“Hey Big Boy! Make me wet!” she teased me.
When she lifted her skirt all the way up, there was enough light for me to see her silver-pink vertical cleft between her labia and her light brown bush under the relatively thin fabric.
“Ah, fuck it!” I hollered and quickly reached under her skirt to rip her panties off her tight little ass.
Mira was shocked and defending herself, but not with full force, it seemed. Looking at my fat, pulsating glans, I felt like some stupid teenager and realized that just coming on her panties again wasn’t going to be enough. We were grown-ups, and there were better things to do. I had tried humor to gloss over the semi-brutal act, saying ‘that the weather had warmed up’, but she wasn’t having it. Pissed off and blushing, she shouted at me:
“Ben, we had agreed that you’d come on my underwear…”
Disregarding her plea, I pressed her thighs apart with my knees, so that she couldn’t close her legs again. Yeah, God forbid! Now that I could get a good look at her pussy, I took a deep breath, while I still stroked my cock. Oh, yes, her little cute cunt, with the dark-brown fluff above, the vermillion flesh inside… there was already some juice on her chair, and her large macadamia-nut-clit was erect, too, pointing at me. With her legs wide spread, I even imagined that I could hear the subtle noise of her labia separating. We were panting, like we were jogging together, and I just grabbed her beautiful face to kiss her. She flinched, however, but I managed to hold her chin with one hand: with my thumb under her right jar and my fingers on her left cheek. I told her to pull herself together and to hold both, her skirt and her trap, so that I could enjoy the depraved act of splashing my cum onto her glorious thighs and ajar twat.
She moved towards me some more, perhaps another inch or two. I could see that one of her pussy lips was longer than the other, sticking out by almost an inch. I reached between her legs, pulling and plucking her labia as well as her clit a bit. It was so quiet up here that we could hear the smacking of my sticky fingers on and inside her boat hull. When I twiddled her lust bud with my thumb and middle finger, a warm, electrifying current began to rush through my body. And probably hers, too, even though would not have admitted it.
Mira’s face was pretty distorted. Mine perhaps too. Our horniness and the pleasure we were receiving from breaking multiple taboos, including the one that I purportedly was doing things against her will. I was pushing the boundaries again of what she was willing to do, which was overpowering us now. Two weeks ago, I had kept banging her, against her protest, which had given her a huge kick, as she later admitted. But now, I was the one receiving that extra kick.
Sure enough, the logic of our depravity required going one step further. After another hearty ‘fuck it’, I grabbed her knees, lifted her up a bit, and pulled her 95-pounds even closer. She almost fell off the chair but somehow managed to hold on. The tingling in my groins and legs had turned into a burning sensation, and when her wet pulsating, semi-open pussy was just under my stiff cock, I took my thumb and pressed my shaft down, until my glans plugged her snatch. Her inner labia wrapped tightly around my purple tip, but when I pressed in another half-an-inch, so that her labia would snugly fit the groove at the bottom of my glans, she cried:
“Ben, stop it! What are you doing? Are you nuts?!” she whimpered and complained, before she began to press me away from her with both hands on my shoulders.
To no avail, of course. I weighed more than twice as much as she did–and didn’t she exactly want me to do what I was doing?! Oh, was her ornery squirming body hot! Her flat tits with their erect nipples under her sweater looked insane! Oh, no, this shit was quite something! Oh, yes, recalcitrance and intractability needed to become part of our sensual routine. Coming onto her panties! Nonsense! Had she been serious?! Or had she been hoping that I’d go further?
Obviously, we weren’t teenagers anymore. Her naked cunt and my cock had only been three inches away from each other. And, so, yes, I put her thighs over my knees, and now I was thrusting ever so slightly, until the gooey whitish elixir would find its way up her sheath, towards her lovely cervix. It looked kinda funny how my purple glans was plugging her snatch and how we were connected via my cock. I pushed a little more in to rub that sensitive groove at the bottom of my glans inside her some more. She was still protesting and whimpering, while my ass and pelvis made thrusting moves on the edge of my chair.
Holy shit, she seemed cross! I saw some tears in her eyes, and eventually she turned her head by 90 degrees and was now looking in some indefinite distance. She was gasping and blushing, but when she felt the ejaculation, she looked back down at my twitching shaft inside her pussy. We waited until more than half-a-dozen of fat, viscous, heavy cum flurries had landed inside her. I let out an utterly satisfied long Aaaah! and enjoyed how one of my best climaxes ever was washing down my thighs, while she may have regretted that she couldn’t scream up here at the café balcony.
Looking resentful and disgusted, she finally said:
“Ben, no, screw you, I didn’t want that… At all.”
Funnily, she didn’t pull her body back but even seemed to press her hips towards me a bit, like she was waiting to get filled up. We were still connected like dogs, and equally vulgar I remarked:
“What’s your cunt for, then?” even though she had never said that she wanted to get insulted in her paradoxical resistance-surrender racket.
“I wanted you to come on my panties. Or, after you had ripped them off me, perhaps my clit and hair…” she pouted, summarizing what she purportedly had wanted.
“That’s just a mess… you can’t wash here…” I contended pragmatically, yet unconvincingly.
Oh, Jesus, I couldn’t get enough of my glans inside her. Even though my cock was getting limper by the second, I thrusted a bit more, before it slipped out. Cum came oozing out of her immediately, while there was also some on my glans, which was now dripping onto the floor. I wiped it with my shoe, lest we’d forget later. Mira turned her head away again and was crying now. Oh, shit! Did she? I mean, was it real… genuine? Nah, I convinced myself, she was just cranking up the heat once more in her novel resistance shtick.
Still sulking, she grabbed her panties and put them back on. Good salacious Lord, what a scene that was. When she put one foot on the chair again to clear the seat with a napkin, she exposed her tiny boat hull under the wet, now semi-translucent white fabric, like she really wanted to make sure I saw it well.
After I had put my cock and balls away and lit another cigarette, she asked somewhat cryptically: “And now what?”
She shot me another if-looks-could-kill-expression, while she was putting on her leggings and shoes and then stated flatly: