What Got You This Wet?

"For Ridinghoodswolf."

Saturday morning, 8:00 am. I slip back in bed with my lover. Nuzzling under his arm, "Sex?" I coo and he coughs in my face.

"Sorry baby, I'm not feeling good."

"Feels good to me," as I tug on his shorts.

"Mmmm," he moans as I slide on his cock, "Dirty stories again?"

I nod guiltily.

"What were you reading that got you this wet?"

"Nothing," I laugh, but I'm thinking of you.

"Tell me," he says and opens his eyes.

"Uhh uh." I look away and bite my lower lip. If he only knew. . .

"Come on, tell me."

I shake my head with a smirk. I feel his hands on my thighs; I am very wet. Trashing feels good but it's not what I need.

I think of your words, how they constrict my chest. He is SO not ready to understand that.

"Ummph," I lean forward with a slight whimper. "You be on top."

"You're not going to tell me?" We roll in one move.

"No," I say. "Just fuck me hard."

To that, he responds. I enjoy the deep strokes. But still he's not you. You're fucking my mind.

"Why won't you tell me?" He asks one more time.

"You might not like it."

Unfortunately, I know, the conversation is over. Four times is enough. He won't ask again.

But he continues to pump and I'm slipping away.

I imagine how you. . . you won't take my shit.

"You will tell me," you say, my jaw in your grasp. Pinning me down with your pinch, you pull out. "You will not ride my dick with someone else on your mind."

"All it was, was just sex." I try to scoot down.

"Fuck right it was." You're on your knees between my spread legs. I feel the cold air; my hungry cunt, lost without you.

You release my chin but press my pubic bone with two fingers, just inches from you. "Do you think I don't know how dirty you are?" My hips try to buck up, clit screaming for you.

But you have time on your side and smile at my distress. "Tell me what nasty things are getting you off. You're not entitled to lust that you don't share with me."

After a pause, "I can't say. I'm too shy." I want to implode; your stare is scalding.

"Then you can stop talking now. This one gaping hole is enough out of you." With a few flips of your wrist, two fingers slap my pussy walls. The echo reverberates and I am alone, worthless without your cock in me.

"You will nod yes or no. I don't want to hear words." I agree silently. "Was in incest again?"

I'm shaking my head when it's stopped by your slap. "Better not be. Do I look like your dad?" I shudder more from the thought than the sting in my cheek and continue signaling with the most sincere eyes I can muster. "If Daddy only knew, the slut you've become."

Seconds go by. How can you wait? I can see that you're hard. But, I can't help myself and wiggle my hips, to your amusement.

"Thinking about some African stud?" I stop abruptly and a tiny "nah" escapes my lips. Everything I don't like, the last thing I'd read, but I'm scared as you smile. "Prissy racist bitch. You want to fuck a black man." With the accent on want, you watch as I squirm. I brace for your hand. "Should have told me in the first place," you say in a saccharine tone. And without consideration, you strike my cheek again. I feel my sweat break. I relax slightly and adjust.

"Stop moving this ass. I can see you're in heat." You straddle my waist and I gasp as you pass the critical spot. I need you so bad, you make me so hot.

"Now a gang bang's too bland, and you're a pathetic exhibitionist every time you leave this house. So I'm trying think, what's turning you on."

"It's right THERE," I'm desperate to say as your teasing cock dances in front of my face. I open my mouth just a bit and feel parched with the thirst to suck down your cum. But I'm stunned like a deer and deep in my penance.

Breathing deliberately, I flash my eyes back and forth from yours to the gorgeous pulsating head that I need. "What do you want?" You ask, annoyed to be interrupted from your erotica list.

I pause to be sure, "Please let me suck."

You reach your hand back and swipe through my slit. I hear the moist snap despite the overwhelming warmth saturating my limbs, face and heart.

"Now," you say, holding your fingers briefly under my nose and them wiping them casually across my anxious lips. "What got you this wet?"

"You," I moan, "You. You're all that I need." And as I rise up to receive my reward, I smile with the thought that of course, it really was you and your stories in the first place.