PARKER

PARKER

I DECIDE I DON’T WANT to cum in Samantha’s mouth.

I’m kind of mollified by her toast: sweet for a pit viper. There was much less personal advancement in her toast than is typical for Samantha, and if I didn’t know her as well as I do, I might have truly believed she was congratulating me and wishing me well. But to Samantha and girls like her, I only have two parts worth knowing: a cock and a wallet. If she’s going to have her hand in one of them, I’ll fill the other.

Something in me doesn’t want to sully her mouth saying the one possibly nice thing I can remember her saying, so I’ll compromise. I’ll cum inside her then watch her try to keep the evidence from dripping down her leg through the evening’s remainder. Everyone knows she doesn’t wear underwear. Good for access, bad for cleanup. Maybe that’s why she likes to use her mouth as a receptacle.

I turn her around, hiking up Samantha’s short blue dress to expose her magnificent, Pilates-toned ass. She protests a little, probably comfortable on the closed toilet seat, already buckling down for delivery, but of course she complies.

Samantha grabs the pipes at the toilet’s rear like a motorcycle’s handlebars, her ass high with her shaved slit presented like a gift, moisture wicking between her smooth folds. That’s the thing about Samantha: She loves giving head; it gets her soaking. Sometimes, she fingers herself while doing it, and usually finishes before I do — or while I do. I’m pretty sure Duncan knew all of this about Samantha before setting us up. I repress my intuition about exactly how.

“Do you want to fuck me?” Samantha purrs, turning, gyrating her smooth ass and shaved pussy. She reaches back for my dick, so recently down her throat, and still slicked with her spit. But it’s too far to reach without ruining her presentation, so she reaches back and spreads her lips instead. I see pink inside. I hate myself a little for doing exactly what she wants, but it just so happens I want it, too.

I don’t answer. I bury my dick inside her instead, balls deep.

Samantha’s gasp is over the top, playacting to please me. But I’m not fooled. I’ve seen enough porn to know when girls are putting it on in a way they think — not always accurately — men want. She knows I want to fuck her; that’s why she was bent over a toilet with her pussy in my face. I know it must feel good to have me inside her, but no one gasps like that. She might as well have slapped her own cheek when she unzipped me, feigning shock at my size.

“Fuck me! Oh, fuck me harder!” she pants.

I want to tell her to shut her fucking mouth. I want to bend forward and put my hand over her maw. But Samantha likes it rough, and that would probably crank her volume. She’d start telling me to pull her hair, to slap her ass, to pull her straps off so I can grab her tits. I don’t feel like those complications right now. I just want to get off, and Samantha usually wants the same thing. Getting loud, here in the bathroom, will only make Manuel more uncomfortable than he seemed to be when we entered with Sam’s hand down my pants.

“I want you to cum in my mouth!”

Fuck that. She blew me almost to completion earlier, before I turned her around. If I’d wanted that, we’d be done and back in circulation, my stress level sufficiently lowered.

Still, I’m tempted, if for no other reason than to shut her up.

I thrust a few final times, my balls clenching, thighs tightening, rising on my toes as I unload inside her. My strokes are suddenly wetter, slicker. It’s been a long day, and we didn’t have sex yesterday. Relief is intense as I twitch, coming down.

She’ll be dispensing that one for a while.

I pull out. My cum runs down her leg, almost making her shoe before she catches it with a wad of toilet paper.

Samantha wipes herself, tosses the tissue in the toilet, then smiles at me as she turns around. Even duly spent, I can’t look at her without wanting to fuck her again. She’s unbelievable. She pulls her skirt back into place, wiggling her ass to do it. Then she sucks on one finger, and I wonder if it’s part of the cleanup. She definitely likes it in the mouth. If she starts trying here and now to finish herself off — a matching climax to accompany mine — I might start getting hard again. But I’m thirty now, and unsure if I’m up for round two so quickly.

I back up, buttoning myself, and look her over from high-heeled foot to beautifully coifed mane. I realize all at once that there’s never been a time that I’ve looked at Samantha and not wanted to fuck her. That’s good in one way but a total failure in another. She’s supposed to make me a proper poster boy for WinFinity, with the requisite high-society girlfriend. But does her pure sexuality make her position as my “respectable girlfriend” questionable?

Probably.

Out of courtesy, I decide to wait until the party is over to break up with her.

On the way out, leaving Sam in the stall to do whatever she might need to do, I drop another twenty into Manuel’s box.