Multiple Spring Flings
- 3 years ago
- 9
- 0
Multiple Spring Flings Part II free porn video
In the elapsing week, Lauren, Amy and I went about our lives. Lauren, I presume, kept on selling her bras from her home computer. She also (she would tell me), hung out with her only real friend in Chicago, a Swedish woman who had a boyfriend and lived nearby. Lauren was a New Yorker by way of Ohio. She’d lived in Chicago for about a year. You could say that’s another thing we had in common; we both felt like outsiders in this city.
Amy, I presume, went to her classes, read, listened to records and spent time with her cats. She also (she would tell me) did a complex presentation on cognitive dynamics in depressive patients with… something or other. When she texted me this information, I texted back that I had, uh, made a burrito out of two taco shells the night before.
I went about my job as a writing tutor to the undergrads at my college. I banged away at my thesis some more. It was looking good. I cleaned up the apartment a little, watched at least one movie that I’d been meaning to re-watch. I wrote in my journal how it appeared that, if I had enough sex in a short enough span of time, I would not wake up feeling desperately horny, needing to fulfill some jerk-off quota.
I told just two friends about my recent adventures. One was my roommate, who I just cursorily told I’d gotten involved with two different women and he might be seeing them come over soon. The other was my friend in San Francisco. This friend was the only person with whom I had been known to act like a cad. In college and for some time after, he and I went out drinking most weekends, trying to pick up girls and sometimes succeeding.
When we succeeded, we’d boast to each other about our conquests. I once fucked a woman on his couch. For our text message exchange that week, I said some degrading things about Lauren. I called her “Internet chick.” I said that she was fun but “weird” as a person and that I liked Amy better. I said that once I “… wiped Lauren’s vaginal stains off my face, then maybe I’ll go see Amy again.” I’m not saying I’m proud of using this language. I’m saying it’s how this friend and I regularly communicated about women.
Speaking of text messages, I also made plans for the coming weekend with both Lauren and Amy. Lauren was totally unpredictable. When I responded to one of her dirty texts with a dirty text of my own she said, “Sorry, hun, but if sex is all you’re looking for you’re going to have to find someone else.” I apologized for making a bad joke. She accepted it.
I was sure she would but also didn’t care much if she did not. I had left my watch at her place so I had to go back anyway. My plan was to get my watch, hang out for a bit, have sex with her, leave. And that would be the end of that fling. With Amy, the plan was to see a movie on Saturday evening. An actual honest to god date. Amy on Saturday, Lauren on Sunday.
I met Amy at her building. I rang her buzzer and it took her a minute. When she did open the front door, she said ‘hey’ with a smile. She was casually dressed. There was an awkward moment. To kill the awkwardness, I kissed her.
We walked to her car and I said that I’d recalled there being steps leading up to her building’s door.
“Nope,” Amy said, shaking her head. “That was someone else’s apartment.”
I laughed even though I wasn’t sure how to take this comment.
The movie we saw was Everybody Wants Some. Halfway through the movie, I put my hand on her leg and she put her hand over mine. I stroked her hand with my thumb. My cock stirred as the screen flashed. We wanted to fuck each other’s brains out.
In a scene near the end of the film, a character says, “I’m majoring in something called Cunnilingus. You get to practice it outside of class.”
I drank a beer. She finished off some popcorn. My cock stirred.
Back at Amy’s apartment, we listened to records and drank sherry. I browsed her books. Everything David Foster Wallace had written, for one. I commented that I hated Jonathan Franzen’s new book and could not finish it. She said she’d liked it.
We played ‘Never Have I Ever.’
Me: “Never have I ever had any sort of romantic contact with someone of the same sex.”
Nope. No fingers down.
Her: “Never have I ever had sex on my parent’s bed.”
Nope. All fingers remained up.
Me: “Never have I ever…received cunnilingus.”
She snickered and told me I was cheating and put a finger down.
Her: “Never have I ever had sex in a really public place, like a place where anybody could see us.”
Slowly, my forefinger crept down.
Amy had been married for eleven years. She and her husband had tried couples’ counseling, but it still had not worked. She’d contacted Google asking them to take down her marriage announcement that had been published fourteen years ago because it was the first thing that came up when one searched her name (I didn’t let on, but guess what? I already knew this). She had been in several relationships since then, one that had just ended a couple of months ago.
At the time, I sipped my sherry and told her about my childhood in New England and my ambitions to be a writer and my last girlfriend, an actress. I did not put two and two together just yet; I didn’t realize that she’d told me I was a rebound.
We ended up sitting close together on her couch. After finishing a sentence on something to do with food, I leaned in and kissed her. We made out on her couch in a fury. I slid my hands up her back and underneath her shirt. I lifted her shirt over her head and flicked my tongue around in her mouth. I slid my fingers across her skin, wondered if she’d scratch my back again this time, wondered what would happen if I scratched hers.
Instead, I found her bra straps and fumbled with them. I unfastened all three hooks and she pulled away from me to shrug it off. Now I leaned in and kissed both her breasts, still as rounded as they looked during their jiggliness from the previous weekend, when she rode me and gasped in the dark.
We went to her room and fell side by side on her bed and resumed devouring each other. I kissed her neck a few times and had an idea.
“I have an idea,” I said. “You sit on my face.”
She chuckled. “Okay,” she said.
Lo and behold; a few minutes later my arms were serpent-twisted around her legs, one hand dipped beneath her butt with two fingers working away at her vulva. My head was levered up between her thighs, swishing side to side as I explored her pussy. She sat with her legs folded back on the bed and sporadically grabbed at my head.
Of course, what it looked like to me was, undulating thighs on my peripherals, pubic hair rising in a ridge above my nose, the sporadic view of her breasts and, above them, her cocked head facing the light on her ceiling. Facesitting, for the giver, must be a bit like manning a submarine in choppy waves from a tiny hull where one only gets a view out a tiny window.
My neck got strained and cramped and I hoped that, when she had her moment of bliss, her legs would contract and relieve my head for just a moment. But I moved on. I shifted my head down a little so I could view only her pink folds. I got my nose and chin wet; I stretched her pussy out below my chin and felt her creeping wetness. I flicked my tongue in fast circles, or maybe more like hypotenuse angles.
Amy made soprano pleasure sounds above me. Her fingers seized at my hair. Her vocals got squeaky and raspy. I just stuck my tongue straight into her cunt and withdrew, stuck in and withdrew. Finally, I watched her pussy spasm away from my face as her whole upper body jerked upward. Her thighs grazed the top of my head, just missing my ears. I gazed for a moment into the splayed-out pink-redness above me, all mixed up with my saliva and her juices.
Amy wanted me to fuck her sideways on the bed, which led to her body doing some more jerking. This time I watched her shift gradually towards the edge, her head cocked over the edge further and further. It occurred to me that we might fall off the edge and I chose not to worry. It happened sooner than I thought. Amy fell and I fell on top of her. We laughed about it hysterically. Neither of us was hurt.
We cuddled as we fell asleep. Amy had not scratched my back this time. I had felt her fingers cautiously dancing around my shoulder blades as she consciously reminded herself to not do this. I liked making women feel self-conscious, even a little nervous. It makes a person more excitable during the act and more likely to be drawn to your advances in the dark of a bar. I kissed Amy’s forehead and felt victorious.
Once again, I didn’t sleep much. I listened to the sounds of spring at night and heard the cats occasionally meow. I wanted to fuck their owner again as soon as possible. When morning came, Amy went to feed the cats and do some business in the restroom. She returned fully naked and looked self-conscious about me looking at her. I didn’t even realize I was staring. We said good morning and she asked how I slept and I lied that it was fine, while still remarking on how annoying her cats had been. I moved close to her and kissed her cheek.
“I want you again,” I said.
In a short amount of time, what a voyeur might have seen (if they’d had the power of perv-invisibility and had stood at the bedroom door) was Amy sheets pulled up over most of her body, her head angled to the side on a white pillow and her mouth opening and closing with periodic moans. There would be a rump in the center of the bed, and some of that rump would be moving slightly but continuously. Then one would have seen my feet popping out from the sheets at the back of the bed, feeling the glorious spring breeze come through the window.
The rest of me did not feel the said breeze. Not to say it wasn’t beautiful down there. Soft sunlight diffused by the white cotton blanket filtered in and gave a pleasant glow to the female body above my head, and to her mound and thighs when I pulled back for (muggy) air. I licked Amy gently this time and used my fingers for only a bit.
This time I got to know her body with my hands as I ate her out. I felt her breasts and moved my fingers over her nipples. I did what I’d done for years and seemed to work every time I went down on a woman; I put several fingers on her mouth and, sure enough, she sucked on them. I paced myself; I didn’t want to fuck her with my face like I’d done the previous night. I licked her up and down her strip.
This went on for many minutes until I found myself concentrating on her clit. My tongue moved around and felt the wet orb near the top her pussy and I circled my tongue around it. Amy’s breaths got sharper. Her hand, which had been grabbing my head sporadically, seized me. I swished my tongue faster. With one hand, I pushed one leg up so I could get more control of her.
The muffled sounds coming from her vocal cords had a helpless, approaching-final-destination quality by the time I realized it was probably time to get my fingers inside her again. I arched my head up further, flicking the tip of my tongue across her clit as I moved a couple of fingers below my chin and thrust them forward. I could not believe what I felt. Pure liquid. Nothing solid. It felt like dipping my fingers into warm, over-chlorinated water.
I opened my eyes and saw the roots of pubic hair just above where my tongue moved and I heard Amy make fast, deep breaths. I moved my fingers around in the aqueduct and kept my tongue batting around her clitoris. My fingers flicked against her inner thighs and they felt slick already; her labia hemorrhaged liquid. Then I realized that, just as a man thrilled to be winning at poker knows, it was time to go all in. I moved my face. I stuck my tongue straight into the spigot. She grabbed on to my hair and—
Please keep in mind, as you take in this passage, that I could not see Amy’s face this whole while. Also, keep in mind her personality, her complexity as a human being. She wanted to be a psychiatrist. She studied brain processes and looked at brain scans. Now here she was experiencing two (I would say) rather overt chemical processes of her own; one in her brain, one in her cunt.
Would she have analyzed herself if she were a different person with the same passions? What would her brain scan have looked like at this moment? And most importantly, what, aside from a deluge of serotonin and estrogen, was going through her head right at that moment and could it be read on her face?
Amy’s thighs seized up over the top of my head, just like the previous night. Her body twisted backward on the bed. She did it all quite silently. Just a brief, yelpy sigh. I started barrel down at her fucked up labia, slick with a higher concentration of non-saliva than my saliva. For a hot moment, I wanted not to stop. I wanted to keep licking her. See how batshit insane she’d go. At the same time, we both needed a break. And I knew that I wanted my cock to feel what my face had just felt. So, I came up for air.
Amy was flushed. So was I. I kissed her and said, “I really want to do you without a condom.”
She looked away, towards the floor. It was the first time I’d seen her look uncomfortable.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll get a condom.”
She laughed in relief that I wasn’t a complete scumbag.
“Yeah,” she agreed.
In not too long, I found myself on top of Amy, staring into her hair and my hand that ran through it, moving in and moving out. Her face was turned away from me again and her moans were softer, more meditative. I paced myself. I stroked her cheek. I felt like I had enough of a grip on her now to make a command.
“Look into my eyes,” I said.
She obeyed. Her green-hazel eyes looked into mine.
“Fuck me,” she said.
(Which I, um, already was…)
I moved faster.
“Harder.”
I moved faster.
“Harder…”
I knew if I thrust much faster, that I wouldn’t be able to hold it in anymore. Nonetheless, I complied. I pressed my forehead against Amy’s forehead (an image lit up in my mind of me pounding Lauren the weekend before, her legs in the air, her bed strangely distant but our bodies large and shaking). I came and I made some noise.
As we cuddled after, I apologized for cumming so quickly. She shook her head and said she didn’t think it was too quick. Looking back, I wish I had never said that.
We ate breakfast. I went out to a nearby café to get us some scones. I was stunned to learn she was not a coffee drinker. It was when I put the butter in the microwave that I really fucked up for the first time. The microwave instantly started smoking. Amy yelled,
“Stop it, stop!”
I was a bit paralyzed. I couldn’t do anything. I realized what I’d done. I had put tinfoil in the microwave. Those butter packets are wrapped in tinfoil. Amy pressed stop and opened the microwave.
Smoke gushed out into my face. First the ejaculate. Now the smoke.
“Oh wow,” said Amy. “Oh, God.”
Finally, she chuckled.
Ultimately, it didn’t seem to be a deal breaker. I apologized. Profusely. This was not even the first time I’d made such a mistake. I went home and took a shower. I ate some lunch. I thought about doing more work on my thesis. But there was no point. I lay down for a little while but I couldn’t get to sleep. I needed more pussy. I needed the trashiness of Lauren’s embrace while I plowed her. I needed to see her glittering black eyeshade. I had to hear her whimpery reactions to my cock. In a few hours, I would.
When I got to Lauren’s place, she seemed not very happy to see me. She must have thought some things over about me, just as I’d thought over her. I knew this was the last time I would see her.
The first thing I got was my watch. After some small talk, I tried to kiss her. She pivoted her head away and said, “nope.” She explained that she’d already made up her mind before I got there. We weren’t having sex this time. She asked me what I wanted to do. I proposed the one thing I felt like she barely did. I asked her if she wanted to go outside.
It was total bullshit. We were absolutely having sex whether she thought so or not. I would just have to be patient. First off, it was a nice afternoon. We went out and got food from Chipotle and had a picnic. What I mostly remember is us sitting near a large Golden Retriever and Lauren commenting on how cute it was. I made a related joke. She responded, “You’re silly.” It was the fifth or sixth time she’d called me silly.
We went back to her apartment and watched T.V. I slid gradually closer to her on the couch. At some point, I put my hand on her shoulder. I let it slide down her thick upper-arm.
She said, “You can touch my vagina if you want.”
Just like her upper-arms, Lauren’s thighs were thick. I had noticed her thigh-thickness, up close and in my face and against my cheeks already, the last three times I’d gone down on her. I had just had enough of a break from her to forget what her thighs were like. And they weren’t even the first pair of thighs my face had been buried between that day.
But I took my time getting to the burial part. I spread her legs apart just enough for my head; I kissed her down her prickly calves and flicked my tongue against her thighs. Either she had recently shaved because she knew, after all, that we were indeed going to fuck, or she hadn’t shaven because she sincerely believed there would be no sex this time.
I, on the other hand, had sincerely believed that I would fuck two women on Sunday and probably have about 1/15th of my day spent on cunnilingus. But I hadn’t believed, as I pushed my face in towards Lauren’s mound, as I worked several fingers around inside of her, that when I withdrew my fingers I would be confronting a drooping white clump hanging off one of her lips. It was foamy, a little oozy. It gave me a second’s pause. For other guys, it probably would have made them stop what they were doing completely. But what did I decide? I just dove right in there. I licked up her yeast. And I licked some more.
Later, when I was inside of her, I was changing things up and not in the way you (or she) would expect. Her last experience of me had been my bare cock pounding away at her. This time, I wore a condom and only stuck my cock halfway in—just like I’d done when I was a total novice at sex, years before—and moved very lightly.
Lauren was backed up against a pillow that she’d set against her wall—this had been her idea. Because of her positioning, it had been tricky for me to navigate an entry. I asked her how it felt on a scale of one to ten.
“Three…” she said.
I took my cock out. I repositioned. I rammed myself all the way inside her.
“Ten…” she said with a gasp.
Fucking her like that, sideways on her bed, I thought about Amy’s face when I told her to look into my eyes and she’d responded ‘fuck me.’ The top of Lauren’s head was facing my neck. Her pants sent breath on to my Adam’s apple. It was hard for me to see her eyes. I wasn’t sure I cared.
Second orgasms are always tremendous. I came and I shook. I felt my cum unloading and wondered if the rubber would break. I stared down at Lauren’s shoulder, her strained shoulder with the shoulder bone visible. I made some noise.
When it was over, I lay on top of Lauren and she chuckled, “Hun, did you just have an orgasm?”
She was in an improved mood when I left. She texted me, thanks for coming over! Safe travels!
I decided to keep her number in my phone in case I wanted to booty call her again. But a part of me knew it was over between us. As it should have been.
I woke up the next morning with a sore throat and a stiff neck. It is possible to overdose on pussy. I took care of myself that next day. I went to bed early.
If you’re wondering if I planned on keeping things going with Amy, you’re right. She was the one to text me this time, so I assumed she was fairly into me. But then she got sick and canceled our plans. I reached out to her several more times but she wasn’t getting back to me. Finally, walking out of a final thesis meeting, I got a text from her explaining that it was fun hanging out but she couldn’t be in a relationship at that time. She had to focus on herself.
I asked her if we could meet up to talk about this. She declined. I sent her an angry response, admitting that I had been sleeping with someone else, also, and telling her that I didn’t think she should feel weird about fucking someone a decade younger. She responded that age had nothing to do with it.
I went into a minor depression for the next few weeks. I drank heavily. I wondered what had gotten into me, being that promiscuous. I hoped I hadn’t contracted an STD from Lauren. The tests came back negative and I went on a few more dates, kept drinking, casually slept with someone else. At some point late in the summer, shortly before a conference I had to attend in Las Vegas, I met the woman who is now my long-term girlfriend.
Amy and Lauren are things of the past now, but I remember them fondly. My girlfriend knows all about them. Sometimes I talk about them during sex. She doesn’t mind. Sometimes I think about straying, about carrying things on with one, two other women. But I don’t. Most of the time, it’s better to tread lightly.
Oh, and yes, I did finish my thesis. The response was enthusiastic, better than anything I could have hoped for; it confirmed what I should really be doing with my life.
Charlize
- 01.03.2021
- 8
- 0
- Category:
- True
Submissive S sters 8 Spring s Offsprings
- 3 years ago
- 37
- 0
178 Spring service
- 1 year ago
- 10
- 0
