Fucking Under the Influence: Part 2

Part 1: Fucking Under the Influence 

I keep inhaling the diminishing joint as his eyes move around the room frantically. “Ashtray,” I remind him, holding the quarter-inch of stacked ember dust to his face.

He carries me closer to the desk, where I drop the J onto an overflowing receptacle of blunt roaches and gray ash. “All I have is that,” his head gesturing to the pile of half filled mattresses.

“And all I have is this afternoon,” I rebuttal, trying to put some urgency in his actions. He places me down gently on top of the disarray pile of blankets and mismatching pillows. His lips once again find mine and I am brought back to a time when I called this city my home.

The swell of the high creates a subtle mood shift. I pull my shirt over my head as he struggles with my jean’s button and zipper. “Fancy pants,” he says with a distress as he eyes the brand name. Flat out ignoring his call to my overpriced denim, I pull them, as well as my cheeky lace briefs, down and off my smooth legs. History has proven it’s difficult for him to remain upset when I’m naked.

Unhooking my bra, and last bit of covering, I roll with him until our roles are reverse and he’s on his back while I’m straddle over him. If only for a couple of hours, I am determined to rewind the hands of time and relive this fucked up love story. Leaning down, I trail kisses from his crumpled forehead, temple, cheek, chin, and neck. I pinch his Hersey’s Kisses nipples to his displeasure and peck at his skin with my front teeth.

His hands orbit my hips and butt cheeks as I grind on top of him, probably teasing myself more than him. My pussy slides against his shaft, moistening it with expectancy. Each time I pause at his bulbous head, I feel him shift eagerly.

When I think I can’t take anymore, I position his dick at my cunt’s opening and ease down on his thickness. He still feels so unbelievably good. Years ago I thought his cock was made specifically just for me and a decade later the idea still has merit.

My hips move up and down slowly. His fingertips pulsate on my sides in the same rhythm. Whatever that familiar, nostalgic feeling everyone else has bleated on about, that feeling of being ‘home,’ finally sheds some light. This feels like home. He feels like home.

He holds my lower back as he lifts his torso towards me. My legs wrap around his waist as he sits up and our cadence intensifies. His mouth sucks at my neck and jawbone as his dick stirs up old memories. Backseat of my car in a highway parking lot, against the side of a house at a party, in another basement bedroom not too dissimilar to this one. Each time wonderfully stoned.

He flips me onto my back and, due to the misshapen mound of assorted items, my hips elevate higher than my head for a pleasant rush. He fucks me slow then hard and slow again, biting his lip, holding something back. “God, I love your pussy.”

I moan back in agreement. I’ve thought of his dick more than a few times a year, every year. Former boyfriends and lovers always compared to his girth, length, passion, and finesse, only to fall short. My best friend had sex with him and said it was awkward. A frienemy said he had a great cock, but no romance. But to me he is perfect.

“I’m gonna bust.”

I swallow hard. “Fuck me fast and we’ll cum together.”

He lays into me, harder than before and with enthusiasm to spare. Each pound sends me further off the edge of reality until I feel like I’m falling or flying. His hand brings me back as it wraps around my shoulder from under my back, his fingers gripping to me for both support and leverage. We both moan into each others’ mouths as we each ejaculate.

“I was worried you’d only come over for weed.”

“Is that what you meant by…” He wordlessly agrees, nodding his head, before I finish. “It’s always been both, dummy.” I playfully push him. “And always will.”

He laughs without an utter. “I thought it might be the tattoo.”

 

 

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