Sticky Fingers

It’s the little things that do it for me, the tiny details that most erotic writers use as a bridge between the Big Things. Like, they’ve just fucked like animals and now they’re resting and she kisses his chest. It’s the kiss that brings humanity to the situation, that reminds you it’s not just a couple of machines going at it, doing whatever deeds their creator has programmed them to execute.

I was reminded of this the other day, while browsing through the “adult” section at a bookstore in Sweetwater. They didn’t have many and I usually do my shopping online. But sometimes it’s nice to see what you’re going to be reading before you make the purchase, and I’m glad I did because…

Because, because. Because a passage in one so screamed out for a bridge that I almost took out my pen and wrote it in myself. I resisted the temptation, but when I got home, the omission was still driving me crazy. You see, it’s not only in stories that the little things matter. They matter in real life as well. For example….

I’d been working in the office for a month or so, making a little extra cash to see me through my sophomore year at college, and my first ever office romance was going swingingly. Lester was older than me by about five years, and I suspected he was married although he never said a word. But we’d had a few hot and heavy evenings at the apartment I shared with a girlfriend, and a few pantie-wetting encounters in various corners of the office – it’s amazing how much privacy you can find when everyone else is at lunch.

We rarely went beyond kissing and cuddles on these occasions, but one lunchtime in the deserted break room, I had my hand in his pants before he even knew what was happening, squeezing a cock that was so hard it could have doubled as a battering ram.

That’s what I wished he would use it for, as well.

I longed to find out how he felt in my pussy, I dreamed of discovering how he tasted. And today, I’d determined, I would. I’d unbuckled his belt, unzipped his fly. Now all I needed to do was lean over…

I moved slowly. There was nobody around, and there was no reason to rush. I blew on the tip and smiled as he groaned, then inhaled deeply. I don’t care what they do in porn films, stuffing cock in their mouths the moment it appears, I like to study my meal before eating. Admire the shape, the color, the texture, and breathe in its scent as my face gets closer. Poke out my tongue and test it gently. Little things, little things. And only when I‘ve done all that do I ever so slowly open my mouth, and start feeding.

Lester was feeding, too, one of the pastries that someone had brought in every morning for the rest of us to share. Now, of course, it lay forgotten in one hand, as my mouth closed around him and I let out a moan … of happiness, of hunger, of complete satisfaction.

I sucked and he sighed. I licked and he laughed. I kissed… and he came, without a word of warning or even a twitch, just a jet of hot white that shot out so quickly that I didn’t even have time to catch it. It splashed on my hand, it went over his trousers… always conscientious, he grabbed for a napkin and began mopping it up – which was when the door to the break room opened and in walked one of our co-workers, Debbie.

Now, we weren’t stupid, Lester and I. We had our backs to the door for just this kind of reason, and in the split second it took for us to register we’d been seen, he had his cock in his pants and buckled away before Debbie had even said “hi.”

Me, though… sitting there with a cock full of cum dripping off my fingers. What was I going to do?

Easy. I snatched the pastry out of his hand, then turned to the invader and held it aloft. “The trouble with these things,” I said with a smile, “is that they always put way too much icing on them.” And then I moved my hand to my mouth and licked it clean. It was the greatest icing I’ve ever tasted, and beside me, I heard Lester inhale sharply, then breathe out, "fuck, you're hot."

So yes, it's the little things that always get me, the ones you might not even think of mentioning if you were writing a story. That's why I'm glad I write verses instead.