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By *c84840 OP Man
3 days ago
Dunfermline |
I snatched the phone from its cradle on the dashboard. WIFE flashed across the screen.
I cleared my throat, trying to sound normal.
"Hello?" I rasped, the taste of adrenaline still sour in my mouth.
But it wasn’t her voice.
It was Claire, her best friend, slurring over the roar of pub noise. “Hey, um… sorry," she giggled. "Jamie... Me and Sharon stayed a bit longer and... she's, uh, pretty wrecked. Can you come get us?"
"Yeah," I muttered, barely hearing her over the pounding in my ears.
She told me where they were, The Merchant Bar.
I shoved the photos back into the bag, zipped it shut, and floored it back toward the city.
When I pulled up outside the pub, there they were: Sharon swaying like a tipsy schoolgirl, and Claire, fucking Claire, standing tall in the cool night air like she owned it. I’d heard the rumours about her over the years. After the last passenger in the cab and how filthy she’d been, I began to wonder if they were true.
She wore tight, gleaming leather trousers that clung to her thighs and ass like a second skin, the material glistening, shifting with every tiny move. Her sequin crop top hugged her tits, the fabric flashing under the streetlights.
They staggered into the cab, giggling and reeking of cheap perfume and spilled booze.
I barely heard them. All I could focus on was the throbbing bulge in my jeans, the filthy memory of the girl who had moaned and squirted in my backseat earlier. It hadn’t gone away. If anything, it had gotten worse.
At home, I half-carried Sharon up the stairs, dumped her on the bed like a sack of laundry. She was out cold, dress rucked up around her thighs, not a care in the world.
When I turned, Claire was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed under her tits, grinning at me like a cat that had got the cream.
"You want a coffee?" I muttered, already half-lost.
She nodded, that lazy, knowing smile spreading wider.
Downstairs, I made two mugs. She sat at the kitchen table, legs crossed high, the black leather of her trousers creaking as she shifted. Her zip, stretched tight, sparkling in the light.
I slid a mug to her. She didn’t even touch it.
She just stared at me, at the obvious tent pole in my jeans.
"So," she purred, voice thick with heat, "you gonna sit there pretending you're not desperate to fuck me?"
I swallowed hard, heart hammering.
"I saw you looking," she went on, standing slowly. "I felt you staring."
She moved around the table, hips rolling, leather whispering with every sway.
"You want these fucking trousers off, don't you?" she whispered, standing between my knees.
"You want to slip them down and see what’s underneath?"
I let out a mumbled noise. She smiled even wider. Her fingers slid up my thighs. Then she grabbed my bulge through my jeans, squeezed hard.
I gasped.
"Fucking hard for me, aren't you?" she breathed, leaning close enough for her perfume and booze and sweat to fill my nose.
"You've been walking around half-cocked since you picked us up. Thinking about my tight little pussy wrapped around your fat dick?"
I couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe.
Then she sank to her knees, the tight leather creaking again, and pulled my jeans down, freeing my twitching, sticky cock.
"Fuck, you're big," she hissed, licking her lips. "Bet you wanna fuck my face until I gag, huh? Make me take it all”.
I grunted, unable to resist tangling my fingers in her hair and dragging her mouth to me.
She took me in deep, no hesitation , hot, wet, filthy. I held her head, thrusting into her mouth, feeling the tightness of her throat as I shoved deeper and deeper.
"Take it," I growled, rolling my hips.
"Fucking take it."
She moaned around me, spit dripping down her chin, her mascara starting to smear as she looked up with glassy eyes.
I fucked her mouth hard, the wet slap of skin and the gurgle of her throat filling the room.
Her hands gripped my thighs, nails digging in, loving every second of it.
Then, gasping, she pulled back.
Her lips were shining. A string of spit connected her mouth to my cock.
Wordlessly, she turned around, planted her hands on the table, and reached for the zip on those leather trousers.
She pulled it down slow, teasing, baring the curve of her ass, and then, between her legs, the wild dark bush of her pussy, already wet and sticky.
"No panties," she whispered over her shoulder, smirking.
I growled and pushed up behind her, sliding my fingers into her hairy mound, feeling how soaked and swollen she was already.
"Filthy," I muttered, working her open, feeling her clench around my fingers.
"You like showing me your wet, hairy pussy like this?"
She moaned, grinding back, desperate for more.
But I wasn't done yet.
I grabbed her hair again, spun her back around, and stuffed my cock back into her mouth.
She opened for me again, taking it all.
I fucked her mouth rough, relentless, feeling myself building, heart hammering out of my chest.
"You’re gonna swallow every drop," I hissed, thrusting deep.
She nodded, or tried to, drooling down her chin.
It hit me hard, and I shoved deep, holding her face flush to my groin as I spilled everything down her throat.
She swallowed it greedily, gagging slightly, then pulled back with a filthy, satisfied smile, cum glistening on her lips.
"Fuck," I panted, staring down at her. "You’re so dirty”
She just laughed and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, eyes sparkling.
To be continued….. |
