Cougar Bait in the Coffee Shop ♦ Part Two

Cougar Bait in the Coffee Shop

(PART TWO)

by S.N.McKibben

The moment you've all been waiting for! (Or at least in my head it is.)

The conclusion of COUGAR BAIT IN THE COFFEE SHOP.

If you missed Part One, you can always go back and read the first part:

Cougar Bait in the Coffee Shop Part One

This story was fun and seemed to drip from my hands like water. But this was way back in 2013 when writing was my experiment. I started off with the male perspective and have continued it for most my stories. I can't explain why (men) but it seemed natural to me. Perhaps because the male mind is a fascination for me. Perhaps because I enjoy the company of men. Or maybe because I can identify with men more often.

You'll may notice that this story is up on Amazon for purchase, so why am I posting it here for free?

It's because I'm hoping that if you like it enough, you'll want to support me or have this story on your kindle/kindle app or whatever you use and give me $1 for entertaining you.

I also believe in giving people the chance to see if they like my stories. Hence, the reason why I do free stories once a month. Who knows if I'll be able to do this for how long but if all you can give is a share and a like, that will get the word out to other people. Believe it or not, that does help.

If $1 isn't too rich for your blood, click the button below for the full version, formatted ebook.

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If you're strapped for cash, then consider this a gift. Pay it forward. Smile at someone and that will payment enough for me. 

Happy reading!

♥ ~ Stephy

​Copyright © 2012 S.N. McKibben

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted, with the exception of a reviewer who may quote passages in a review, without written prior permission from the publisher. 

WARNING: EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT

The content below is for people 18 years or older. If you are offended or uncomfortable by mature, sexual content, please STOP reading and find another one of my stories with less material with sexual content. Thank you. ​

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Cougar Bait in the Coffee Shop

PART TWO

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​Like an eager mastiff, I’m early.

I remind myself to breathe.

Don’t show you’re anxious. Be that guy. The one in the mirror.

That guy tells me showing eagerness is a turn-on. It shows I’m real. Interested. I don’t have to be insecure about what I want.

Yeah, but I want her real bad.

Even in public I’m a little out of control. Just a little. All because I know I’m going to see Satomi.

A shock of beautiful white hair walks through the door, and my control explodes. I want her. My mind rips down those tight jeans of hers and my inward alter ego pounds Satomi, rabbit style, against the glass. Fuck, I’m horrid.

She looks around, and her gaze slides right past me. Damn, I know I look a little different. Maybe I should stow away the fake-rim glasses.

I walk towards her, and she moves away giving me a place to exit at the door, still scanning.

Halting by her side, I smile and let her eyes continue the search.

“Maybe I can help you find who you’re looking for?”

Her wandering gaze freezes and her head drags its way to my face. I love when people’s jaw hinge becomes suddenly inoperable and hangs there limp. But with Satomi, I’m thinking about a long hard shaft of a certain part of my anatomy going in and out that open mouth.

Oh, the woman can read my mind and those lips clasp together in a smile. Teasingly she licks her lips, and I remember how that tongue feels against mine—and my index finger.

“Oh. My. God.” She scans me head to toe.

Oh, yes. I wish I had that little black helmet Vader pen that said “I have you now” when you pressed its head. I’d lay my thumb down on repeat.

“Hello Satomi.”

“Kal?”

I dip my head. “Yes.”

“Wow.” She shakes her head. “Just wow.”

My heart leaps inside the ego-train and both ride off into the sunset together. “Wow enough to forget about certain society restrictions?” Looking like this, she couldn’t think of me as too young.

“It helps.” She wraps an arm around my waist and rubs my stomach. “But I hope you still look twenty-three underneath this.”

All brain function ceases. I think my heart stutters. She’s touching me. Oh God, she’s touching me. Gentleman. Promised. “I…pastry? Coffee?”

“Yes.” Her agreement sounds dirty. Or maybe that was just me.

I place our order while she grabs a table. The girl behind the counter looks at me differently, too. I like it. Geez, if all I need is to put a little make-up on, I’d done this sooner. Still I’m nervous.

Coffee may not have been the brightest idea. Put some ice in my mocha, and I could make you a frappe with my shaking hands -- no blender needed. If I’d known my nerves would be this bad, I might have ordered herbal tea. Thank goodness they put caps on or Satomi might have half a coffee and crumbs to eat. As it was she took the coffee out of my hands and ignored my temporary Tourette’s syndrome.

“So,” At least nerves didn’t make it to my voice. “Is it just in public that you’re shy about younger men?”

I made an Asian blush, not that it’s really hard. But a flushed Satomi is sexy as hell.

“I wouldn’t say age specifically but there is a level of maturity that comes with older men.”

“Why is it that women find it difficult to be with younger men, but not older ones?”

She rolls her eyes. “Why is it that men prefer younger women but not older ones?”

“I’m young.” Pft. Younger guys went with older women all the time. Frowning, I have a sense of what bothers her so much. “Are you divorced?”

Satomi’s mouth thinned, and she nods.

Ahhh. I know what happened. “He went with a younger woman, I take it.”

“That obvious, huh?” She grimaces.

“Satomi, present company excluded, we’re not all assholes.”

Her eyes crinkle. “You’re not an ass.”

I rolled my eyes, remove my rim glasses and stow them in my shirt pocket.

That silence that’s uncomfortable around strangers, the kind when you’re getting to know someone and you don’t know what to say…this was different. Satomi didn’t let that happen, yet we say nothing for a very long while. Instead, she soundlessly asks for my hand with a gesture. I take it. Our connection hums up my arm.

“He used to talk. A lot. So, please don’t. Unless you have something you want to ask. But not for menial conversation, please, dear God, I’m sorry if you like the sound of your own voice.”

I smile. “I can go days without talking.”

“Good. Because that’s all I want to say about my past.”

She looks so fragile at that moment. Imagine my brave Satomi, the woman who reads soft-porn in public, the lady who takes a meek guy in hand and gives him confidence enough to break out of his shell, the woman so comfortable with herself -- cowed. It wasn’t the silence that got to me. I just want to know what she is thinking. “Do you want to have sex with me?” Yep, classy as ever.

White eyebrows lift. “That wasn’t made clear yesterday?”

“My version of the story is I seduced you to bringing me home, ravished your mouth, humped your leg and then retreated like the cowardly dog I am.”
White mocha spills over the table. Satomi covers her mouth with a battalion of napkins and holds her stomach while heaving. I think she is laughing. I hope she is laughing.

“Are you okay?” I pat her back.

She nods, tears streaming down her face.

I go to gather more napkins and help clean up the mess. God it felt good to make her laugh. We both needed it. My nerves calm down with someone other than me to worry about. When she settles and I have the nerve to ask, I say. “So, I look okay?”

Satomi rewards me with a smile. “Oh, yeah.”

It makes me sad in a way. This must be what girls feel like when they have to put on a mask for their dates. But Satomi is different. “So you’re not embarrassed to be seen with me.” I tease.

She leans back in her chair searching my eyes. Oh shit. She looks like she is going to cry.

“I’m sorry.” She whispers. “I didn’t really expect you to look different, or older.” She reaches out for my hand again. “It’s the sweetest thing a guy’s done for me lately.”

Whew. Being with her is so easy. I should let it lay. Not having a filter gets me slapped. A lot. It’s never stopped me. “Why is being with a younger guy bothersome for women?”

She smiles at me, and I prepare for teasing. “Because most women aren’t pedophiles.”

A very unmanly squawk flutters a protest. I am legal. More than legal. I can drink! Go to bars. Hell, most people tell me I’m past my prime. Isn’t that a sucker punch. Even if I deserve that, because I asked, this wasn’t getting me anywhere. Time to change tactics. “This is definitely not the type of conversation I have with girls my own age.”

She tilts her head. “You’re much cuter if you just sit there.”

My mouth hangs open. Now wait a minute. Wasn’t it the guy telling the girl to shut up? I close my mouth, sit up and sip coffee. On my own, I realize that I needed to prove that I am mature enough to be a contender in her life. If I want to have her, I am going to have to step it up. I ask my inner Richard Gere how I can prove my worth.

“I’m curious about you.” I sip my coffee with as much sophistication as I can pretend to possess.

“What do you want to know?” Her smile and her eyes tease me into thinking about all the nasty things I want to do to her.

Oh, I could ask what she did, or what she liked to do for fun, all those bland questions you ask to get to know someone but I need memorable. I want engagement. “Have you ever…wrestled with alligators?”

She stares at me for a fraction of a second. “No. Have you?”

“It’s on the bucket list.” I shrug.

She takes a piece of her crumble cake and pops it into her mouth. She chews in silent contemplation. Her gaze falls to my hands, and she traces lines from my knuckles to my fingertips. That simple act of touch has my groin on fire. It is so intimate and so naughty the way she has my dick on end that I feel embarrassed for being in public.

“You’re going to make it uncomfortable and embarrassing to walk out of here.”

“How so?” She grins in a way that tells me she knows exactly what she is doing.

“Am I just fun for you?”

She pulls her hand back and retreats in her seat.

Oh crap. If not my dick, it’s my mouth getting me in trouble. “I mean that’s okay if I am. I just want to know what I’m in for.”

She smirks. “A companion would be nice.”

No hard involvement. Would a relationship with her go beyond the physical? Is this too fast to be thinking about this stuff right now? I have her now. Isn’t my goal to get laid? Or could she be the one? I remind myself of what I look like. Having make-up on could be an advantage.

As best I can in a chair, I puff out my chest, lift my chin and look her straight in the eye. Not to intimidate. To invite. With a low baritone voice, one that guy in my mirror would use, I say, “Tell me about your day.”

Her gaze mimmicks my own. “I massaged three people, did some yoga and set up an appointment for a new client.”

A massage therapist! I didn’t think my cock could get bigger, but it did. The throbbing starts to hurt.

She narrows her eyes and points a finger at me. “If you ask me if I give happy endings I will hurt you.”

“I put on make-up for a living.” I raise my hands in defense. “I have no room to talk.”

“I thought you were in school.”

“That’s what I’m in school for.”

God. Can we go to bed now? Fuck I’m an asshole.

As ever the blurter, I announce, “This is going the wrong way.”

Satomi’s perplexed look ages her face. I want her to smile, to have that easy air around me again.

I wave my hands hoping they'll cancel out my last sentence. “I mean, I'm really nervous.”

Her smile of relief stills my shakiness. “Me too.”

“Can we agree on one thing?”

“What?” The angst returns in her body making the wood chair underneath her look plush.

“Can we not push anything?”

All the girls I'd "known" used me like a wet rag, and tossed me aside. Yeah, that's great in theory, but one-night-stands don't make you coffee in the morning. They don't stay the night and keep your bed warm. One-night-stands don't giggle at your jokes because they're too busy gathering their clothes and leaving, half-dressed.

I've had one too many encounters where I'd gotten laid, never to see the girl again. It was like I couldn't keep any of them satisfied. If true, what an ego rake. So, as I was saying, sleeping around is great in theory, but in reality, it's lonely. Which is why I want to do something different. I like Satomi's smile. I love her soft white hair. The way it parts, how she wears it. How she smells. How she tastes. God, I can't go down this line of thought right now. The way she was staring at me, in that bewildered awe, gets me thinking maybe I could start something--something substantial. Then a bright smile plasters over her face.

"But I had plans."

I catch my breath at the gleam in her eyes. My pants riot. I can’t trust myself to say anything, so I don’t.

A slight look of concern flashes across her face. "Okay, now I need you to say something."

"Satomi," I breathe. "You're going to make it extremely difficult for me to leave with my pride intact."

"Oh?" The table bumps and she wraps her leg around mine.

All that crap about waiting--yeah, that notion didn't bother to walk out the door, it expired on the ground in the promise of her seductive, coy word.

She sips the dregs of her mocha. "Kal, you are a wonderful man. For you to do this," she waves at my face.

Was she blowing me off? "Nah, I'm desperate."

She laughs and the sound sends me to heaven.

"How long did it take you?"

"Hey, I'm a professional. I was good to go in fifteen minutes." Liar. Liar. Pants on fire and not just because of my verbal embellishment.

She isn’t buying it either. Christ, the shift in power washes over me. Was I that easy to mow over? But, God did I like it. Letting Satomi take control was a heady aphrodisiac. I grit my teeth in response to the under table play. Her leg on mine is enough to make me explode.

"What's the matter?" Her face drops in concern.

"Nothing." I hiss. "Just a little sore."

Her eyebrows draw together and then her eyes fly wide. "Oh, blue balls?"

That makes me chuckle. "You could say that." Or you could say chafe rash from cumming in my pants after an encounter between a stucco wall, jeans and scratchy wool underwear.

"Are you done with your coffee?" She gets up and tosses her trash.

When she returns I take her hand and say, "Not yet."

"Well, when you're ready, I'd like to help with your problem."

I freeze mid drink. Rotating what she implied in my head, I set my cup down. "What happened to not pushing?"

"Am I?" She raises a brow, the edges of her lips turning up in playful mischief.

"Promise me one thing." I grimace at the painful twitch in my pants.

She leans down, and we touch foreheads. "What?"

"Don't kick me out, like, right after."

Her look of pity gets to me. Shit. All this time, am I just a lousy lay?

"I was hoping you would spend the night." Her somber face brightens. "I learned a new yoga move I can try."

Wheezing down the rest of my pastry, I held up a finger. "I need a minute."

She sat. "Should I talk about fluffy kittens?"

"So I don't come in the coffee shop? Yeah, that'd be nice." I reach in my breast pocket and put my fake glasses back on.

She laughs. "You are too sexy. I'm almost floating off my chair."

I tilt my head. “Appreciating the sexy part, but the other comment?”

She rolls her eyes and whispers in my ear. "I'm really wet."

Oh. My eyes fly open. "Not helping." I hiss.

I kiss her knuckles and breathe. "Ready." Or as ready as I'll ever be. The ache in my groin slows my ascent. Pride won’t let me stiffen or allow a hitch in my step, but my jaw clenches and takes the brunt of my sore package. Things aren’t all bad. I am holding Satomi's hand and our arms swing, lazy hammock style.

We are quiet during the walk to condo number one twenty three, but once we get to the door, I turn to her.

"Would it be weird to ask you on another date before we have sex? I mean, if you still want to have sex." What a dweeb I am.

Satomi snorts, an honest-to-God pony squeal. "That made no sense."

Sighing, I start again. "Do you want to have sex?"

"Jesus, you've got to be the only guy in town that I have to plead for it." She pulls a key from her very tight jeans pocket.

"Okay, okay!" I hold up my hands in surrender. "I just kinna don't want this to be like, a one-time thing."

"Awww." Satomi coos.

"Don't get too mushy," I shoulder her arm like a guy buddy. I don’t want her to think I am getting serious. "I'm just securing another date." I muse nervously.
She unlocks her door and tugs at my shirt sleeve to come inside. When I stumble into her condo it feels like I'd taken a walk into the orient. The floor isn’t wood, but it isn’t carpet either. Some kind of firm but squishy interlocking mats that put a spring in my step. A regal bonsai tree stands on an equally impressive wood mantel near a window. Symbols on tapestries line the walls. Sparse furniture in strategic placement displays a demur setting. Soft light cast this place as a quiet haven free from traffic or unwanted conversation. Perfect place for a message.

A low table, and I mean low as in take your shoes off and there’s barely enough room to fit your knees under, sits in a dining room area. My eye drifts to an odd bamboo chair. The chair is odd because it isn’t on the ground like most Japanese chairs. In fact cushions usually replace couches in many a Japanese home. But not only does this chair have legs, it has a low back and arms. An imperial chair. I am not sure about it so I turn conversationally to something I do know.

“Beautiful hiragana.” I motion at the tapestries. Hiragana is one of a few Japanese alphabets. Each corresponding character represents a word. And like many poems on tapestries, this one is sad.

Satomi turns to me in curious fashion. “Wow. Can you read it?”

“It’s a Haiku.” I adjust my fake spectacles and read. “Everything I touch, with tenderness, alas, pricks like a bramble.”

She claps her hands. “Oh Kal! You’re amazing!”

Despite the depressing message, I beam at her. I wonder what kind of life she’s had to surround herself with sorrow. Many of these haiku have somber meaning. Before I can reflect any further she wraps her arms around me. The feel of her heart racing kept time with the throb of my cock.

“Kal.”

This close to her, feeling her small frame, absorbing the heat her body threw off, I’m not thinking straight.

“Yes.” My response is more of a take me answer.

Her words came soft in apology. “I can’t promise anything.”

“Will you do me a favor then and tell me if I’m a lousy lay? It would explain a lot.” My brain kicks in, and I reciprocate with my arms around her.

Her smile fades and her eyes darken. She looks mad. “Who said you were a lousy lay?”

“No one.” My hands drift up and down her back. “It’s just that I don’t seem to get a girlfriend.”

Satomi slid her hand down my front. All the way to the hardness between my legs.

I gasp. “Oh God.”

“All you need is the want to please your partner and a little communication.”

And at that moment, she is communicating fine. I did a little communicating myself, just not with words. Lips collide, tongues thrash. I taste the white mocha along her teeth and the inside of her cheeks. If I was feeling especially forthright, I could tell you if she has tonsils or not.

She meets me with as much force. I grab her ass and pull her in closer. My other hand does the same to the back of her head.

“Satomi,” My blood roars through my ears. “I need you naked, now.”

She pushes me over to the imperial chair and I fall into it. Her shirt floats over to drape me. My helpless eyes rake across flesh and sexy underwear. Her pants disappear and fuck all if I didn’t receive the most beautiful lingerie show of my life. Lacey panties and matching pink bra, Satomi kneels before me, clawing at my zipper. Never in my life have I seen a comparable desperation to fuck as mine. The sight paralyzes me. My very own sex banshee.

Expert hands whip out my cock with fluid ease, and her greedy mouth plunges down over my exposed masculinity.

Hot, raw need blinds me, literally. Unintelligible cries escape my throat while my mind tries interpreting the intensity of both pleasure and pain. Her tongue swirls around, stroking all the facets of my dick while her head bobs. She is really getting acquainted with the part of me I love. Hell, I think she loves little Kal as much as I do. Her tongue feels so good wrapping around, dipping down, teasing all the veins supplying blood to the ruthless organ dictating my bliss. But my cock also throbs in soaring agony.

Little Kal makes his displeasure known at having to wait so long for this. Satomi strokes me as any connoisseur would a rare delicacy and soon the pleasurable shock evolves into revelry. Without shame, I wail in pleasure. Each moan boosts her rapport. Every cry receives hearty oral engulfment.

I can admit it, I called her name. Several times.

All the while she sucks a little harder for my unabashed surrender. But my end is coming too fast. Watching her head bob up and down while she brings me to new heights does me in faster than I anticipate. I grip the arms of the imperial bamboo chair.

“Satomi, I’m close.” I wheeze.

She does not slow or pull out. God she drives faster. Fuck.

“Satomi, I’m going to come.” Admittance gets me more excited. My chest tightens. Breaths rattle in-and-out in gusts. I’m not ready for the annihilation of every nerve in my body. My entire self is the whole of what Satomi is doing to me. Air pricks my arm hairs to full attention. Every muscle denies my request to relax. This orgasm will be swift and unstoppable. All control lost, I try to warn her.

This isn't just pleasure. It is an onslaught of domination. A conquest of decimating every thought until all I have is the final explosion. The power she has over me. The power of my complete and utter attention. She owns it.

All my strength goes with my spasms of ecstasy. Cannon-shot rips out my cock and down her throat. A second spasm tears a cry from me. “Oh, God!”

She is still pumping, and I halt her very talented mouth with a hand pressing against the back of her head, holding her in place.

Satomi swallows every ounce I shoot out. A third explosion, or possibly the seventh, rips through me as strong as the first pump and sinks me so far into myself I think I lose consciousness for a moment.

The last dribbles squeeze out and now I can’t move. Not that I want my dick out of her mouth, but I wonder if her jaw is tired. Releasing my hand from the crown of her head, I caress her cheek.

Cock still in her mouth, white eyebrows and hazel brown eyes look up at me. A wave of lust flushes over my chest. Fuck that was hot. As tender as my shaking hands capable, I brush an escaping lock of that beautiful white hair off her face.

“You are amazing.” This close to her, being allowed to touch her I can’t stop. My hands glide over skin and under pink lingerie.
A heart stopping smile rewards my praise. My dick flips aside as she releases her “captive”. 

The whistle of a kettle breaks her away from me. Completely drained, I can’t stop her from going. Two minutes of dozing, and she was back.

Tea was my prize for listlessly waiting. Not like I can stand up at the moment, but compared to the loss of her company, the gesture is almost trite. However, a woman waiting on me like this feels rewarding.

Scantily clad Satomi is beautiful. They say give a guy ten minutes and he’s good to go for another round. Being that this is usually the time women point at the door and tell me “out,” I’d never experienced that second wind.

It was great being thrown out the first few times. But, with Satomi I hope for more.

Life pulses back into my dick. Christ, I want it again. An unfamiliar ache rises along with little Kal. One that tells of strain from use. Excellent! 

Satomi notices my rising from the dead. Fast as a button pop, her pink lacy bits go to the way side. Oh, yes! Again!

Not as desperate this time around, allowances for my own stripping commence. Standing, albeit meekly, I pull off my pants and tighty-whities—or would have if my shoes were off. Wow. She has me backwards and loving it.
Eventually, I’m naked and blushing at the hungry expression on her face. This time I fish out a condom from my pants and roll it on, knowing the sexiest woman I know is my audience.

Preparing to lay her down and go at it, I don’t have the chance. Satomi turns tigress and pushes my ass back in the chair, then climbs on top of me.

“So, it’s true that older women like sex more.”

A pause. I don’t like the pensive look she gives me.

Shit. I shouldn’t mention age. “Hey, don’t go down that road. We’re having a good time.”

Running her hands over my pecks, I wonder what else I can do to close this gap in maturity difference. I know that’s what is bothering her. “Come on baby, you look twenty-five.”

Satomi snorts and slaps my chest.

“Seriously, I pegged you with code name ‘felony’ when I first saw you.” My hands glide along her front. I want to be on a first name basis with those puckering nipples. I want to know her very intimately. What she likes. How she likes to be stroked. What do I need to do to make her arch her back in sweet, indulgent abandon? My fingers travel down her sides to the folds of her hairless sex.

Her body relaxes. “It’s my Asian blood.”

My free hand reaches up and gently pulls the ties holding her braids. Setting those aside, she lets me unwind her two pigtails. Even after having a blow job, this feels like the most intimate thing I’ve done with her. White, wavy hair hides her face and covers her breasts. Long hair has the same effect on me as playing with buttons. Rigid, hard and ready, my cock leaps and slaps her belly.

“You like that.” She giggles, cupping her breasts.

My response comes out more serious than I intend, but heartfelt. “You’re that beautiful.”

She leans and sucks my bottom lip.

I moan. “Get on the floor.”

Satomi ignores me and instead she grabs the back of the chair.

“What are you doing?” I grin. Her breasts are in my face. How was I to object?

She spreads her legs and steps on the chair’s arms. Crouching, Satomi has me pinned to the chair.

Yes, it’s odd to say a hundred-pound woman with her ass on your crotch has you pinned, but that ass was very persuasive. My attention is all hers. If she has plans to mount me, stallion-style, I have no objections.

Satomi hovers over me. This woman is strong. She suspends that luscious slit over my dick, holding herself up with arms and feet. A shot of sexual current flashes down from my brain to my groin. I’m not going to waste this virility. I reach behind me, drape a hand over the chair-back and interlace our fingers together. I squeeze her hand, admitting my awe while my other hand holds my cock. Playing prey to her wild cat, I wait for her next move. An urge to tease her flits at the edge of my thoughts, but she wastes no time in lowering gently down my engorged shaft.

Oh, dear God. She claims my dick. And I do mean she claims me because that is how it is.

Restrained, pinned down, unable to move my joyful entreaty proclaims her authority. Every inch I yield seals my fate. Yes, this woman can own my dick, my balls, my body and every rapturous thought I can give.

Jeeesus.

The hot molten pleasure obscures my already dirty mind. It’s her pussy proclaiming me hers. Do I want control back?

Her ass settles to my hips, and I can feel the end of my cock touching the very end of her vaginal wall. Oh I can die a happy man. My other hand meets with hers. Control belongs to Satomi. I fill her every which way her pussy stretches. She rises up just as slowly as she’d come down, and I gasp, “More.”

Her hips rise till cold air hits the flare of my head, and she starts the process down. Tortuously slow, she lowers, warming my cock. I squeeze her hands, expressing my pleasant grievance. Subduing the temptation to pry my entangled fingers out of hers, place my hands on her hips and pound into eternal bliss cost me a bit of control. But that might hurt her. This is her show. She’d taken the lead and hell would freeze before I squelch this kind of initiative.

As fast as her mouth had been, her body is slow. In effect, she forces me to feel every crevice of her inner walls.

When I said I wanted to know every part of her, I meant it. I was getting what I asked for and express my gratitude with very unmanly moans.

My pleasure excites her. Every one of my gasps widens the pupils of her eyes. Sweat pools at my belly. Muscles concentrate on remaining still and not driving in-and-out with fierce conviction. I let her pussy suckle me, envelope me, trace itself and mold to my dick. That’s what I want, a perfect mold of my cock on her insides so every other man wouldn’t—couldn’t make her feel this good.

“Faster.” My plea fell on deaf ears.

Satomi gazes at me with a crazed look. I ‘m not the only one “suffering.” God, how much control did it take to deny oneself the ability to let go?

Again she sits all the way down, and again she lifts with the same precise slow claiming of my body. Hell and heaven had never been one place for me. This is an interesting type of torture for which I would volunteer. Again with another slow prolonged engulfment, and I can’t take it anymore.

“Satomi, fuck!”

I steady her hips and keep them high while my feet brace on firm ground. My hips and lower back pump to meet her. I am not gentle. I am not slow. I desperately shove myself inside her. Our bodies slap out a tempo. We make music and produce a symphony of pleasure. Gaining some control back, I want it all.

“Hold onto me.” I lift us both out of the chair. I impress myself. I can still gyrate while taking a step and setting her on the padded floor. Being on top of her, covering her, brought out all the possessive drive a man feels when he’s with his woman. I need her attention. I want her supplication. She won’t be the only one dominating how I feel. Her reserve drives me to madness. I will not allow her to be the typical quiet Asian woman. I want to hear her.

“You like this?” My hips pound sending shock waves of nerve-frying pleasure through my dick.

She nods with eyes closed.

Oh-no-you-don’t! “I want to hear it.” I growl.

Hands positioned for push-ups I plunge madman-style, tightening my ass to drive harder.

Satomi tries to pull me down, but I have none of it. She wraps her legs around my thighs. Her lips brush the tip of my ear lobe. Only her ass touches the rug. Then the slightest whimper. Hot breath against my ear unleashes the real monster inside me.

“Oh, yes!” My frantic pace less methodical. With Satomi saddled right where I want her, I lift to my knees, hips driving, rabid as ever. “Don’t hold back.”

Her entire body jitters. I hold onto the earthquake ripping through my lover, feeling every shock wave and then, “Kalyan!”

Oh God my dick is being milked for all its worth. I pump twice more before I meet her in orgasm. The deluge has me wondering if she peed on me. Still felt good. More than good. Fantastic.

I crinkle my eyebrows. “Good?”

The ear-to-ear grin on her face pumps up my pride.

“Yes.” She flops into me, and I hold her. Both of us gloriously sweating. That’s right. I just had sex…and a blow job!

We lay there for some minutes─content in every way, my body full, sated, relaxed. While I drift further into the other side of consciousness, Satomi wiggles.

Springing back to resilience, she lifts herself in my arms. “I’m hungry.”

“Okay.” I grin in idiot happiness. “We could go out, come back and do this all again.” I like that idea.

Damn if that twinkle in her eye says she likes that idea too. “My treat, I don’t cook.”

One of my louder snorts sneaks past my non-existent social filter.

“Okay, okay,” Unwrapping herself from me she stands and holds a hand out. “I know how to cook, but I’m not going to. Shower first.”

Another idea I like. Slippery soap, my hands, Satomi’s nipples. Sounds like a great combination. I take her hand.

“But before we go out can you take off your make-up?”

I frown. Touching my face I wonder if the latex is peeling. “Do I look that bad?”

“No.” She leads me down a hall. “You look flawless. But, I think I can wait until your grey highlights are natural.”

“Hey, it made you comfortable enough to…” Wow. I do have a filter, only it’s too late.

She smiles and teases my chest with her fingers. “Make love to you?”

Not what I was going to say, but—”Yeah, that’s it.”

Satomi laughs. She totally got me.

“I want the real Kal.”

Oh look! Hope. “This is the real Kal.”

“I want the no make-up Kal.”

​I smile following her into the shower. “You have him.”

Dear Reader,
 
When I started, I noticed a theme occurring in my writing.  It was about things I wanted to talk about, but didn't know how.  Spreading my short stories out as a whole I realized I was a not "normal" girl trying to work in the confines of a "normal" world.  I have now realized the un-normal is me and I'm just fine!  I might push the limits of acceptable concepts in my writing, but that's why I write.  The Shorts-off series are stories that explore relationships and human behavior.  I love reader input so don't be shy about leaving me a message. Contact me here on my blog or my Facebook at:

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S.N. McKibben

---

Excerpt for “But For You, Yes”

Copyright © 2012 S.N. McKibben

“Can I ask you a question?” I posed in the bed with my muscled arm flexed holding up my head. Thoughts swam around in my mind about how I should ask my girlfriend of six months my deal breaker question.

She rolled over slowly, staring at me with that oh-so-familiar serious look. Melonie was the intuitive type. She always knew when I wasn’t joking and when my jokes had truth to them. It made her an invaluable companion, along with her olive skin, ebony hair, and eyes with the power of a black hole. That combination of hers never failed to get me to “rise” to any occasion she wanted. Plenty of those occasions were kinky enough to make me have hope that this relationship could go much further than ones in the past and fulfill my sexual perverseness.

“What do think about back-door love?” I thought I was being as suave as possible about the subject but wasn’t reassured by her giggles and shaking head.

She climbed over me, pinned a kiss on my forehead and sauntered out of the bedroom. I lay there wondering what she had implied.

Damn woman, that wasn’t an answer. Again, her intuitive nature deflected my question. A metallic squeak followed by hissing water from the bathtub rang like a mating call. Excited that this may be a “yes” to my real question, I flung the covers over and strode to the shower.

She was already in, bent over adjusting the temperature, when I pushed the curtain aside and hopped in behind her. That friendly pull from my groin started the blood flowing, and I stroked myself in anticipation. Melonie straightened and turned to face me, “No.”

Her tone of finality shocked me. She was always the one to coherece me into nerve-wracking situations when it came to hot monkey sex. And she was telling me “no” for the first time. I caressed her smooth arms, “No to shower sex, or no to the other question?”

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