Morning, all. Sick today. Wasn't sure if I'd get this written and get it up (heh). But here I am. And here it is. Part 19. I usually write a day's installment the night before and then reread it in the morning. Today, I nursed my coffee and my sickness and wrote it. Then I read it three times. But you know I suffer from eyes-know-what-brain-meant syndrome. So pass any boo-boos along to me if you see them.
Happy Sunday :)
by Sommer Marsden
That feeling was just as I imagined. The cool porcelain licking my belly as I leaned across its fluted lip to get at him. Johnny sat naked and docile in the tub that was barely filled with warm water. He’d let me smear shaving cream on his head only after making me take my clothes off.
Outside, the snow had stopped.
“Stay still,” I said, excitement curling like a ball of smoke in my belly.
“I am still.” His fingers came up to capture my nipple and he squeezed.
The goodness of that pressure enveloped me and made my heart race. “I have news for you, that’s not still.”
The razor swiped along his scalp gathering a line of foam and small bits of stubble in its wake. I swished it in the sink basin full of water so he wasn’t sitting in it. I didn’t want to cut him, but when he pinched both nipples, his body at an angle, I almost did.
“I’m almost done,” I said. “Can’t you…” I shook my head, making another line of clear skin with the razor’s head.
“What? Behave? Who are you talking to, girly?”
That made me laugh and when I laughed my breasts shook and when that happened his voice grew thicker and he said, “Get in here.”
I did. Taking a final swipe with the razor, I cleared his scalp, proud that there wasn’t a single nick. Then I tossed the razor in the sink and climbed into the tub with him. Long ago, someone must have fitted the tub with a hose and nozzle and a pull-around curtain to afford the owner a shower. It was just good the tub had been preserved, original clawfoots were rare and special now. Something I cherished from my childhood. My fingers curled along the cool lip as I settled on him, straddling his hips and feeling the jut of his erection along the heat of my pussy.
“Is that all I get?” he teased.
“For the moment. I have to check my job.” Leaning forward, I pushed my hands along his scalp to feel the smoothness of it. He held my hips patiently while I did a perusal of my work.
“Good.” My breasts pressed to his chest, the hair there tickling my skin. His heart was thundering almost as much as mine and that made me wetter still.
“You deserve a reward.” Now it was his mouth that found my nipple and he licked until the pink flesh peaked and pebbled for him. Sucking hard, he drew me to him and I rotated my hips to accent the pleasure.
“I do deserve a reward.”
“I’m going to fuck you.”
“Here?” I joked, feigning surprise.
“Here. On the road. In dingy motels and in rest stops. Mountains, beaches, fruited plains.” His thumb pressed my clit and I gasped.
“That’s a lot of fucking.” I raised up enough to fit him against me. To feel the heat and potential of his cock—ready to penetrate, but still just touching me from the outside.
He anchored me but didn’t rush me.
I held my breath and studied him—muscular arms, flat belly, those surreal blue eyes, newly shaved head and knowing smile. He could read me like a book, or so it felt. He could smell my want and hear my heart and…
“Snowflake.” That was all he said.
My pussy flickered—greedy, needy, willing—and I murmured some nonsense sound and sank down on him. Slowly. An inch at a time.
Warmish water eddied around my knees and his hips but not enough to cover us. Just enough to lap at the bottom of the tub and swirl with my movement.
Johnny reached up and caught my hands. I pressed down as he pressed up and I started to move. I imagined that I could feel the purpling flesh on my bottom beat with my heart. The bruises he had left on me were perfect. Pale lavender and pink and a tiny bit of red. Big enough for me to tell his hand had been there, small enough that they were just pretty lacy reminders of my spanking.
I rolled my hips, grinding my clit to him. My breath felt too big for my lungs.
“I like it when you come, Snowflake,” he whispered. “I like to watch your face.”
He was moving up under me. Just a hint of aggressive thrusting but enough to drive deeper. His cock battered all the places that needed him most.
“Why-why-why?” I breathed as I moved. My eyes drifted shut and I rocked against his body, working myself to the point of a nearly unbearable tightness.
“Because it’s the only time you look peaceful,” he said, trailing a finger from my breastbone to my belly button.
I grabbed the lip of the tub and held the chilled porcelain as I came. My head fell back, hair brushing my waist, breasts exposed to him—bared, really. When he took advantage and pinched them again—pinched hard—it ratcheted up my release to a staggering force.
I folded my body down over him, my chest pressed to his chest. Johnny caught my face up in his hands and held it, stroking my cheek as he continued to thrust. He was strong and the force of him moving up under me had me growing tighter again, wetter again, ready again.
“God.” I chuckled.
“I’m flattered, but it’s still just little old me.” His mouth pressed mine in a harsh kiss and he grunted, moving up a bit faster, having gone from man to a more animalistic creature.
I felt his need and the force of it and all the hairs along my arms waved with the electrical charge of our coupling.
“Now,” he said as if it was a password.
But it was. Because when he thrust up hard once more and I pressed down, we both came. Him bellowing his out against black and white tile and cool porcelain and those lazy yellow sconce lights on the wall. Me whispering mine against his lips as a small, but just as sweet, orgasm triggered all my internal muscles to milk him dry.
I sat up, breathing hard. My face flushed with heat and happiness. Still joined as we were, it was an awkward and comical stretch for me to turn and put the water on, but I managed. The tub started to fill and I spread myself out over him, remembering his gaze. Remembering him studying me.
I asked the dreaded girl question.
“So when we were, you know…”
He wound my hair around his hand, I could feel my God-given blonde tether growing shorter and shorter, and then he pulled my head back for a kiss. “Yeah?”
“When we were fucking, what were you thinking?”
God, even I hated that question. Until Johnny, I had very much prided myself on fucking like a man. Or what I thought a man fucked like. No preamble, no lead-up, damn the foreplay. Let’s shoot straight to the chase—cock, cunt, orgasms, done.
“I was thinking lots of things.”
Now I pulled away and sat up, still straddling him, the hot water licking my hips now. It was my turn to watch him. “Like what?”
“Like all the places I plan on bedding you down. Like you naked on some beach somewhere. Like you with another woman.” He touched my chin with just the tip of his finger, watching me intently.
He caught the sound of me taking in a startled sip of air—the sound of a girlish gasp—and grinned. And then he finished up. “You with another man. I bet you’d be spectacular to watch.”
“I—” But that’s where I stopped. I didn’t know what to say. He’d rendered me speechless for the moment.
A rare thing, indeed.