Booty Called

She hooks her arms over my thighs and jerks me toward her. I’m spread before her, legs splayed, cunt pulsing with need. She runs her tongue up the center of my cunt, hard, demanding, and comes to rest on my clit, which she teases, making me writhe.

Tell me you love me, tell me you want me, that voice in my head begs. I shove it away. She won’t say that and I won’t beg.

She flips me over and finger fucks me from behind, hitting the spot she knows will make me come. And I do. I come hard and fast, soaking her up to the wrist in my desire. She sits back on her heels, smirking and satisfied, but moves to hover over me, presenting her sweet pussy to me, so I might pleasure her, while she reaches back to make me clench and sigh again.

It’s always like this. She calls me on her terms, always hers, usually late at night when she hasn’t found a satisfactory partner. She’s no good for me, I know that. But regardless, I still pick up the phone, still answer the door, still yield to the teasing pleasure of her mouth. She never asks me how my day was, or how exams are going. Once she picked up a textbook, thumbed through it, and asked, “So, what, are you going to be some kind of doctor or something?” I nodded. “Psychology. Positive psychology.”

“Okay, then, doctor, tell me this,” she paced toward me like a strip tease, confident and sensuous, removing her shirt in a way I never could, but on her was crazy-sexy. “How positive are you that I can make you come harder than you ever have in your life?”

I saw her once, in the stacks at school. She was flirting with a bombshell blonde, the type in pink sweaters who’d been a high school cheerleader. I knew for a fact that this girl was seriously smart too. They were holding hands in their study group, smooching. And when the group tired of their antics, she lead the cheerleader into the stacks and from the familiar sounds I could picture all too well where her hands were, her lips, and I crossed my legs and ground my teeth in agony. When she called me that night, of course I answered the phone, of course I answered the door, but when she entered and pressed me against the wall, I didn’t respond.

“What’s going on with you tonight?” she said.

“Who’s the blonde?”

She gazed at me through wide eyes.

“I saw you today.”

She stroked my hair, then moved away to drink out of my wine glass. She wasn’t looking at me. “You don’t think she means anything to me, do you?”

And the unspoken question that hung in the air: Do I?

But I already knew the answer to that one.

And she still made me come harder than I ever had in my life.

From: wikicommons