SSS: Short Smut Stories

Fairy- pt. 2

None of the neatness mattered anymore. God damn it, I'd break his glasses if I had to. It was a messy sort of encounter, it had to be. In a room full of wood and high risk of paper cuts there simply was no other choice. The papers had to go, the desk lamp too. Didn't everyone have one of those? That shell of green glass with a highly combustible bulb and brass finish. Never mind, it was broken once I swiped it off the desk. Several pencils scattered and where there once was a bowl of colored paper clips was soon an uncomfortable place for me to sit.

I had a very prominent throbbing in my dick as Nick's hand pushed at my stomach. He moved me back until the hinges of my knees hooked on the desk.

The nerves crept up on me, in a way that confused me. Did I like it? The way everything sounded and felt like drowning. My breathing came like waves at my ears and every bone -including my skull- buzzed like warm beating wings. When I closed my eyes tight enough there were only small fading triangles of orange and red. They twirled in patterns, making me realize that life is only math.

"Curtis, look at me..." once again all was silent. Maybe the realization that I could logistically solve the situation like a puzzle calmed me. Otherwise it was just his voice, never failing to be timid due to years of learning the many mistakes of everyone who ever mattered to him. And when I did open my eyes I could see him question himself.

To rid him of all his worries I slung my arms over his shoulders like two wayward ski poles and pulled him to my neck. No other words were needed, he just reached his sizable hands under my vest and held me. The way he squeezed at my skin, like plugging up a hole, made me curl my toes in my boots.

I cupped the nape of his neck, imagining a cradle of consciousness in my hand. As if I could mold his thoughts I splayed my fingers and wrapped chords of his hair in my hand. When his fingers hooked at my belt loops, hoisting me up and only making the throbbing more painful, I pulled at his hair.

I didn't want to make a sound. There was some sort of allure in making him guess. Hoping I could keep him locked out of my head, I delved my nose into his collar bone, smothering my own face just to hold back. How could a human be this pent up?

But god damn him...he licked my ear. Damn him because it's not what I wanted. An almost strange whine came from me. Sounding like my wind basket had been throttled.

Pardon me for wanting to rush to the point. Usually I would have valued a build up, some gentleness for the soul. No, he couldn't allow for that in the way he was handling me.

One thing kept prodding at my brain. His fingers...they were so long. Whether they were to go in my mouth or anywhere else I didn't care, I just wanted them to be a part of me. Maybe he'd even leave some of himself inside me if I was lucky.

I gently slid off the desk, still latched to his shoulders like a spider monkey. My feet softly dropped on floor in front of his and I began to force his suit jacket off him with both hands. The way he watched my face made me want to hide thethings he knew, take it all back and put it in an envelope so I could mail it away.

He returned the favor in taking off my jacket. The trench swished against the floor before he folded it into a neat little square and set it behind him on a desk.

While he turned away I unbuttoned the five buttons on my jeans and tried to place my underwear in a flattering way, that showed my hip bones but hid my trail of hair. This was impossible but that didn't stop me from trying. There wasn't a pose I could practice in the mirror, though I should have, is what I thought.

I tried to look statuesque, crossing my legs and leaning my body against my arms. He turned back to me as I fumbled more with the band of my underwear and laughed. He snapped it away from my skin and then got down on his knees in front of me. I refracted his eyes past the reflection of me in his glasses. He was so docile in everything he did so I never expected him to be the one to suck me off.

Half of the work had been done, so all he did was peel my pants off a little more. He left them bunched up above my knees and I realized, he knows me beyond me knowing me.

A small spoonful of honey in the tea, he knew this. Cut the tag off first, he knew this too. If distracted enough, I'd only work harder, this he knew the best of all. But when he left my blue jeans and underwear in a crowded bundle of fabric, took me into his hand and licked me with a profound calmness, I just knew.

There was something so wonderful about keeping our clothes on, like it was only a favor and not a big ordeal. I suppose I had destroyed his desk but when it came down to it I loved our shells. His perfectly creased pants reminded me that he would be neat and kind with me. And I could only hope he would let me cum on his glasses.

"Ah-," his nose touched my happy trail, "Nick," It was only a whisper.

The ache crept up on me and settled in my stomach. It was as if the nerves in my brain had been sifted away until it all dropped down to my balls. It was fine, but nonetheless, still present.

He worked away, running his hands up my stomach. I took in his position before me, and basked in the irony of it. I felt like a whore at Sunday school, lips painted red, legs out. He was on his knees, hands stretched to the heavens. It looked like he was praising a god I knew he didn't believe in. And well, if he did then I was quite amused. Imagining God, watching my 28 some year old teacher give me a blow job in the afternoon light filtered through a much too big window.

There must be something off about me.

Right after throwing my head back with a snap, I felt my hard-on fall out of his mouth and hang mid air. I was sure I'd never made myself that hard, to the point of nearly being marble.

He was going to finish me off with his hand, which I was not apposed to. And thought I knew it was wrong, I thought of my experiences. I knew the feeling of a girl, I knew that warmth, the tightness. The sphere on the inside, like a uvula of womanhood. But he gripped me so well, that I remembered it like a gift, and forgot it just as quickly.

My head still hung back, like a dismantled Barbie, and I clenched my teeth til it hurt.

"Don't strain yourself..." he cautioned. I wanted more from him, I wanted a break in the pattern. I wanted to be something gross and uneven and plastered on a wall. I wanted to be flattened and ripped open. Give that to me.

"Please please please please." But I was already so close.

"Curtis..." he seemed weary, aging by the minute. But his touch was so good, not just good. Not good in a less than great way. But good, in all it's simplicity.

He began to focus on the top, I knew I couldn't hold it.

"Tell me we'll do this again." I stared at him as he watch my lips move.

"Again and again and again." His strokes were on beat, smooth and good, good and good.

With my weak little arms, as my entire core clenched in my anticipation, I pulled him to my body. I didn't want him to see me cum, so I put my chin on his shoulder and reached for the root of his hair.

He yanked at me like I imagined he would touch himself. The thought of him lying on his full bed, pinstripe shirt unbuttoned fresh out of school. Pit stains and all, hairy chest, underwear uncomfortably spilling out of his pants.

He needs nothing but the radio, and an image of me in his mind.

At that thought I came. Soft noise, graceful and neat.