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Nervous Mikey

Mikey finally meets up with an online flame. And is terribly nervous.
        Michael was nervous. Really nervous. His eyes kept darting toward the wall clock above his television—9:57. Zaria was scheduled to arrive in three minutes. She'd probably arrive some time after, though. It'd make her appear less desperate, perhaps. It only made Michael more nervous. His almost didn't notice his knee bouncing. A pang of regret shot through him.

        He'd met Zaria through an adult personal website, and after two weeks of talking a good game—and occasional phone sex—he'd scrounged up enough courage to invite her over to his place. And now, he wasn't so sure if he wanted to go through with it. His friend Ezra was the blame for this mess. He'd talked Michael into joining the website after his breakup with Regina. He kept saying a good, random piece of ass was what the doctor ordered. Sure, it'd seemed like a good idea . . .

        Michael shook his head, his chestnut-brown hair falling into his face. It was too late now; she'd agreed to come over for "a little fun" and was bound to knock on his apartment door any second now. You need this, kiddo.

        He glanced at his gold wristwatch, that looked bright against his pale skin. 10:01, now. Where the hell was she?

        The knock on the door startled him.

        He checked his breath—satisfactory—and stood. He checked what he was wearing: a plain white t-shirt and gray sweatpants. Zaria had requested that he wear something comfortable, convenient, and he'd done just that. He'd even neglected to pull on a pair of boxers. He imagined what she would wear.

        He approached the door, letting his hand fall upon the knob. He inhaled deeply, and exhaled, twisting the knob and pulling the door open.

        "Hey there," Zaria said, a sly grin stretching her pink-glossed lips. Her lustrous brown hair spilled over her shoulders, shimmering beneath the dull yellow lighting of the entry hall. Her eyes were light brown, set above her sculpted, kissable cheekbones. Her nose was narrow, and perfectly proportioned to her heart-shaped face. Her golden skin and the slight angle of her eyes was a testament of her latin heritage. A black leather long coat covered her from the neck down, concealing her curves. Michael imagined she wore absolutely nothing underneath, and felt himself grow behind gray sweatpants.

        "Wow, hey . . ." Michael heard himself say as she leaned in and planted a kiss on his cheek. He gestured her inside.

        Stiletto heels clicked against his hardwood floor, and Michael suppressed the urge to bite his fist. She remembered his affinity towards high heels.

        "I don't know why you were so nervous about your place, it's great!" She said, taking in her surroundings.

        Michael closed the door, and watched her move toward his living room, plopping onto the sofa. "Sure, I guess," he chortled nervously and followed her.

        "Nervous?" She asked. She crossed her legs, flashing a bit of thigh, sitting primly on his maroon sofa.

        "Not at all," he lied.

        "Good," she flashed him another smile—seductive and predatory, as if she'd seen through his ruse. She exuded sex, and there was something in her stare that made her seem hungry, like she would leap up and pounce on him any second. The thought excited him, and he turned, hiding himself.

        He suddenly felt inadequate, feeling incapable of being able to handle someone like her. But he remembered hearing her moan on the phone a few nights ago, and how she'd said his name as if he was there, drilling into her like there was no tomorrow. There was no way he'd pass up the opportunity to hear her—feel and taste her—in person.

        "Hey, you want a drink?" Michael asked, preparing to make for the kitchen until . . .

        He heard her rise to her feet, and the click of her stilettos. He heard her coat crumple to the floor in a fwump! A warm, slender arm snaked over his shoulder, fingertips running playful circles along his chest.

        Her breath was hot against his ear. "No thank you . . . I am hungry, though."

        Michael froze, almost forgetting to breathe. His pulse thundered in his ears, soaking up the carnal desire that hung in the air around her. Her hand traced up to his jawline, while the other reached around and slid down the front of his sweatpants, wrapping firmly about his rock-hard shaft. She cooed, apparently satisfied with what she found. It throbbed achingly in her palm, her touching sending electricity through him.

        Confidence suddenly flowed through him, his lips crept up at the corners.

        He turned, biting his lip.

        Michael found that she did in fact wear absolutely . . . nothing. She was ridiculously curvaceous, her frame coke-bottled. Her breasts were plentiful, their tips pink and hard, begging for his lips. Her wide hips and voluptuous thighs made his knees damn-near buckle, and the strip of hair above her clit made his mouth water. Their mouths met in a hard, animalistic kiss that flooded his veins with liquid flame. Nervous Michael has officially left the building.

        Zaria broke away from the kiss, her lips bruised, and turned. She led him toward the sofa by his cock, and he obediently followed, the waistline of his sweatpants cuffed under his balls. She sat herself on the sofa, spreading her thighs apart, her fingers sliding against her clit. Her other hand remained gripped on Michael's cock, and she tugged him forward, wrapping her glossed lips around his shaft. Her mouth was hot and wet around him, sending waves of pleasure down his legs and up through his chest. While she took him into her mouth, her hand slid along his slick shaft, tongue gliding against its  underside.

        She pulled away with an alleviated gasp, and gazed up at him, her hand sliding from his head to his base in steady strokes.

        "Put your fingers in my hair, babe," she said, and he obeyed. She took him back into her mouth, letting her hand join the other on her pussy, fingers sliding fervently against her clit. She throated him, as far as she could, and slowly dragged her mouth back against him. His cock twitched, eyes squeezing shut. God, she was good—no, the best. No one had ever given him head as well as she did now.

        "Yeah . . . that feels good," Michael said, his hips thrusting gently, fingers tangled in her lustrous hair.

        He could feel himself nearing climax, and did the best he could to fight it, but was losing. No, he thought. No no no, not yet. I gotta do something.

        He pulled himself away, her lips popping loudly as they parted from his head, and he lowered himself to his knees. He grabbed her by the thighs, pulling her toward him, her silken folds glistening delectably beneath the light. He kissed her thighs first, slowly making his way down toward her clit, and slowly slid his tongue against it. He heard her gasp, and glanced up. His tongue glided along her pussy lips, eyes remaining fixed on hers, watching her face twist with pleasure. Her body writhed beneath his touch. She emanated lustful heat, and the fact that he seemed to be pleasuring her supplemented his hunger. His tongue slid betwixt her folds, moving stiffly against her hole, and then up around her clit before he wrapped his lips around it, sucking hungrily.

        She yelped, back arching, fingers finding home in his hair and tugging firmly. He ignored the pain, lust numbing him. Her breathing became labored, breasts rising and falling quickly. She was nearing an orgasm. He could feel it. He continued, moving his tongue quickly against her clit as her gasps turned into moans.

        "Ah! Fuck!" Her body moved spasmodically, back curving into a high arch. Her thighs closed around his head, and her hand pulled even harder on his head. She smothered him, and he didn't care, his smile hidden between her thighs.

        He rose up and kissed her, her tongue moving unabashedly against his, hunger and lust spilling through them.

        "Please . . . fuck . . . me . . ." She managed between kisses.

        He didn't waste time, pulling his sweatpants from around his ankles and pulling his shirt up over his head, tossing it elsewhere. He moved inward, his mouth finding the kissable space between her neck and shoulder, the head of his cock nestling playfully against her inviting folds.

        "Please, baby, don't tease!" She begged, her voice husky and breathless in his ear.

        He grinned. He was doing better than he thought.

        He thrust into her, her walls sliding over him like warm, moist velvet. He dragged his hips back, slowly, and pressed inward again, a wave of pleasure spilling down his back. His eyes squeezed shut. She was impossibly tight. Impossibly wet. He felt her legs wrap around his waist, pulling him anxiously against her. Deeper. She gasped, her teeth biting into his shoulder. A mixture of fresh pain and pleasure ran through him, making him release a shuddering moan.

        "Fuck!" He heard himself say, pumping inside of her, deeper . . . deeper still.

        "Yes, baby, just like that!" She said through clinched teeth, her nails in his back. When he started thrusting faster, she released steadied gasps, occasionally emitting helpless sounds that was nothing more than music to his ears. "Yes! Just like that! Fuck me, you dirty motherfucker, fuck me!"

        He slammed into her, then. Again, and again. His hands were clenched into the sofa, and he felt his back muscles working. Thrust. Harder, and faster still—deeper. His mouth moved, finding home around her earlobe, suckling softly while he drilled his cock into her, feeling her walls spread around his shaft obediently.

        Before long she'd gone through the motions of another orgasm, her body tightening, and her moans growing louder and sharper. "God damn! God damn!" She cried out, her legs falling from around him, her body trembling with orgasm. He felt her walls wrap tightly around his shaft, flooding around it liquid fire.

        And he couldn't hold it in anymore.

        "I'm about to cum . . ." He warned her, looking into her eyes, his thrusts becoming more vicious—merciless. And her body welcomed it, her eyes doing the same.

        "Cum on me, baby. Cum on these fucking tits."

        He pumped several more times before he pulled out, the tingling sensation pooling throughout his body, electricity spilling out through his veins. And he shot off, ropes of hot, sticky white cum lacerating her chest and belly. And she cooed, delighted. He hovered against her, his arms weak, barely able to keep him up.

        "See?" She said. "Now, what were you so nervous about?"

        "I have no fucking idea . . . but give me ten minutes and get ready for round two." He said, grinning, and lowered himself down onto his knees again.

        She made a short giggle, which was interrupted by a sharp gasp, and instinctively ran her fingers through his hair.

        "God," she moaned. "You're so fucking good at that . . ."
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© Jett Black 2007. All Rights Reserved.

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