Archive for October, 2009

30
Oct
09

maybe consider trimming?

By That Kind of Girl Leave a Comment
Categories: foreplay and ill-advised

She straddles him, arching her breasts toward his face as he kisses her collarbone, grinding her pelvis into the bulge rapidly expanding in the left thigh of his jeans, He tilts his pelvis up to the left, but instead of tumbling off of him and onto the couch, she slides her body down along his until she is curled on her knees at his feet, pressing her breasts into his knees. He starts fumbling with his zipper.

“No,” she pouts. “Let me do it!”

He rests his hands lightly on her shoulders as she leans forward and places her mouth on the button, her breasts now pushing into his groin.

Her breath blows warm on his belly as she works her tongue around the button, unlatching it. She grabs the zipper with her teeth and jerks it fully open. Afterwards, she looks up, giggly-triumphant.

“That’s cute,” he tells her, running his fingers through her hair. “Now can I just take them off?”

“No! Come on, let me do it.” She bites the waistline of his jeans and tugs them down with her cute little mouth. As she struggles the denim down over his hips, she stops to kiss his thicket of pubic hair. When she regathers the denim in her mouth, a single hair is caught between her teeth, and when she yanks the pants lower, it is torn out.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just. Go away for a few seconds. That really hurt.”

29
Oct
09

what, are we doing this on a five-year plan?

By That Kind of Girl 1 Comment
Categories: hygiene and woman on top

She straddles him in the narrow bed, bouncing rhythmically on his cock while he supports her sweaty breasts with his long-fingered hands. She pants and leans toward him; he catches her mouth in a kiss. After a moment, she flicks her hair back and arches her back, sliding further into his cock.

“Oh god,” he moans. “I’m going to cum.”

She leans back to grind herself in short, firm thrusts against him, their thighs interlocked.

“Oh god. Any second now.”

She leans forward, her breasts dangling over his chest, so close her nipples skim his chest hair. Bracing her arms around his shoulders, she crashes her pelvis into him to the rhythm of her breakaway heartbeat.

“Oh god, I’m cumming,” he growls. “I’m going to cum.”

Twenty minutes later, he still has not cum, and she really needs to pee.

28
Oct
09

that’s my special message to you, slutty teens

By That Kind of Girl Leave a Comment
Categories: ill-advised and missionary

He lays on top of her, braced upward with one arm, his chest radiating a bullish warmth that heats her skin into thick ripples like imperfect medieval glass. Her lips are bruised and taste metallic as she licks and bites his neck, smearing her face into his sweaty skin. And then. And then all of it melts into the keening awareness of his cock entering her, slowly. She moans low, driving her head back into the pillow.

“We don’t have a condom,” she breathes when she can find words through the mental haze.

“It feels better this way.”

He thrusts again and she is so wet it feels like his cock is stirring her. She digs her nails into his back and runs them across him while he enters her again.

“So,” he moans, “we’re committed to doing this anyway?”

She pushes his shoulders down and away from her. “I mean, no,” she says, “of course we’re not. I’m not stupid.”

27
Oct
09

should have packed a toothbrush

By That Kind of Girl 1 Comment
Categories: blowjob, hygiene and kissing

He lies back on the bed, arms crossed behind his head, his naked body sprawled languidly toward her. Her tongue is warm, almost hot, as it circles around and flicks his right nipple. She works her tongue down his chest in asymmetrical little jags, lapping and nuzzling and stroking.

When she reaches his cock, she lifts her head for a moment and works her throat, producing saliva, before sliding his cock in her mouth, fast, decisive, until his balls hang off her lower lip like a lip ring.

His whole lower body clenches like a fist, and he grabs her hair and pulls her back up face to face with him so he doesn’t cum too quick. She licks little circles into his shoulder and up his neck, then tilts her mouth in toward his.

“I’d rather not,” he says, placing a firm hand on her ribs to separate their torsos. “It seems kind of unsanitary now.”

26
Oct
09

i mean, no, i like it a lot, don’t get me wrong

By That Kind of Girl 2 Comments
Categories: foreplay, handjob and serious affront to masculinity

He turns to where she sits beside him, places his hand behind her neck and kissed her, strong and possessive, pinning her wriggling body to the arm of the couch.

She moans softly in the back of her throat, then places her hands onto his chest and pushes him against the back of the couch, swinging her thighs up to straddle him.

He peels off her rust-colored sweater in a single fluid movement, then runs his palms below the hem of her skirt, up her thighs, fingertips hooked under the leg holes of her panties.

She leans forward, kissing his neck, fumbling with the fly of his jeans. After she unbuttons them, she struggles with the zipper, but cannot pull it down. She lets out a kittenish whimper of frustration. He places his hand on the small of her back to stabilize her and tilts up his hips with her on them and shakes them to loosen the jeans.

She coaxes the pants down over his hips and, as he crashes back down to the couch, snakes her hand eagerly into the fly of his boxers.

“Oh,” she says, her face tilting up toward his. “Is this it?”

25
Oct
09

spit it out

By That Kind of Girl Leave a Comment
Categories: awkward pillow talk and missionary

He is holding her legs up over his shoulders, plowing her in earnest. As she nears orgasm, her chest rises and falls in tense little jumps. The accumulated sweat from hours of sex has pooled slightly in her gravity-flattened belly. Every time he thrusts, her red O of a mouth quivers.

“You look so—“ he starts, but she clenches herself around his cock and the sentence ends with a gasp. They continue this way for the last fifteen or twenty seconds, falling into an escalating rhythm.

“You look so—“ squeeze. “You look so—“ pulse. “You look so—“ oh jesus oh god oh fuck.

Afterwards, they collapse into the damp sheets, his arm around her. “You look so – familiar. Have we met before?”

24
Oct
09

the old bartleby approach

By That Kind of Girl Leave a Comment
Categories: blowjob and dirty talk

She licks his chest, frenzied, swiveling her head and tilting her face toward and then away from his nipples, really tasting him. His hand is on the back of her neck, underneath her thick, sweat-tangled hair, stroking the thin hidden skin that the sun never touches. He moans and pushes her head lower.

As she licks down his stomach, rubbing her face in his belly hair, he digs his fingers into her hair and rubs her scalp to the rhythm of her mouth. Her nose for a moment gets caught in his belly button, and he pushes her head lower, until he must lean up and forward to push her head with the tips of his fingers toward his swollen cock.

She darts her head between his thighs and starts licking his left leg with the same urgency. He slides down in the bed to draw her face to his cock, and she ducks over it, gently biting his hip. With a muffled groan, he aims his pelvis at her.

“Oooh, baby, yeah, suck me off.”

“I – I’d prefer not to,” she says, pausing to look at him, framed between his knees. “I was sort of hoping you’d get the hint.”

23
Oct
09

probably your mouth could be more usefully employed

By That Kind of Girl Leave a Comment
Categories: awkward pillow talk and blowjob

When he is about to cum, she constricts her throat around his pulsing head, muscles firm like she is singing a soprano aria. His left thigh clenches, deliberately at first, then faster and faster until it is practically vibrating. When she moans, deeply muffled, his cock jerks hard, again and again, as though it is trying to escape her, blasting hot halfway down her esophagus.

Afterwards, he slides her body up along his, warm and sticky with sweat, until her face is pressed into his neck, where veins still throb.

“I always think,” he whispers into her hair, “what would be the worst thing to say during sex.”

“Well.” She picks a piece of his chest hair off of her nipple. “I can tell you the worst thing to say after sex.”