Good Vibrations Magazine

I am in the middle of the Thursday-night rush, garnishing a trio of brandy manhattans, trying to keep up with the gouts of drink orders from the overtaxed waitresses, when I drop something behind the bar. I bend over to pick it up and suddenly I have the overwhelming desire—no, a craving—to have his cock in my mouth.

Yeah, a time and a place, right? What the hell.

When I stand up again I know I’m flushed—luckily it’s been busy all night and I have that excuse. My nipples pop up against the barrier of my bra like two little spring-loaded electrodes, tingling against the cotton and sending little aching shocks through me every time I move. Finishing my shift is torture of a most exquisite sort; I can’t help lick my lips because my tongue needs something to do. It flicks over my lips as I’m shaking martinis and rolls around in my mouth when I’m lining up shots. It wants to slide over his cock, swirl around the tip and flicker in the pre-cum I can almost smell. Finally, my shift is over, the night girls come in, and I collect my tips and head out.

The drive home is so much longer than before: my heart is racing and every shift of my legs, every bump in the road, sends a tender little twinge from between my legs up my spine. I’ve been itching for the last hour to touch myself, to be touched, but I keep telling myself that he’s waiting at home, and that no matter what time it is …. I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, impatient at the last red light, and clench my thighs together, relishing the little ache that rides along the electric current racing up from my swelling clit.

Everything is quiet and dark when I let myself into our kitchen. I feel like I am pulsing in the darkness; my breath rasps in my ears and I cringe, my blood cooling a little, at the loud clunk of my shoes on the linoleum. I know he’s asleep upstairs and I am as quiet as I possibly can be, shedding my socks, shirt and pants on the way up to the bedroom. I can smell myself: half a dozen fruity drinks spilt over the course of the night have landed on my skin and there is smoke in my hair, but a shower is out of the question right now and besides, the smell of sex is going to drown everything else out.

He turns over when I open the bedroom door, but doesn’t wake up as I slide up between the sheets from the bottom of the bed. My entire body is tingling to touch him and he has no idea: he doesn’t even sigh as I ease up next to him. I hesitate only a little before reaching into his shorts, through that oh-so-convenient slit, and closing my hand over that thick sleeping cock.

His reaction is immediate: a gasp, a moan, and a stretch, and a wild-eyed stare down the sheets at me. “Honey, I’m home,” I murmur, just before clamping my lips down over his suddenly rock-hard dick. He fills my mouth to the back of my throat and I swirl my tongue down his hot, hard length, sucking with abandon. He moans again, bucking against my mouth, and I slither on top of him, pinning his legs. His hands grope down, find my head, and fist in my hair, then pull up—I let go his dick with a wet pop and slide up. He kisses me, hard, and I know his body’s awake but he probably isn’t all the way—let him think this is a dream, then. I know it’s real, even if I can’t quite believe my own audacity. I twirl my tongue around his, straddling him, grinding the thin cotton between us. His hands are everywhere and mine are yanking aside our collective underwears. Finally, my clit moans, as I slide his hot cock inside, slick with spit and the juices I’ve been making all night; he fits so perfectly deep inside that my every nerve ending fires at once. He and I moan together and I move up and down on his shaft—slowly at first, letting my swollen pussy feel every vein and little bit of texture pressing against my tender tissues. I’m not going to be able to hold on for long: I begin to pump myself harder and harder down on his cock, relishing each rough thrust as it pushes me closer and closer to the edge. My skin is on fire, my nipples are pointing out so hard and fast that it hurts, and I can feel my orgasm building—

I come first, whimpering his name with a deep-throated relish as my thighs spasm and my pussy muscles squeeze around his quivering shaft deep inside me. Even asleep he’s not going to let me stop, and so I bounce up and down on the aftershocks, more and more out of control as he thrusts his hips up and in me, as hard and as far as he can, groaning and grunting with each push towards his own orgasm. By the time he comes, I’m almost crying with pleasure and he yells my name, his hands hard on my hips and his cock quaking and shuddering inside me—I come a second time, harder and faster, as his cries abate a little. I am exhausted and completely out of breath, hair stuck everywhere on my sweat-sheened skin. He gropes blindly for me and pulls me close, but doesn’t pull out; I curve around him in bed and fall asleep with my legs still wrapped around his waist.

Hours later, I am dimly aware of his alarm going off and him easing out of bed to start his morning. I am just starting to drift off to sleep when a pair of hands gently parts my thighs and a minty-fresh tongue darts in to tickle my clit. Instantly I am awake, every nerve standing on end, and I look down the bed to see him smiling at me from between my thighs. “Good morning, sweetie,” he says, flashing a wicked grin, before burying his freshly shaved face in my pussy once again.