SIX Leave on Those Stilettos
J ACKSON
Bending forward again to comply, I feel her fingertips tracing along my tats. First, the bald eagle spreading her wings across my chest. Second, the memorial to my pet greyhound on my left bicep, then to the one spelling out the name Rosie embellished with an entwined pink dogwood blossom on my right bicep.
“I like your ink,” she says, and as I lean back on my haunches, she continues to trail her touch across my eagle. “It’s so intricate and colorful.”
I hold my breath, waiting for the inevitable question, the one so many have asked.
“Thanks,” I wink at her, and just when I believe Elliana isn’t gonna bring it up, she does.
“Who’s Rosie?”
And there it is. But that’s okay. I reply with my pat answer. The one that’s such an enormous lie that if I believed in Hell, this would send me straight there the second I hit the afterlife. No one can tell because I’ve hidden the truth for so long that I utter the falsehood with ringing credibility.
“My mom.”
As fucking if.
“Aww,” Elliana murmurs. And I’m off the hook. Or at least I think I am until her eyes narrow. “All right. Enough talking. Let’s get on with things.”
Thank Christ.
For this opening act, I dive back between her legs, flicking her clit with my tongue. I peek up at her on occasion until I see her eyes transform into two molten pools of heat. Her core is just as molten, and accepting this as the privilege it is, I leverage two fingers inside of her, curving them until I find the spot that has her trembling in need.
There it is.
She makes a noise that’s part whimper, part cry as she fucks my face, and I feel her slipping and sliding on my lips and tongue. This alone would be enough to get some women off, but I’ve learned that each person is different. I continue for a minute or two, and when her groans begin to sound more exasperated than blissful, I know it’s time for another tactic.
Rather than merely licking and kissing her clit, I suck it with some force, making her hips rock more naturally against me. Her exasperation now replaced with sheer passion, I double down by caressing her G-spot even more vigorously. I next nibble on that clit, or more accurately, I drag my teeth across the skin on either side of that pearl piercing.
I need her bare now, so I begin to unlace her corset, which takes some time. Still, it’s worth it once those fabulous, pierced tits burst forth, and I leave on those stilettos just for fun. Using my free hand, I feel along the globes of her ass to the center of her crease. Finding that pucker, I circle it lightly, just the most glancing of caresses until she arches her spine.
“ Sweet baby Jesus ,” she shrieks, and I can tell we’re in the home stretch.
But since God is in the details, I up the ante. Bringing her to her feet and flipping her around, I nibble her ass cheek while strumming that little bundle of nerves above her core like a guitar string with my thumb.
Although this proves challenging, I next glide two fingers from my opposite hand into her perfect little pussy while keeping up the strumming, feeling each of my hands going from slick to downright slippery with her desire.
And that’s the ticket.
“Oh, oh yes .”
She comes powerfully, requiring me to hold on to her so she doesn’t teeter off balance. I can feel the tremors of both her entrance and her clit vibrating against me for long, endless heartbeats. Long enough that my hands start to feel stiff and crampy to be honest, but I keep going until her exclamations of joy taper off and I can feel her orgasm meander to its end.
Only once I’m sure she’s finished do I let myself lean back enough to stare at her. She’s laying there on the mattress like a piece of fragile stemware, debauched and exquisite. My poor cock has been weeping and rock hard for what amounts to an eternity by this point, so I gradually pull my hands free as I prepare to climb on top of her.
“What do you think, sweet thing? Ready for me to come inside you?”
Fucking Christ, I’m sure as hell ready.
But all I receive in reply is a negative shake of her head as she rolls up in her bed linens, obscuring herself from me.
“Not this time. Bring me a warm washcloth from in there.” She points towards her ensuite bathroom.
Stunned, I obey almost mechanically, my dick sticking out like a mainsail. It’s difficult to process illogical commands when all your blood has traveled due south. When I return with the requested cloth, she takes it, then waves at me until I back away.
“You can get yourself off now. But only if you show me.”
At this particular juncture, I’d show just about anyone above the age of consent who requested such a thing of me. So, I push to my feet to give her a front-row view and fist my cock.
“Such definition and veins...” she mutters, reaching out to touch them, touch me .
I draw back my own hand, and the instant she makes contact with my too-tight skin, I erupt.
“Uunngh, fucking Christ ,” I shout as my seed ejects all over the back of her hand, wrist, and arm, some of it making it all the way to her shoulder. It spurts from my tip over and over, and with each one, I release a labored groan, my stomach flexing. I’d held back for so long that the relief is damn near an ache.
Incredible how refraining like that can ramp up a guy’s horsepower.
Once she uses her washcloth to scrub off my mess, she offers it back to me. I take it and clean up the bit still lingering on me.
“Throw that in my hamper, will you? It’s right inside my closet there.” She gestures toward an expansive walk-in closet more reminiscent of a dressing room complete with lots of drawers and hanging rods as well as a lit vanity and bench.
I’m reminded heavily of the similar furniture my mother and three older sisters use, not that I’ve been around any of them in over a decade. Blinking the memory away, I dump the cloth in the hamper as instructed.
“Thank you,” she tells me. “All right. Send the blond kid in.”