Merhaba baykusajans.org sex hikayeleri okuyucuları, derlediğimiz en büyük hikaye arşivini sizlerin beğenisine sunuyoruz.okuyup keyif almak ve sırılsıklam olmak işte tüm mesele bu.
The loud music and jostling sweaty crowd did not affect the man at the bar. He sat quietly sipping his dark beer. Although I could see that patrons would occasionally brush by him in their effort to reach for whatever alcoholic concoction they’d order, he seemed to have an invisible bubble surrounding him. He was in this club, existing physically in my reality, yet he was quite evidently detached from it.
At first I thought he was just too drunk to react to the complete chaos around him. But he wasn’t swaying slowly, nor did his blinking seem sluggish. When he took a drink or combed his fingers over his head, it was with a slow steady grace. There was no uncoordinated fumbling or delayed reactions. He was just very still.
This very physical quietness was what made me notice him. Everyone else in the club was dancing, laughing, touching, or drinking. Some were doing all at once and trying to carry on a conversation over the vibrating beat. Even the dark corners were writhing with bodies undulating in mock privacy.
Drunk couples of random gender pairs were pretending they were drunk enough not to care that they could be seen, yet they weren’t actually fucking in public. I was mildly intrigued by two girls. One was ensnared by her lover’s limbs. She was a tree, her lover an ivy plant growing ever upwards on her trunk. Their arms were intermingled. A hand caressed a breast peeking from a bustier, and another held an ass that was encased in black leather. Their free hands rubbed each other toward climax. The scene did affect me slightly. I’d been with women before. It was not the same as being with a man. Women understood the secret grottoes of each other’s bodies better than any man ever would, but for me, they could never satisfy the itch only a man could scratch.
But he was not moved by their passionate tryst. He faced the bar, occasionally studying the mirror in front of him. The women were in a small recess in the wall just behind and to the left of him. I know he could see them. Unlike the other men nearby, he wasn’t staring at them as if trying to permanently etch their sexual moment into his brain.
This was intriguing. It was like watching one of those special effects where they superimpose an unlikely subject against a green screen background with random action playing on a monitor. He was a scream in a library. Fire in Antarctica. A ship in the desert…a silent man in a San Francisco nightclub on a Saturday night. He just didn’t belong.
His jaw was slightly darker than his cheeks; he must not have shaved today. Despite the sweltering atmosphere, he wore a dark leather coat. His face was cast into and out of relief by the frenetic lighting. Once a beautiful woman tapped him on his shoulder, but he barely paid her attention. He answered whatever query she made and she sulked off less than a minute after making contact. Damn. I’ve never seen a guy shoot a hottie down that fast. I wondered if he was gay. But his eyes flickered back to the two women. Not gay.
I wanted him to notice me. I wanted to know if he made love that slowly and deliberately. I watched his long fingers run up his wet glass and wished he was doing that to my spine. How did I not only get his attention, but keep it? I wasn’t any better looking than the woman he’d turned down. I’m not gorgeous, but I have good legs, firm tits and a pretty face. I needed more than looks to get to him.
I observed him for a few more minutes. I could buy him another beer – but wait — no. He just ordered another. He didn’t shout his order as everyone else did. He made eye contact with the bartender, pointed to his glass, held up one finger and mouthed, “please.”
Moving only from the elbow to wrist, he pulled his wallet from a breast pocket in his jacket, paid, and returned the wallet to his pocket. He left a considerable tip on the bar.
I pictured him lying quietly beneath me as I rode him at my pace. He would stare up into my eyes, letting me do what I would to him. He’d grasp my hips and flex his fingers slightly to grind me against him, but he would not move an inch otherwise. Would it be a challenge to get him to lose control? To get him to buck against me as he came with a roar? I wanted that challenge. I wanted to match wills in silence and come out the victor, or a very happy loser.
I suddenly realized how to get him to see me. I stopped swaying to the music. I let my arms rest quietly on the bar, and stilled my fingers. I ceased tapping my foot against the bar rail…I was getting closer to his tempo.
Exhaling slowly, I controlled my breathing until I felt the world was careening around me in fast forward. My heartbeat slowed. His eyes flowed over to me, and stopped.
He looked directly at me, into me. I bled all of my lustful thoughts out of my unblinking eyes. I gave no other physical indication that I wanted to fuck his brains out, but he got the point. His lips parted slightly, and his eyes gained a sultry half-lidded look. The bartender opened a mini-fridge and the frosty bulb illuminated escort ataşehir my quarry’s face. Sweat beaded on his upper lip. His gaze remained steady. Neither one of us smiled. It would have been trite and it would have broken our spell. We were cocooned in our immobile universe.
I languidly slid from the bar stool, and made my way around to where he sat. His eyes were dark and sharp as they pierced mine. My gaze did not alter; all of my thoughts were centered on my body swallowing his. I grasped his hand and pulled him from the stool, I placed his hand on my hip and led the way through the crowd. For a moment, I had to fight my immediate fear that he’d let go and abandon me to this frenzied ocean of humanity. I’d probably drown in it. The mortician would find my lungs filled with saline sweat and the residue of hundreds of colognes and perfumes. He’d leave me behind to sink while he would slowly tread through the bodies around him to return to his solitary isle.
I sighed thankfully as his touch remained light and steady. Our trek across the floor to the dark hallway by the bathrooms took eons. Each step sent a ripple up the heels of my shoes, and traveled a kinetic path through the firm muscle of my legs until it spread in waves to their apex. I could feel the flesh of my breasts jiggle slightly with my footfalls. My nipples were unsheathed and rubbed against the silk of my blouse. This too, sent ripples downward where they clashed harmonically with the ones from my feet. The bathroom hallway was painted a dark color, and was not well lit. There were other couples here. I knew it even though I couldn’t see them clearly. I didn’t want to tryst in the same worn corners. I didn’t want the furiously beating music to permeate my rhythm. I wanted absolute silence and stillness. I wanted the very air around us to listen to our sounds and watch our sinuous movement.
I walked passed the restrooms to the a door marked ‘Employees Only.” No one was on the other side. There was a long hallway lit only by a flickering fluorescent light. No, not here. I could hear the bulb buzzing and snapping in an attempt to remain luminous and the bumping club bass was still audible. I tried one of the doors on the right. It was not locked, and it took a good amount of strength to open. Flat-palmed, I ran my hand up and down the wall next to the door until I found the light switch. The wall’s surface felt carpeted. I realized why once the track lights illuminated the small space. It was a studio. I’d never seen music mixing equipment, but I knew what the room was by monitors and the microphones in several places. There was little room for much except the equipment and a time ravaged love-seat.
I pulled him to the love-seat and sat him down. The door closed heavily and suddenly we were cocooned in absolute silence. The room was soundproof. No one could hear us and we could hear nothing outside the walls. I returned to the door slowly. He just watched me. He knew that this spell required no speech. We weren’t going to ruin this with trite lines about how we never did this sort of thing. I opened the door and inspected the outer handle. No key slot. Good. Once this room was locked from the inside, we wouldn’t be bothered. I let the door thump shut and locked it firmly. We were sealed in an absolute sound void.
I turned around at the door and faced him. He watched me lean against it. My shirt was nearly sheer, and had a wide V in the front. I pushed the material aside. His eyes drifted to my nipples. He could see them reaching through the fabric. I slowly stalked toward him until I stood between his open knees. He didn’t look away from my breasts. I leaned toward him. With one hand I braced myself against the back of the couch. His breath ruffled the fabric of my shirt, but he didn’t move toward me. I unzipped my skirt. It whispered a sweet sigh as it landed around my feet.
He looked up from my breasts and into my eyes for a moment, as if to prove his self control. I released a small smug smile when he finally looked down at my new offering and his eyes widened slightly. I wasn’t wearing panties…or hair.
I crouched in front of him. My legs opened widely and the smell of my sex floated up. It reached him seconds later. His nostrils flared, and his eyes turned liquid. My hands progressed up his thighs at their own pace. They hovered hesitantly over his crotch. I brushed over his zipper, but did not stop to search for him there. Instead I continued my foray upwards to his belt. It gave a muffled click and surrendered quickly. The button it shielded did not fight me either.
His gaze showed his disappointment when I did not immediately reach for his zipper. Instead, I stood again and braced an arm on either side of his head. I leaned in closer, and kissed him slightly, running my tongue over his lips as they parted for mine. He shifted to deepen the kiss, but I retreated a few inches. He leaned toward me again. I kissed him, teasingly, and retreated a few inches more. He was fighting kadıköy escort a war with his control and his hands clutched the cushions. His nails grated against the couch with a soft scratching sound. Again, he leaned a little more toward me. I had him where I wanted him.
I kissed him again, but this time I didn’t retreat. Instead I let him possess my mouth. I had gotten him to lean forward enough that I could remove his jacket without a clumsy scene or having to speak. The leather smelled warm and it creaked quietly as I pulled it from his shoulders. He lifted his hands from the couch to allow me to pull it free of him. It was his only accession to my victory. The heavy zipper tinked as it hit the floor. I didn’t gloat; he was kissing me too well. I nearly forgot that his shirt was next on my campaign. I sunk into his chest, kissing him back and relishing the internal whooshing of blood through my ears.
I shook slightly as I pulled away. His mouth brushed my cheekbone and discovered my ear. I controlled my breathing as best I could as I unbuttoned his shirt with hypersensitive fingers. I felt a moment of triumph again as I noticed the bare skin underneath shining with moisture. His pulse clamored at his throat. His lower abdomen was tense and rippled in reaction to my gaze. He had firm control of his hands, but his body was still telling me of its desire.
My mouth found his chest and I tasted the salty dew of sweat clinging to the muscle. I softened my lips and voyaged down to his nipple. He stopped breathing as I licked it for a moment, nipped it slightly, then sucked it to sooth the quick slight pain. His lungs rasped for air as I headed for its twin, but he would not allow his breathing to quicken. Nor would he allow a sound to escape. I payed homage to his other nipple, but he had again gained control.
I lazily laved down the center of his chest toward his unbuttoned waistband. He swallowed jerkily as I grasped the zipper in my teeth. It hummed downward, and gaped open. Slowly, his boxers expanded to fill the new open territory. His cock unfurled itself from its cramped position and escaped from the front seam. It stared at me and grew firmer as I wet my mouth. My breath puffed out and caressed it warmly. It flexed and stretched toward my open lips. I gently kissed the head. His body twitched slightly, but he maintained the silence. Impressive.
I pursed my lips and pressed against the head, allowing a slow penetration of my mouth. The head popped past the initial barrier only to meet my undulating tongue. I drew him in and held him still. My tongue laved the underside of his cock as I increased the suction a fraction at a time. I released some of the pressure and slid back up his shaft until he was almost free, then did it again.
I dimly heard a popping noise. He was clenching the arm of the couch so tightly that the seams were giving. I didn’t back off, and he didn’t give in. I kept up a deliberate oral barrage until my mouth started to go numb. We fought each other for control. I tried to crush his and he tried to keep it. We were at a stalemate. I stood.
He was a stealthy lover. His hands hadn’t touched me at all, but my thighs were damp and I was ready for his invasion.
My next maneuver could end up being a kamikaze attack, but I knew it to be a weak point for many men. I stepped up onto the couch, straddling his hips. It creaked its displeasure at my added weight. The carpeted wall rasped against my soft palms. I looked down into his eyes as I lowered my pussy inch by inch closer to his face. His eyes battled mine and I could feel his heat drifting up. I brushed my clitoris against his parted lips, then against his nose, then against his chin. The stubble abraded my sensitive flesh with a rasp and prickled my nerves. But I was so wet that I left behind slippery marks of my attack. I knew my scent was permeating his senses. He inhaled deeply of the humid musk that emanated from me. I moved that last fraction of space toward him just as he did toward me, galloping toward each other to clash on the battlefront.
His mouth was soft, wet and hot. He didn’t attack with a thrusting sword tongue, damn him. That I could have withstood easily. Most men ascribed to “buff tongue” maneuvers. They never believe that most women aren’t aroused by it; totally taken in by the false screaming and thrashing of those porn goddesses’ reactions. Instead, he laid down fire with a sweeping, flat tongue that lapped mercilessly at the flesh guarding my clitoris. He didn’t try to get to the bud itself. Instead, he worked its hood, rubbing the protective flesh over it until I started to drip moisture onto his chin. I gladly surrendered my knees to the strength of the couch frame and stayed my course. I would not make a noise if he made me come. I. Would. Not.
He slid a little lower and now his tongue traced the small curtains that were parted for him. He tortured them, lapping up the wetness that flowed down from within. They bloomed and swelled even more, hopefully maltepe escort bayan enticing him into the dark chamber where his undoing awaited. His tongue carefully peeked through, then darted in and back out. I shook as I stood, I could not move or I would grind against his face until I drowned him in my flesh and fluid. He kept fucking me with his tongue, I twitched with each thrust, my breathing now totally out of my control. The wet lapping sounds echoed in my head in time with my breathing and raging blood. I kept my orgasm at bay; it was difficult but I knew I would not come as long as he didn’t touch my clitoris with his hands. He couldn’t use his tongue on my clit and my hole simultaneously, so this battle would be mine.
But I had seriously underestimated him. Before I realized what happened, he tilted his head forward and gently rubbed my clit with the tip of his nose during every thrust of his tongue. My mind did not have the resources left to hold my body in rank and file. Sweet chaos erupted and an explosion sounded from within as I shook from its force. I writhed against his face, battering him mercilessly with the shrapnel of my broken control. I didn’t scream or cry or even moan, but my lower lip was swollen and nearly bleeding from my angry teeth.
The last aftershock left me and I slid down his body. My half-lidded eyes petulantly derided him for his underhanded defeat of me. I was not about to be a good loser.
I knew my orgasm had cost him greatly. His breathing was no longer within his control. His cock was solid and my pussy rested against its length, I could feel my juices running over him. He fought the instinctive thrust of his hips against me. I decided that if he could fight dirty, so could I.
I slid my warm slit up and down over him, anointing him well. We slid against each other, and I’d come close to letting him in, then back off. I did this to him several times; he knew what it cost me, though. Each time I slid over and almost onto him, I came closer to another orgasm. But the edge was off of my hunger. He was still in a desperate state. I exploited this weakness in him to the fullest degree.
I finally hovered over him, my lips parted over his swollen tip. I watched the desperate plea in his eyes. Was it for me to stop? My eyes teased him. Maybe I should stop. I moved a fraction of an inch upward until I was barely touching him. The plea turned to panic in his eyes. He didn’t want me to stop.
I sunk on to him an inch at a time. He flexed with each tiny descent, trying to push further, faster. Still his hands gripped the couch. Their seams popped a little more until I was totally impaled on him.
I began a slow sliding rhythm. All the way up, all the way down. I’d be almost completely free of him, then I’d slide back again, swallowing him whole. I didn’t vary my pace, even though his eyes begged me to rage against his body. He fought his passion and my body with complete stillness.
I sped up a little, then a little more. My rhythm was faultless and without break. With every motion the couch creaked and groaned. My thighs burned with fatigue, but I would not give in. His defeat would be no less spectacular than mine. I was able to hold back my own orgasm. My clitoris was a safe distance from his body.
I sped up even more. He could no longer hold back his body’s thrusting. He met me every time with a shaking force. He was so hard I felt like I was riding hot marble. I kept up my assault. He twitched and thrust against me. I knew I had to force this orgasm on him. I reached behind me and cupped his balls. They were soaked with sweat and my fluids. He faltered and I saw him fight back his own defeat. Rolling out my final arsenal, I reached forward with my other hand and pinched his nipple.
His hands flew to my hips and ground me toward him. He bounced me roughly. Was he punishing me for defeating him by seizing control? Our smooth rhythm was gone. The love-seat bumped quietly against the carpeted wall, in harmony with its creaking and groaning. His grip suddenly changed, he angled me toward him and my clit grazed his boxers and pelvis with every movement. I saw the triumph in his eyes. Bastard! He thought he could send me over alone.
I started to come; his body’s brilliantly strategic assault was about to win again. This time I was determined to make him follow me. I clenched my inner muscles around him as tightly as I could, expanding and elongating my own orgasm, and forcing his.
He gasped harshly and suddenly bucked. He raged into my body again and again and again as he erupted into me. His clenched jaw fought back a roar. But it wasn’t enough. A muffled groan escaped his reluctant lips, but was cut off by a loud crack as one of the legs of the couch gave way. The world tilted as the couch settled roughly and my brain spun from the rushing orgasm. Even as I felt our bodies calm I smiled. He had lost.
My victory invigorated me. With a gentle briskness, I lifted off and away from his body. On shaky legs, I stood and pulled my skirt on. I reached into a tiny pocket that held my I.D. and cash. I flipped out one of my cards and let it flutter onto his still heaving chest. Mindless of his final fluid arsenal weeping down my legs I walked out of the studio, and out of the club.