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The text message came at 11 am that Saturday and simply read “fine.”

I didn’t know what to do with myself, and so I set upon the only thing I could think of. I cleaned my apartment.

My place was small, a studio, and I tried to keep it relatively spotless, but she was actually coming over, she was actually going to do it, so I needed everything to be perfect. I washed the few dishes I had, made my bed, scrubbed the bathroom.

The next text said, “3 o’clock. You’d better have snacks.”

I jumped in the shower, scrubbed up, got out and shaved my face very carefully, very thoroughly, and looked at myself in the mirror. I was smiling like an idiot.

At the deli down the block, I bought $50 of randomness. Ice cream bars and cookies, chips, candy, and soda.

By two, I was home, pacing, getting things ready. I took apart my whole entertainment center and organized the cords. I took an air compressor to everything. I windexed every screen or piece of plastic until it gleamed.

At a quarter to three, my bell rang. Was she early? That was unexpected. I imagined her keeping me waiting for tense hours. I buzzed her in and waited, looking through the peephole for her to make it up the three flights to the apartment. She appeared in the hall, and I felt my belly tighten in fear. I took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Hey,” she said flatly and walked past me.


I wasn’t sure if I should hug her. We didn’t. She walked in and took off her coat. She wore a simple short-sleeved black dress and black Doc Martens. Her eyes were thickly rimmed with eyeliner with sharp wings at the corners, as always. She didn’t wear her usual dark red lipstick. I was like I was seeing the casual version of her.

I stood near my little kitchen as she walked around my place, glancing at my things, eying my bookshelf, looking out the windows. She closed the curtains, and my cock started getting hard.

Since the place was small, there weren’t a lot of places to sit. The bed and fancy ergonomic desk chair. The largest thing in the apartment was the giant flat-screen TV, which faced the bed, slightly too close for most people, but in a Manhattan studio, it was pretty standard. The thing was over sixty inches wide, as wide as the bed.

She went to the neat rack with all of my various gaming systems and peripherals. She nodded her head, impressed. Then she saw the box. The reason she was there. She picked it up and narrowed her eyes at the Japanese characters. She opened it and perused the notes inside.

“You’re system can-” she started, but I finished her thought.

“I hacked my PS4 so I can play anything on it. The graphics are amazing-” I explained, but she rolled her eyes.

“I know, I’ve seen it on Youtube.”

I picked up my phone, which I set up to control all of my gadgets.

“Yeah, but it’s different on a big screen in HD,” I said, turning on the television and sound.

“Take a look. I’ll get us a drink. What would you like?”

I saw her study me for a moment, looking me in the eye for the first time since getting there.

“Gin and tonic,” she said, finally. Then she turned and slipped the disk into the machine.

I mixed her a drink and made myself on. I poured some fancy potato chips and some chocolate-covered cherries into bowls and carried them over in a tray while she went through the game’s initial setup and marveled at the vivid graphics on the enormous screen.

She ignored me, sipping her drink and sitting at the edge of the bed, engrossed in the crisp digital images on the screen.

She jumped right into the game, and I started to wonder how exactly our agreement was going to work. I’d proposed the whole thing a few nights before, and she heard me out and didn’t reject the idea outright, which was a good sign.

She didn’t say anything else until the text, and then she was in my apartment.

She shifted as she played, moving to the corner of the bed, close to the screen, then she paused and looked at me over her shoulder.

“If we are going to do this, then lay down on your back with your head here,” she said with another roll of her eyes, pointing at the foot of the bed.

I wasn’t entirely sure if she was being serious, but I did it immediately, kicking off my shoes and slipping onto his bed, facing the ceiling, inches from her.

She continued to play, shifting over a little so that her leg pressed against my cheek. She was still figuring out the world, riding on her horse, picking up little adventures. I stayed still and tried to control my breathing, so I didn’t sound like a panting idiot so close to her.

She shifted again, standing up, moving a bit, standing at the foot of the bed, still facing the television, then shifting back.

I couldn’t really see her, I was still facing the ceiling, but I felt her ass against my head, which was an odd sensation. Her butt was soft and round. Though she wasn’t that big of a girl, her hips and thighs and bottom were thick.

She flipped her dress up suddenly, and the room went dark. Slowly my eyes adjusted to the light filtering through the black material. I was under her dress, and she was moving back, getting on the bed over me, on her knees, lifting herself up and then down, down on my face.

Her thick thighs cradled my face as her panties pressed against first my nose and then my mouth. I adjusted as she did, and finally, she settled, keeping most of her weight on her knees but pushing her panty-covered pussy against my mouth.

My lips pressed against her inner thigh, and I licked at her skin for the first time. She smelled like soap and laundry detergent and pussy.

I wasn’t 100% sure I was allowed to, but I raised my arms and slipped them under her dress, and touched her ass, which gave me a bit more control. She tensed for a second, but then settled back down on me.

My eyes continued to adjust. I pulled back for a moment and saw her thick thighs and the thin strip of black satin between them. I kissed each of her inner thighs, my lips dragging against her hot skin, then against the smooth black material of her panties.

Her pussy was so close, a thin piece of fabric away. It was torture, and I loved it. My cock was hard in my jeans, aching. My whole body was hungry for a taste of her. I licked at the spot where her thigh met her crotch, just next to her panties, and felt the smoothness of her skin.

Were her panties wet from my tongue, or was it her?

As I traced the edge of the black satin with my tongue, she squirmed on top of me, pushing down on my face, for a moment, covering both my nose and my mouth. My chest burned in seconds as I ran out of air. All I could think was, “yes, fucking kill me with your pussy, but just give me a proper taste first.”

I sucked at the wet fabric in desperation. I whimpered into her thick thighs. My fingers dug into the decadent softness of her ass as she pushed down and momentarily suffocated me again.

Then she was up, lifting herself slightly, and the air rushed to my wet face. I saw her thighs again slightly reddened. I ached for more. I moved up to meet her, but she pulled away, and I heard a chuckle. I felt her laugh, too, felt it reverberate in every spot where our bodies touched.
I watched, in the dark theatre under her dress, as she reached down and her red nails dragged across her inner thigh. Then as my breath caught, she slipped a finger under the black line of her panties and pulled, pulled them away from her body, and for a moment, I glimpsed the pink I had been nearly crying for.

I tried to lift my head again, and she pushed me down. Apparently, I was supposed to stay.

She moved her panties to the side, and I saw it for the first time. Fat puffy lips

Her red nail sparkling and her wet pink pussy shining. I took a deep breath, and her scent made me squirm and whimper more.

That’s when I heard her laugh—more than a giggle.

She rubbed in slow circles and the. I heard the game start again. After a moment, her hand disappeared, back to the controller, I assumed. Her pussy still hovered above me, half exposed.

I whimpered again, like a dog at the table, begging. I did it so she could hear. Please.

I felt her shift as she played, slowly lowering herself, a millimeter at a time. I had to force myself not to lift my head. If I just waited, maybe, maybe.

Was it mercy? Were her legs just getting tired? She crashed down around me like waves. I opened my mouth and accepted her like holy communion.

Pussy, awash in pussy, drown in pussy. Thank you, thank you!

The warmth of her body radiated over me, my tongue slipping against her hot skin as her thighs cradled my head. I licked and sucked and tried to find the combination of moves to move her. I imagined it like an old game controller, the secret sequence of buttons, left, left, right, right, ABAB.

Her clit had grown thick, and my tongue gravitated to it. I slipped around it, teasing it, knowing direct pressure wasn’t always the best. Not knowing her particulars, but guessing. She shifted when I licked the sides of her clit, settling into a pattern.

Then, besides the muffled sounds of the video game, I heard one perfect little moan. It was like a choir of angels ringing out. Reality seemed to stop as I waited, hoping to hear more. I continued to twist and flick my tongue in the rhythm and patterns that seemed to please her the most.

A caught my breath. A little shutter that passed from her body to mine. Then the familiar sound of the game, sad tones of death. She had died in the game and not selected to restart. I had her. Oh god, I had her!

She grinned down on me again, the sound of her controller falling to the floor. She pulled at her dress enough to take my hair in her greedy hands. She pulled my hair and adjusted my angle.

Her moans sounded again, small, high, almost birdlike. I tried to turn some part of my brain into a recorder. The most amazing sound I’d ever heard.

Then, sharp and sudden, her fingers locked in my hair.

“Right there,” she said, loud enough to echo in my little studio.

I broke down what I was doing at that moment and replicated it again and again. Sucking her clit while circling it with my tongue.

She rocked on top of me, moans growing more frantic, her thighs closing around the sides of my head. Moans becoming rhythmic, then turning into words, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” like a mantra.

Then a long, loud intake of breath as her thighs squeeze my head. Her hands pull me to her pussy further, suffocating me, holding, shaking, gasping, coming on top of me, coming on my face.

Then, suddenly, air and light and the intense sensation of loss.

I sat up, my neck and tongue burning for use. I turned to see her lying on the bed, panting, her hands covering her face.

I smiled and touched her leg. She looked at me through her spread fingers.

“Can I have more?” I asked.

She laughed. “You really like it, hm?”

I nodded, licking my lips. She grinned, her face flushed, and her demeanor softened.

“Go and get us both some water and maybe I’ll let you have a little more,” she said, biting her lip and pulling her dress up a little, exposing her thighs just short of showing her pussy.

I whimpered and whined and stumbled off the bed for water and waiting and wanted desperately for more.

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