Fashionably Late

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

You were supposed to leave for the party fifteen minutes ago. Truly, both of you had almost been out the front door. Leant forwards staring into the bathroom mirror, you check your reflection for the hundredth time that evening, inspecting the pearlescence of your teeth.

Jules’s irritated voice yowls to you down the hallway from the bedroom, “Have you seen my cigarette case?”

You leave the bathroom, standing in the doorway of the bedroom with your elbow leant on the wooden frame. Jules is searching the dresser, digging through the bottom drawer full of shirts, her jackets, and the mismatched pool of bras and undergarments at the back before slamming it closed.

A delighted grin comes onto her face when she spots her cigarette case on the bedside table, snatching a hold of it.

“No.” You reach out to take the metal case from her, but she holds it away from you. “You’re not smoking, not tonight.”

“I damn well am.” Jules slips a cigarette between her pursed lips, smearing lipstick on the rolled paper. She pats down the pockets of her coat, then curses, facing you with a humourless “Hah”.

“Your lighter stays with me. You can smoke after the party.” You drop her lighter into your clutch and snap the bag closed, tucking it under your arm. “I feel like I’ve forgotten something.” You sigh irritably, touching a finger to your lips. You run through a mental checklist in your head that you had planned earlier in the day. Hairspray, deodorant, mascara…

“Lipstick.” Jules snaps her fingers, placing the cosmetic missing from your face. “Sit down. If you have to choose what colour to wear that matches your dress, we’ll be here all night.” She gestures for you to sit down on the bed, fetching a makeup bag from the dresser.

Lowering herself to sit next to you, she takes your jaw in her hand, tilting your head back so your mouth is level with her gaze.

Jules smirks, rifling through the makeup bag beside her. “Pucker up.” She uncaps a tube of lipstick, the outside case gleaming silver and triangular point of wax beneath it a dark plum.

She places the pointed tip on your mouth, smoothing a stripe of colour across your lower lip.

“Open your mouth slightly. That’s it.” She nods in approval, dabbing colour on the curves of your lips. “Shit.” She leaves a mark on your cupid’s bow by accident, rubbing the blemish off with her thumb.

Jules doesn’t attempt to hide how turned on she is at seeing your tongue peer over your teeth, her attention devoured by your slightly parted lips. Your hands knot in your lap, cheeks flushing rosier by the second. Her hand slides behind your head, fingers stroking your hair at the back of your neck.

“God, I love how that dress looks on you.”

Her voice is low, mouth upturned into a wicked smile. She fondles the swell of your hips with eskişehir escort her hands, pulling you closer.

“No.” You catch on to her game, shaking your head. “If we don’t leave now, we’ll be late,” you warn her but are unable to resist smiling when her lips graze past your neck, leaving a smear of dark-red lipstick.

She kisses you under one ear and murmurs, “We have time”, pushing you backwards on the bed. You squirm at first, hesitant to delay your exit from the apartment, but then relax under her touch as her hands glide over your thighs, bunching your dress skirt around your waist. The lace underwear you had been saving for later is tugged down, falling to your ankles.

You shudder, eyes slipping closed as she exposes the apex of your thighs to the air, kissing along your inner thighs to stamp red imprints of her mouth on your skin.

Her muscular arms, spattered with freckles, snake around your waist. Hot breath skims past your cunt’s curls, and you arch back with a moan, anticipating her next move.

“What do you say we spend the night in?” Jules suggests, smirking like a satisfied cat where she is kneeling at the foot of the bed.

“I was looking forward to this dinner,” you say.

“And I’m dying for a taste of this one,” she retorts.

Jules licks you open with a broad stroke of her tongue, flicking it up and down your clit. Her affections garner bursts of pleasure in your gut, and your waist rises off the bed. You clamp a hand over your mouth to trap the strangled moan you let out behind your fingers, feeling your cunt pulse around the rough, warm, and very much alive muscle snaking along your slit.

“Mm, how long have you been this wet for?” Jules braces a hand on your abdomen, strands of her long auburn hair tickling your thighs.

As she works her tongue deeper, you utter a high-pitched squeal, crossing your ankles behind her head. Your head falls back onto the pillows, her tongue lashing the pink lips of your cunt.

“Baby,” she hums in adoration. “You have no idea how fucking good you taste. I’m going to take my time.”

Her mouth lifts from between your legs with a wet ‘pop’ and two of her fingers, slick with spit, slide inside your cunt. Jules thrusts into you with her fingers to give her tongue a break, grinding the heel of her hand against your clit. Her curled fingertips nudge your G-spot, probing wet spongy heat.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you chant to the ceiling, your eyelids fluttering in time with the motions of her fingers.

“You like that, baby?” Jules asks coyly, her tone smug. She knows any attempt at speaking on your end will result in flustered gibberish. “Can you take any more?”

Although oblivious to what you’re accepting, you nod. Jules’s lips find your clit, suckling the sensitive gaziantep escort bud.

You’re convinced she’ll drive you crazy, your knees quavering where they are wrapped around her face burrowed between your thighs, the red curls on the back of Jules’s head spiderwebbed across the duvet.

“Three words, honey.”

“I love you?”

Jules laughs. “Close, but no. ‘Fuck the party’.”

“Fuck the party,” you agree. You sit upright, grabbing onto her coat lapels, and yank her forwards so she has to clamber on top of you on the mattress.

Poised over you in a primal manner, you tear off her clothes layer by layer. You throw her coat aside, fingers clumsily undoing the buttons on her shirt and pulling off her pants. You can’t keep your hands off each other, squeezing and mapping out your bodies’ curves.

“Aren’t you going to finish what you started?” you ask.

“I told you, I’m taking my time.” Jules flattens her palms over your hipbones, reaching one arm under the bed to retrieve a harness and strap-on. She slings it around your waist, tightening the straps behind your back, and takes your hands in her own, pinning them against the mattress on either side of your head.

In one swing of her leg, she has hiked herself on top of you. She sinks onto your strap-on with a groan, raising her pelvis a few inches off your silicone cock before thrusting downwards with a short jab of her hips.

“Fucking hell,” Jules hisses through her teeth, leaning back to find just the right angle and continuing a rhythm that is maddeningly arousing to watch.

You think she might need help to come, opening your mouth to ask, but lift your gaze to find her already coming. Bright orange curls bounce on her shoulders, her mouth drops open, and she bellows out a groan.

“God — fuck –” A sharp intake of breath. She rolls her hips backwards and forwards another few times, her chest flushed as she rides you through her orgasm. Finally, her body tremors. She hunches forwards and steadies her hands on your shoulders, her breath returning to a normal pace. “I’ll make you feel so fucking good for that, baby.”

She unbuckles your strap-on, the harness ending up thrown somewhere on the bedroom floor. Jules pauses for a cigarette, but once she’s finished that, her strength has replenished, and you’re near-crazed with desire.

“Fuck me. Please.” You wrap your legs around her torso, Jules still straddling you as she smokes.

“I love it when you beg,” she admits, snuffing out the cigarette in an ashtray on the bedside table.

She turns you over on your hands and knees, fitting a hand between your legs, and presses three fingers into your cunt from behind, sheathing them up to the knuckle. It’s the satisfying fullness you’ve been craving all this time. giresun escort You stifle a throaty cry into the pillows when she begins pumping her fingers in and out.

Her other hand grasps one of your breasts through your dress. Becoming impatient, Jules pulls down the zip at your back. She tightens an arm around your waist, pulling you back to kneel with your spine curved against her chest.

One hand remains between your legs, fingers attacking your cunt in short fast thrusts while another pulls down the straps of your dress from your shoulders to your elbows.

Your breasts spill out of your dress. Jules gropes and squeezes each one until your nipples are raised and aching.

“I don’t think this will take long at all,” she confides in you, her voice deliciously amused at your ear. “I’m going to go faster, alright?”

“No! No,” you want to shout. Jules knows damn well where you need to be touched, but she doesn’t want you to come yet. Both of her hands are occupied elsewhere on your body.

You thrust your hips sporadically, taking three of her fingers in your cunt instead of two. The sensation of being stretched around another of her knuckles is an overwhelming distraction, but soon, you start to babble pleadingly for release.

“Please, touch me! Oh, god — now! Please!”

Jules’s voice is hardly intelligible over the noise of her fingers plunging in and out of you. “Tell me where, baby.”

“I’m so fucking close,” you whine, losing your train of thought.

“Baby.” Jules lifts her palm off your chest and takes your jaw in her hand, redirecting your attention. “Tell me what you want.”

“Touch me, touch my clit, please…” you beg.

Her fingertips find and hound your clit, teasing it with up and down strokes, lazy circles, and taps timed perfectly to her other two fingers flexing in your cunt.

They press a particular spot inside you, Jules recognising its effectiveness by your choked moan, and she hammers it again and again.

“I’m going to — oh, fuck, you’re going to make me –” A hoarse, but relieved scream escapes your throat. You clench around her fingers, the intensity of your orgasm rendering you mute.

Jules’s fingertips curl against that sweet spot inside your cunt again. Previously, you have only squirted using toys, mastering the ability in private, but shaking in the throes of orgasm, your body isn’t yours to control. Your back arches and you gush over her palm between your legs before slumping into her lap, your head on her shoulder.

You peel your dress off your body, lying against Jules’s side to enjoy the refreshing night air on your skin.

Jules cracks open a window. Then, two cans of beer, passing one over to you. Though too exhausted to talk about much, you share a smile. Fishing the T.V. remote off the bedside table, you drink from your can while Jules takes a drag of a cigarette, resting your head on her abdomen.

The distant burble of narration from the television coupled with her fingers running through your hair, tidying the out-of-place sweaty tufts that have fallen over your eyes, lulls you to sleep within minutes.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32