Up in SF

Michelle was busy at the ironing board as I walked up the back steps and saw her through the glass kitchen door. She turned as I tapped on the door frame and was startled for a minute. Suppressing a shriek and relaxing in place for a second, she gave that unplanned joyful smile with her immaculately perfect teeth and right then her eyes betrayed her relief that in fact I did come visit her from afar.

The character she plays is one of indifference, but underneath she is far from it. She stands firm on her independence, never claiming need or supplicating herself to the whim of others. She rather prefers to let anyone believe that she's self sufficient. Michelle shifts around the notion that should we make any impromptu plans, and should I cancel them like the bastard prick that I am, that's she'd get by happily careless about it on company the friends she has at her every beck and call, and in the fact that she has a well engineered toy and batteries in bulk from Costco. It's nice to know how replacable I really am.

Of course the ambivalence is a ruse. Michelle is addicted to sex and companionship in the best junky way possible. She's not a slut but somewhere under that veneer of the nice girl is someone who knows enough men to fill her calendar and her slit with just as much firm vein ridden flesh and personal lubricative occupation as she might require. Some of those who would fit her mangled use of the term "suitor" are clearly more desired by her secret agenda than others. Just where I fit is just not quite important to me.

The smile vanished and in it's place was the person who'd greet me at the door had I been a plumber or pizza delivery boy. She's not cold, just very good at poker when she applies herself, although given my ability to spot a faker from across the globe, she's as obvious to me as day is to night.

She commanded, "Lock the door please", as she took her short petite butt across the kitchen back to her ironing board.

I followed her and catching up as she stopped I leaned over and kissed her on the shoulder. She let out a satisfactory "mmmm" as she picked up the iron again and continued to ignore me with what she was doing before I rudely interrupted.

"Am I turning you on with my shocking display of domesticity Mr. Leland?"

She leaned over her ironing board and started stroking the hot metal over her work shirt, steaming it whenever the compulsive desire to make that satisfying noise hit her. The seem of her shorts bisected her small butt and gave me a pristine view of small curvature meeting firm thighs.

"you can be the judge of that one..." I stepped forward and let the firm tube of muscle that formed the underside ridge of my erection sit squarely on her clothed butt. I gripped her hips and pulled her pelvis back onto me and conducted miniature up and down motions that amounted to fully clothed dry humping of her firm ass.

She exhaled and closed her eyes, leaning on the iron while thermal physics threatened to take over and distractedly burn a hole through her delicate material. Having sat in the car for hours thinking of fucking her my penis was for a long time already in a lubricated state of anticipation. It had erected itself on my thoughts for a significant number of false starts already that day, this time it was not a false start and already still clothed I could feel the yea nea physical torture of full release now or later. I chose later.

Struggling to find volume, and quavering a little she asked, "you were hard when you came in here weren't you?"

I put hand around her face to cover her mouth and put my fingers in between her lips. Still pushing her hips against the ironing board I reached around and undid her shorts. She lifted herself up on her toes, as if to help me get her shorts off her. Just as I suspected as I pulled them down she was wearing those little black sheer panties, the memory of which I'd used a number of times to ease semenary pressure on those days where I'd sleep alone.

For me the feeling of my hand sliding down into a that beautiful space between a woman's legs while she's squirming firm against me just serves to make my rod thicker and harder. The sensation of doing it serves to increase the flow of blood to the head of my dick where the nerve endings are set on fire so that not only is my heart pounding, but the head of my dick has a steady rythm to it, threatening to spit it's wad at any moment.

It's almost the perfect subtle mind trip to put myself in that position where I'm semi-molesting a partially clothed woman. The fantasy in my head makes me the best candidate for preparation of our fake impregnation, the best roadmap to opening her up good enough with my fingers. The most direct and overcoming path to eliminating her resistance to being fucked enough and letting her sweetly surrender to going with the feeling of my solid shaft penetrating her. By the time I'm ready to expand her vaginal muscles from the inside, she's good and ready and accept that my seed is going to fill her completely and even though I'm rough and forceful, I'm going to satisfy her enough one way or another.

I'm quick to remove my shorts and boxers.

As my hand was firmly in place inside the front of her panties I was still rolling my index finger over her clitoris she was anchored in place. In a one-two motion I slipped on a condom and pulled down and aside the crotch of her underwear. Quickly making sure her pussy was moist with a finger I let her panty elastic snap back over my dick and aimed it squarely at her hole.

Placing the newly freed hand on her shoulders, and firmly pulling her back towards me with my other palm sitting comfortably above her pubic mound and below her navel, I pushed her shoulders forward and forcefully slid my dick all the way into her as if I needed her to be doubled over to allow the whole length to inhabit her at once.

She let out a guttural moan and pushed back towards me smooshing my balls against her clitoris. Still bent over, the iron had fallen over the other side of the ironing board, she grinded on my crotch keeping my penis as far in her as possible.

"no, we can't do this" she whimpered and moved to the left straightening up. I followed her, my dick still buried in her, and holding the back of her neck kept her bent over. She saved a head butt of the wall by putting her hands out in front of her.

I'm amazed at the angles at which sex works with for some women and how those same angles don't work for others. With Michelle, most any angle works. She has the most versatile universally jointed vagina genetics can produce.

Still moving forward, her back corrected it's arch and I pushed her squarely against the wall which served the straighten her up. With two thrusts into her, keeping my dick wedged in her slot, she was flat against the drywall inches from the entrance to her bedroom. Thrusting up and under her now spread legs, I titled my hips and lifted up her lightweight onto me and used the door frame to hold my body leaning backwards slightly.

"I want to, ugh, be, ugh, on my, ugh, back"...

Need I continue?