“Music or back episodes of Arrested Development?” I asked when we got upstairs, and he chose music.
I sat down near him on the couch and we sat apart for just a moment. He smiled big. He is almost always smiling big, or laughing for some sometimes-indiscernible reason. Charming. Adorable. I smiled back and giggled nervously and he put his arm out for me to snuggle under.
He just radiated warmth. I’m sure I did too. From my perspective, the energy between us was instant and joyful. How awesome is it that someone completely new can just be such a fit sometimes. I heard his heartbeat and felt his beard against my neck. It’s possible that he kissed the top of my head or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. I know he was squeezing my boobs, hard enough to hurt until I told him those aren’t for hurting. (Even after that I still ended up with bruises—should negotiate for unscathed bosoms next time.)
I got up for some reason (Probably to hit skip on the music. He suggested rightly that I might want to make a playlist, but I haven’t been able to really work iTunes since about two updates ago…) and when I came back to the couch, I told him to scooch himself over towards the middle.
“Okaaaay…” he said and then I showed him why—of COURSE so that I could drape myself across his lap for a spanking.
And now it is time to stop and rhapsodize about Steampunk Guy’s hands. Ohman I am smitten with them. They’re big and muscled, with thick, long fingers that don’t always know their own strength. I would go through a whole lot to get to those hands again, to see what other places I can convince him to put them. I miss him already, but he has, like, eight other partners and who knows when/if I’ll see him again.
Anyway, back to me across his lap, girly shoes in the air. At first, he pulled up the back of my dress and left my undies and leggings on. His hand landed on my left ass check with such a perfect and resounding THWACK. Ohboy I missed typing the word THWACK.
He pushed his hand up into my hair and pulled, then pushed my head back towards him so I could reach for a kiss. Please recognize that it is a compliment when I say that he kisses like a teenager—as if some girl had never come along and told him to tone it down with the tongue. Feel free to not tone it down, pal. I liked him in my mouth. I liked his beard soft against my check.
And oh, I get it, I like him. This post is coming out dreamier than I expected.
His spanks alternated between thuddy (another word I’m glad to be back to typing) and stingy, and when I started to wiggle and writhe too much, he tone it down for a sec, let me pause for a sip of my excellent Manhattan, then go harder. He pulled down my leggings but left my underwear (purple with a little white ruffle) pulled down around the bottom of my ass. I wanted his fingers in there, in everywhere.
He pulled me up by the hair to straddle him, and I could feel him hard beneath his jeans. He and his partner has already told me about the excellence of his penis, (Steampunk Guy is braggy and wouldn’t mind me saying so.) and it was living up to the hype. I pushed my wet self against him as he pulled my hair, kissed me emphatically, and ravished my boobs.
I lay back across his lap, facing the ceiling in a breathless haze. He unbuttoned the top of my dress gently and deliberately and pulled each boob out of its bra cup. He sucked my nipples too hard and I had to tell him again, “Those aren’t for hurting. Hurt other things.”
Next Time: We fold down the fold-down couch.