Engaged (The ABCs of Erotica) (20 page)

My cunt is hungry. I still feel awkward, needing what I suddenly know I won’t get. They have the connection, I’m an accessory.
 

I lean in to kiss Ellie. She lends me her mouth, then pulls it away, still making eyes with her husband.
 

I need Richard. I want to go home.

Dean rubs Ellie’s button above her clit, above his sloshing cock as Ellie slams herself down. I rub Ellie’s pussy with one hand, mine with the other, getting off on the sounds of her pleasure, even though I’ve yet to truly find it myself.
 

She looks over as she finishes, and starts to laugh. “Sorry,” she says. Then, “Get on your back.”
 

I do as I’m told, and she crawls to my lap.
 

Dean lines up behind her.
 

She turns to him and says, “Finish me fast, OK? I’m going to make Liza cum.”
 

Dean grunts, nods, then sticks his dick in Ellie from behind. She groans, lurches forward, and buries her face in my cunt.
 

I scream out —
this
is what I need — and cum almost immediately. I push her face harder between my legs, and fondle my tits.
 

Dean rocks behind Ellie, ever faster until his cock starts to spit. All three of us are cumming together.
 

Ellie and I scream together as Dean grunts.
 

He pulls out and sends his first splash of warm milk sailing in a rainbow over Ellie’s body into her hair. He drizzles it over her ass, onto her back, and all over her pussy — the only part I can’t see. I’m sure he’s doing this for show, for me, maybe to say he’s sorry that he couldn’t fuck me.
 

It’s OK. I’m cumming hard, screaming so loud I can’t even think.
 

She keeps sucking my cunt until I’m all done, then scrambles to my mouth. We taste each other until Dean pulls Ellie away, and kisses her slowly.
 

They finish, thank me, and walk toward the house together, holding hands.
 

I’ll see myself out, and find my way home.
 

Looks like they’ll be busy for longer.
 

A Present for Richard
 

I want to make Richard a present.
 

I leave Ellie and Dean as they’re going for seconds, take a cue from Richard, wanting to channel my energy for him.
 

I go upstairs and take a hot shower. I’m tempted to fuck myself, it’s nearly impossible not to: frustrated after my threesome that was barely a threesome.

I clean my pussy, barely brushing it, wanting to rub but refraining. My body begs for my fingertips as they inch toward my quivering lips.
 

I get out of the shower and go to Ellie’s room, grateful she’s tiny like me.
 

“Whatever you want,” she said as I left the pool. “Just take it with you. I don’t want my lingerie back all cummy.”
 

Her words were murdered by Dean’s mouth.
 

I dress in a matching white top and panties, lacy and see-through, a style and cut that Richard would love.
 

I set my phone on the room’s far side and press record — I’ll throw it in an app and cut music before hitting send.
 

I want to call Richard, show him my dance as I do it. But he’ll act like I’m breaking invisible rules. I’ll record it instead, send while I’m in the cab.
 

He’ll fuck me hard when I’m home.
 

I’ll wonder why I left, and be glad I did.
 

I stare into the camera as if he’s behind the lens. I pout my lips and make my eyes large. I turn from one side to the other and stick my ass out at the camera. I reach back palm my ass cheeks — one per side — and spread them so Ellie’s lace thong sinks into my crack.
 

I stand, lean against the wall, and brush my fingers on my body, hooking one at the bottom of my top and lifting it teasingly.
 

I’m so happy to be going home. I want Richard to see it on my face.
 

I also want him to see that he was right: I’m glad I left. I’m returning as a better, stronger woman, more certain of who and what I want, settled with my past. He wanted me to learn, I did. Now I’m done and need him.

I enjoyed the adventure. It would have been easy to keep going. But it would be empty, chasing one fading memory into the next, galloping toward a sun that would never quite set.
 

I lift the lace over my tits and let it set above my nipples as I fondle my breasts from beneath. I moan, not exaggerated, but loud enough so Richard will hear my murmur on video. I pinch my nipples, twisting each before I lower my top.
 

I pull down my straps, and shake my shoulders so the top flutters down over my breasts. I knead the flesh like before, but harder, moaning louder. I stick my hand down my panties, then pull it out and rub my pussy over the fabric.
 

I lightly push against my hand, letting it feel good, allowing myself to want me, rather than dipping fingers into my freshly soaked hole — newly juiced since my shower — and fucking myself to satisfaction.
 

Richard will see by my eyes how much I’m wanting, he’ll be proud of me for holding control like I am.
 

Need burns my body as I hold my eyes to the camera.
 

I slip one hand back into my panties, and use the other to tease my nipples, breathing heavily. I rub them until I shiver, then shake as I lower my hands and gently tug the lace to my waist.
 

Still holding the camera’s eye, I go to the couch, swaying my hips to Liza by the Atomic Weirdos in my head. I take off my top, twirl it twice, and fling it to the carpet.
 

I continue to sway before shifting direction and nudging my middle toward the camera, pretending Richard’s face was at my center, and that I was pushing my wet and wanting pussy against it.
 

Richard will know I’m about to strip my panties. He’ll probably sit down and pull out his cock. I imagine my man holding his dick, starting to stroke it, waiting for me to show him my slit. He’ll think about pushing himself into my hole, just as I’m thinking of him pushing himself into me right now. I’m wet at the thought, soaking through the movie in my mind.
 

I part white panties from my gleaming slit and run my fingers along the slick lips, still staring into the lens. I rub faster, in tighter circles. My shoulders grow heavy. I collapse and fall back, then catch myself, palm flat to the comforter.
 

My breath grows heavy. I start to purr.

In heat, I turn sideways on the couch, lifting my ass in time with my rubbing. I take two fingers and thrust them inside me.
 

I rise and I fall, ass to the balls of my heels.
 

I pant and whimper.
 

I whimper and moan.
 

I moan, groan, and inch toward eruption.
 

I plunge faster, clenching my cunt around my fingers as I cum.
 

I turn back to stare in the lens through my orgasm, letting Richard look into my wild, pleasured eyes. I squeeze my thighs together, capturing my hand as I rock back and forth, rubbing myself through the pleasure. I finish and smile, then wink and roll back on the bed, lifting my legs in the air.
 

I slide my panties past my waist and pussy, then my knees and ankles. They hit the floor. I scoot to the bed’s edge, parting my legs as I reach it.
 

My first orgasm was great. This will be better.
 

I take the same two fingers, stuff them to the knuckle in my box, then shudder and wiggle around them. I moan and curl upward, pressing the tips to my G-spot. I move inside, turning circles and moaning.
 

My body heaves.

I wonder how detailed the video will be, hope Richard can see my finger twitching as I plunge as I brush my asshole, each time drawing shivers.
 

I shake on the couch, rubbing as I plunge, until I finally stop shaking, pull juiced fingers from my drenched pussy, fall back on the couch and shove them back in, fucking myself faster, plowing myself into a crash.

I’m about to explode.
 

I lose sight of my world as I do.
 

There’s no camera. I forget that I’m sending a video to Richard, and don’t remember that I’m going home. I don’t remember why I left or what I was supposed to learn. I don’t remember Leigh or Jenny or Zoe or Cooper. I don’t know where I am, and have forgotten that Dean and Ellie are getting seconds downstairs while I make my homecoming for Richard.
 

I forget everything, holding two fingers deep into my cunt, pressing them hard and firm against my skin, stirring softly as my pussy clenches and pulses around them.
 

My fingers slosh as my body finishes quivering.
 

I’ve never been more ready for Richard, or for the rest of my life.
 

I can’t wait to get home.
 

The Wedding
 

The day has dragged.
 

It would have felt like forever, if it wasn’t the best — most significant — day of my life. We’ve been trying to call it a night for a while: over an hour, at least. We’ve been teasing one another all day, and are dying to reach our room. His whispers are getting more filthy, almost uncharacteristic of Richard.

But the wedding day has been stretched to snapping, with everyone wanting to talk and congratulate the happy couple. People who weren’t sure of our union three months before — or said I was out of my fucking mind — are wishing us wealth and happiness through our forever to come.

The last three months were eternity. Now they are over.

Three months was the soonest we could assemble a wedding, at least one that would please all of the family and friends who would’ve taken it as an insult if we’d gone down to the courthouse like I wanted, and Richard suggested, even though I knew he was kidding.
 

Three months was too long to stay unmarried. One day would have felt like too much after finally coming home. I wanted to say “I do,” immediately. Instead we spent three months preparing, telling stories, from our past and present, including a new tales never shared. We found a venue and a DJ, then a bakery and florist. Richard found me a dress. If he was any man other than Richard I’m sure that would have been an awful idea. Of course it was perfect instead.
 

We needed three months to acclimate the citizens of our lives, mostly my parents. Jim and Judy Elway were shocked. They are happy that Richard’s as successful as he is — someone that grounded can only be good for me — but I’m sure they’re worried about the differences between us. If only I could tell them about the things we share, especially in the bedroom, or my quest to make sure we’re perfectly suited, but I can’t, so they’ll have to trust me.
 

They’ve come up to us all evening, drunk but genuinely happy for both of us. Shockingly, so are my siblings.
 

Mark is there with Abraham, his partner. Abraham is older, like Richard. All three men marvel and joke about our similarities. Someone eventually suggests that we can double date. I hate this idea more than an STD, but laugh and agree, knowing that Mark and Abraham are moving to New York in two months, and that the odds of us getting together more than once or twice at most are slim if existent at all.
 

Samantha came alone, as is her style, but spent the wedding and reception, like the 3 months before them, keeping all of her snark to herself. I almost want to have my sister inspected, see if there’s a different Samantha hiding inside her.

To my surprise, I had a great time planning the wedding with her and our mother, tasting cake, choosing flowers, deciding on colors and themes and scents. No lilies allowed. Mom thought it was ridiculous to let Richard choose my dress, Samantha slightly less so. Both gasped when they saw it.

This morning was hard, mostly because Richard wouldn’t fuck me.
 

He said, “Save it for the wedding,” even though I felt nervous and anxious, and knew he could pound the flutters from my body. Instead, Richard laughed at my discomfort and said it was part of life. He said without bitter, sweet was less than it was, and that we were about to settle in for the sweetest slice of our lives.
 

That did nothing to keep me from wanting him, but I put on my big girl panties and tried to pretend I wasn’t scared. It wasn’t the marriage, it was the people and crowds. All of the staring. I wanted to be quietly married to Richard, and get to the night.
 

The ceremony was gorgeous, though not in a church: the one thing Richard insisted. I said I wasn’t sure that would fly. My parents weren’t exactly regular parishioners, but were big on tradition.