I love giving you surprises. People are always saying, Sharon is so sweet, she’s always spoiling Tim. To a certain extent that’s true. I do love to spoil you. I love the look on your face when I hand you something you weren’t expecting, and I love how grateful you always are.
To be honest, I kind of feel bad about it when they say stuff like that. They make me out to be a gem of a woman when what I really am is selfish and cruel. See, I don’t give gifts to you for you. I give you gifts for me because, sometimes, I get whatever I want in return. Like I’m about to right now.
I’m sitting here open thighed at the top of your bed, watching a startled laugh make Gala apples out of your cheeks. You’re drinking me in. Your dazed eyes flick from crotchless knickers, to harness straps, to quarter cup bra and back again. I laugh when the ribbon-tied box you’re carrying misses the dresser and lands with a dull thud on the carpet, but you don’t even notice.
As usual, I promised you a gift when you left for work this morning and this is it. Sometimes you get candy, other times you get cookies or chocolates, but this evening you get me. And just like those other treats, once you’ve eaten me I’ll be gone. See? Selfish. Even this gift I’m giving you now is really for me.
My eyes are on you as you drop to your knees at the bottom of the bed. Hmmm, I guess that would give you better access. Moving my limbs with exaggerated slowness I twist my body until I’m on my knees, gratified to see that you don’t even look at the way I’m purposefully dragging your crisp sheets into rippling pools of white.
You’re too busy loosening your tie and fiddling around with your crotch to relieve the discomfort your constricted cock has suddenly found itself in. Do you know how good it feels to see how impossible you’re finding it to take your eyes off me?
This is what I like most about this, you know. The almost reverent look in your eyes when I give you a gift. And you, with your love of cunt, your addiction to running your tongue over it, penetrating it, breathing it in, drinking it down… It’s a form of worship with you and that’s exactly what I’m all about.
When I reach the bottom of the bed I purr like a cat, scraping my nipples over the exposed mattress partly because I like how it feels and partly because I know you’re acutely aware that, just over the curve of my raised butt, my cunt is gaping wide and wet.
You’re going to hate yourself for taking this gift but take it you will. I’m not even going to have to offer it to you again, if I sit here wiggling, giggling, and being here for the taking long enough you won’t be able to resist. But for now, we’re locked in a battle of wills. You’re meeting my eyes with a smirk and a ‘suit yourself’ shrug, but you can’t fool me. I can see your gaze flicking to my tits. I can see you squeezing your hands into fists on the bed to forcibly stop yourself from reaching out and pinching them.
I will win, baby. You know it and I know it. I always win.
With a little flex of a few muscles, I make things instantly harder for you. Can you hear it? Aah, that look on your face says you can. You look drunk as you peer over my head at my wobbling cheeks and I know you can hear the wet squishing sound of my grasping cunt begging for something to fill it.
First, you flatten your hands on the mattress. Then you smile, but I can tell right away that it’s not meant for me. It’s a private smile. Good God, you’re getting to your feet, eyes fixed on my pert, lace trimmed ass and you still think you’re going to win? Arrogant bastard, you are not…
Once you’re upright you stand right in front of me. Hands on hips, legs slightly parted. I look up the length of your body and see that fucking smirk still fixed in place. My hunted eyes shift from your face to your chest, to the door, to the box on the floor. I stare at it, hating it for the red herring it is.
Don’t look, Sharon. Don’t do it, you’ve already looked once, do it again and you’re finished.
I can hardly breathe. I feel nauseous, dizzy, panicky, drunk. The irresistible urge to look yanks my gaze from the floor and then I see it. Thick. Hard. Purple and shiny. I ball my hands into fists on the bed. I have to, because if I don’t…
As I stare a clear bead oozes from the slit at the tip of your cock. It stays round and perfect for a moment before the rest of the pre-cum behind it turns it first into a teardrop and then into a rivulet.
Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, my knees are propelling me forward, my hands flatten on the mattress to keep me steady. With a moan that shakes me all the way to my core, you take one step forward and your dick touches my lips. You smear them with salty wetness.
Oh, you taste so good! I don’t even want to draw this out like I usually do. I don’t want to worship it. I need to feed my addiction. Using my teeth to push your foreskin back I swallow every inch of your cock. Slurping, gagging, making my own eyes water as I suck hard and fast. My tongue rolls against the underside of your shaft, my throat contracts around the head, I reach out to grab your balls only to find they’ve already risen so close to your body all I can do is scratch at them helplessly with my nails.
With your hand on the back of my head and all chance of breathing cut off by your belly, I choke on a sob as you growl and shoot your load down my throat. You always come hard and it lasts forever. My eyes are stinging, my lungs are shrivelling up in my chest. But I can feel that rhythmic throb, can imagine all that thick creamy white slivering down, down inside of me until it hits my belly, so I even if it meant passing out I wouldn’t push you away.
Once you’re spent you pull your cock out of my mouth. It makes a soft plop and you reach down to wipe a smear of semen off my lip.
Speaking so softly I can barely stand it you say, “When you told me you had a gift for me this morning I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d have one ready for you. Now, get yourself ready and head on home, Sharon. My wife will be back soon and if she finds out I’m fucking another babysitter she’ll kill me.”