Shouldn’t Be Here Ch. 4 – An Erotic Series


I think about him the entire twenty-minute journey home. A montage of moments of my selection from the night. The curl of his mouth as he laughed at something I said. My God, the draw of his delicious mouth. The image of his hand on my elbow and the flex of his forearm. The moment my eyes found his as he watched me from across the room.

shouldn't be here erotic story

His bare cock. Like a scratched disc, this part plays on repeat. I pay the driver and near run into the house; an uncontrollable sense of urgency devouring me. Climbing the stairs two at a time, I discard my heels, bag and thong as I go and murmur a thanks as the soothing cold of the bathroom floor tiles welcomes my aching feet. 

His bare cock. Exhale.

My hands meet my thighs and I move them up to pull my dress up and over my head; slowing down to enjoy the feel of the material graze and pull over my hard nipples. I run my nails through my hair and massage my head; pushing my thumbs down behind my ears and letting them creep to a light grip around my neck, fingers linking behind. [“I thought you were going to join in…”]. I bring my right hand down and trace the silhouette of my left breast and cup it as my thumb rubs over and around my nipple.

It doesn’t seem possible for it to get harder but it does. It springs back to centre with every passing of my thumb and I gulp hard as my mouth dries and breathing deepens. [“You’re exactly the same to me…”]. I bring my left hand across to nurse my right breast. Hands almost full, my fingers attack more aggressively. I’m tugging and squeezing then, pulling as far as I am able and releasing them to feel the small bounce on their return. I want to be full. I want him to fill me up.

I imagine being back in the room with no pictures, sat in the corner, naked this time, with only him in the room. He’s knelt on the bed facing me. A landing light creeping through the crack of the door behind him darkens the details of his features from where I sit but intensifies his powerful silhouette. He holds his cock in one hand and slowly moves his hand up and down while he stares at me hungrily.

My fingers trace down over my abs and tease the top of my pubic hair as I imagine gripping the arms of the chair, pushing my hips forward and opening my legs wide to give him a view. He tilts his head to one side and moves his predatory gaze to my exposed cunt, open for him. Begging for him. 

I grab an elastic from the vanity unit and pull my hair into it. My skin is raw with desperation to be touched and despite the warmth of the Summer night, bumps cover me from head to toe. I close the bathroom door, stand with my back up against it, reach my hand around my head and loop the fold of my pony around the robe hook on the door. I’m taller than it is high and when I bend my knees slightly, backside against the cool satin of the robe hanging from it, balancing on the balls of my feet, the soft pull lifts my jaw and extends my neck.

A groan escapes me and I’m dragged back into my fantasy and I’m on the bed with him; his hand gripping my hair firmly as my pony wraps around his wrist. Back arched and arse presented to him, he rams into me. My arms are stretched behind me and I dig my nails into his thighs, using him to pull myself hard on to him. As he reaches a hand around to attack my clit, I shift my hand underneath him and softly tug his balls before teasing the soft spot before his arse. 

The bathroom door bangs as I push myself into it, thinking about him filling me with no room to spare. I use my left hand to unveil my clit and spank my pussy with my right, over and over, harder and harder. “Fuck me!” I breathe into the empty room. “Please,” I beg him.

I think of him wrapping his arm around me and pulling me so my back and head are pressed up against his front as we move together, up and down. His grip in my pony constant. His mouth on my neck. Him instructing in my ear. “Come on my dick.” “Now.”

There’s no restraining myself. No stopping it. My feet shift on the tiles and as my orgasm starts to take hold, I involuntarily throw my head forward. The hook’s hold on my pony tugs it back and I scream my pleasure into the room. 

I’m still recovering on my bed less than two hours after leaving him when the invitation lands in my messages. “I have to have you. Meet me tomorrow?” I’ve replied before I’ve even thought about my answer, “Yes. Send me where and when.”

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