Five Thirty. Damnit. I'll be late.
I adjust my dress and pull my suede boots up just a few inches higher over my knees. I pat and plump a warm red into my lips and throw my hair over my shoulder. I love the ritual of getting ready for him.
The thrill. The foreplay mounts hours if not days before inside me.
Thinking about what he might do to me. How he'll do it to me. Where he'll do it to me.
The garage door is open when I arrive. I let myself into the shop. It's cool inside, the soft breeze weaves its way around the machinery and wood. Lifting the aroma of sawdust and glue up into the air. It smells like him. I close my eyes and can imagine the scent of his beard tracing around my face and neck. The same scent of wood and musk.
I find a table to perch on. Where is he? I ask myself.
A truck door shuts.
My eyes dart to the back where he soon appears. Sauntering in. He reaches for the metal chain and pulls the garage door shut with a swift strength and purpose.
He didn't have to look at me to know I was there.
He walks towards me. Yet to make eye contact, he grabs a rag and wipes his hands, then throws off the toque he was wearing. Settling in and preparing to take up space.
"Sit there." He points to a stool.
The fuck you attitude of a man after a long day.
I like it.
My pussy shakes as he licks his lips and unbuttons the top of his flannel shirt. I place myself down and pull my coat open, taunting him with my naked thighs.
Demanding his attention.
He watches my every move. Looking me up and down in a contemplative way. Almost as if he was choosing which part of his meal to eat first.
He steps towards me. His breath is hot, and his body is warm. Radiating heat to my inner thighs, he lowers his body over mine and places a hand on the table beside me. Surrounding me.
Before I can assume his next move, he reaches my lips.
Hovering, grazing, teasing.
My mouth is watering with anticipation.
I'm overwhelmed with need.
My nipples surge and harden.
His free hand finds my bare thighs. Rubbing and caressing the top to the innermost soft spots. He grabs a handful of me and displays his strength.
Holy fuck, if only he'd head north right this second. One-touch, one single flick of a finger on my clit, is all it would take for me to burst into euphoria.
Every hair on my body is now erect.
My flesh is screaming for recognition.
But I don't make a move. I wait for his command.
I tell him I'm not wearing any panties.
And as if his plans fall through, he can't resist, he slides his digits inside me.
My head falls back as he pulses, fingering me in a frantic fuck. His raging cock is now stiff against my outer thigh.
Using his bearded chin, he pushes my head to the side, taking a deep inhale and mighty exhale. He dives his lips and teeth into my neck.
I'm hot and wildly bothered.
He pushes my dress to the side, exposing my breast and my peaked nipples. His hand rolls and pinches them until his mouth makes its way down. Lingering his tongue around my nipples as if it were my pussy.
Oh my god. I'm going to come.
He moves to take my other nipple in his mouth, suckling and biting. My pussy is erupting. He releases my breast and swiftly shoves his hand back up my dress.
The groans from his throat are like growls into my chest. My pussy is surging with blood.
He retracts from inside and presses his palm up against my entire vulva. He starts pumping and pressing into the bony area just above my clit. After a moment, I sway and hump my pelvis into his hand.
It's electrifying and tipping me to climax. Taunting me with this escalation of arousal. I'm spinning.
Convulsing, bursting and biting down
His thumb finally reaches my hungry clit.
I feel like I'm going to fall. And I do. Right into the deep, all consuming throws of orgasm.
I emerge from my blackout.
My first inhale. Flooding my body with what feels like the first breath.
His methods are calculated. His precision and brawn are seemingly effortless. A rhythmic dance of his muscles maneuvering my body. I am still. Catching my thoughts.
I request him now. All of him.
With four fingers around my neck and his thumb stroking my clavicle, he deftly unbuttons and unzips his jeans to showcase his protruding cock and hip bones. He synches my hips. Reaching for one of my legs, he wraps it around his waist. Resting it on his slouched jeans and belt.
He stretches his arm to guide himself into my slippery wet, and now come filled pussy.
I reach to grab his carved out ass.
He pumps and rumbles his entire weight inside me. I'm pressed and pushed into the raw wood laid out beneath my body. It's a bit painful, but his roaring cock's contrasting feeling makes it a delectable mix of pain and pleasure.
Arching and dropping my back. He plunges deeper. I pull him in with my leg. My thigh-high boots barely hang on with the energy and thunder rushing through our bodies.
He uses one arm to hoist my low back off the table, still inside me. He carries me to the nearest wall and gently lowers me down. My tippy toes reach the concrete floor beneath me, one thigh held by his bulging arm. He takes two pumps into me and then retracts. Spinning my body round, he grabs my waist and rides his fingers up my rib cage like waves. Slowly, softly for a moment I don’t know if he’s still there. Pulling my arms up and over my head. He grasps both of my wrists in his one hand. He scoots one of my heels to the west and the other east with his black leather boot.
Before I can take a glance back, he’s inside me.
His thrusts being guided by his thick thighs. While I’m held in one hand the other is placed on the wall a few inches from my face. I can see his veins bulging. His breath is getting faster and heavier.
His cock massaging my core.
Its perfect as fuck. And the only way it would be better is if I could watch him fuck me from every angle. His entire weight is against me. My chest now bears the force into the wall. He reaches a cadence and flow that’s charged with force and power.
I can feel him start to shake and tremble. I imagine a surging river after a storm. He overflows inside me. I lift my chin over my shoulder to watch him. His head drops to watch himself finish.
The intensity falls to calm. He starts to pull up his jeans and draws himself away.
My heart is pounding. My body is hot.
He returns to his desk.
I adjust my dress. Pull up my boots. Pat and plump a warm red into my lips and toss my hair over my shoulder, one last time.
I ask if I'll be getting my table delivered anytime soon.
He replies in a flat businesslike tone with no traceable hint of what just transpired between us. “it won't be ready for another two weeks.”
“I guess I'll have to come back.”
About the author:
Morgan Woodfine is a sexual and reproductive health doula, an educator, an erotic author and yoga teacher. Morgan began her work in Vancouver, BC and then brought her practice to the south shore of Montreal in 2018. Where she went on to build a mindful community space for women to deepen their connection to self and community. As a committed mother, passionate partner and lover of all-things sex and sensuality, female pleasure ranks high on her list of priorities. Through education and commitment she hopes to encourage women to shift their focus onto the emotional, physical and spiritual versions of ourselves to uncover what lights up our warmest and wettest parts.
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