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I couldn’t reach her. I was running as fast as I could. She ran with grace, naked. Occasionally she would stop, turn, and look at me. Despite this, I couldn’t catch up. I needed to talk to her.
Her face was beautiful and new to me, yet somehow she wasn’t. I was going to lose her. She flitted across the sand, my feet seeming to sink deeper with each step.
Suddenly, I was next to her, and she was smiling. She put her hand on my erection. We hadn’t even talked. She kissed my neck.
It was Mia kissing me. Her mass of red tussled hair covered my face, her left hand gently stroking my dick, my brain fogged with sleep.
The sun was just rising, and a soft golden light flowed through the window. She didn’t wait, and climbed on top of me, grinding her small tuft of red pubic hair on my dick a few times.
I ran my hands firmly up and down her body as she gently rode me. As usual, she started talking. She told me how much she loved my kisses, how no one uses their hands like I do, how much she wants to see me more often.
As she spoke, my mind wandered between the exquisite feeling of her movement and thinking about her drive.
I always wanted a partner who loves as much as me. Here she was, but had I caught her? Her long and thick hair covered me, her lips, and sometimes her teeth, on my neck, as she moved her exquisitely wet pussy slowly up and down as I thrust to meet her.
I reached up, pushed her hair back and put my hands on her face. I pulled her towards me and gently bit her full bottom lip.
After a minute, she broke free of the kiss and straightened up, then rode me harder. I could tell she was getting closer.
She told me about the cute and nerdy soccer player who lived down the street. He would come over when her mother was at tennis. Mia wouldn’t let him kiss her, but she did let him go down on her. If he didn’t come without touching himself, she would sometimes let him sit in a chair across from her. Mia would tug at her little plaid skirt as he stared at her legs. She would tease him, ask him about his dick, tell him his friends wouldn’t believe him, or, if they did, would think he was weak for not having . She would ask him if he liked how her toes looked in her socks. Mia told him the things she let other boys do to her body and where they came. She would giggle when he did.
At a high school party she and her boyfriend snuck into the host’s garage to look at a 1980s era Ferrari. They made out, and then she leaned against the hood and unbuckled his pants. Two other guys came in to peak at the car and were astonished to see a beautiful girl getting pounded. They were about to leave and her boyfriend told them to stay if they wanted to. Eventually, they found some courage and moved closer. She could see their erections and their frozen excitement; one was actually shivering.
She threw her head back and embraced her orgasm. When she became selfaware again, she noticed the nervous one was gone and asked her boyfriend. He said, “He went back into the house to clean up.”
The other one was simultaneously trying to act cool and trying to figure out what to do. This seemed like the best day of his life. Her boyfriend buckled his pants up and stepped away. Mia told the guy she didn’t want a reputation, so he could pull his cock out and jerk off. She knew he wouldn’t tell anyone and encouraged him to come closer. He did.
Now standing in front of Mia, seeing a little come dripping out of her, he started jerking slowly as she casually rested on the hood. It didn’t take long until he shot all over the front of the car, also hitting Mia’s leg.
There was her freshman American Lit professor. He had a small and lovely woodpaneled office. He was tall and thin, sporting a beard with a bit of gray, wore tweed jackets and always a bow tie. On her first visit, ostensibly to talk about This Side of Paradise, she was dressed conservatively in a sheath dress, with a small cardigan. However, her wedges were high for campus and I knew her legs were long enough to make a dress suitable for church look positively indecent.
As she moved the conversation from Fitzgerald to Bukowski, and from Bukoski to Nin, she made sure to cross and uncross her legs, each time allowing the dress to inch up a bit. She would gently touch his hand, his arm, each touch lingering more than a touch from a student should. She smiled, and laughed at his little literary jokes. While comparing herself to Nin’s Mathilde, Mia said she knew her effect on men, but unlike the character, didn’t resent it. In fact, Mia explained to the visibly aroused professor, she relished making men crazy and leaned in to kiss him while running her manicured hand across his trousers.
As with all of her conquests, he was a foregone conclusion and she was soon happily bouncing on his thick tool. As she closed his office door, she looked back to see him sitting there stunned. She then happily strutted through campus with his come slowly dripping down her leg.
As I imagined this, Mia began to spasm. My own orgasm rising, I clenched, trying to hold as long as possible, all the while thinking about the men who had been inside her and the many more who wanted to be.
As I lay there in the brightening morning glow, I remembered the call from my wife, and Mia said, “I love you.”
