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End of the Day
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
End of the Day
God, what a day. I shove the door shut behind me. For a moment I stand
there in a fog, then I remove my glasses, placing them on the shelf inside
the door. My purse starts to slide off my shoulder as I lean back against
the door, eyes shut. My arms hang straight down, purse in one hand, two
programmer's reference books in the other. Gravity pulls my hands open,
dropping the bag and books on the floor. Sigh.
Somehow I sense that someone's looking at me. No. A friend is looking at
me. No, not even that. Dave is looking at me.
My eyes open to see him smiling at me over a book from my favorite chair -
large, sturdy enough to plop on and comfy enough to make plopping worth
it.
"You ok?"
"Grrr. Tired." Can't frown at him. I start a smile. "I'm glad you're
here. " He smiles. Because I'm glad he's here. "How are things with
you?" I ask. Because I want to know.
"Hmmm." Now I'm grinning. He always does that - like it requires
thought, doing a quick checksum of the day before replying. "All right."
"Good". I drop down my purse, take off the coat, throw it on the couch.
I stand on one foot and then the other to take off my heels. Nice. Back
on solid ground. They're nice shoes, though, so I set them carefully on
the floor before stretching. The tension's leaving, taking some of the
tiredness with it.
I wander across the room to him and lean over, bracing myself on the arms
of the chair looking directly in his eyes. I don't want to throw my back
out. He looks up from his book again. "Yes?"
"I miss you when I'm gone." His smile is deeper now. He puts the book
own. "I miss you too." He leans forward and gives me a quick kiss. "I
started dinner. Want some now? I just need to finish up a few things."
I start kissing him on the temples, by his eyes, on his cheek. Nah".
"Mmm" he says.
My back won't go out in one second. I let go of the chair and pull up
my skirt to mid-thigh so that I can kneel on top of him, my legs on
either side.
"Yes?" he asks, a bemused smile on his face.
"Do you mind?"
Wide smile now. His hand moves to my cheek. "No".
"Okay". I kiss him, quickly, then pull back and giggle. He's giggling
too. I lean forward again and we begin kissing. No rush. How many
different ways could we enjoy a kiss? Our hands start exploring,
lightly, then strengthening into a tight hug. It's so nice to feel
comfortable like this. His hands on my back slip under my sweater,
rubbing my back, moving up. His hands move around to the front, feeling
my breasts through my bra. I unbutton his shirt, stroking and kissing
his chest. Peeking up I see his eyes are closed and I feel that he's
breathing faster.
My hand is stroking one nipple, my mouth is playing with the other. His
hands move to cup my rear, stroking. I move to the other nipple,
pressing my full breasts against him. "Oh..." He cups my face in his
hands, stroking my cheek, my hair. "Hey", he says gently pushing me
back, "my turn". He lifts up my sweater and throws it on the floor.
I arch my back and smile at him, feeling free. One hand lifts to stroke
the side of a breast, the other my side, moving down my leg. He licks
and kisses my nipple through the thin bra. His hand cups my other breast,
flicking the tight nipple with his thumb. I lean into him, wanting him.
The bra cup turns transparent with wetness, clinging to me. He blows on
it, making me gasp. His other hand slips under my skirt, moving up my
leg toward my hips. I hold onto his shoulders, vaguely stroking.
He reaches the stocking top. The sudden intake of breath shows his
surprise. "You like?" I ask lazily. I know he does. He kisses me
between my breasts in response, playing with the lace strap of the
garter holding up the stocking. He begins to kiss the dry breast. One
hand on each of my legs, caressing my thighs. I'm too busy feeling to
do much, but I won't let go of him either, my hands stroking his back
and shoulders. His hands move higher. His fingers on my bare vulva.
"Oh." Oh god. I can't breathe. I can't control this. He's tense too.
His hand moves further, touching my wetness, slipping some fingers
inside. "That makes me crazy...." He pulls my head to his and kisses
me. His thumb stroking me outside, his fingers moving inside me. I
rest my head against his shoulder. I'm panting. Nearly....
His hand moves to my hips as he moves hips forward against me. His
hands on my buttocks hold me firmly against his erection through his
jeans. "I want you." I move myself against him. His jeans feel rough
on the insides of my thighs and vulva. "Yes" is all I can say, all
that's needed. Want to feel more of him. I take off my bra, pressing
my breasts against the hairyness of his chest. We kiss, holding each
other, trying to become one. Finally we stop to breathe. I unzip his
jeans, pulling them and his shorts out of the way. "Speak now if you
want to move" he says. I smile and move over his lap, brushing his chest
with my breasts, his penis with my vulva. His eyes are closed with
concentration. He pulls me down slowly, filling me. I'm barely breathing.
His hand moves to my clitoris, stroking back and forth. I start to move,
continuing the rythem we had earlier, feeling it build. He arches back,
pushing further into me. I start to delibrately clench and unclench my
vagina, gripping him tighter, then relaxing. He moves under me, up and
down. In and out. So full. So hot. I start to pulse, loosing control.
"Oh..oh". "Yes" he says, pulling me tighter. I hear his breath in
my ear, feel him moving under me.
"Orgasm" is such a pale word for what we experience. But "come" is
worse.
Afterward he moves over a little, so I sit beside him. I don't want to
move. I don't want him to move. Unless, of course, it's to start over....
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