Andrew Woodrow is a stranger to everyone. To his friends and to his family alike; in his nature and his passions. He is the quiet type and speaks little about his hopes, dreams or ambitions. As a student he is perfect; as a companion… well, not so much.
I only understand this now. We’re best friends, you see. We talk about shit every day, laugh every day, complain about people we can’t stand and the course we both find difficult; me more so than him. It’s changed though. We’re friends, which people can see — but they also know something’s deeper than that. We don’t make it obvious — as a matter of fact, we don’t even hold hands. But, despite all of this, they would never guess how far we’ve gone.
We are best friends, and we are fucking.
It isn’t flowers and roses fucking, either. Andrew was a virgin before me, but he was far from innocent. I had gone through the relationship blues for a while, whilst knowing him. I was with a man who I could never be satisfied by but for some reason, kept holding on to. Living next to him, being forever in his company, however, awoke something in me which I thought had been dormant for a long time.
I didn’t understand it at first. On the outside, he’s perfectly normal. Cute, yes — but not extraordinary. Slim, with brooding blue eyes and a posture to match. But one thing he does have is a handsome mouth. I wanted to feel it on my skin and I didn’t know why.
I told him all of this right after I let go of what I’d been holding on to. I told him everything and cried a little. His face was blank, expressionless. He told me that we were friends and could never be more. He said it bluntly, whilst lying next to me on my bed, his lips inches from mine; his breath whispering pain. Oh, it hurt. It hurt a lot.
It also turned me on.
He gave before I did and kissed me, his tongue clumsy. By the end of the night, it was pliant and experienced; giving and taking pleasure masterfully with mine. We fucked hard, to old style rock and roll records, my legs around him as I pushed him in deeper.
After then, I did understand my attraction to him, but also realised how vain I was in thinking it would be so easy. He was not handsome; but he was… Something. Something, as I came to understand it, isn’t a thing you can acquire — you’re born with it. The ugliest people and the most attractive people in the world both have it, and the results are all the same. The Something they all have, like the Something Andrew has, is that they are all truly, toe-curlingly fuckable.
Afterwards, we lay for several hours thinking about what we’d done. It had been a while and the ache afterwards, reminding me that he’d been inside me, made me insatiable and I played with myself repeatedly as he dozed. I wasn’t one for meaningless sex and the experience felt strange to me. The meaning was still there on my side and I understood that — but it didn’t stop it from being the hottest thing I’d done for a long time. We were in my room, away from prying eyes. Nobody knew, nobody would know. It was our secret world; mine and his, for nobody else but us. He woke, his messy blonde hair strewn over the pillow and matted slightly to his forehead. I kissed it and we fucked again, my teeth buried in his shoulder.
So it began the facade between me, him and the people we knew. Sneaking and fucking, sneaking and fucking; pulling hard when people weren’t looking, repeat. It wasn’t just good or fulfilling; it was something we’d both needed for a long time and had known was going to happen for a long time and was better than we’d ever hoped it to be. We were horny and we were shameless and we loved it. Still love it.
One night, two weeks after we started, I asked him what he liked.
He didn’t understand me at first.
“What do you mean?”
I toyed with the hairs below his belly button, swirling them. I felt shy and I didn’t know why, all of a sudden. After all, we were naked as the day we were born on the floor of my room. He was still panting, his hand across me, holding me to him. I trailed kisses from his shoulder to his earlobe. I nipped gently and he groaned.
“Well, what are you into? Come on, you can tell me. Who knows, you might even get lucky.”
He laughed, running his hand through his mussed hair.
“Becky, you’ll think it’s retarded. Honestly, fucking you is more than enough.”
In response, I bit his ear again.
“Maybe it’s not enough for me,” I replied, coyly. “Tell me.”
He rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t stop his smile broadening.
“Get some stockings,” he replied, kissing my head, “and I’ll show you.”
I didn’t feel ashamed buying them. I always used to blush a little if I bought condoms or lube or anything to let the cashier knew what I was getting up to. I hated the prying, judgemental eyes. Slag, easy, whore. Yes I’m fucking — so what? Aren’t you? It’s more open than it used to be, sure — but being an adult seems to be today’s big taboo.
I loved breaking it that Side escort day. I went up to the counter with my holdups — grey and sheer, topped with black lace — and the woman blinked, smiling that fake smile that companies tell you to give.
“Costume party, then?” She asked, sugary sweet as she gave me the bag and my change.
“No, for the guy I’m fucking,” I replied smoothly, enjoying hearing her splutters as I left the shop, gear in hand.
I couldn’t wait to put them on. The anticipation was killing me. I pulled them up over my legs and went into the kitchen as normal, big smile on my face which I’d have felt stupid for having if I hadn’t been alone. As with the majority of most Saturdays in university, my flatmates came in sporadically; one at time as I was cooking spag bol. It amazed me how normal everything was when I spoke to the others, when I could feel the sheer nylon caressing my legs, tops gripping and riding my thighs beneath my casual linen trousers. I was grinding my teeth together between speech when Andy finally came back from his cycle.
He looked at me.
He looked at my feet.
I hadn’t worn slippers on purpose. The others wouldn’t notice, but I knew he would. I could feel his frustration from here and that feeling was God. I loved the fact that he’d have to sit down with everyone and talk perfectly normally, knowing that I was wearing them. That he’d have to wait for me, writhing, whilst he waited for the others to leave. He’d chosen this night for a reason. The others were going out for a movie and then town, so were dressed up to the ‘half’ nines as they ate the dinner I’d made. They’d be another hour getting ready. It wasn’t a question of whether he was going to fuck me — it was a question of waiting to fuck me. We had coursework to do that was due Monday; a nice, simple alibi.
I left for the bathroom about halfway through. He muttered some excuse a few seconds later and followed me. I didn’t get to shut the door behind me before he pushed his way in, and then my body was up against the wall.
He cut me off; his tongue penetrating rudely, smothering my words. His hands brushed up my thighs; feeling them underneath. He pinched the top of one of them, snapping it between his fingers — his groan muffled by our contact. I could feel him pushing into me, his cock hard and willing, but yet so far from achieving satisfaction.
“I want you,” he murmured, his hand slipping between my legs. “I can feel you through here. Oh Becky –“
I licked my lips at his taste. Underneath a heady Italian musk, I tasted his want. I loved it, the darkness in it; so unlike what I’d first thought of him. He smelt like sweat and man, from his earlier cycling.
Andy then grabbed my hands and forced them onto the sink.
He smirked behind me and kissed the back of my neck up to my ear. A soft moan escaped me as he reached down, inside — one of his fingers on my sex.
“Let’s see if we can’t frustrate you,” he said between kisses. His fingers moved, writhed; kneading, circling and generally tormenting my clit. His breathing became shallow as he concentrated on pleasuring me, leaning on my back and pinning me down. I grimaced against my growing need to cry out; my knuckles white to match the smooth, porcelain bowl they grasped. I needed his fingers inside me — or better, the rest of him — and all of sensible, careful me didn’t much care for who saw or heard us.
When my hips bucked up to meet him however, he smacked my ass. Hard.
“Nuh uh uh,” he whispered, taking his fingers from me. It left me hollow, empty and wanting. In the overhead mirror, my cheeks were flushed; my eyes wide and bright. He pulled me around and kissed me again, ignoring my begging.
“Andy. Andy, for Christ’s sake –“
He slid his fingers into my mouth. I could taste the saltiness that was me; the female taste. It made it worse and my hand began its slow creep towards the button of his jeans. He grasped my hands and pinned them above my head.
“I want,” he spoke as he kissed my collar gently, “you to be wet for me. I want you to feel frustrated. It’s going to make it all the better, when I fuck you tonight and you get more than just my fingers.”
He released me and left first, closing the door behind him with a copy of his favourite newspaper; being his usual, clever bastard self. I felt the ghosts of his fingers on me and sighed, waveringly. My heart was pounding and my body was shaking. I felt vulnerable, dominated by a man for the first time in my life — and through the yearning, I relished it.
The next hour of waiting was the longest I could ever remember. At the table, I had sat next to Andy. Beneath the conversation and normality, his knee brushed mine several times; probably on purpose and I found it difficult to quell the dull ache that kept cycling up and up, through my body and into my bones.
But when the door shut behind the last person and Andy turned Side escort bayan to me, grinning; I suddenly felt nervous. The state I had been in had not gone down whatsoever and it made me tense when I thought about what was about to happen.
“You okay?” He quizzed, raising an eyebrow.
I nodded and, away from prying eyes, he took my hand and led me into my room. No sooner had he closed the door, he was sat on my bed, pulling off his shirt.
“Cheeky, how expectant you are,” I teased him. He grinned back at me as he leant back casually, arms behind his head.
“All I know is that I’d like you to strip for me.”
I smiled back and pulled my own vest top over my head, letting it drop down beside me. I unzipped my linens and let them fall around my feet, enjoying his expression. I was all in black, his favorite; the stockings glistening on my legs. He examined the image of me, taking me in, before he gave; embracing me from the bed and trailing kisses down my navel.
He pulled me onto him, our tongues duelling fiercely. I moaned and edged myself toward his fingers, but he stopped me.
“Put on your heels,” he muttered, fingers brushing the top of one of my stockings. “The black ones you had on the other day.”
Part of me wanted to complain; the part that was squirming, screaming for release. I suppressed it, albeit with some difficulty and left for my wardrobe as he watched me, his expression focussed compared to my somewhat exhilarated one. I bent over and slid them on my feet. They were stilettos, with a girlish strap at the top. As I finished, he exhaled as I came towards him and sat down, nipping his ear gently between my teeth.
“Better?” I murmured. He trailed his tongue down along my neck, kissing along it when he stopped for breath.
“Yes,” he said, smiling at me as he snapped open my bra, freeing my breasts.
“Are you going to show me, then?”
He smirked at me.
“I’m going to fuck you first,” he replied, and pushed me down onto the bed, my body underneath his. I could feel his erection, ever ready against me as he wriggled out of his jeans. The only thing I love more about him than his mouth is his dick and how sumptuously long and fat it is. I felt the slip of his lust then, caressing my clit a little as he moved free. I hissed at the sensation and he shushed me.
“Aww, did you miss me?” He asked me playfully, and I rolled my eyes. He slid my underwear down my legs, exposing me to him and he pressed his lips together. It was the first time in my life I’d not been conscious about my body — he wanted it. He wanted it and I loved that he did.
He, finally slid a finger inside me. I groaned, moving my hips against the rhythm of his hand as he built up speed — closer and closer — oh…
But he stopped, letting me go on that pinnacle. He licked his fingers this time, taking my taste for his own.
“Your pussy, Becky. It’s rather fantastic — you should try it. Oh, wait…”
Suddenly, he flipped me over. I was on all fours now, one of his hands a fist in my hair. He tugged my head up a little, my scalp aching as I heard the rip of foil behind me.
“I’m going to take my time with you tonight,” he muttered. “A good, long –“
He kissed my clit, sucking it between his teeth. I cried out, louder this time and bit down on my lip.
” — while.”
Andy let go of my hair. He got up and moved my legs apart. I knelt on all fours on the bed as he stood behind me, my body clenching as it waited for his cock. I felt him prodding and teasing a little, until —
Slowly, he slid into me; his dick filling me inch by delicious inch. He pushed forward until he was buried to the hilt inside me. He trailed his tongue down my back and across my jaw; his hands grasping firmly onto my shoulders.
“I keep forgetting how tight you are,” he says, gravelly and close. “Is your pussy hungry for me again. Becky?”
I nodded, as he started his rhythm, slowing rapidly to torment me again.
“Andy, God –“
“Answer me then,” he teased, his hips slowing almost to a standstill.
“Yes! Fucking yes!”
He slammed his hips into me, letting me have the fullness of his cock all at once. I let out a low whine at the shock; the build beginning. Beside us, I could see our shadows on the wall. I could see myself moving as he forced me forwards and backwards, pounding me. I could see his dick going in and out, in and out. It felt pornographic, dirty… and fucking wonderful.
It wasn’t long before the build reached its climax.
“Ah, AH –“
The pinnacle was almost there and I could feel it. I could feel it inside me as he fucked me and it was coming closer and closer and I wasn’t sure I could handle it. He grasped my tits, squeezing tightly as he moved against me. For the first time, I felt scared. I was going to come and it was going to be hard, harder than any other time I had done, with him or anyone Escort side else.
“That’s a good girl,” he said, breathy as he moved, faster and faster as I fought the need to scream.
The world around me exploded. I groaned, grasping the duvet as I came, the orgasm ripping through me with the force of a bullet. I could feel him throbbing inside me as my innards pulsed around him and I bit down on the sheets to quell my cries. Tears fogged my vision and sparks flew in the dim as he pulled out of me. I fell forward, my body spent. A sheen of sweat covered his chest and he was panting, shaking out his messy hair.
“You’ve not come,” I said in disbelief, pointing down at him. He smirked, removing the condom.
“That’s because I’m not finished yet,” he replied, and motioned for me to turn around to my front. I did so, flushed and more than a little excited. He took one of my nipples, sucking and swirling with his tongue. The tingle spread from my core outward and I groaned, still sensitive from my orgasm. He eyed my glistening sex, then my legs and then me. His cock twitched; steel-hard and desperately impatient for his waiting release.
“You are so… lovely,” he murmured and I closed my eyes, waiting for the first strokes of his tongue against my swollen clit.
But he didn’t start where I thought he would.
Rather, he started at my feet.
He took off one of my shoes. I could feel the tickle of his breath, baited and impatient as I felt the wet caress of his tongue across my instep. A gasp of air escaped me as he trailed it down my stocking, down my calf to my inner thigh and then back again. He took my toes in his mouth, sucking them one by one, his mouth hot and damp over the unfamiliar material.
“I love,” he whispered, pausing as he nipped them gently, “your legs. They’re fucking perfect.”
I understood then why he had asked for the stockings and the shoes.
“You’ve a thing for them?” I asked him softly, as he made his way back up. He nodded, his nose brushing my sex. My body seized at the close memory of my orgasm, his hair tickling the inside of my thighs. He pulled me forward and knelt in front of me, my legs over the side of the bed. I leant back on my hands as he peered up at me, a dark look in his brooding blues.
“Wrap your legs around my head.”
I gasped and he smirked up at me. He hoisted my legs up on to his shoulders, kissing up and up —
I let out a sharp cry, eyes rolling in my head to the ceiling. My thighs clamped together unexpectedly, a triumphant growl coming from him as his tongue caressed my clit. My body squirmed at his mercy, the nerve endings still sensitive to the point of it almost being agony. His hands reached up to me, one to hold me open and one to… oh. He slid his fingers inside me; first one, then another as his busy mouth worked me to oblivion.
“I love how greedy you are today,” he murmured between tonguing me; rotating and thrusting his fingers as he flicked. In response, I grasped his head tighter with my legs and he moaned, his mouth pressed firmly onto my insatiable sex. He continued eating me, murmuring and moaning as he sucked and licked hungrily.
“I’ll have to have you on my face more often.”
He plunged his fingers into me again and my awaiting shriek erupted, filling the room. I came around him again helplessly, his head still clamped firmly between my legs as my sheath of my cunt squeezed his fingers. My body shuddered and writhed, my eyes coming to rest on his back. It was covered in long red scratches, from where I scraped my heels whilst he gave me head. I should have felt guilty, but part of me felt that he didn’t just like it that way; he had planned it. I released my legs from him and he moved back, pulling free one of my stockings.
“Give me your hands.”
I held them up and he grabbed them. He bound them together with my stocking; crossing over my wrists in a figure eight, securing the bond with a tight knot. I moved them against each other but they were held fast; bonded by the man standing before me triumphantly.
“Now on your back,” he ordered, almost condescendingly. I complied, slightly clumsy with my bound wrists. I was all the more susceptible to him now — and he knew it. My head hung over the edge of the bed as he lowered his cock onto my lips, prising it between them so it grazed my teeth. I could feel his pulse and taste him, slick and salty.
“I’m going to fuck that mouth of yours, Becky,” he whispered, his eyes bright with anticipation. He thrust his hips forward in a gentle ease, his length slithering between my parted lips to my throat. I gasped and when I did, I gagged a little with a sharp cough. He groaned at the sound.
“How I’ve wanted you to choke on my dick ever since I first met you.”
My eyes widened, but he passed my head and shoulders; his mouth licking and kneading my nipples. He thrusted into my mouth, swelling my lips more and more with each passing motion. Saliva pooled on my face and collar as I sucked his dick in response, fellating him; my tongue pressing and circling his head. I gagged a few times, but I held him in amidst muffled grunts, determined to torment him as he had me. My bonds dug into my wrists, my hands flexing against them.