Midterms - A short story Pretty eyes, Dirty Mouth
Midterms - A short dirty story?
Vivian was sitting on the couch, legs crossed, laptop on her lap, a cup of coffee just within reach. She was wearing sweatpants and a loose t-shirt. Her thick brown hair held away from her face in a messy particularly loose ponytail.
He was pestering her. Well, kinda. Roger knew better than actively interrupting Vivian’s workflow. But his restless brooding was driving her insane none the less. The guy had no peace. In the kitchen, out of the kitchen, on the chair, off the chair, Nintendo on, Nintendo off, even the brief skimming of afternoon television had a jerky affectation.
She scrumptiously ignored his hopeful glances in her direction, but she could feel him fretting.
It was the rain, most likely. Her boy was an active one. Had it been sunny, he would have been on the skateboard, in the sun, or jogging, or playing football in the park. If Vivian had not been stuck on particularly difficult paper, she would have come too. She was not a sporty one, not really, but looking at her hunk of a partner running around in tiny shorts was always a delight.
But that Sunday was rainy, windy and cold and she hadn’t slept properly in three days, cramming her way through that endless pile of research that really didn’t want to make sense.
Her feet were taping her annoyance away, clad in the fluffy rainbow socks he got her from her birthday.
It was almost cute, really, the passive-aggressive way in which he was just begging for a scrap of attention. Too well behaved to actively ask, but desperate enough to try and brat his way into her pants.
Well, it was a bit of her fault, too. She had been overwhelmed for more than a week, too taken by her work to properly take care of her pup.
The poor guy hadn’t come in eight days. No wonder he was squirming in front of his Netflix stream.
The thought of how full his balls must have been sent a shiver down Vivian’s spine.
Se hurried her gaze back to the screen, as Roger choose that moment to groan and rip the headphones off his head. She could see him looking at her expectantly from the corner of her eyes. She loved his hesitation, how he squirmed on the place, and the little twitch of disappointment clouding his eager gaze.
Was he going to ask? Was he going to plead?
He sighed, before making his way to the kitchen, without even bothering to pause the Sons of Anarchy episode.
Viv buried the tinge of disappointment and forced her brain back on the word document. She needed to focus, for fuck’s sake, or she was never going to finish that paper and it had to be done otherwise her internship would just never hap …
Tok, tok, tok!
The thumping put to an abrupt halt her train of thoughts.
Roger was doing something in the kitchen. Something loud.
Ding, dang, ding, ding...
What was hell was he...?
Okay. That was fucking it.
Vivian marched to the kitchen to find her very bored stir crazed boyfriend making the loudest peanut butter sandwich she ever heard.
He was so engrossed in his bready massacre that he did not even notice her small figure resting against the doorframe.
Vivian considered her predicament. She needed to work, but she had no chance to be productive with Roger in that state. Plus, she wanted to get some steam off, after all, so why to waste such a perfect willing target?
With a smirk, she stalked across the kitchen and proceeded to push her lover against the counter, trapping him with all the might her 55 kilos. Roger jolted, surprised, but before he could wiggle out she grabbed a fistful of his light blonde hair, forcing his head backwards, her lips right against his ear.
“What are you doing, sweetheart?” she inquired. Her tone was sweet, but the way Roger stiffened between her arms made it clear that he perceived the menace.
“A peanut butter sandwich?” he answered, tentatively.
“Sound more like some drunken garage band attempt to prog rock, baby,” said Vivian, hardening her grip.
“Are you feeling lonely, sweetheart? “she continued casually, brushing her lips on his sensitive skin.
He blushed and tried to shake his head. She pulled hard, smiling as he let out a cute whimper of discomfort.
“Don’t lie, love” she admonished him, sliding one of her cold hand around his slim waist. He hissed, surprised her cold skin, but did not try to move away.
“You know that I know when you lie…”
Her fingers hesitated on the hem of his shorts and Vivian smirked, assessing the small tent already forming in his pants.
“Needy little bitch,” she whispered in his ear. She could feel him shiver, trying to stay still for her as she taught him to, moaning slightly as she rocked her hips against his clothed ass.
“You have been a very bad boy, Roger”, Vivian admonished, letting her hand dip under his shirt. His skin was boiling. She traced his flat stomach until she reached his toned chest. She always loved how meaty he always managed to feel, no matter how much effort he put in his healthy dieting fits. His nipples were already hard. She circled the puffy nubs with the tip of her fingers with deliberate sluggishness.
“Have I? “ Roger enquired teasingly, his voice husky with lust.
Such a little slut.
“Absolutely. And you know it right? What happens to bad boys…” she said, pulling hard on his fat nipple. Vivian smirked at the sound of his pained yelp.
“So?” she pressed.
The moist spot on his shorts told her the yes, he definitely knew the answer.
“Bad boys get punished.”
Two hours later, Vivian’s assignment was at a much better point. She was still sitting on the couch, her favourite fleece on her shoulder and a cup of tea not far from reach. She was typing conceitedly, her eyes fixed on her laptop’s screen and one of her feet, still sheathed in colourful socks, casually fondling the flushed cock of her desperate boyfriend.
Roger was lying on his back on their fuzzy IKEA carpet, his knees bent and his arms held together behind his back by a substantial – and probably unnecessary—amount of packing tape. Vivian had tried to replicate the complicate knots she saw at that very expensive shibari class they attended for their anniversary, but her fingers were still clumsy around the ropes. The chuckle mocking her efforts won Roger a blindfold and a less orthodox bondage method. The glue was going to be a pain to remove, but he should have known better. Vivian was not known for her patience, after all.
She took a sip of her herbal tea, before bringing her attention to the muscular shape trembling in the evening light. She did not hide her hunger as her gaze slid from his flushed face to his heaving abs, tensing frantically as he both fought and chased his impending orgasm. Vivian loved seeing his most basic instincts crush against the strictness of her commands.
She lifted his tightening ball sack with the point of her feet, massaging the shaft with the other in a deliberately sluggish rhythm.
She shivered as a particularly thick drop of pre-cum stained her sock. And still managed to trickle down his flushed shaft.
She felt the familiar warmth of arousal mounting in her belly, as she briefly stopped typing to appreciate the heaving of Roger’s fleshy chest as he panted, the eager, almost uncontrollable thrusting of his slender hips, the subdued whimpers of desperation as he tried to keep his mouth shut. Vivian had the sudden instinct of leaving the cosiness of the couch to lick the angular shape of his protruding hipbones.
Roger was just too sexy for his own good. She was glad that the boy actually enjoyed being kept in a cage.
She glanced one last time to her half-finished essay before folding her laptop with a satisfied huff. It was time to call it a day.
A low groan informed her that Roger was indeed extremely aware of her movements.
“Eager to play sweetheart?” she said, resuming the slow tease of Roger’s engorged erection with her now soaked rainbow sock. The fluffy fabric was just perfect, tickling his throbbing length with unbearable softness.
He nodded eagerly, his lips sealed. There was nothing like the promise of an orgasm to get a bit of silence. Yet, he moaned in frustration when she, once again, stroked the sensitive tip of his dick. The long edging session was taking its toll and Roger couldn't help pulling hopelessly at the tight bind around his limbs.
“Don’t. Stay,” Viv said firmly, pushing a foot against his chest to let him know to keep still.
For how much she loved to see him wriggle, it was a pointless fight and she did not want him hurt.
Her heart skipped a beat when he so promptly submitted. She still had butterflies. Damn. Being in love was a great thing.
She took her time, enjoying the feeling of anticipation as she tucked her laptop in the safety of the side table, stretched her sore muscles and slowly sipped her teacup empty. Safety first. After all, they had been playing rough long enough to make her extremely aware of how things could go wrong. She really did not want to fuck up another perfectly good mug.
When she finally positioned the empty cup on the windowsill, she eased the pressure on her lover’s cock to briefly examine the state of her socks.
“Viv…please. Please, please…”
Roger bucked his hips, lamenting the sudden lack of pressure with a choked out sob.
“Who said you could talk?” Vivian shushed him. This was punishment after all. She shook her head, appraising the smudges of precum blending over the colourful lines of her fuzzy garment.
“Tsk. You are so going to do the laundry, Gerry-boy”.
Even under the blindfold, she could see Roger’s cheeks flush. She knew he hated that nickname. It brought him back to a boring childhood, to the dull strictness of catholic school and the slight humiliation of a continuing cycle of guilt and punishment. Sometimes Vivian wondered how much his upbringing had to do with his masochistic tendencies. Yet, he was never abused. Far from it. His family was nothing but loving and supporting. Plus, who was her to judge? Her parents were atheist and she was a freak too.
“What? You don’t want to, dear? It’s your mess, sweetheart. And good boys clean up their messes” she continued, before positioning herself on the edge of the couch. It was not as comfortable as before, but in this way she had full access to her boyfriend's pleading form.
He moaned as she caressed his tanned muscular body with the plant of her tiny feet. Like any other parts of her, they were graceful, pale and slender, her nails covered with shiny light blue polish. Vivian was too impatient for fashion. The nail polish was a treat, an implicit declaration of care, just for Roger and nobody else.
He shivered as she explored his chest, his tensed up belly, his muscular tights. Vivian loved how Roger’s body felt always so damn warm. Despite the amount of fluff and fleece she liked to cover herself in, her own skin was always unnervingly icy. She hesitated, at the height of his crotch. He tried to beg, despite the gag, but the sounds come out as a muffled whimper. Even when drooling all over himself, the little bitch managed to be just so cute.
She bent over the side of the couch, cupping the side of his face that loving menace that never failed to drive him crazy. Her thumb teased the full line of his lips, appreciating the softness of his skin.
“Open wide honey. Like this…” she whispered.
He obeyed with that slutty eagerness that made her a bit weak on the knees. He even moaned when she pushed her finger hard against his tongue, forcing his jaw obscenely open.
“What a perfect little bitch” she commented, as drool started to run along with her slim pale fingers. She let go of his tongue to fiddle with the knot keeping the blindfold in place. After all, she wanted to look him in the eyes as she forced the dirty socks deep into his mouth. As expected, his blue eyes were foggy with the same untamed lust, worshipping her through the soft layers of her sweater and pyjama pants.
Vivian chuckled as she enveloped his engorged dick in a well-practised hold, massaging the length with deliberate sluggishness, appreciating the firmness of his desperate dick.
“What? Do not make me do all the work, honey. Move those hips, Gerry, love” she ordered with a chuckle.
Roger did not make her repeat herself. He was not so crazy to reject the possibility of an orgasm. He did not get that many after all. Vivian sat and watched, as he began humping her feet with a frantic drive. That was probably her favourite thing, seeing her cool calm boyfriend fall apart, transformed in a mess of instincts and wants and desires just for her. She appreciated the way his engorged ball sack swung with each desperate stroke. His shaft was flush for the relentless tease, glistening with precum and reddened by the friction. Between his legs, his tight little hole twitching with need.
“Aww, we should have filled that greedy cunt, really. Oh well. Next time” she cooed, smiling at his panting form.
The comment was enough to send Roger over the edge. His body arched and thick ropes of cum landed on her flushed skin.
“Good boy. Let it all out. Like this…” she fussed, softly massaging his softening dick as she leaned over the couch removed the drenched socks from his aching mouth.
“Was it good, sweetie?” she asked, ruffling his hair, her bony fingers lovingly tracing cold paths on his boiling skin.
“So, what do we say?” she probed, pulling jokingly on a wild strand.
“Thank you, Ma’am,” he said, his breath still short.
“Good boy!” Vivian said, before shifting to offer him her cum-drenched foot.
“I love you, Viv,” Roger managed to say, his voice firmer.
“I love you too, babe” she replied, smiling to herself as the love of her life began eagerly lapping his own cum.
Picture source: eyelovesl.wordpress.com/
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