Want - Sex Stories

Want

... “Bartholomew,” he corrected me, his voice heavy and his accent a caress in itself. He plunged so deep into me with one swift movement. He fucked me so thoroughly that day. When he was done, Bartholomew stepped back and watched me with a smile as my legs still quivered uncontrollably. When I was finally able to stand, I could feel his molten cum running down my legs. I had to wait for my body to recover enough to walk away with any type of balance. He created a want in me that day that just will not go away or lessen in its intensity. Every touch just makes me want more. I need to go home. Now, I am on all fours looking for my clothes, or at least enough for me to leave in, when I notice him watching me. “Stay,” he says. Why is his voice always like a touch? “I can’t.” He shifts, turning completely on his stomach and tucking a pillow under his bald head. I smile slightly, to cover the sadness of realizing that I am so easily replaced by a silk-covered down pillow. “You can,” he states as a matter of fact—major arrogance being another of his flaws. “You know you won’t regret it.” “I don’t want to. I’ve stayed too long as it is.” I hear myself deny him for the first time since I looked into those eyes. They are eyes I avoid as I try make my way to safety. I am such a liar. When his driver drops me off, the partition down, I say, “I guess I’ll see you around.” The driver, a rather handsome looking black man close to my own age, looks knowingly but gives me a gentle smile anyway. ...

... “Here,” I tell him, handing him a powdered blue box. “Give that to your girl. It’ll make her smile and know that you love her.” Diamond earrings should say something besides “Thanks for the fuck”. *** Four weeks later, I am still a mess. But, it grows less and less as each week passes. I have just been informed that my new job may keep me on permanently. I have successfully managed not to drop things there, including my panties. Normal is nice and my life is back to it. This is what I think as I approach the apartment building where I live. The sun has slipped away and everyone seems to be on a mission to get somewhere. The sounds of an exploding bass beat pumps from a passing car, a reminder that this is a Friday night. I wish that I had had money for a taxi or at least a gypsy cab. These heels were not designed for actual walking. My feet hurt and I cannot wait to lie down on the comfortable couch in my little apartment. I have taken to watching television in the evenings until I fall asleep. And damn, I am out of ice cream. Yes, I laugh. Life is back to normal. I miss him. I miss his hands, his teasing, and those damned lips. I close my eyes and I see his eyes smiling at me. I even miss the smell of those stupid cigars he sometimes smoked after we had sex. That smug expression on his face always made me roll my eyes, him knowing my thighs were still shaking from his ministrations. He liked to lie on his back, between my legs, with his head resting on my stomach and an arm ...