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“My heels?” I ask, confused.
“Your feet.”
I just stare at him for a moment, not comprehending his request.
Why does he want my feet?
I don’t know, but I’m being Miss Agreeable tonight, so I slide my feet the rest of the way out of my heels and tentatively lift them as I turn on the seat. Calvin takes my legs in a gentle but firm grip and drapes them across his lap.
I’m following what he’s doing, but I’m still confused. I’m confused as he slides his palm up the inside of my calf and rubs, confused when he starts massaging my feet, even more confused when he does all this without first removing my pantyhose, which seems necessary if he planned to turn this sexual.
Once the confusion ebbs and I accept that he really is giving me a foot massage in the back of his limousine, I start to relax. I feel tingles when he lightens his touch and just skims my skin with his fingertips, relief when he puts some muscle into it and eases all the tension and aches from my body.
That part doesn’t seem to take very long, but I’m still enjoying his hands on my body, and he must be too, because he keeps rubbing even after he has alleviated my discomfort.
His touches are predominantly light now. My eyes drift closed as I enjoy the sensations, but I can feel him watching me. Paying attention to everything—my breathing, the noises I make.
Sitting up with my legs across his lap felt awkward, so at some point during the massage, I reclined on the seat. My whole body feels more relaxed. The languidness doesn’t abandon me when I feel the fabric of my sheath dress being pushed up, or the thin barrier of my pantyhose dragged down.
My pussy pulses when Calvin moves to his knees on the seat and pushes my thighs open. All that’s covering me is that little scrap of mesh and string. His palms skim my inner thighs, then he hooks his fingers in the strings and drags those off, too.
I’m naked from the waist down. It’s nighttime, but the city lights provide plenty of light so he can look down at me and see everything.
I expect him to fuck me now. I don’t expect him to lean down and kiss his way up the insides of my thighs. I don’t expect him to lift my ass off the seat and drape my legs over his shoulders so he can bury his face between my thighs and devour my pussy, either, but that’s what happens.
His mouth doles out pleasure tonight because I don’t fight it. I twist and writhe and cry out as he drags his tongue over my clit again and again, but it’s not because I want him to stop.
Rapture is close and I want it, bad.
That’s when he pulls out.
Makes me beg.
Undoes his pants and pulls out his cock.
“Beg for it,” he commands.
And I do. Oh, I do. I want it. Need it. There’s an aching void inside my body and I need him to fill it. I’d lock my heels around his ass and pull him into me if he were close enough.
He grabs my arms and pins them over my head. Shoves his cock into me and slams me back against the seat.
He fucks me roughly, but he teases my clit while he does.
When my orgasm hits, it hits hard. A scream bursts out of me, and I melt against the seat. My body is hot and sticky, and I can feel Calvin’s cum between my thighs as he pulls out and sits back down on his side of the seat.
Breathing hard as I recover, I close my eyes. I should care that I’m lying here with my legs spread, Calvin’s cum leaking out of me on the expensive leather seats. I feel like I should feel self-conscious about it, like maybe he’ll think I’m sloppy.
But then Calvin reaches over and rubs his cum over my entrance. He pushes his thumb into me to push some of it back inside and impossibly, stirs the tension he just released.
“I thought you were being a good girl tonight,” he says, his voice gravelly.
My eyes widen and I look up at him. “So did I. Am I not?”
He scoops up another trickle of cum that leaked out and shoves it back into me with three fingers. “All of this should be inside you. Can’t have you wasting it.”
Something stirs. Something foggy, almost a memory. It feels like déjà vu, but I can’t place why, so I ignore it. “Actually, I’m pretty sure it should be in a condom. I can’t remember if I told you this or not—seems like I must not have—but I’m not on birth control. This is outrageously risky behavior. I would appreciate if you would start using condoms.”
“No,” he says.
