House Tour by TNYF
I drive down the Hutchinson Parkway absentmindedly, my mind on you as always. I think of our last encounter, the smell of your hair, the taste of your passion, the small, whimpering, guttural groans that escape your pursed lips as you fell into pleasure.
I shake my head and attempt to focus on the road, speeding up, as I do not want to be late to pick you up. I am strangely eager, a trait not often used to describe me and my pursuit of women. But you are not the typical woman and this is why I desire you so.
I exit the parkway and after a few lights spot just exiting the stairs to the subway, gracefully prodding through the thinning crowd, glancing towards the street, searching for my car. You are breathtaking as usual, attired in a long, form-fitting black dress that hugs every tantalizing curve. As you move in confident strides to the car, it does as well, seemingly molding itself to you, accentuating your femininity.
I open my door, come around, open yours and after a small peck on the forehead, ease you in. I watch in admiration as you sit, your thigh to me, exposed through a long slit in the dress, which I had not seen.
I fight to subdue my arousal, the heat between my legs. I close your door, go around and enter and we sped off. I tell you that I must make a quick, nearby stop to my parents, in Riverdale, as the are leaving for vacation and I must get my set of keys from them to check-up on the house while they are away. You smile, radiantly, and we proceed, off down winding streets until we arrive, in front of the house, which I always thought looked strikingly similar to the house in the 'Home Alone' movies.
We pull into the driveway, exit, and as you walk the few stairs to the front door I watch intently as your bottom shakes softly, cresting each step, and again, fight to control the throbbing erection that grows. As I go to ring the bell, they appear, laden with luggage, heading out for the car service, which has just arrived, sleek and black, curbside.
I introduce you, and help them place the luggage in the Lincoln`s trunk. I embrace them, get handed the keys, and off they go, speeding away in a white plume of exhaust mist. I turn to you, smiling in response to the obligatory, "Your parents are very nice" comments, and placing my hand in the small of your back, ask if you wish to take a tour in the house that I grew up in. Leaning into me and kissing me softly on the nape of the neck, you express interest in the idea, and as we head inside, I again watch you, entranced by your stunning beauty and sensuality.
We enter, and I close the front door, stepping into the foyer. The hardwood floors answer with a solid, muted thump as we walk into the hallway, on our left the living room, tastefully decorated in pale blue hues, and to our right, the study, an eclectic conglomeration of rich wooden pieces, adorned with my father`s many police department awards, pictures, and memorabilia. I watch you as a father watches child, in delight as you move, touch and ask questions, as we walk our way through the house.
I response to your query about my old bedroom, I lead you upstairs, again watching you jiggle seductively as you take each step, your shapely leg appearing and disappearing behind the teasing side slit in your dress. As we reach the first landing, and turn, I cannot resist the temptation to touch you, and I do, high on you waist the womanly curve of your flesh filling my hand. We get to the top, and enter my old room, first door on the left. It is dark, and after opening the drapes, your eyes take in there, a scattering of automobile and model posters, model cars and planes, a few trophies, and old stereo equipment.
You sit on the bed, and as you do my eyes fall to your cleavage, so alluring deep and creamy, perfumed, and calling to me. I fight the urge to take you right then and there, amidst the remnants of my past, hiking your dress up to your waist, and entering into you. But I remain calm, restraining my desire, making do with a soft kiss, but growing impatient as I feel you tongue probe my own.
I reach for your waist in response, kneeling down, keeping our mouths interlocked, my hands seeking out the heat from your inner thighs. You pull away, however, playfully, teasingly, citing your thirst, and that you have not seen the kitchen. I feel the warmth of my sex, fiercely erect and throbbing, pressed along my thigh, restrained painfully within my slacks, haven already pushed through my briefs. But I smile, playing the game, still keep my eyes on you full breasts, which heave, giving away your desire. Smiling I stand, taking a step back, watching your eyes fill with surprise and longing, as you ere sure I could not resist you.
But two can tease.
I watch your eyes fall to my crotch, staring at my still erect sex, pulsing against my legs, obvious against the fabric of the leg. You lick your lips seductively, unconsciously, and I know that your sex must be throbbing, pulsing, and wet. Good.
You stand and we head back downstairs, this time I am in front, and as we descend, your hand caresses the back of my neck, trailing long manicured fingernails lightly in circles. My desire does not subside. You are good.
We into the fairly large kitchen, and I open the large, stainless steel refrigerator door to retrieve a glass of white Zinfandel for you, and milk for me, as I am on call. I bring them to the island that sits in the middle of the kitchen, surround on either side by three bar-stools, and watch as you sip daintily glass, leaving a slight mark of your glossy lipstick upon the glass edge.
I stand, watching you sit on a stool, legs crossed, thigh exposed through the revealing slit, and go to you, stealing another kiss. This time, passion consumes you, and you do not feign thirst, or hungry, and your hands seek out my waist, under my jacket, grasping a fistful of my shirt on both sides and pulling up.
As you begin to undo my belt, and we share a kiss of immeasurable sensuality, a faint buzzing permeates the hurried breath that comprises what was the only noise in the room. It is my pager, and it shakes emotionlessly on my belt. I pull away from your sweet, impassioned embrace, and watch your eyes fill with longing and a flash of anger, and as I pull the pager off my belt and peer at the small screen, I catch the formation of a pout upon those tender lips.
It is a text message, from my lieutenant, informing me of a body, found in a park, uptown along the river. My immediate presence is request. Cursing softly, I reach to put it back in its small holster, when I am surprised by your quick reach and taking of it, right from my startled hands.
With furrowed brows you peer into the screen, reading the message, frowning. You look into my eyes, seeing my own unwillingness to leave, and make a decision to have the throbbing between you r legs satiated. I watch, perplexed, as your expression changes from irritation to defiance, and you toss the pager across the kitchen, out onto the rear deck. It makes a small scraping sound as it slides gracelessly through the open sliding door, tumbling over the track and out of view.
I watch with curious intensity, enjoying your spirit and determinedness. You look up defiantly into my eyes, the barest hint of a smile across your lips. I see what you are goading me to do and you shall get your wish.
I draw close to you, quickly, lifting you up onto the countertop of the island, effortlessly, eliciting a startled gasp from your lips. Wordlessly, amid your fruitless struggling, I use my left hand to grip both your wrists together, high above your head, as I use my right, free hand to rip your dress clear up to your waist along the slit. You lie there, legs exposed, muscles in your thighs tightening as you twist, fanning the flames of my excitement. Your panties are revealed now, lacy and delicate, drawing up into you tightly, as you squirm in my grip. I easily tear the straps off the top of the dress, and the lay free below your shoulders. I pull you the top down, freeing your heaving chest, nipples hard and erect, like small informants, giving away your excitement and desire. With the straps of your own dress, I tie your wrists to the paper towel rack, built into the island, to feet from your spread hair, which frames your face in flowing thickness.
Once you are secured, I rise over you, spreading your legs with my own, and lick your hot, wet, lips. You gasp, almost crying out for me to enter you, but now it is my turn to tease. I slide off you, pushing away the few pots and pans that sit nearby, and they clang noisily to the tiled floor. I return to you moments later, with objects you cannot see, but soon feel, as you soon have chocolate syrup poured in a thin trail from your neck, down between your breasts, to you navel, and down between your thighs, coating your pulsing, throbbing sex in a another sweet and sticky fluid. I begin to lick delicately, using my long tongue to tease, licking the sweet syrup from your body with just the tip of my tongue, never touching you nipples, just skirting around them, as you try and twist to get them near my mouth. I move on, sucking it up from your navel, and moving to your crotch, where again, I do not actually touch you erogenous zone, but play around it, liking your thighs, sucking the syrup from your pubic hair, and liking just the outer labia. You writhe in pleasure, and I smell your passion, even see it, coming forth in thin, pale white trails, running down the curve of your cheek, to your tender anus, alongside your panties, which I have pulled roughly to the side. You climax, without my penetration, and I smile. Easing up on you, glistening with my saliva, panting hard, sweat trickling down your temples and forming little beads between your breasts.
But I am not done yet, releasing your wrists lifting you up, still in the stupor caused by orgasm, and retie you, this time bent over the top, cheeks exposed lusciously, spread wide, as I placed your knees on two stools, wide apart. I pour olive oil onto your back, skilled fingers working it into your muscles, heading for those wonderful, curvy, fleshy cheeks, pouring and working it in until your skin shines. They you are, knees on stools, bent over, spread, tied to the counter top. Your breasts graze the cool, tiled top ever so gently as you move, sending spikes of pleasure coursing through your breasts.
I am too aroused to tease any longer. I unzip, release my sex and using the oil, message it until it glistens. Hard and thick, it veins throb, as I stand, deciding what I shall do with you. I act, entering you swiftly, to the hilt, as you cry out with the suddenness your sex had to accommodate me. I grip your hips in my hands tightly, in flesh bunches, as I struggle to maintain composure as I feel you tight sex widen and encase me, filled, gripping me tightly. I stroke, held tightly in you, thrusting powerfully, bestial, grunting softly, sweat pouring. My thumb, slick with the oil I poured earlier finds your tender, puckered anus and enters gently, messaging the sensitive nerve ending, pushing you into your second climax. I soon follow, gasping into the small of your back, doubling up over you.
There we lay, exhausted, breath hot and content. Still meshed, my sex still semi-erect and within you.
Suddenly the sound of our breathing is joined by a small, innocent sound of passion, and we get up, nervously. We stare, shocked, as my parents` housecleaner stands against the door frame, jeans unbuttoned and slack, her small pale hand working furiously between her legs, the other up under her sweater, pinching an erect, reddening, nipple. Her eyes have rolled back into her head as she comes, before our eyes. She twitches, shakes and comes, panting, and then slowly slides down along the door frame, until see sits on the floor, hand still deep within her white panties, now soaked. We stare at each other, in shock and amazement.
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