recover, but we’ve got this now. Now, I don’t think I’ll be switching on the Red Light again any time soon… but we’ll see. The possibilities are endless again. Ah… Sex with an old friend. Apparently, it’s a miracle cure for emotional attachment.
Looks like I made the right choice with my lack of undergarment to breakfast, according to your comments, my lovelies. When I met Mr. Breakfast in the parking lot that morning, I expected a hug, and maybe a little more. I’d almost completely forgotten how forwards and abrupt he is. He said I looked hot, and pulled me tight against him, crushing his warm lips to mine, while his free hand felt up my ass. With the clothes I was wearing, and by the look on his face when he pulled away, I knew. He knew. He took my hand and we walked inside to eat, but actual food was the furthest thing from my mind now.
As I said earlier, my inner slut took some nudging to show herself, so the beginning of my meeting with my old friend was strained, though it would’ve appeared normal to anyone else. He would try to brush his hand up my arm, or nudge my legs with his, and I would act like it didn’t happen. How trained had I become? To not even register foreplay? Sad, right? He could tell something was off, and tried to be nice. We chatted over coffee and toast, and I could see he was attempting to piece together the solution to my obvious disinterest. Breakfast was turning into a total disaster. And then guess who decided to finally grace us with her presence?
He touched my arm again, and there it was. A chill. That small shiver that sent sparks through my entire body. Sparks that seemed to zap me into my right and proper place. Sparks that went to all the right parts. Yummy. I sat up a little more, and leaned towards him. I knew this game. We’d played it many times. See who could do the most teasing, and get the other quite frustrated. I moved from the chair across from him and into the chair next to him, placing my hand on his leg. The sly grin I was so familiar with crept onto his face, and his hand was soon on my leg as well. I was warming up. I didn’t want his hand there! I wanted it… in other places. I dared to slid my palm a little further, and felt his hardness through his slacks. Oh dear. Why were we still at the table???? Oh yes… this is a game. I remember winning the majority of the time.
I sidled closer to him, ready to whisper my very naughty wants into his ear. He held his breath, but instead of words, he got my teeth, biting gently into his lobe. Poor Mr. Breakfast. He seemed to be recalling all my victories at this game as well. He cleared his throat, and breakfast was soon set at the table. My inner slut and I were one again, moving like a well-lubed machine. Every bite, every movement, between myself and my date, seemed to have some underlying tension. His hand never left my leg, but my own did plenty of wandering, touching, and occasionally squeezing. I was winning, but at the same time felt like I was losing.
The need had returned. That need that used to be a constant companion, and had been pushed out by desperation and endearment, was now pulsing through my veins. And I mean pulsing. I could feel it everywhere now. Heat. Coursing through my fingers, my hands, my legs… my tits were aching… my pussy now wet and throbbing. I needed him. Now. My wandering and squeezing intensified, as did my biting and nibbling when no one was looking. We weren’t even hallway through eating when he paid, and we left.
Once outside, and at his car, he grabbed my face and used his body to pin me against the car. Kissing like this. I’d missed it. Feeling the need we both were experiencing through our intense make out session. Hot. My fingers curled around his neck, and I bit his lower lip. He made an almost growling noise, and freed one of his hands to sneak under my skirt. It wasn’t long before he discovered my not very secret secret. He grinned again, and I gasped as two of his long fingers entered my hot snatch. He greedily fingered my aching cunt, and I bit down into his shoulder to keep from screaming. This was almost agony. Why was he teasing me?! I wanted, and needed his cock. I turned away from his lips and his amazing fingers, and opened the passenger door. Throwing him what I hoped was my most determined look, I got in the car. He wasn’t far behind in climbing into his side. I refused to let him touch me on the way to his house, and it was driving him crazy. Good. I didn’t want light, friendly, sex. I also didn’t want brutal, rough, mean sex. I just wanted rough sex with a friend. I wanted intimacy without attachment, and roughness without cruelty. No one could do that better than Mr. Breakfast.
We barely made it inside before my skirt was at my knees. He was kissing me again, and I was getting dizzy from desire. His hands went to the front of the blouse and tugged, sending a few buttons falling to the ground – he owes me a shirt. His hands were soon pinching and twisting my hardened nipples, and his teeth were digging into my collarbone. I’d somehow managed to blindly remove his pants, and had my own hands deeply involved. Oh, how I’d missed his cock. Huge, thick, smooth, and perfect. Couldn’t even wrap my hand all the way around it. But there was something I could wrap around it. A couple things, actually.
I dropped to my knees, my back against the wall. He stood over me, touching my cheek, and guiding his throbbing member towards my lips. I couldn’t wait. I flicked my tongue across the tip, and pulled him into my mouth. God it felt good. A new… but familiar cock. One I was desperate to enjoy, not to keep. His attempt at gentleness faded away with every inch I swallowed. His fingers were in my hair now, pulling, gripping, moving me as needed. And the fucking began. In and out, his cock pounding against the back of my throat, and I rubbed my very alert clit while enjoying the taste of him. I wanted his cum to fill my mouth, or cover my face, but he wasn’t finished.
He pulled me to my feet, and bent me over the arm of his couch. Puling my head back by my hair, he bit my shoulder as his cock filled me. God damn, he was big. Perfectly big. I wouldn’t let him go slow for this. I pushed back against him, feeling his balls against my clit. He got the hint. Still pulling on handfuls of my hair, he drove into me, pounding my reawakening cunt into a sea of rolling orgasms. Wave after wave hit me, like five months of buildup behind a floodgate. The floodgates were opened now, and I couldn’t stop shaking and quivering over his cock. His teeth left marks all over my neck and back, and his words at my ear, telling me what a hot fuck I was, how much he’d missed his little whore, spurred on more of my juices. He couldn’t keep going forever. His thrusts became shorter, his breathing uneven. His cock was swelling inside me, and through my last climax, I could feel his hot load flooding my used little hole. I could barely move from the side of the couch after he stepped back. I didn’t want to. I was trying to remember why I’d let go of this, why I’d wanted something else. What could be better?
I managed to dress, and after he kissed and fingered me to one more delicious orgasm, I left. Of course, I didn’t forget to thank him for breakfast.