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.