AN: Man, I love looking up pictures of hot older men...it just makes me horn-I mean- happy.
As Wednesday fast approaches and I'm now a nervous wreck. 'What are you supposed to say to the man who sent you a nude picture of himself? Nice hard-on? I liked the angle? Aw hell, I also can't tell him that I've been staring at that photo constantly for the past two days either.'
My bags are all packed but I feel like I'm still missing something. I'm so focused on my packing that I jump when I hear a knock on/at my front door.
He's on me before I can even fully open it.
Mr. M's lips consume mine and it takes me only a second before my own respond in kind. Once he feels my acceptance, Mr. M grabs my butt and lifts me so that I wrap my legs around his waist.
My hands don't stay idle either, one has a hard grip on the back of his neck and the other is trailing down his hard abs heading for the erection I know that's there to greet me.
Before I reach my destination though, Mr. M throws me on my bed and walks out of the room.
'What the fu-!?' Before I can cuss up a storm, I hear my front door closing and I realize that it was left wide open. When Mr. M appears at my bedroom door, his eyes could cause a forest fire.
"Now, if memory serves me right, a certain someone described to me their personal grooming habits a couple of days ago. It was quite late during the night for them and right before their bedtime." He makes his way over to me until he's standing right over the foot of my bed. "It involved a daily ritual with the removal of all clothing items." Now he grabs my ankles and pulls me over to the edge. I sit up and he drops to his knees in between my legs. "First to be removed is always the shirt and bra. It is a great matter of importance that those items go first." With that Mr. M's hands go under my shirt and I gasp at the skin to skin contact, his hands are warm but kinda rough like he works with them. As they travel up to my breasts, I feel a brief squeeze before he tugs my shirt up, I quickly remove it for him.
I lean forward to kiss him again because my lips crave his, Mr. M wasn't but a foot or so away but he shuffles closer to me and now I feel his hard torso against my inner thighs. I don't know his entire plan but I'm liking it so far. I wrap my arms around his neck and move back a bit to nibble on Mr. M's bottom lip. He doesn't like this and bites mine in return. What he doesn't know is that he just made me even hornier- I love to bite.
I don't remove my bra because I want to test Mr. M in a way. If he removes it swiftly then he's a pro, but if he's clumsy as all get out- which I highly doubt- then I'll know that his experience with breast torture devices is limited.
All thoughts on the test fly out of my mind though when I feel his hands traveling up my back to the clasp of my bra. I love the feel of his hands on my soft skin. All types of scenarios pop into my head of which I can feel those hands all over my body-most are sexual situations.
I'm a liar- all the scenarios can be made into sexual situations.
Mr. M is thorough with the clasps but he doesn't rush the process. With our lips moving in sync, I don't know how he can even focus on the task.
When my bra comes undone, I break the kiss-to Mr. M's displeasure, and remove it leaving my breasts bra-less. They bounce down to natural form, not too saggy but they do have a dip to them.
Mr. M doesn't say anything but he just stares at my breasts for a minute. He then places his hands on my breasts and pushes me to lay down.
"Now you must knead the breasts from the shoulder down to the nipple keeping the pressure constant."
True to his word, Mr. M does just that but instead of relief- I feel waves of pleasure. His rough-ish hands would be great for a massage. He uses the palm of his hands to massage my shoulders and then switches to his fingers over my breast.
"After that is done, the bottom of the breasts need a good squeezing." His voice is rougher than sandpaper.
I'm half tempted to get the man a glass of water. Besides thirst, it might cool us down a bit.
I groan at his squeezing my breasts, its harder than the way I squeeze them but not too hard to bring any real pain. This man is perfection.
"Next are the pants." His hands trail down my body to the start of my black leggings. He pulls them off my body oh-so-slowly.
Mr. M then kisses my ankles and trails the kisses all the up to my neck where he stops and lays on top of me while resting most of his weight on his elbows. He's so close to kiss but each time I try, he leans up out of reach. Infuriating man.
"Now you have either of two options. Option One, you take a shower and i watch you rub that delicious vanilla smelling body wash all over your skin. With your hands of course, I couldn't care less about bubbles. Or option two, you give me that massage you teased me with and I fully expect for you to massage me with an oiled up body." His smile reminds me of a cat who ate the canary.
"How much time do we have?" Why am I thinking about that during a situation like this? I should be thinking about which of the options gives me the greatest satisfaction.
"The driver is waiting down in the car right now, but we have all the time in the world." Mr. M purrs.
"THE DRIVER!?" I push him off and stand up. 'He got us a driver? And the guy's waiting right now? Is he/she wondering about what's taking us so long? I'm officially embarrassed and I haven't even met the person.'
"Yes, the driver. You didn't honestly believe that we'd drive ourselves, did you?"
Mr. M's laying back on his elbows looking up at me in question. I can tell that he's a bit distracted because his eyes keep traveling to my boobs and to my boy short underwear.
"Well-Yeah." My response sounds a bit lame but it's all I got. I'm a bit dismayed that it won't be just us two for the trip. Maybe I should've gone for the small jet instead.
"He doesn't matter." Mr. M ignores my awkwardness and stares at me hungrily. "Come over here and sit on my lap." His demand sends tingles and an ache toward my vagina.
For once my brain overrules over my body, but only because it keeps thinking about the driver outside who could be- at this very moment- thinking all types of scenarios over what his passengers are doing.
"Maybe we should get started on the trip, I mean soon it's going to be fully dark soon." Again, I sound lame as hell.
"Why should we care if we have a driver? He's specifically for road trips, I'm not a fool Phoebe." Mr. M sounds offended. Before I can explain my change in attitude, he gets up from the bed. "Fuck it. Put on your clothes. Are your bags ready?" I nod my head. "Good. I'll take your bags down."
With that, Mr. M leaves me standing in my bedroom with nothing but my panties on.
AN: I feel a bit hypocritical because I talked about writers who write about "independent" characters who deny themselves pleasure over petty shit but then I write about my character denying herself pleasure over petty shit. lol. Truth be told- I wouldn't have cared less in real life about a damned driver waiting on me but I'm writing as my shy-ish character Phoebe. *Sighs
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