This time I bend my head and get my face against her ass

Evelyn calls me at ten in the evening. At first I don’t
recognize her voice, and then when I do an abrupt shock passes
through me as I realize who it is, that it’s really Evelyn.
“Are you alone?” she says.
“Yes, of course.”
“Why of course? You might be with someone.”
“I’m not with anyone.”
Is that what she expects? She’s been resisting me for
months, avoiding any contact with me at parties, allowing me to
make a fool of myself because it’s obvious to everyone I want
her. I dream about her. Of course she knows everything. She can’t
pretend she doesn’t know. Now she says she wants to visit me,
her voice sultry. “I’ll find a taxi.”
I’m dubious, wary of being hurt by her. Everyone knows how
fickle Evelyn can be. But I agree. Do I have a choice? I hang up
the phone with my hands shaking.
And I wait. I sit there in my small living room totally
uncertain about what will happen now. Will she actually come to
me? I see my face in the mirror looking so pale, almost like a
ghost. I tell myself I need to make a decision about the mess in
the living room. Should I get the place in order? Does it matter?
No, I don’t care. I’m stubborn. I don’t give a damn what she
thinks. Not after all these months of making a fool of myself.
Then finally the doorbell rings, the sound shattering the
silence, shattering my thoughts. I can feel my heart beating.
I do want her. I go to the door trembling and open it, and
there she is.
“Hi,” she says.
She stands there in a long raincoat, a slight smile. She’s
wearing red high-heeled pumps that catch my eyes as I glance
down. She isn’t that tall, four or five inches shorter than I am,
but with more height now in the high heels. I love it. I feel an
intense excitement as I stare at the sheer red nylons that
complement the red pumps.
Without another word she comes in, walking past me into the
apartment, the heels clicking on the parquet floor. My hands
trembling again, I close the door.
“Let me take your coat.”
She shakes her head. “No, not yet.”
Why? Does she intend to leave soon? I follow her to the
living room, my eyes on the red pumps, the red nylons, her lovely
legs. She knows red is the perfect color for her, the red of her
shoes the same shade as the red of her lips.
In the living room she leans against one of the bookcases.
I’m sorry now there’s no fireplace and a fur rug. I don’t have
the trappings for seductions. I never did have the trappings.
Maybe that’s the reason I’m never successful with women like
Evelyn. Unfortunately, delicious femmes like Evelyn are hardly
ever seduced by piles of books.
As she continues leaning against the bookcase, she slides
her hands out of the pockets of her raincoat and she unties the
belt. Her eyes on me, she slowly pulls the raincoat apart and in
a moment I freeze and my heart pounds again.
The raincoat is open enough to show the red garters and the
red lace garter belt and the red stockings pulled tight high on
her round white thighs. That’s all she’s wearing, nothing else.
My god, how delicious she is! The shock of it keeps me frozen,
immobilized.
Her eyes question me. “What do you think of it??”
I say nothing, remain silent as I continue staring at her.
All I want to do is look at her, keep my eyes on the vision of
loveliness. And I do that, staring at everything, at the garter
belt and stockings and red heels and sheer red nylon through
which her white skin gleams. And the bush of dark hair that looks
brushed out, fluffed. Her breasts are still covered because the
upper part of the raincoat is still buttoned, but I can see her
navel above the lace garter belt, the slope of her belly.
Now she unbuttons the top of the raincoat, her fingers
working at the buttons, and in a moment she pulls the top part of
the raincoat apart to reveal her breasts and the now continuous
white of her body running from the tops of her thighs upward to
her throat.
I’ve never seen any of it, never her breasts that are now
revealed. I’ve always guessed about her breasts, stealing glances
at them at parties, wondering about the shape and look and the
size of her nipples. Now I feel a wild excitement as I gaze at
the succulent tips, the brownish nubs. She’s as beautiful as I
expected her to be. I study the way the weight of each breast
pulls it downward a bit, the perfect lines. I could go to her and
touch her, but I don’t want to. I’m afraid. Instead I just stand
where I am, hypnotized by the picture she makes.
She slips out of the raincoat and she gracefully drops it to
the floor. “You haven’t said a word,” she says. “I’m going to
think you don’t like me.”
“You know that’s not true.”
Naked except for the garter belt and stockings and shoes,
she leans languidly against the bookcase again and she says: “You
could take your shirt off.”
I’m nervous. “I’ll open some champagne.”
“Yes, but first take your shirt off.”
She smirks at me as my fingers fumble at the buttons of my
shirt. In a few moments I’m stripped except for my jeans, my
breasts exposed, swinging. Does she approve? My nipples are stiff
like turrets, tingling with excitement as I keep my eyes on her.
Now she turns to walk across the room, and I have a view of her
legs, her lovely ass seen from behind, the cheeks so
provocatively framed by the red garter belt and red nylons.
The high heels make a clicking sound on the floor, an
enticement, an inducement to madness.
She turns and she smiles at me, aware of my eyes on her,
amused. “I thought you’re getting the champagne.”
Furious with my own weakness, I hurry away.
In the kitchen I open a small bottle of champagne and pour
the pale liquid to fill two glasses. The wine bubbles. In a hurry
now, I carefully carry the two glasses to the living room only to
find the room empty and Evelyn gone.
She’s nowhere in sight. Have I been dreaming? After an
instant of fear, I call out: “Where are you?”
Her voice comes from another room. “The bedroom.”
Relieved, wondering, I exit the living room and I carry the
champagne to the bedroom down the hall. And there she is on the
bed, flat out, on her belly, her body neatly arranged in the
center of the bed, a pillow under her belly to lift her hips, to
lift that luscious ass, her forearms and head resting on another
pillow.
The pose is a shock. This is her first time on my bed, and
the way she has arranged herself is a deliberate attempt to drive
me wild. Her knees are wide apart, but her feet have been brought
together, the high heels gone now, her feet touching each other
through the red nylon.
Her cunt is exposed from the rear, everything visible, the
hair-lined outer lips, the puffy flesh, the red in the long
groove between the lips, the long slit, and above that her ass,
the moons, the winking eye of her anus.
She turns her head to look at me. “Champagne? If you have
the champagne, I want it.”
“Don’t move.”
“But I want some champagne.”
“I’ll bring it to you.”
And I do that. I carry the champagne and I extend a full
glass to her. She turns only the upper half of her body, her
breasts hanging, and she takes the glass from my hand and she
giggles softly. “Do you mind me coming in here?”
“All I care about is looking at you.”
She wiggles her hips. “Is that all? I hope there’s more than
just looking.” She keeps her eyes on me as she sips her
champagne, her red lips at the rim of the glass, her lips wet
with wine and pouting. Then she hands the glass back to me and I
put it on the night table.
“Your nipples are so big,” she says.
It’s the areolas that are big. The points themselves are
tiny. “Big and ugly.”
“No, I like them.”
I sip my champagne, and then I move down to the foot of the
bed to look at her from the rear again. She sighs and she rests
on the pillow. The view of her open cunt puts a fire in my belly.
I can see the glistening in the groove, the wet flaps. For a
moment the silence is heavy, only a slight movement of her legs
to alter the pose, a slight movement that makes her folded legs
appear to beckon to me. What I would like to do is dive in there
and feast on her for three or four days, lose myself in it,
wallow in that lovely open cunt whose lips pout at me with such
provocation.
I climb onto the bed, push her legs apart and kneel between
them, and then I slowly pour some of the champagne I’m holding
into the crack of her ass.
She gasps. She wiggles her hips, whimpers into the pillow as
the champagne streams down the valley to the open maw of her red
cunt. “Oh god, I love that,” she says. Then she adds: “It
stings!”
I leave the bed, and with deliberate slowness I walk to the
night table and I put my champagne glass down. Then I return to
the foot of the bed, gaze at her wet ass a moment, and then climb
onto the bed again between her legs.
This time I bend my head and get my face against her ass. I
start kissing her buttocks, first one and then the other, licking
the smooth flesh, then gradually sliding my face into the crack
to flutter my tongue at her raised cunt. She squirms and moans as
she feels it. I find her wet vaginal opening, and I taste her
juices mixed with the champagne.
Which is stronger, the taste of her flowing cunt or the
taste of the champagne?
My tongue is inside, twisting and turning inside her. She
moans continually now, a soft pleading sound as she slowly
wriggles her ass against my face. I hold the cheeks with my
hands, nibble at one lip, pulling at it with my teeth as she
churns her ass with more vigor. Another gasp comes out of her
throat as I lick upward to her anus and tickle my way around it,
tease it, bedevil it, then stiffen my tongue and push the tip of
it inside the dark ring. She groans as she feels my tongue slide
inside. She loves it. I get myself all the way inside her, my
mouth pressed into the groove between her buttocks, my tongue
foraging in there with constant movement.
Finally I pull away and I roll over on my back beside her.
“Get on top of me,” I tell her. “Get over me and I’ll suck you
that way.”
She hurries to climb over me, facing me, her knees on either
side of my breasts. She gazes down at me, the hairy mouth of her
cunt so close I imagine I can feel it’s heat on my face. Now she
slides forward to give it to me, pushing forward to mash her
clitoris against my mouth as she starts grinding the lower part
of her cunt against my chin.
“Go on, lick the bowl clean,” she says with a soft laugh.
My reply is to dig my fingernails into the cheeks of her ass
until she cries out.
She begins a rhythmic humping at my mouth, but it doesn’t
work for her, and soon she stops it and she pulls away. “I’m
turning around.”
Her ass is now presented to me, her cunt revealed again from
the rear, the wetness everywhere, the inner lips swollen and
distended.
Instead of shifting backward to get her cunt on my mouth,
she bends forward to get my jeans unbuttoned and unzipped. She
pushes my jeans and jockeys down my hips, down my thighs and off
my legs and feet, as I fix my eyes on the crack, on the two
openings, on the pouting hairy lips.
When I’m naked, she scoots backward far enough to find my
face again. “There, that’s better,” she says.
I don’t argue. I pull at her ass to get her down to my mouth
more firmly, and after that’s done she leans forward to get her
face between my thighs.
Why am I afraid?
I have her wet gap on my face as she starts licking me, my
hands on her ass as her crotch grinds against my mouth. I feel
her tongue working even as my own tongue works. I feel the
wetness, the inundation, the drenching of my lips and chin.
Why am I afraid?
This is Evelyn. This is Evelyn in a garter belt, Evelyn
moaning against my cunt, Evelyn’s wetness dripping on my face as
I hump myself at her mouth.
We come one after the other, the bed shaking as we heave up
and down, and afterward we lie head to toe and hugging each
other. I lie with my arms around her ass hoping she won’t move
until tomorrow.