First is by Blue Eyed Gypsy
There’s a striking resemblance between this story and Jaisen Rose’s. Blue Eyed Gypsy explained it this way:
I read the prompt but dismissed it quickly, thinking – wrongly, as it turns out – that if such a moment had ever occurred for me, I couldn’t recall it. When I read Jaisen Rose’s submission, though, there was an instantaneous spark of recognition. It was the theme – the man in a suit – that brought on the remembrance that I did have that epiphany-like experience and had even written about it.
Blue Eyed Gypsy hosts Blue Eyed Vagabond, if you’d like to read more of her stories. As with Jaisen’s story, be sure and let our visiting author know what you think. Comment.
I like suits. Even though it’s now usually a pejorative, I have to admit that I really like suits. Or rather, men who wear suits. I especially like it when the man in the suit is sexually confident, and as wildly uninhibited on the inside as he is conservative on the outside.
I want to kiss the man in the suit, to make out with him, to muss the crisp correctness of a pressed shirt and well-tied double Windsor, my naked vulnerability slowly dismantling the structure, his inexorable need to subdue and arouse me a perfect complement to my need to be subdued and aroused. He scatters his power as he scatters my clothes and it pulls me in.
You in a suit is unexpectedly potent. It’s not something I could foresee in a slyly subversive, erotically inclined advertising exec. How you could guess, much less know, my weakness is beyond me, but I don’t care – I’m undone before you say a word. I want to make out with you almost as much as I want to fuck you. You’ve got me backed up against the door of the room, and all I want is your hot, sweet mouth all over my body.
My hands struggle to remove your jacket; when that is successfully discarded, I grapple with the obstacle of your tie. Finally, I pull it loose and unbutton the top buttons of the shirt. All the while, your mouth is avid on me, your tongue exploring my mouth, your teeth gently, then not so gently nibbling on my lower lip.
Open your shirt, you murmur against my mouth. I hasten to obey, clumsy in my desire to give you access, circling my head back and around as you mouth me hungrily. You pull my blouse apart, yanking it up and out of the waistband of my jeans. Your hands clasp me around the throat then trail down to my breasts, unhooking the front clasp bra. Your lips follow, trailing kisses down my neck. You play with my breasts, kneading them, then rolling the erect nipples between your fingers, squeezing none too gently. You pause momentarily, getting my attention. At the tender juncture of shoulder and neck, you bite me, hard, and at the same time pinch my nipples fiercely. My head is thrown back in pleasure and you grasp me with both hands again and reclaim my mouth.
This is what months of purely cerebral foreplay has done to us – no gentle approach, no working up to the main event. But there is something extra as well today. It’s my first day of grad school, and I’m fizzy with energy as well as arousal. You’re amused and bemused by this Tigger-ish behaviour. Having gotten your tie loose and your shirt open at the top, I burrow my face into your neck and chest, absorbing your warm, solid male scent as you now hold me close to contain me. But I won’t be contained today, and I start to nibble on you, making the bites harder and harder until I draw a yelp from you.
I push away, to escape certain retribution. I’m not quick enough, though, and you grab my arm, then capture me with your arm snaked around my waist. I’m laughing and struggling to get away but you have me fast and you’re growling and nuzzling the nape of my neck as you maneuver me to the bed. That’s where payback strikes. Holding me tight against your body with one arm, you open my jeans (very skillfully) and order me to pull them down. I’m still struggling and you smack me on the backside, telling me that froggy little girls like me need to settle down. You tell me how you had been looking forward all day to eating me out but I’m too full of myself today to deserve that. You’ll have to fuck some of that piss and vinegar out of me. In truth, I don’t think I could have lain still long enough for you to get me off with your mouth, I’m that jazzed.
I shuck the jeans down as far as my knees, still half laughing and wriggling, as you hold me by the nape of my neck. You pull my open shirt off quite easily and the bra comes with it. I am mostly naked now and still giddy with arousal. You push my upper body down on the bed, holding me against the mattress with your hand between my shoulder blades as you swat my ass. Hard. Hard enough to pull a protest from me, but you keep swatting me until my laughter dies away, to be replaced by moans of pleasure and grunts of pain all mixed up. Your hand cups my pussy briefly, and my back arches, the instinctive response of the female in heat. All that swirling, free floating energy has focused in my groin and I push back on your hand as your fingers root deep within me.
But today I need more, something explosive and unsubtle, and I groan in anticipation when I feel your hands gripping my hips and the head of your cock probing my pussy. Rub your clit, you say, your voice rough with your own arousal. Come on, rub it; make yourself come. You tease me with your cock, just the head, as hard and round and smooth as an apple, pushing my flesh aside; in a little,out, until I’m begging, as you know I will. At last, you thrust into me, and God, it’s so deep and hard that I cry out.
Every stroke is like that. I’m distracted by the incredible fullness and the needling pain, until you slap my ass, hard, and say, ‘I told you to rub your clit. Do it!’ My whimper of surrender and renewed stroking isn’t sufficient, though, and your hands slide up my body, until you are leaning over me. With one arm braced on the bed, the other hand fists in my hair and forces my head to the side. Your voice is raspy in my ear, and I know that you’re as high on this as I am. You tell me, ‘You do what I tell you to and you don’t stop until I let you. My assent is swallowed up by a scream as you bite me again, all the while pumping into me with long, punishing strokes.
You’re upright again, gripping me hard enough to leave bruises in the soft flesh of my hips. I am writhing, my free hand clutching at the bed covers, my back arching to keep my ass high in the air to give you deeper access.
‘God, you’re hot. You are so fucking hot.’ Your voice is raw with lust, and your words push me over edge. My entire body goes rigid, locked in climax, my voice frozen; the only sound I can make is something primal, from deep within my chest. As the force of the orgasm begins to fracture and wash over me, I press my face against the bed, crying out with pleasure in long, animal moans.
Now you are grunting with each thrust, and I can feel it radiating through both of us when a powerful, all encompassing orgasm overtakes you. I can feel the eruption of your semen deep inside me, hot and thick; as you continue to pump into me, it is forced out and down my slit and onto my belly.
Afterwards, you lie folded over me, your body heavy against my sweat slicked back, arms braced alongside mine, both of us panting. I feel your cock softening and withdrawing and eventually, you nudge me with your hips up onto the bed. As I clamber up, you roll to the side, grabbing my jeans and panties as I pass, and toss them on the floor. I’m lying on my back, completely enervated, watching you through half-closed eyes as you kick off your shoes and crawl up beside me. You are snug against me, and I can feel the buckle of your belt digging a little into my hip. You’re propped up on your elbow, watching me watch you, and your free hand is splayed on my belly. I reach up, grab your dangling tie and pull you down for a kiss. A hot, sweet, drugging, open-mouthed kiss and you are leaning over me again, pulling me close, kissing me with equal ferocity. I can feel the dragon stirring in my belly again.