A New York Fuck - Sex Stories

A New York Fuck

... back in the room and, as he had predicted, clothing wasn't something we often bothered with. "Well, I could start by doing this..."

I got onto the bed on all fours, crawling slowly cat-like about. I glanced seductively over my shoulder at him, and could see that my pose was already causing him to fill with blood. "Or I could do this..."

I lay my face on the bed, my ass pointing straight at him. Reaching back, one hand pulled my butt-cheek a little to the side, and the other dipped into my pussy.

It wasn't the biggest surprise to hear a condom being unwrapped. I maintained my provocative position, anticipation gripping me, and my digits busy with my vagina. He gently moved my hand and replaced my finger with a larger probe. Gripping my waist, he lunged forward, knowing I was wet enough to take the abrupt invasion. Now deep inside me, Robert pulled both my arms behind my back, restraining my movement and giving him purchase to fuck me hard. Even with this orientation, there was something just so exquisite about how he fit me.

The angle was sublime, and his pounding so fevered and incessant, that it took mere minutes for my body to tip over into delightful delirium. As I felt him also begin to reach peak pleasure, I had an idea. "Pull out, pull out. You said you wanted a particular photo to remind you of me, right?"

Robert's eyes widened and he followed my instructions. He went and grabbed his camera and placed it on the bed. I knelt in front of him, mouth ...

... open, eyes closed, tongue out. And I waited. I could feel the vibrations of his manual efforts through the floor and my knees. Then the first warm, sticky spurt hit my face, beginning to slowly drip down. And a second, mostly in my mouth, some on my chin. And a third, half on my forehead, half in my hair.

Opening my eyes carefully, this stuff stung, I put a coy finger to my lower lip and pouted as his shutter repeatedly clicked.

The plane was held at the gate, they had to remove the luggage of a no show. I was on my third champagne by now. Inside me contradictory emotions raged.

His mistress? Was that all I was to him? But I had gone into this eyes wide open, expecting nothing more than the physical. And his wife? That barely heard, disembodied voice on his phone. What about her? I didn't want to be a home-wrecker. I didn't want to end up cited in some divorce proceeding. And anyway, he was East Coast, I was West. I didn't need the drama of a long distance relationship. And I had my final year at college to focus on, and finding a job. An affair was too much, much too much.

Then there was the age difference. We were not in the same places in our lives. Nowhere even close. It had just been sex. The best sex of my life, but just sex. Maybe even better sex was just around the corner. No, it was just a hook-up, the fling that I had originally wanted.

Then why the hollowness in my chest? The pin-pricks in my eyes? The yearning for his touch? Yearning for his ...