The Scent of a Woman

I’ve always considered myself to be a reasonable person. I never expect too much of people, never take advantage, and I pride myself on never showing jealousy. All my past partners have considered that a positive, but not you.

No, my rationality is one of the things you love to hate about me. It drives you crazy that I can watch you flirt with other women, that I can watch you dance with other men with nary an eyebrow raised in suspicion. You’ve even taken it as a personal challenge to do something to stir my green-eyed monster, a thing you’re convinced lives within all of us.

And each and every time you’ve failed…until now.

I walk toward you, watching your features shift from flirty to serious to intimate in the flickering light that pours from the tiki torches that surround the bamboo bar. Allison gazes at you over her coconut cup, licking the rim before closing her plump lips around her pink straw. I send up a little prayer for God to make her poke her eye on the foil sparkler that’s bouncing around her face, and I start to feel bad about it, but then she jiggles her bikini clad tits for you and I think, on second thoughts, take both eyes with my blessing, God.

You notice me coming and up your game. My grinding teeth make a noise like a fork on a plate as I watch you straighten her bikini strap, tuck the paper hibiscus flower further behind her ear. My sister has always been stunning, more so than me, and it’s never bothered me before. But now, as I waddle toward you in a full bathing costume and grass skirt that work together to conceal a belly that probably won’t go flat again even after this nine-month stretch is up, I feel how different we are. Allison is still gorgeous and right now – when it feels like it matters most – I know I’m not.

Still, I won’t let either of you see how angry you’ve made me. My happy expression? There’s no way will you guess that it’s faux. I accept the cocktail our neighbour offers me with a grin. I graciously accept a tummy rub from your mother, let my boss take the cocktail from my hand with a mock pout, offer your father my non-dominant hand so he can spin me away from the pool in case I fall in again like I did last time we had a luau.

And then I reach you. Allison keeps talking as though I’m not even there – which is definitely something I’ll be addressing with her as soon as she’s sober – but you look right at me. Your eyes are sparkling, and they hold so much expectation…

So I smile. Shake my head at my sister as if she’s the silliest thing on earth, and then I reach out and give you a little pat on the cheek, letting my fingers linger. Your nostrils flare. Your eyelids flutter as though you’re drowsy, and when I pull my hand away yours shoots up and snaps around my wrist faster than a snake could strike.

Could this fake smile be called innocent? Confused? I watch your pupils dilate, see your chest heave as you suck in a lung achingly deep breath. I feel your fingers clamp tighter around my wrist and I think, no. No, my smile most definitely could not be called innocent, because it isn’t.

Allison is huffing beside me, but you don’t notice. You’re staring at me with such intensity I feel hotter than the torch flames that are already making me sweat. I bite my bottom lip and you lick yours before your patented dirty grin starts to raise first the left corner of your mouth, then the right.

Oh, there she goes! My sister has decided to abandon her drunken seduction, which is lucky for her, really. I know she wouldn’t have gotten anywhere with you because I know what game you’re playing. Still, I consider her learning that I can claim a man’s attention, even when she’s preening for him in a bikini, to be punishment enough for her.

And I could consider you having to give me your wry ‘thwarted again’ grin your punishment, if I were that way inclined. Call it hormones. Or call it spite. You can call it whatever you like, but I’m definitely not through with you.

I see you’re ready to say something, so I immediately extract my wrist from your grasp. Yes, I am making my hips sway on purpose as I saunter away from you. Yes, I can still make my ass cheeks clap beneath my grass skirt. And I can feel you watching me walk up to your brother, leading with my belly but knowing that he’s the only man here other than you who will always see tits before anything else. After stealing a quick glance at you, I place my hand on his cheek while I ask him some inane question.

Five…four…three…two…

“Hey, can I just borrow Shelby for a minute?”

You steer me away before your brother can even respond. We skirt the pool, pad down the half a dozen steps that led to the undecorated part of the garden, and once we’re hidden behind a massive hydrangea bush you spin me against you.

Your chest is warm against my back, your breaths foggy on my throat. A tickle around my toes lets me know I’m no longer wearing my grass skirt. Quick work, even for you.

“Is there something wrong, honey?” I ask, sounding about as virtuous as I feel.

“No, no, everything’s fine” you answer in a light, conversational tone. “I’m just gonna teach you what happens when you stick your pussy wrinkled fingers under my nose, that’s all. Now be a good girl and bend over.”

Cool air blows over my skin when you pull my costume down, branches poke my belly and flowers tickle my nipples as you push me closer to the hydrangea. I cry out when you twist my arm behind my back so you loosen your grip, but you don’t let go. You wrap my captive hand around your cock instead, then bring my right hand to your mouth. I smile as you suck my fingers, close my eyes and breathe deeply when you moan.

“Dammit, Shelby, I knew this is what I could smell. Right there in front of our friends and family I could smell the scent your cunt gives off when it’s being fucked. What did you do in that bathroom?”

“I fingered myself,” I whisper, parting my legs further so you can get your hand between my thighs. “I stood right there with your best friend just beneath the window and your father hammering on the door and I shoved my fingers into my pussy, right to the third knuckle, and I didn’t stop fucking myself until I came.”

I probably didn’t need to tell you that. You’re using your full hand to rub my soaking folds, pushing my shoulders forward to bend me at the waist so you can get your fingers inside of me. You can feel what I’d been doing.

“Why didn’t you come get me? You didn’t need to do that in the bathroom, we have a bed here.”

I hold my breath, feeling the head of your cock stroking my thigh, shifting over little by little until it’s poised at the perfect spot. Ever since we found out that I’m pregnant you’ve halted just before entering me. You wait for me to push back onto you, controlling the depth until I’m comfortable with the invasion of such a big cock.

And this…this is the moment I’ve been waiting for. You’re about to get your punishment for trying to make me jealous. No, not for trying. For succeeding.

I slip from your grasp and back away, grinning at your confusion, then grinning wider when understanding dawns. You huff out a laugh, shake your head, rest your hands on your hips and peer down at your stiff cock. Your attempts to make me jealous might have worked for the first time, but because of that your attempt to fuck me has failed.

You give me that old wry ‘thwarted again’ look for the second time tonight, but for a totally different reason than before.

I point at the ground just beyond my feet. You lower your head to hide your smile, and you nod. Cock in hand, you approach, sink to your knees and start to stroke. When you look up at me through your lashes I can’t help but moan. Such a handsome man. An impish, teasing, sexy fucker.

You’re noisy when you wank. You spit on your hand, you moan and whisper my name. I know you’re about to come because you’re leaning forward, breathing deeply, getting closer and closer to me for one reason. You want to smell me. My sister had no chance with you because she doesn’t carry the scent of what you’re addicted to. I pull my bather to the side and I let you have what you need.

As soon as the scent of my pussy reaches you, warm wet splatters cover my feet. You press your face into my huge belly to smother your moans.

And the moment arrives.

You pull away but I say, “Ah-ah-ah! You’ve made quite a mess there, and we’re not going anywhere until you’ve cleaned it up.”

Oh, you look so scandalised, and so unsure if I really mean what you think I mean.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m talking about.” I laugh and say one last thing. “I’m gonna teach you what happens to you when you play games that involve my sister. Now, be a good boy and bend over.”


Week #177

23 thoughts on “The Scent of a Woman

    1. Thanks, Tabitha 🙂 I’d intended to take it in a different direction at first but, as usual, the story decided to override me, lol.

  1. Oh gawd, this was delightful. I could almost hear her teeth grinding…I feel like we got two twists…the first was her scent driving him wild and the second was the end…and it was ALL wonderful!!

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