Take Me Off the App Virgin, Age Gap, Explicit #5
The leather stuck to her damp tits. Her toes barely touched the rug.
Grant’s other hand gripped her hip hard enough to leave a print she hoped would last until morning.
“Harder,” she said. “I can still make sentences. That means harder.”
He gave her harder. The wet slap of his body against hers filled the living room, rude and regular.
Tessa’s mouth hung open. Spit hit the leather.
She could smell the couch cleaner under the smell of her own cunt.
His cock dragged that deep place on every in-stroke and she shoved back to meet it, 21 year old impatience using a 36 year old man like furniture he had paid for.
It still was not the picture she wanted.
“Knees,” she panted. “On the cushions. I want to arch.”
Grant pulled out long enough for her to scramble up. She knelt on the seat, chest down, ass high, cheek on the cushion, and reached back to spread herself so he would not waste time finding her. He stepped in behind, fist in her hair again, and drove back into her pussy to the root.
Doggy on his couch made her louder. The angle let him go deep enough that she felt it in her belly.
Each thrust rocked the whole frame. He used her hair like a handle and she moaned into the leather, filthy and pleased.
When he twisted his fist she clenched around him on purpose so he would feel what the sting did to her.
“That,” she gasped. “Keep that. Talk if you can still talk.”
Grant’s voice came out rough above her. “Your cunt is soaking my cock. You asked to be used and you are taking it. You look like you belong on this couch.”
The praise landed hotter than the pull. Tessa shoved a hand between her own knees and rubbed her clit, sloppy, no rhythm but need.
The orgasm gathered in her hips and broke with her face mashed to the cushion, pussy locking on him in hard pulls, a raw sound punched out of her that she did not try to swallow.
He fucked her through it and still did not finish.
She felt him throb, held at the edge by the same patience she kept trying to ruin.
Her arms shook. She reached back and slapped his hip.
“Sit down. I want to turn around on it.”
He sat because she told him to. His cock stood wet and dark, glossy with her.
Tessa climbed into his lap facing away, reverse, and sank onto him with a hiss, taking every inch in one drop that made his head fall back against the couch.
Her ass met his thighs. She was so wet the seat under them sounded obscene when she started to move.
She rode him that way, hands on his knees, watching their reflection in the dark window: her body rising and falling, his hands on her waist, his cock disappearing into her. The view made her clench. Grant groaned and held her hips, letting her set the bounce until her thighs burned.
“You are not allowed to cum yet,” she said, looking at him over her shoulder. “I want your face for that.”
“Then stop squeezing me like that.”
She squeezed him harder, mean on purpose, and felt his cock kick inside her. Tessa laughed, wrecked, and kept riding until her legs started to fail. Then she lifted off him with a slick pop, turned on the cushion, and shoved his shoulders back so he was sitting in the wreck of his own couch.
She stood over him, dripping on his stomach, hair a mess from his fist.
“On your back more,” she said. “I am going to ride you looking at you. I want to see the face you make when I tell you to fill me up.”
Grant looked at her like she was a storm he had invited in and would not be sending home.
He lay back.
Tessa put a knee on either side of his hips and reached down to hold his cock in place, ready to take him from the front.
Tessa sank onto him facing forward and watched his face do exactly what she had wanted it to do.
Grant’s mouth opened. His hands found her hips and did not steal the pace.
She took him to the root, 21 year old thighs bracketing a 36 year old man’s lap, and sat there full until the stretch settled into something she could ride.
The lamp made a wet shine of where they joined.
She put her palms on his chest and started to move.
Upright cowgirl made her do the work. She liked the work. Her tits bounced. Her clit dragged his stomach on every drop. She watched the patience crack in his jaw, watched his eyes go dark each time her pussy swallowed him. The couch complained. She did not care.
“Look at me,” she said. “I waited four days to see this.”
“I am looking.”
She leaned down until her chest met his, changing the angle, turning the bounce into a grind.
His cock stayed buried. The friction on her clit turned mean and perfect.
Grant’s arms wrapped her back and held her there, mouth on her shoulder, breath punched out of him in time with the small circles she made on his lap.
“Sit up,” she said against his throat. “Hold me. I want to be in your lap like you cannot put me down.”
He sat up. The shift drove him deeper. Tessa hooked her ankles behind him and let him take some of the motion from below, a seated grind that mashed her against him and made her eyes go unfocused.
Sweat slicked their stomachs. She pushed two of his fingers into her mouth because she had put it on the list and she wanted the list finished.
He pressed down on her tongue while he fucked up into her. She moaned around his knuckles.
It still was not the last picture.
“Edge,” she panted, pulling off him with a slick sound that made them both curse. “On my back. You stand. I want you between my legs and I want to see it go in one more time.”
Grant stood. He looked wrecked, cock dark and dripping with her. Tessa scooted until her ass was on the edge of the cushion, shoulders on the seat, legs open. He stepped between her thighs, lined up, and pushed in on a single heavy stroke that folded her toward him.
Last missionary, standing, her heels at his back.
He held her hips off the couch and drove into her.
Deep. Wet. The sound of it was shameless.
Tessa reached down and spread herself with two fingers so she could watch his cock use her, shiny, thick, the thing she had demanded in a bar on Mercer and then again on a Thursday text.
“I am close,” she said. “You are going to feel me squeeze you. Then I want you to cum in my pussy. Same as last time. I want it running out of me in your kitchen.”
“Tessa—”
“Fill me. I said it.”
She came first, a hard clench that locked on his cock and pulled a groan out of him. Her legs shook against his sides. She kept her eyes open through it because she wanted the image: Grant’s face breaking, his rhythm stuttering, a man who had written patient finally out of patience.
He buried himself and came.
Heat flooded her in thick pulses. She felt every one, felt him kick inside her, felt the overflow already starting around his shaft because he kept her pinned on him while he emptied.
Tessa’s laugh came out wrecked and satisfied.
She dragged him down by the neck and kissed him through the last of it, messy, grateful, not tender so much as complete.
He stayed in her until his arms shook, then eased out. His cum followed, warm, obvious, sliding toward the edge of the couch. Tessa put her hand there and felt it, curious and pleased, then let him pull her upright.
After looked like his kitchen at a little after two.
He sat her on the counter. Water first. Then a shirt that was his. Then his palm on the inside of her knee, not hunting, just checking that she was still in her body. Tessa drank. She was sore in a bright, specific way. She could feel him leaking into the shirt. She did not close her legs.
“Phone,” she said.
Grant frowned. “You need a ride.”
“I need you to take me off the app. I am not hunting anymore. I already told you that in my head. Now I am telling you in your kitchen.”
He looked at her for a long second, 36 year old caution trying to find a last foothold. It did not find one. He unlocked his phone, opened the thing that had started with a green dot and a hard no he had ignored, and held the screen so she could watch.
Unmatch. Delete conversation. She saw her own name disappear.
Tessa knocked her heel against the cabinet, smiling, filthy and fond.
“Good. Next time I will text you like a person instead of a profile.”
Grant set the phone face down, stepped between her knees, and rested his forehead against hers.
“You are a lot,” he said, and this time the tone was nicer.
“You came in me twice,” Tessa said. “You can say it as many times as you want.”
She stayed on the counter until the water was gone.
She did not ask if she could sleep there.
She told him she was sleeping there. Grant, who had almost unmatched a virgin in the first five minutes, turned off the kitchen light and let a 21 year old woman who messaged first keep the night she had ordered.
Filthy. Forbidden. Turn the page.