Duncan Fox - Spread wide and tied

Clara felt a tingle down deep in her cunt and attributed it to nerves. Her small suitcase bobbed in Wil's easy grasp as he led the way down the hallway to his apartment. She couldn't stop wondering if he had really meant what he had said, or if he had just been talking through his hat.

The strangely shaped, high-ceiling room was certainly hot enough. She dropped her coat, draped it over the arm of one of the easy chairs. She checked her reflection in the mirror on the sliding door of the tiny kitchen. The apartment was in an old brownstone which had once housed a single family. Years before the building had been hacked up into apartments. Bathrooms and kitchens were crammed into unlikely nooks and corners.

"Can I get you a drink?" Wil asked after taking his coat off.

"How about one of your famous whiskey sours?" Clara asked, trying to ignore the sweat on her palms. Cripes, she was acting as if she was still a virgin or something. Probably he wouldn't really do it. She leaned against the doorframe, and watched as he poured out two frothing sours.

"Here," he said, handing her one glass. "Why don't you go out and make yourself comfortable? Put on some music, and take off something else, if you want." He chuckled nervously.

"Maybe later," she mumbled uncomfortably. "You don't mind, do you?" he asked, for the tenth time. "I mean, if you mind, I won't do it."

"I don't mind," she said, wishing that he'd just do it and quit asking. Neither of them was a virgin. It wasn't like they hadn't seen it all before.

Just the same, when he emerged from the kitchen, naked, his bobbing hard-on leading the way, she felt a hot burning itch down deep inside her. She took a huge gulp of her drink. When she managed to rip her eyes off his swaying cock she was glad to see he had a fresh shaker of sours in his hand.

"Really feels a hell of a lot better," he insisted. "If you want to do it, too, feel free."

"Maybe a little later," Clara murmured, and sought refuge in her drink. She couldn't take her eyes off his cock. Just the sight of his pink-capped ivory column made her cunt water.

"Been a nudist ever since I got this apartment," Wil went on, sitting down in the other easy chair. His cock stood up like a pole in his lap. With forced casualness, he slouched back and sipped his drink.

"You could turn the heat down," Clara noted, resisting the urge to start playing a game of ring toss with his dick and her bracelets.

"Impossible," he retorted. Then he grinned. "Besides, then I wouldn't have an excuse for running around naked."

He didn't look bad without any clothes. He was trim and firm. His cock jutted up from a thick light brown bush. His chest was virtually hairless. A glistening clear drop of juice appeared at the tip of his dick as he twirled his drink in his hand.

Clara was sweating. Partly from the beat, partly from the drink, and partly from nerves. She gulped down more of the burning, puckery sour. She felt a hot tingle in her crotch as she contemplated shedding her clothes. She knew what it would lead to. She thought of stripping naked, slowly, while he watched, and her insides knotted up. She couldn't do that, somehow.

"How about some music?" Wil asked.

"Sure," Clara answered, her mouth dry. "Anything's fine."

She watched his dick bob and wave as he walked over to the record player. His pale, tight ass was toward her as he bent over to start the music. She could see his balls between his legs.

His dick leading the way, he came back toward her. She had a mad urge to spread her legs and invite the plunge. Her cunt spasmed at the thought of being speared by his jutting tower. She wasn't a virgin, but she wasn't exactly experienced either. Just enough to get horny at the sight of his cock. She hadn't ever been to bed with him, although they had been dating for several months. It wasn't the first weekend she had spent in his apartment, even. But before, always, there had been clothes between them, even in sleep.

She could still keep clothes between them.

"Hot in here," she observed. She fought the urge to ask him if he would mind if she got naked. That, after all, had been his tiresome line.

"Feel free."

"Thanks," she answered tightly.

"Know what I'd like to do sometime? Take some pictures of you," he said thoughtfully.

"You've taken lots of pictures of me."

"I mean some nudes."

"Oh, come on," she snorted, thinking of how she looked naked. "I'm fat."

"You're not fat. You just have a nice softness to your curves."

"Well, anyway, no pictures." She didn't contradict his assumption that she was going to be nude in a few minutes. Because he was right she would be. Suddenly, she needed to pee.

"Excuse me," she said, setting her second drink aside and getting up. She started to weave drunkenly, then controlled herself. In the bathroom, where she couldn't see his jutting cock, she felt a wave of relief and a twinge of regret, too.

As the water swirled in the toilet, she fiddled nervously with her clothes. Then she took a shaky but resolute breath. Her twat sizzled in anticipation and her guts knotted as she shed her clothes. She glanced in the mirror. Maybe she wasn't fat, but she definitely had a layer of padding. Her pleasantly rounded breasts had faint creases on the undersides. Her pink nipples stiffened with excitement as she watched. She sucked in her gut and studied her muff. It was a delicate brown, almost the same shade as the hair on her head.

"Nice legs," she muttered, pointing her toe, putting off the inevitable. She wondered where her relationship with Wil was going.

She took a long time hanging up her clothes. Then, her pussy seeping excitedly, she grasped the doorknob in one sweaty hand. She stepped out and felt his eyes fasten on her as she crossed the room. In a half daze, she felt warm air touch her, all over.

"Come here," Wil invited, indicating his lap, with its jutting cock.

Clara bit her lip, and changed course. Self-consciously, she sat down on his legs. His cock was a hot bar against her hip. She sat very straight. His arm went around her naked back. Her tits were at the same level as his chin. His eyes were on the pink nubbins. She took her glass, and gulped down the burning booze.

"Who's your friend?" she asked finally, delicately touching his prick.

"His name's George," Wil answered, glancing down at his cock.

"Hello, George. It's a pleasure to meet you," Clara joked tensely, grasping his cock and giving it a gentle squeeze. Under the soft skin it was hard and hot and hungry.

Wil's hand cupped her ribs. She looked at him, and he looked at her, and the magnetic attraction drew her mouth to his. The kiss was innocent, until her impatience made her pry her tongue between his lips. His hand crept up her side, then slid over her naked breast. Her tit burned as their mouths continued the sucking, ravenous kiss. She tightened her grasp on his cock, and felt burning seepings sting her fingers. Her hand slid over his hot meat on a film of juices.

His hand moved from her aching breast to her thigh. She let her legs part. His fingers found her frizzy muff, probed her itching slit, stroking her warm cunt, triggered a hot wave of juice. She turned, rubbed her breast against him, made her nipple flare hotter. Burning trickles of flame surged through her guts as he fingered her cunt.

When he moved, lifting forward off the chair and guiding her to the floor, she kept her eyes squeezed shut. She pressed against him as his finger slid into her velvety tunnel. The rug was hush against her naked flesh. They stretched out on the floor, bare skin to bare skin, her hand in possession of his cock, his hand in possession of her cunt.

"Try two fingers," she moaned, squeezing his cock. The music from the record player swirled crazily, formed a background for her lust.