Not my name

Sunday afternoon at my boyfriends house. Sitting on the sofa.

He arrived home a few hours ago, sweaty and muddy from his hiking trip, to find me in just my underwear. And we fucked, as I hoped we would, passionate and fast; my bum against the kitchen counter, his thrusts hard, urgent, pounding into me as we clawed and pawed each other’s clothes off. Welcome home, hun.

Afterwards he went for a shower, then a sleep. He’d been up all night, more or less, hiking and climbing with his friends on an outdoor challenge. While he slept, I went for a long, slow run, exploring the country lanes around his house. I got a little lost, ended up going further than I’d planned to, but it didn’t matter. Eventually, I made it back. He was still asleep, so I had a bath, hot and deep, reading my book then dozing until the water went cool. My legs felt good after the run. Using his razor, I shaved them in the bath, feeling their smoothness with my hands. Thinking about his hands doing the same causes a prickle of arousal, my pussy reminding me that a quickie in the kitchen is all very well, but it expects more from the afternoon!

I shower and dry myself, then walk into the living room to find him sitting on the sofa, fully clothed. I’m in his towelling dressing gown, drying my hair on another towel. A cloud of steam follows me from the bathroom. He looks up from his book, smiles at me.

‘Heya, did you have a good run?’

‘Mmmmmmm,’ I nod. ‘Did you sleep for long?’

‘Ages, I only just woke up.’

I sit down sideways on the sofa, my back against the armrest, my knees hooked over his legs. The dressing gown falls open and away from my knees, and he rests his hand on my legs, stroking my calves.

‘Do you fancy the pub later?’ he asks. ‘For dinner maybe.’

‘Sounds good to me...’

He strokes my legs, absentmindedly, reading his book. His hands are warm, gently stroking my calves, my ankles, then massaging my feet.

‘Mmm,’ I say, reaching for my phone. ‘That’s nice.’

I scroll twitter for a while, replying to messages here and there. A post from B reminds me that I still have half of her latest blog to read, and now seems a good a time as any. I tap through to her profile, then on the link, scrolling down to the natural break where I’d stopped reading before.

B is in bed with her lover, chatting then lying beside him as he sleeps. In the blogs, the name she gives him is the same as that of a well-known British actor. I suspect this is no accident. B is a great writer, and she knows exactly what imagery that name conjures for the reader. It’s an image which is vivid in my head as I read, picturing his hand reaching back, starting to touch her.

My own pussy starts to get wet as I read about his fingers on her, his beautiful body grinding against hers. He makes her come, and she slides her head under the covers to take his cock into her mouth, describing its hardness, the smooth taut skin, and I am soaking now.

The beautiful description of his cock would normally have my hand between my legs, but I don’t keep a boyfriend around for no reason, and I figure it’s time he earned his keep.

My legs are still hooked over his. I move them apart, lifting my knees slightly then letting them fall sideways. The dressing gown is mostly clear of my legs now and I pull it fully away with my hands, unmissable and provocative, giving him a full, open view of my soaking wet cunt.

He looks at my pussy, then up at my face, smiling slightly, eyebrows raised.

‘What are you reading?’ he asks. ‘Are you reading porn?’

‘B’s blog,’ I say. I use her full name.

‘Ahhh, figures,’ he says, turning back to his book.

I give him a swift kick with my ankle.

‘Oi! Are you gonna help a girl out, or not?’

‘Well, since you ask so nicely...’

He moves his hand up, over my inner thigh, and slides a finger gently over my lips, then between them, collecting wetness from my vagina then sliding it up over my clit.

I moan softly as he settles into a rhythm, just one finger, moving in soft circles, stroking my clit with steady, gentle pressure.

Riding the beautiful sensations, I turn back to the blog. I go back a few sentences to read about his cock again. It’s taut hardness in her mouth, fucking her face as she cups his balls. My mouth hangs open as I imagine it, picturing his cock, feeling it in my own mouth, hard, pulsing. Thrusting.

He orders her onto her back, then onto all fours, and my cunt twitches and throbs as she describes him sliding into her, pounding her pussy. I imagine how it would have felt, face in the bed, his cock thrusting hard in from behind. My boyfriend’s fingers slide over and over my clit, staying in position as I rock my hips in time with the imaginary thrusts.

My own pleasure is building fast now. I’m moaning as I read, the thought of his cock pounding into her making my own pussy ache to be filled.

I read on, in a rush now... I’m not going to last long, and I want to read about him cumming. He pulls out and slides his cock into her arse, pounding it, his fingers in her mouth as she begs for more. And then he cums, and I’m so fucking close and my cunt is pulsing and throbbing and desperate for a cock.

Quickly, almost desperately I shove my boyfriend’s hand away, fractions of a second before he pushes me over the edge.

‘Fuck me, fuck me,’ I say, breathless, begging, my pussy raging with need.

He moves quickly, fumbling his jeans undone, pushing them down as I urgently reach for his cock. He’s rock hard, and the feeling of it in my hand sends another pulse of electricity straight to my pussy. I’m almost an animal now, raw and consumed with overwhelming sexual urgency. I pull his torso down onto me as my hand guides his cock, lifting my hips, pushing him into position then crying out loudly as he thrusts it deep inside me.

‘Fuck,’ I say, barely coherent, grabbing his arse with my hands. ‘Fuck me, fuck me, yes.’ I’m rocking my pelvis, slamming my pussy back up against him with every thrust. He feels incredible inside me, thrusting hard, his face pressed against the sofa cushion beside my head.

Head arched back, crying out with every thrust, I’m tumbling towards orgasm now, eyes closed, and it’s B’s lover I’m imagining. His body against mine, his skin, his cock pounding into me. 

I turn my head, my boyfriend turns his, and he knows I’m fantasising. Already he knows me so well. With one word, he completes the fantasy... his hands on my shoulders, pushing me down onto his cock, he says B’s name. ‘Come for me...’ He says it again.

And I explode, writhing, crying out again and again as the orgasm rips outwards from my pussy, pulse after pulse of incredible pleasure. He holds me, thrusting his cock in time with my contractions, wringing every last drop of pleasure from my pussy. Then suddenly, as my pleasure subsides into sensitivity and I try to hold him still, he pulls out and strokes his cock, five or six quick, slick strokes and then cums, hot and wet, covering my tits, my tummy, my still pulsing pussy.

For a few seconds we lie there, his body hovering over mine. His cum trickling gently down one of my flanks, onto the sofa. We’re breathing hard. He leans forward, kisses me, gentle and lovely.

‘Fuck that was hot,’ I say, as he pulls away. ‘Thank you. Sorry if I got a bit... demanding!’

‘It’s ok. Was that ok, at the end, the name...’

I nod, cutting him off. ‘It was good. It’s where I was - in my head.’

‘I guessed.’

‘How did you know?’ I ask.

He sits up. ‘Well, I knew what you’d been reading, and I could tell you were acting a part - or acting a fantasy I guess... being someone different from yourself.’

‘You’re perceptive.’ I’m quiet for a minute. ‘Did you mind?’

‘No way - it’s hot as hell.’ He strokes my body. ‘Why do you think I came so quickly?’

‘We’re you picturing B?’ I use her full name again.

‘Not really... I didn’t really have time. But it’s a hot idea.’

I sit up, mopping myself up with the dressing gown. ‘It is,’ I say, snuggling alongside him. ‘Maybe another time....’