The Queen & the Homo Jock King (63 page)

Or maybe it was just Darren.

I growled at him when he started to slow down, pulling my head back and off his dick. “I’m going to come if we keep that up,” he gasped.

“That’s what I want,” I said, scowling up at him. “You can come on my face. I like it. It’s okay.”

“Fuck,” he said, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “We can do that. Later. I really want to fuck you.”

That… was okay by me.

But I was an asshole, so I said, “Maybe I want to fuck you.”

He nodded far more quickly than I thought. “Yeah, that too. All of that. Let’s do all of that. Whatever you want.”

I pushed myself to my hands and knees and crawled up him until I straddled his waist, legs resting on either side of him. I was amused to see I was still wearing heels, my skirt hiked up around my thighs. I sat on his lap, and we both groaned as his cock pressed against my lace-covered ass. I rested my weight on him and he pushed himself up until we were chest to chest, resting back on his hands. I leaned in and kissed him, the barest brush of lips as my hands came to his chest, nails dragging lightly across his skin.

I pretended to think on it for a moment as he kissed his way to my neck, mouth at my throat as I rolled my hips into him. “This time, you can fuck me,” I decided, as if there was really any other alternative.

He snorted into my neck. “How generous of you.”

I grabbed the back of his head and pulled his hair until he looked back at me. He was breathing heavily through his nose, and his eyes were dark. And we both knew then that even though he’d be fucking me, he wasn’t the one in charge. And I think he liked it that way. It probably wouldn’t always be like this, but it
was
now and I planned to make the most of it. I leaned down and kissed him again, harder this time, feeling his teeth press my lips back.

He sat up higher as he returned the kiss, grabbing my legs and bringing them around his waist. His hands came to my ass, getting himself a big handful as he squeezed. I stuttered a bit in my ministrations, feeling the drag of the panties against my cock and balls. I moaned into his mouth, and then his tongue was there again, touching mine as he kissed me deeply.

Keeping one hand on my ass, he brought his other between us, reaching up my skirt, fingertips grazing the lace. The head of my dick poked out the top of the panties, and he took it between his fingers, rubbing the tip of my cock with his thumb.

I rolled my hips again, grinding down onto him. “We gonna do this here?” I asked, sounding rather breathless as he continued to stroke my cock.

“We’re not leaving here until I’ve fucked you,” he said against my lips.

“How do you want it?” I asked, running my fingers through his hair. “Like this? You want me to fuck myself on you?” I rocked myself down again and swallowed the grunt that came from him. “Or,” I said, pulling away, “do you want me up against the wall, taking me from behind?”

He whimpered at that one.

I grinned into his kiss.

“That do it for you?” I asked. “Bent over against the wall. Ass up.”

“Yeah,” he said. “That. Please. Show me.”

I laughed. “I can show you.”

I brought my legs back on either side of him, reaching down to unclasp the heels I wore. But before I could, he stopped me, hand coming to mine, holding it in place. I looked back up at him, arching an eyebrow.

“No,” he said, blushing darkly. He coughed and shook his head. “Can you… uh. Keep those on? I’d like it if you… kept those on.”

“Really.” I was careful not to mock him. It really wasn’t in me to kink shame, especially when it would concern me getting laid or not by the Homo Jock King. And it wasn’t like I’d never thought about it before. But I was in a weird headspace, mind still swirling with just how quickly this had escalated, still trapped between being Helena and being Sandy. I had to be sure we were on the same page. “I can do that. Won’t happen all the time.” Because I thought we could talk about stuff like that now. The future. It made my heart trip all over itself.

He shook his head. “I won’t want you to. Just… this time. And maybe some other times.” He looked like he was embarrassed by such an admission, and I couldn’t have that.

I leaned forward and kissed him again, working his mouth over until he was groaning again, my hands on his chest, pinching his nipples and running my fingers through his chest hair. He was strong beneath me, just like I’d known he’d be. And just when I thought he was going to flip me over and take me right then, I backed off, pulling away and rising to my feet, standing above him.

Erections are ridiculous things. They tend to broadcast more than a man is usually wanting to share.

Now imagine having an erection while in a fitted skirt and lace panties. There’s a reason I tucked when dressed up in Helena-wear. It was uncomfortable to move, my dick aching in the confines of my clothes. And I didn’t think the sexiest thing I could have done in what had to be the sexiest moment of my life was try and adjust my junk over the skirt.

Instead, I turned away from Darren and (sexily!) walked back toward the vanity, making sure my hips swayed, even as I grimaced. I could feel his eyes trailing over me from head to toe, and I wanted to make sure he liked what he saw.

But damn, women were so lucky they didn’t get boners in skirts.

“You know, I can see your reflection in the mirror.” He sounded amused. “Are you in pain? Or are you trying to do an impression of a disgruntled old man?”

I made sure any face he saw then was pure bitch face. “You try having a hard-on in a skirt.”

“I almost did,” he said, pushing himself up off the floor. “You looked good at the auction.”

I flashed a razor-sharp smile over my shoulder. “I always look—” But the witty rejoinder died on my lips at the sight of him. His jeans were still undone, the sharp V of his stomach and waistline just above his briefs, where his dick was still obviously hard, the sight of it almost making me want to drop to my knees and take it into my mouth again.

He moved toward me then as I turned back around, bending over the vanity, opening my makeup case and rooting around until I found a spare condom or two, and a few single-use packets of lube. I was like a Boy Scout in that I was always prepared. The difference here being was that I was always prepared for a good bout of homo jock fucking.

“You were saying?” he asked, sounding smug once again. He pressed up against me, lips at the back of my neck. In the heels, I was taller than he was, giving myself more leverage over him, as if I needed any more. I wasn’t blind to the fact that while I enjoyed fucking someone, I preferred being a power bottom, controlling the pace and position. Topping from the bottom was such a rush and I planned on taking full advantage of it with Darren.

“I was saying,” I said, watching his reflection over my shoulder in the mirror. “That I always look good. And you would do well to remember that.”

I bent over in front of him, arms resting on the top of the vanity. Making sure he didn’t look away, I reached down and lifted the skirt up and over my ass. The cool air blowing down from the vents above felt good on my heated skin. His hands were on my hips as he looked down at my ass. I slid my fingers into the underwear and pulled the panties down, letting them rest just above my knees.

“Always.” Darren ran his hands over the backs of my thighs and up my ass, and while I wouldn’t have minded feeling his tongue again without the barrier of lace, I wanted his cock now.

“Lube and condoms are on top of the makeup case,” I said.

He took the hint and bent over me, reaching for them. His dick slotted between my ass cheeks, and I had to bite back the groan. “Carry these around, do you?”

“I’m a Boy Scout,” I said.

He snorted. “I highly doubt that.”

“I have the uniform,” I said, and I felt his dick twitch.

He kissed my shoulder as he found what he was looking for, taking the packets and the condom and dropping them onto my back. I watched in the mirror as he pulled his briefs down, his cock bouncing up against his stomach, a meaty pop of skin against skin, and I knew if he tried to draw this out, I was going to knock his ass down and just ride the fuck out of him.

“Put the lube on my fingers,” I demanded. “You can get yourself ready while I do myself.”

“I am so on board with that,” he said, stroking himself as he rubbed a hand over my ass. He let go of his dick and reached up for the lube packets, taking two of them and opening them at the same time. I brought my hand back and cupped it for him, letting him drizzle the lube on my fingers. He’d barely finished before I reached backed and breached myself on my fingers, two slipping in with a slight burn, but not enough to cause my erection to flag. I groaned as I worked myself open, resting my head on my arm, pushing my fingers in as far as I could reach. It was good, the burn, but it wasn’t enough.

I looked back up at Darren. He was jacking off, watching my ass with a hungry expression on his face. I spread my fingers, and his hand stuttered on his cock, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

And I couldn’t believe I was doing this. I was usually far more reserved than this, unless I was Helena. She got laid more than I did, and even though I knew part of her was there, I thought I was more me than I’d ever been. And the fact that I was bent over my vanity with my fingers up my ass and my underwear around my knees, well. I’d probably feel some sort of latent embarrassment about this later. But right now, I didn’t give a shit. I wanted to be fucked.

“You better not come before you’re in me,” I warned him as he continued to fuck into his fist.

“I won’t.”

“Still. I’m almost ready. Put on the condom.”

“Of course you’re a bossy bottom.”

“You’re damn fucking right I am.” My breath hitched in my chest as I found a particularly sweet spot that caused my legs to shake.

“Are you sure you don’t need more time to—”

“This isn’t my first rodeo,” I snapped at him, pulling my fingers out of my ass.

He scowled at that but brought his hand up, resting his fingers on the small of my back and rubbing his thumb over my asshole. He pushed in slowly and it was getting to the point where I was going to be begging him. I thought he knew that too with the way he watched me in the mirror.

Thankfully, he didn’t spend much time with his thumb in my ass. He pulled out as I wiped my hands on my skirt, knowing already I’d curse myself later for it. Sex was like drinking: it made you do things you wouldn’t normally do, like sing karaoke or wipe lube on the thrift-store skirt you used for your headmistress routine while waiting for the Homo Jock King to stick his dick in you after you admitted your feelings for each other.

My life was a strange, strange thing.

He rolled the condom on as I chanted, “Come on, come on,
come on
.”

He barely had spread lube over his sheathed dick before I reached back and grabbed it, positioning it so it nudged my asshole. As soon as I felt it in place, I let go and pushed back slowly. It hurt so good, and I didn’t want it to stop. One of his hands was on my back, the blouse I still wore pushed up so he could get at skin. His other hand was on my hip, holding tight, but not pushing or pulling. He was either letting me fuck myself on his dick or he was so shocked it was happening, he couldn’t move. Either way, it was fine with me. I panted as his hips pressed against my ass.

“So good,” I babbled at him. “God, you feel so fucking big in me. I need to move, oh
fuck, I need to move
—”

And I did, pulling away and then pushing back on him. He said something above me, something choked out, but I was too delirious with the drag of his dick in my ass, the counterpoint to where my own dick bumped uselessly against the vanity.

I watched him in the mirror, my head resting on my hands. His eyes were hooded, his face and throat red as his hips finally snapped forward when I pushed out. I cried out at that first hit, muffling it into my hands, well aware that people could hear us downstairs. His eyes shot up to mine in the mirror. He held my gaze as he did it again, working another cry out of me.

“Come on,” I said throatily. “Just do it already. Please. Just fucking
give it
—”

He bunched up my blouse in one hand, pulling it tight against my chest, using it to anchor himself. He started snapping his hips roughly, his balls smacking against my thighs as he thrust into me. I shouted into my hands as he fucked me, no longer sure (or caring) if people could hear us down below. Part of me
wanted
them to hear us, to let them know that he was
mine
now, that this was real, and it was
good
.

These perfect, sweet little noises came from him, high-pitched and almost like a whine. He pulled back on the blouse tightly. It caught at my throat and clung there, digging into my skin. I watched as he reached up and tweaked his own nipple.

There was a pressure building, and even though this was probably as close to porn as I’d ever get in my life, I knew there was no fucking way I’d be able to come without touching my dick. I pushed back against him to give myself room between my dick and the vanity. I reached down to stroke myself off, but he let go of my blouse and batted my hand away.

Before I could tell him off for being such a bastard, he pulled on my shoulders, raising me up until my back was flush against his chest. His thrusts were uneven now, sporadic, the angle just slightly off, but it didn’t matter because one of those big hands came up the front of the skirt and grabbed my dick, jerking me off in time with every movement forward. His breath was hot on my neck as his tongue dragged along my ear.

“I want to watch you come,” he growled.

“And then you have to come on me,” I spat back. “You fucking do it on me, you understand?”

He jerked me off harder.

I didn’t last, after that. He kept nailing my prostate and it didn’t matter if I was Helena or Sandy; there was only so much I could do when being fucked like that. His free hand went over my mouth as I got closer and I screamed into it when I came. My come splattered onto the vanity, onto the mirror. Onto the floor. I gasped into his hand, my head falling back on his shoulder.