He followed my upstairs, vodka on his breath, hands on the small of my back, my legs, my ass. We stumbled together into his apartment drunk on one another, and his rough, large hand traveled up my thigh and under my skirt, search for that inviting wetness. He kissed me deeply, finding it.
His mattress was lying on the floor, separated from the rest of the rusty apartment by only a curtained divider. We dove onto the bed, and I instinctually hit the light switch as I passed it, leaving only the bright moon through the window to light us as we pulled off our clothing.
But he got up and turned them pack on, pulling the curtain closed and throwing off the covers, under which I had scurried.
"No, Rori, I want to see you," he breathed in that low, guttural tone of his.
He flipped me onto my back and parted my thighs, pulling me close to see me upclose, and my cheeks grew hot with a blush.
"God, you’re so fucking hot."
He plunged a finger into me and I writhed on the bed, under the fluorescent lights. My juices ran over his fingers and he lapped them up greedily before grabbing my hips tight and pulling into me.
"Fuuuuuuuuck…" I moaned, as he trust into me, my heart pounding and my breasts bouncing hard with every motion.
He grabbed them, pinching my tits, watching me wiggle, before pushing my knees to my check hard, him burying deeper inside with every thrust. He held my legs down with one hand and continued to fuck me as he looked at my swollen clit, playing with it, flicking it, caressing it.
"Oh god, I’m going to…."
He pulled out, positioning his face between my thighs and rubbing my clit with rhythm.
"Cum for me, Rori. I want to see you cum."
And I came. My cunt throbbed in his face, and my juices ran down, wetting the sheets.
That was the first night I felt really beautiful, unashamed of my pussy, my tits, my ass, my entire body. I’m not hot. I’m average.
But what I’ve learned is that to the right person, average is beautiful.
photo credit: nowhere Zen New Jersey
