Sofa sex

The vibrating buzz of the text alert comes just as I slide my panties halfway down my thighs.

I had been enjoying a whole, delicious, lazy afternoon off, all to myself, reclined on the sofa with a magazine in my lap. No meetings, no documents to review, no bosses to placate. Working in publishing makes me spin so much I get completely dizzy sometimes. But then there are holidays in June, days like this when the whole frantic dance stops for a moment, and I remember what it feels like just to be lazy. The sun streamed through the windows, the drapes billowing for a moment with a breeze that teased lightly over my thighs and ruffled the hem of my skirt. That's a lovely sensation, I thought.

That's when it all started.

A little gust of spring air through those tall windows making the curtains dance, and my nipples stirred, instantly alert under my thin cotton blouse. It seemed almost like an invitation to indulge myself, so I decided to accept it as one.

Laying my head back on the sofa cushion, I took a slow, deep, satisfying breath and spread my legs—just a little bit—letting my fingertips tease lightly through my hair and meander across my neck. Like a breeze, my touch wandered over my body, barely touching my breasts and teasing over my nipples, so they beaded and rose. I found myself very aware of the heat and wetness and desire spreading between my legs, of my heart beating, my breaths coming faster, shallower.

My phone on the side table had been quiet during all of this.

I had begun to slide my fingertips up the insides of my thighs, imagining you in front of me, watching me as the wet spot between my legs spreads. I opened my thighs wider—showing off for you, tantalising you, imagining your cock hard in your hand, your eyes fixed on the damp patch in my panties, desperately wanting to see what lies underneath. I slid them halfway to my knees for you…

Which is, of course, when my phone buzzed, and the little blue bubble popped up under your name: What are you up to?

Bit of a loaded question, that one. Awkward timing. Or was it?

Then, a moment later, the little dots flash as you type. Want to grab a drink someplace?

You, of course, are my naughty little secret. The friend of my friend's friend. Correction: you are the boyfriend of my friend's friend. The one that I had been trying to convince myself is only casually dating her. Second correction: you are the one who is engaged to my friend's friend, a fact which I cannot ignore, since the wedding is in three weeks and I'm not only invited, my friend, is the Maid of Honour. Also, you are the one that I keep running into in bed lately, the one who suddenly seems to be the name at the top of my text messages and who seems to show up in my fantasies kneeling between my legs and watching me while I slide my thong to the side. You're a swimmer of some sort, I know you told me that, and something else. Art student? I barely know you, but I find myself dripping when your name is mentioned in casual conversation. Or if I happen to remember that last time we met when I went out to lunch with that other friend of a friend, and we both had a few too many drinks and then somehow found ourselves alone together, having slipped away from the rest of the group. They left us behind or we left them behind, not sure which, and then we were alone in a taxi on the way to your place. More flashes of memory—of rushed unbuttoning, your lips on my neck, my hand cupping the outline of your hard cock through your jeans. Me, dropping to my knees. The thrill that went through me when I looked you in the eyes and then slid my tongue tantalisingly up your hard shaft. The thickness of your cock as it throbbed in my mouth. The hot sting of your cum on my face and lips after you came, how I had swallowed but hadn't managed it all. How furiously I had made myself climax after I got home, not even bothering to take off my drenched knickers, my heat and wetness trapped against me as my orgasm pulsed into them…

Or what about the time before that when we had been outside together at that other friend's place having a smoke? It had been a lovely spring night, a lot like this one, and you had rolled each of us cigarettes that we never got around to lighting. Our eyes kept meeting each other, teasing each other as we stood together on the front porch, the two of us circling each other appraisingly like we were about to dance the tango. You had told me how you had been thinking about the last time we had been together. I was quivering. I wanted you so badly I wondered if you could see me dripping through my sundress like you had x-ray vision. I don't even remember which one of us said it, said the thing that was obvious to both of us, which is that we were alone together and we could do anything we wanted.

Anything. I remember the gentleness of your first kiss followed by the pure ferocity of all that followed as we groped each other and stumbled through the gate into the back garden, the arching safe arbour of a flowering, concealing hedge. Images came in a torrent now: me on my hands and knees in the garden, the scent of the lilac bush next to me filling the air, my dress pushed up around my hips, you sliding inside me so easily from behind. I had been so wet you just slipped right in, as if you belonged there, as if you owned my pussy. As if you owned me. And you had been so hard, so urgent. I remember your cum dribbling between my thighs as I walked back up the stairs to my friend's apartment, where we pretended nothing at all had happened, just outside for a smoke…

Of course, there was that night you had walked me to my car after we had bumped into each at the club: the wetness and heat spreading between my legs as we walked, the anticipation building with each step, knowing that I was going to fuck you. The quaver in my voice as I said, "aren't you going to kiss me goodnight?" and then your hand against my face as your tongue slid softly next to mine. The need rising in me as you pressed your body against mine, your fingertips sliding lightly over the curve of my breasts, my hips. My breath shallow, keenly aware of how wet I was as I looked you in the eye and grabbed your wrist, sliding your hand lightly over my body, moving it lower, slipping it under my dress, between my legs. Your fingertips flitting up the insides of my thighs. My little breathy gasp as they hovered next to the thin strip of cotton between my legs, almost touching but not quite, my heat pulsing. I was dripping at this point, and when your fingertips just barely teased over my clit through the drenched fabric, I came hard, uttering a sharp gasp as the sudden pulse of heat and wetness released. I remember looking you in the eye and whispering that I wanted you to fuck me, then sliding off my panties from under my dress, opening the passenger door to the car, and reclining the seat.

How about you come over here? I typed out, heart pounding, half afraid I might be texting back the wrong number. My thong was still halfway to my knees, stretched between my open thighs, the middle soaked with my desire. My fingers tapped the screen furiously. Now?

You arrive quickly, thankfully. You accept a glass from me and I pour myself one, and we sit across from each other on the sofa. I sip my drink, but I'm really drinking you in: dark hair, scruff on your cheeks and chin, your swimmer's body which I already know fits so neatly, so perfectly with my own. I'm already wet; I have been all day, and I'm already thinking about running my tongue up your hard cock, the throb and swell of it inside my mouth. You pull a neatly hand-rolled cigarette from your shirt pocket and offer it.

"You already know what happened last time I smoked one of your little cigarettes," I say admonishingly.

"Yes. It made you fuck like a madwoman." You grin at this. You light it, and we each take a drag and giggle a bit.

"Tell me," you say after a moment, "what were your plans today before I so rudely interrupted?"

"I was doing lazy kinds of day-off things. Relaxing, you know." Then I laugh and tell you the truth. "To be honest, I had my panties halfway off and my hands between my legs when you texted."

"I'd have loved to have seen that," you say.

"Hmmm. Now there's an idea, actually." I exhale another puff from the cigarette, my mind working rapidly as I consider the possibilities. "Why don't we each come for each other? I watch you while you watch me? No touching, no fucking."

"Sounds like fun." I love that you require so little convincing.

I lie back on a cushion on the arm of the sofa and gently slide the hem of my skirt up over my thighs, spreading my legs for your viewing pleasure. My heart pounds as I realise your eyes are locked on my body. I run my tongue over my lips and let my fingertips wander over my body, just barely touching my breasts, teasing over my nipples, which are now visibly poking through my blouse. I was wet before, but my pussy literally pulsing now. I breathe out softly but sharply as I stretch my legs even wider for you. I know you can see the dark spot soaking the patch of light cotton.

I watch as you unzip and let your hard cock pop out into your hand. I can hear your breath now, too. Your eyes are glazed, fixed on the wet spot between my thighs, as your hand caresses your shaft. Your cock is swelling, full, and ready to fuck me.

I trail my fingertips up the insides of my thighs, showing off for you, showing you how hot and drenched and gorgeous my pussy is, just as I had imagined it earlier. I gasp as my touch slides over the thin, saturated cloth covering my mound. I trace the outline of my slit for you through the silky fabric, moaning as my finger skims over my clit. I'm on the verge of exploding, edging myself now as I watch your fingers curl around your solid cock. I can imagine it wrapped lightly in my own fingers: hot to the touch, throbbing gently, swelling even harder as you watch me.

I am dripping now. I slide my panties to one side and touch myself, crying out as I do. I want you to see how much I want your cock inside me, how wet you've made my pussy. I'm slippery, silky, my fingertip sliding inside then circling my clit, slowly at first but then with urgency as my climax rises. I'm fixated on your eyes now, your eyes and your cock, the steadily quickening rhythm of your strokes, imagining my lips around it and you growing hard in my mouth. I want you so badly I can barely take it, and that's when you reach out and pull me over.

I realise that the whole 'no touching, no fucking' thing had obviously been doomed from the start. I wrap my fingers around your cock, savouring its heat.

I lean in and take just the head, hungrily, into my mouth. You taste salty and male. My lips ease over your shaft, your heat pulsing and throbbing against my tongue, swelling even harder as I take you all the way in.

You moan as I suck you off. Your hand slides up the back of my leg, cupping my ass, squeezing. I want you to slip the fabric of my thong aside and slide your fingers deep inside me. I need you to know how wet I am for you, how excited I am to have your cock in my mouth. You spasm softly as I suck, and I thirst to have your hot climax burst in my mouth—to swallow it and look up at you proudly with a drop of your cum on my lips, in the corner of my mouth.

Instead, you gently pull my head up to your face, kissing me, tasting yourself on my lips. I need you inside me. Now. You pull my panties gradually off my legs, kissing my neck, my breasts, taking my hard nipples into your mouth. I straddle you, and I cry out the moment you enter me, moaning loudly as I slide over you. You fill me, and my wet pussy is soft, like silk, around your thick cock. Taking you to the hilt, I grind against your pubic bone, and I shudder as I come, a flood of wetness pulsing around you inside me.

You aren't finished though, and you guide me onto my back on the sofa, my legs apart, knees bent, so you can take me the way you want to. I moan as you slide back inside me. You fuck me hard now, urgently, and so hard you are stretching me. I can tell you are about to come, and I bend my knees back towards my chest so you are deep inside me. My own climax begins to rise again. You burst inside me, your cream pumping into me and on me, filling me and then spilling onto my slit and clit and thighs. You are breathing hard, as am I, my pussy throbbing with desire again.

You kneel between my legs, gazing at your cum, glazing the insides of my thigh and dripping from my slit. I slide my fingertips between my legs, letting them glide through your juices, spreading and rubbing them against my slit and clit. You don't need any more encouragement to begin kissing and licking, your tongue ambling up the insides of my thighs. You lap softly at the glaze of spunk covering my thighs, and you are tenderly thorough, moving ever so slowly towards the honeypot of my slit. I moan, surprised and intensely aroused. I have fantasised about this a thousand times, the soft touch of a man's tongue licking his cum from my pussy after he has come inside me. I watch as you taste yourself, licking me clean, lapping and softly suckling my slit and then my clit. I moan loudly, your every touch cascading through my body. Grabbing a handful of hair, I push your face into me, my orgasm pulsing against the soft scruff on your face.

I'm out of breath, fingers still in your hair but loose now. Your face glistens. You're hard again. Your eyes have a take-no-prisoners look that I have seen in them before. It's your turn now, they say, and you are going to take me exactly how you please. "Turn around," you command gruffly, and I do as I'm told, facing away from you on my hands and knees, my head on the couch pillow, and my ass tilted up for you. Your hands grab my hips, then caress my ass cheeks lightly with your fingertips, almost fluttering over my skin. Your hard shaft smoulders against my bare crack, and I hear your soft, rhythmic breath. Then there is no touch and all is silent for a second. Then a second later, the sting of a brief, sharp spank on my bottom startles me just as I hear the slap. I cry out, the light sting sending more heat and need between my legs. I moan softly as you give me two more spanks. "Spread your pussy for me," you command, and I reach behind me, my head in the sofa pillow as I pull my ass cheeks and labia wide for you. I gasp as the swollen head of your cock slips just inside me and you thrust hard, filling me. I hear you grunt, your hands holding my hips firm as you fuck me hard from behind. You're a wave crashing into me, tumbling me to the beach, a force of nature.

"Fuck," I whisper. "Fuck me." You swell even harder inside me with each thrust, and I want you to come more than anything I've ever wanted. I want you to do anything you want to me with your cock, anything to earn the hot rush of your cum, to feel you throb inside me.

Afterwards, we lie, limbs entangled, on the sofa. The evening is approaching, and the drapes flutter now and again in the lengthening shadows. You are literally dripping from me. I can still sense your cock inside me, and I know I will continue to feel you for days.

You are drifting in and out of sleep, my forehead nestled in the light scruff of your beard as I lay curled up against you. Our glasses sit, still nearly full, the ice having melted away in the slow stretch of the afternoon.

I decide to savour each moment of what is left of my day off. I know that soon you will rouse yourself, pull up your trousers, button your shirt, and disappear into the night. But I also know we'll keep bumping into each other in bed this way—circling each other ever more narrowly, each chance encounter somehow more deliberate and inevitable.

A lovely day, I think. A lovely day indeed.