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Jack wasn’t ever like this with me. Maybe things would’ve been different if he was.
Maybe I wouldn’t have been such a failure.
I thought my dress was tight, but Ant tugs it down easily, taking my bra down with it.
“You’ve got beautiful tits,” he says with a smirk. “I can’t wait to get my mouth on them.”
He doesn’t wait, just tugs my dress and bra down further until they bunch at my waist. He dips his head, tongue flicking at one of my nipples and it feels electric. I’m not usually all that expressive, but I let out a little moan that makes me feel like I’m in a porn movie – not having my tit sucked by a hot guy from the bar.
That’s what he’s doing. Sucking. Teeth pinching my nipple enough that it makes the flick of his tongue more intense. It feels so good. I reach for his belt, wanting to free his cock, but he pushes my hands away.
“No. Not yet. Right now it’s all about you.”
I feel like a princess when he stares up at me like that, but it’s not a princess from one of my old picture books. It’s a much different kind of princess than that.
He walks me back towards the bed, and although my dress is a crumpled mess around my waist it doesn’t hinder him in the slightest. His fingers work magic and manage to loosen it enough to slide it down over my hips, letting it fall to the floor. I’m worried my heels will catch on the fabric as I step backwards, but they don’t. I’m still wearing them when he guides me down onto the bed. He doesn’t climb on top like I expect him to, just stands and stares. His smirk speaks more than words, and so does the champagne in me as I smile up at him.
“I really mean it,” I tell him. “I don’t usually do this kind of thing.”
“That’s good to know,” he says, and reaches down to spread my knees.
I’m still in panties. Lacy and black, but average. Nothing that screams fuck me now, but he nods with another smirk.
“Yep. You’re as beautiful as I expected.” He pauses, tilts his head. “That’s a lie actually. You’re even more beautiful than I expected.”
Maybe Ant is a traditional prince, complimenting me like that, but no. The deep, strange sensation in me gets heightened as he carries on speaking.
“Your cunt is going to taste divine.”
Cunt.
I’ve never heard that word said aloud in this kind of setting. I thought maybe I’d cringe or feel awkward, but I don’t. I don’t cringe at all. It’s the way he says it, so naturally.
My heels are still on when he pulls my panties down. I raise my feet so he can slide them off, and he wastes no time in spreading my legs back open at the knees. I’m in plain view, with the overhead light on. I wish I’d have trimmed and shaved a bit better this morning, but I had no idea I’d be in this position, with my pussy on full display to a stranger.
“Show me how you like it,” he says. “I want to see how you play with yourself.”
I haven’t touched myself in front of a guy since Jack in the early days. Not properly, like this.
My fingers fumble as I first slide them down, circling my clit.
Ant shakes his head with a smirk. “Come on, Cass, that’s a token gesture. I want to see you play with yourself, not you pretending to play with yourself.”
I hadn’t realised I was pretending, but I am. My attention is all on him and the way he’s looking at me, not on genuinely getting myself off.
“Do it,” he says. “Show me for real.”
I hitch my legs up, like I do when I’m by myself and in the flow. When I put my fingers on my clit this time I’m more aware of how I’m moving them, spreading myself enough to hit the right spot.
“That’s it,” he says.
I’d close my eyes if I wasn’t drunk enough to be this confident. He puts his hands on my knees as I play, getting closer, watching my fingers moving.
“Good girl,” he says, and his voice is lower. “You’re nice and wet. Keep going.”
I’ve not been called a good girl since I was a kid. It feels strange. Nice.
Ant lowers himself slowly onto the bottom of the bed, leaning forward until his face is between my legs. I feel his breath on my thigh.
“That’s it,” he tells me. “Good girl.”
I want to feel his mouth instead of my fingers, and he reads it. He sees the way I squirm.
“Spread your pussy for me. I want to taste you,” he says, and my drunk confidence wins again. I pull my pussy lips apart and I’m not worried about how open I look, or how swollen my clit must be, or how much I’m wriggling for him. All I want is his mouth.
