The Story of Us

So he came over…

(This is in reference to my last blog post, If you came tomorrow…)

Reality couldn’t be further away from my little fantasy.

Compared to our usual half an hour, the two whole hours he had free before the lesson this week were a hell of a treat. I had so many thoughts about how I wanted to fill them. And I do start as planned, satin robe (though not the red one) and a bare, wet pussy. But he has this distracted look on his face as he comes in, so I can’t just jump him. I get out of the way, let him take his jacket off, and only after give him a shy kiss. I want more than anything in the world for him to drag me to him and probe my pussy, but he obviously doesn’t. I follow him in the living room, where he sits on the sofa, and I try to sit on him, make him hug me.

“My hands are really cold.”

“That’s alright, I’m going to warm you up.” So cheesy of me, I know. I kind of awkwardly sit next to him, his hands in mine, and I press them lightly against my chest as I do actually try to warm him up a little bit. “Tea?” I ask, getting up, when this doesn’t have any effect.

“Yes, thanks.”

“The boring kind?” I smile.

I’m sensitive about tea. I might have more types in my cupboard than most small-to-medium tea shops, all proper, loose-leaf. I have shops in which employees know me by name and we complain together about oh-that-awesome-flavour-they-used-to-make-2-years-ago-but-they-stopped. I got myself a tea advent calendar this year. In short, I’m a tea snob. And the mister, he complains about me not having the plainest possible English breakfast. So… I sighed really heard and went to buy him tea bags of English breakfast. I don’t think I ever loved anyone else enough to make such a sacrifice.

“Oh, let me see which,” he says, coming after me. “Meh. I don’t like that kind.”

I open my mouth. Close it. Consider throwing tea at him. But plain and bagged as it might be, it’s still tea. I instead open the cupboard and gesture towards the couple dozens (which is not a hyperbole) of packs. “Then choose another one.”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” he rushes, hands up in defence. He must have felt my intentions.

I put the water to boil and go to grab a glass. I know it’s strange, but I drink tea in glasses, for the only reason that they hold double as much as a cup. “What, are you actually going to make it in that?” I stop, grumble, ignore his second ‘oh it was only a joke’ and get him a cup. While I finish his, and make myself a proper drink (there’s a seasonal tea that tastes like eggnog, it’s freaking amazing!) he starts asking about my day and the lunch I had with a friend. The takeaway boxes are in front of him on the counter, and rather than wait for me to answer what we had, he pulls them to him, opens, looks at the labels and steals the leftover fries. My heart gives a painfully happy pulse at how comfortable he seems around my house. I really want to hug him tightly and kiss him properly already. So, maybe I’m not as pleased as I should be when he asks me if I have milk. I have only one particular type of milk in mind and I won’t find it in the fridge.

“And sugar? Hey, don’t curse me because I asked you for sugar!”

“I’m not!” I protest, turning to grab the sugar from the counter. Put it in front of him and then realize there’s no spoon, so go back for that. That doesn’t mean I’m not a little bit exasperated at how wet my pussy is getting, without him even touching me, but I’m not swearing. Yet.

“You are! I can hear you!”

He’s a pain, but he’s a cute one, so we both laugh as we take our teas to the table. We fumble with the drapes for a bit, not very successfully, while I desperately try to convince him it’s a sign we should be staying in bed rather than the living room, he turns on the TV, and stares open-mouthed at the vast array of sweets on display, but as always, doesn’t eat any. Sometime in the middle of it, my hands find their way to his belt, and when we next sit on the sofa, he unzips himself and I start stroking his hard cock, leaning over to taste him. It’s not the most amazing angle to play with his balls, and when he stands again to kick the trousers away completely, I go to my knees, following him around as I try to get more of him into my mouth. He sits back and lets me have fun, licking him up and down, licking his balls before sucking them into my mouth, and pushing myself down his cock until I’m almost choking. My lips almost reach down to his balls. It’s not the first time I’m quite thrilled he’s not too big. But all too soon, he pushes my head softly away and pulls his boxers back up. I protest slightly, but sit back on the sofa, fully expecting him to at least now play with me.

He doesn’t.

“You said you wanted a massage.” Yes, can you please freaking massage my pussy already? “Do you have oil?”


“Ok, go get the oil, put some knickers on and lay down.”


“You need to lay down for me to massage you properly.”

Ass. He knows full well what I mean. There’s no way I’m putting clothes ON for a massage. A massage is a good opportunity to take them off, not the other way around. So completely ignoring that instruction, I get the oil and lay down. He, to my disappointment, does put his T-shirt back on and actually proceeds with a nice but way too proper massage. He even tells me to be good and relax when I try to turn around and grab his cock, and completely ignores me as I try to push my ass up and into his hands. He just works the oil into my skin, loosens my tense back muscles, and watches TV.

That is not what I had meant with massage. A massage is that thing in which you let your fingers brush the sides of breasts, or go under the hips to grab that sensitive area by the hipbones, pulling up to make my back arch and my legs open. It’s that thing where you press so hard into the ass muscles you make me squirm in pain just before you slap me hard. You drag the oil down my body and let it slide over my ass and pool a little in the hole, but you ignore it completely and start playing with my pussy, which is 10 times wetter and more slippery than any amount of oil would make it. And then, ideally, you turn me around so I don’t have to strain my muscles lifting my ass high in the air to give you better access, and you get to play with my hard nipples, and you’ve got the best angle to curl your fingers upwards inside me and make me squirt. I shouldn’t have to ask you to do this. You should know to do this. Hell, there’s absolutely no way you can miss how horny I am.

You should absolutely not, under any circumstances, just give me a proper back massage than sit back on the sofa to watch TV. Which he obviously does.

I stay on the floor 10 more seconds, counting them in my head, trying to get myself under control. Then I move to the sofa, next to him, and open my legs really wide, hoping he’d finally get the message.

“Oh, be good. Let’s just watch some TV.”

“I don’t think you understand nearly how wet I am if you can say that. Here…”

I try to take his hand and put it on my pussy, but he pulls back, saying how he’s still oily. I close my legs, finally fully flustered. I don’t know how to react to this. I mean, the whole point of whatever it is we’re doing is that it’s just fun. Call me crazy, but refusing sex and holding me as we watch TV together sounds to me like relationship territory, not fun – the been-married-for-several-years kind of relationship too. I want him. I want his fingers and his cock and his fucking attention. Now. My pussy is so drenched it’s getting painful to just shift my position, and he wouldn’t touch me.

I don’t know what I say to trigger the discussion – it isn’t something as pathetic as ‘oh, you don’t want me’, but it isn’t too far off either. It’s still whiny and confused, and when he says that of course he enjoys being with me, why else would he be here, I mumble a brilliant ‘I don’t know, ’cause you’re… nice’.

“I’m nice?” he repeats, finally looking at me. “Do you think I go to all my students’ places and get my dick sucked because I’m so nice? Would I get so hard if it was just cause I’m nice?”

Well, said like that, it doesn’t make much sense. But I’m not completely insane for saying it, am I? Imagine a guy and a girl. Girl has huge crush on guy, guy is pretty indifferent. He’s still going to let her suck his dick every once in a while – he’s not crazy, right? – but he’s not too enthusiastic about anything else. So when he does come over, it does feel like he’s just indulging her.

“No, it’s just… you don’t seem to be really attracted to me.”

“Mei,” – cringe, does anybody else feel really awkward when a guy uses your name? – “this is the third time we’ve been together, right? I make time to be here with you. And you think because I haven’t fucked you yet I’m not attracted to you? Think about that for a second.”

I do think about it. Another possibility skirts the edges of my mind, something along the lines of ‘oh he must mean that he really cares for you that’s why he doesn’t want to rush into things’, but caring for and being attracted aren’t perfect synonyms. It doesn’t completely invalidate my point. I open my mouth, but I don’t know how to put this into words.

“Don’t get shy on me now, you’ve just sucked my dick! Talk to me.”

“Sucking dick is easy! I’m good at that. This… takes more effort.”

“It’s ok. And it’s also ok if you don’t want to talk about it.”

I smile. Maybe it’s stupid, but in the middle of our.. contradiction, this strikes me as quite considerate.

“No, it’s alright. I just… I don’t know. I’m used to attraction… I have this, maybe wrong, idea, that I have to actively do something to deserve this, to keep the other person interested. And… you’re not letting me do stuff.”

“I don’t think it’s right for me to just come, fuck you and leave. You might not like not doing anything, but wouldn’t you feel worse if I just fucked you and that’s it?”

“I… If that’s how it was from the beginning, I wouldn’t have known any better.”

“So you wouldn’t have minded if I fucked you and left?”

“I don’t know! No, if it was like that from the start, I definitely wouldn’t have minded. But now that you showed me the other alternative, I have no idea.”

I don’t say it in so many words, so I’m not sure if he gets it. But I’ve never been with anyone who didn’t want to fuck me – or, more exactly, if what he’s getting at is true, who wanted to fuck me but didn’t. I don’t understand the fundamental problem with ‘fucking and leaving’ because all I’ve ever known was meeting someone for sex, finishing and both of us minding our own business. How ironic is it that I have to be with the first person who insists not to be in a relationship with me to give me a vague idea of what a healthy, respectful relationship should be like?

“Well, it’s wrong to… or maybe it’s not wrong, but it’s just not my style to do that. I’ve never been one for that. I don’t like rushing into things. I don’t do one night stands. Making love to someone, it takes time to get to that. And I am here. I don’t care how nice you think I am, trust me, if I didn’t really want to be here, I would not be. Do you have any idea how many other things I could be doing right now? I really value my time, Mei. And I’m giving you my time. That’s the best I can do.”

I sit there for a second, considering what he said. I finally offer him a tentative smile.

“I wish I met someone like you earlier.” Damn, how different things would have gone. It’s easy to say ‘have self-respect’, – and I was probably pretty crap at that to begin with – but do you really understand what that is until someone shows you what that looks like?

“Things happen the way they do for a reason.”

I smile. So cheesy. I kiss him and tidy myself up. The robe I threw on my shoulders in the middle of our discussion, I get up to close it properly, then I go to my bedroom to bring a cover for us. I drape it over him and cuddle into his chest, and we’re nice and watch TV together. It’s a bit awkward – I don’t know if he wants to talk or not, and I keep trying to open subjects. I feel like I should use the time to get to know him better, but I don’t know how. And at the same time, a small part of me is pissed off. Not wanting to make it all about sex and giving me some pleasure are two different things. I’m unbearably fucking wet, and if I can suck him, I don’t see why he can’t stick two fingers in my pussy and make me come. I want to say it’s not fair, but I absolutely don’t want to give the vaguest impression that I’m not enjoying playing with his cock, or that I expect something in return for it. So I don’t. But in the next half hour or so, all my ego goes out the window, so by the time he has to leave I must have asked him a dozen times to play with me, and clung to him so tightly he had to actually push me away to be able to get dressed.


Obviously, the first thing I do once he’s out the door is get my vibrator. I’m normally a fan of playing with my clit and making myself wait for it, but a single touch is enough to confirm that yes, that’s not going to do it tonight. I push it all the way in, moaning loudly as the other two ends brush against my clit and push into my ass. My phone beeps. I look at it as I continue to pump the vibrator in and out of my pussy.

Karim has sent me a picture of my flat. From the outside, ground floor. What the…


Showing you your flat

Did u just leave so u can stalk me? :p

Lol. I am behind you

I take a picture of my pussy and send it to him.

… would be really intriguing in this context


I am so fucking wet i cant believe u didnt put ur fingers inside me at least.. i would have squirted so hard

He doesn’t answer, so I put the phone aside and turn on the vibrations. I fiddle with the selections a little, until I decide none of the pulses or softer program satisfies me. I leave it on the higher, steady vibration and try to play with my clit, but it’s gone a little dry while I was texting. I drag the vibrator up and, fuck, I didn’t expect it would feel so good. The end is big and bulky, so it doesn’t deliver a concentrated pulse, but spreads it nicely over the whole area. I leave it there, playing with my nipples. It’s less than a minute before I come. But… it’s not the way I expect.

I feel my pussy contracting once before a hot wave of liquid gushes out of me, down over my ass. I half sit up, startled. Did I just… I know I’m capable of squirting, but I’ve never made myself do it. But now that I started and I can explore… I move the vibrator back into position, dragging it in place a little, between my labia, more or less directly on my clit, until I find that sweet spot again. It takes barely any time until I’m coming again. Not just coming. I look downwards as I do, and the liquid sprays out of me, on the cover at the end of the bed. I keep the vibrator in place. I start tightening again, and fuck, the pressure builds so tightly it makes me scream. A whole arch of it gushes out of me, drenching everything. Something tells me I could keep going, but I can already feel the liquid seeping into the bed, so I stop. When I get up, my robe is so wet it drips. I stare open-mouthed at the huge spot I made. Seems porn is not completely unrealistic afterall.

I snap a quick picture of it and send it to Karim before I start cleaning up.

… told you so




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