The sultry sounds of Justin Timberlake (don’t judge me, I know you like him, too) came out through the tiny speakers with the surprisingly big sound.
His voice bordering on stern, Dalton said, “Stop stalling and get your sweetness over here. Time for those dirty p**n things you requested.”
“Eep!” I returned to the side of the bed and bent forward.
“Just one, small adjustment.”
Something hard tapped against my heel. I lifted my foot, and he slid a good-sized hardcover book under my right foot, and then repeated the same with my left foot.
“Perfect,” he said, tearing open a condom wrapper.
“Eep!” I repeated, my whole backside exposed and practically quivering with excitement.
With my pulse pounding in my ears, I awaited a tap at my back door.
He didn’t go straight for my puckered kisser, though, but massaged my cl*t and very wet slit with his fingers. His touch felt so good, as always, and soon he replaced his fingers with the head of his sheathed cock. I moaned with pleasure, my body flushing with heat. My muscles relaxed, and I could feel myself opening like the loading bay doors, ready to receive. He could drive his big truck in… any time.
He nudged harder and filled P-town with his cock.
First he stroked in and out of my pu**y, his hands firmly on my hips. He paused to withdraw and slide his length along me, between my lips and bluntly across my clit. The whole area between my legs became one throbbing hotspot of sensitivity.
He took me to the edge, but neither of us slipped over. We were holding out, but not holding back. Not vocally, at least.
“Oh, Lionheart,” I moaned.
“You’re so beautiful when you’re wrapped around my dick.”
He thrust hard.
“Lionheart!”
“You want more? You want me to f**k you like a p**n o-pony?”
“Yes! Fuck me, you p**n o-pony.”
And then… then it was party time.
He slowed down, thick and almost ready to unload deep within me. Slow to the point of stillness, he pushed up the white and black camisole I was still wearing, and his hands stroked up and down my back. He kept grinding into my pu**y as he rubbed my back, which was so sexy, like I was an extension of his cock, my torso branching off from his body at the hips.
I groaned in frustration, wanting to come. Hot. Swollen. Wet. Wanting.
He withdrew from my pu**y and rubbed the slippery tip against my pinched O, which made me say, “Oh!”
O again. “Oh!”
Between the lube on the condom and my excited juices, he slipped in easily. A whole new set of bright lights flashed on behind my eyelids.
O.
“You feel so f**king good around my dick.”
“Mm-hmm?”
“Can you take it all?”
Nervous giggles.
“Laughing?” His tone was light with amusement. He grunted, “I’ll give you something to laugh about.”
He thrust deeply, his balls hot and prickly against my pu**y now.
With encouraging grunts from me, he sped up.
“Harder, faster,” I said. (Classic!)
He really gave it to me, harder and faster and harder again.
Our bodies slapped together amidst animal noises for a spell, and we changed positions a few times, finally getting into a more relaxed situation, lying on our sides on the soft bed.
He kept grinding into me from behind, sending stars all through my body. I propped one leg up for access, and he reached over the side of my hip to find my sweet wetness with his fingers. With a gentle touch, he played me like the world’s tiniest bongo drum, and then worked me like his fingers were a tiny bulldozer trying to flatten a stubborn anthill.
I came with a wail, alarmed at the force. I broke like a dam, and, ladies and gentlemen, it was a gusher.
He grunted and pulsed, coming right after me, and I enjoyed the sensation of his firehose blasting into its sheath, deep within me, but with all the gushing, I was just a little alarmed that I’d somehow broken my vagina.
After he withdrew from my backdoor, I cupped my hand down there against my pu**y to catch the strange flood of mystery fluid. I wriggled my way off the bed and darted straight out the door and into the bathroom next door.
What. The. Fuck.
I’d half-expected to find a gusher of blood in my hand, from my period starting early, but it was just colorless, odorless fluid. Not urine, but something else.
I sat on the edge of the tub and pondered this new discovery.
I was a squirter?
I’d heard of girls shooting out fluid during deep g-spot stimulation, but hadn’t exactly believed.
Dalton tapped on the door. “You okay?”
“Fine! Gimme a sec and come join me in the shower?”
Uh… sure, I was fine. Never mind that I felt like a teenage boy who just had his first wet dream and was scared, confused, and possibly aroused again. I had a squirting orgasm?
“Sure, I’ll join you,” he said. “Should I bring anything? Are you hungry or thirsty?”
I stared at the interior side of the old, wooden door. It had been orange and blue when we moved in, and we’d repainted everything inside, but skimped on a final coat. You could see the blue through the cream color. It really needed another coat.
I put my face in my hands. What the hell was I doing? Distracting myself from this scary situation by thinking about paint. That wasn’t good. Eyes wide open.
“Peaches?”
“Just give me five minutes. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen.” I looked at my blotchy face in the mirror, my eyes looking wide and frightened. “And bring me up a beer.”
“Will do.”
After he walked away, I splashed some cold water on my face and tried to pull myself together. I used the toilet and checked. Yes, my pee was still yellow, and not at all like the other fluid. My butt was tingling and happy, but not juicy, thanks to the condom. So, that squirting thing had really happened.
Huh.
I got the shower running, and a few minutes later, Dalton joined me, two unopened cans of cold beer in his hands. He pressed them against my bu**ocks to make me shriek, of course.
“You’re so bad,” I said.
“You make me want to be bad. Now kiss me like I’m dangerous.”
I complied, enjoying his lips on mine, in the shower, our intimacy so casual and right.
He cracked open one of the cans and passed it to me. We took turns standing under the hot water, doing the two-person shower dance.
Some of the shower water was splashing into my beer, so I drank deeply before it got watered down.