Cutty Buddy

Photo by Andy Mkosi

I’d been in the field working for days and I was craving a long hot bath in a bathroom that didn’t feel so strange. I missed my bed and the safety of my own walls while dancing away with my glass of wine every night after work.

I longed for the freedom of walking around without the caging from my panties and bra and I imagined what it would be like the moment I got home and finally slept in my bed.

The last day of field work was probably the best day for me, I woke up with a new sense of hope and relief because I was finally going home and it felt even better when I got out of the car and arrived home.

Home had never felt tranquil than it did the moment I walked in through those doors. I took my shoes off and dropped my bags on the floor, breathing in the faint rosy lavender smell from the potpourri I had on my coffee table, I was home.

I wanted to check my phone for any calls or new messages, maybe even a “You up?” message from one of the few fuckable men in my contact list, or the far-fetched message from my cutty-buddy 6 hours away saying he’s in town.

I lingered on that thought, if he was in town. The rushed moves I would make before he gets to my apartment. First the bathroom, to discard my panties and well, the rest of my tired clothes and take a quick one night stand like bath to wipe away the day’s dread.

Some moisturizer on my face and a new coat of strawberry flavored lip-gloss and a spritz or two of my favorite subtle Antonio Banderas fragrance, on my neck and my wrist. Then I would dim the lights in my room and play some soft Soul and R n’ B music, the likes of Boys 2 Men or Tyrese Gibson and The Weeknd to set the mood.

And right before he knocks on my door, I would get a chance to pick my jacket and shoes up from the floor, and then I would take a breath before opening the door for him; and he would stand there, and look at me.

He would walk inside, close the door behind him, and come closer to me, pull me close to him and kiss me, pouring how much he has missed me into that kiss. Our tongues would dance together in a passionate waltz drawing us away from reality as his hands run through my back and ass to my front, pulling the strings of my robe and letting it drop to the floor, revealing my naked body for his taking.

My pussy would be throbbing for him, wanting him and my hands would caress his dick over his jeans, feeling him get harder, wanting me, wanting to fuck my pussy harder than he’d ever fucked me because he had missed me so much.

I would unbutton and gently unzip his jeans and pull out his dick and stroke him, and he would take his shirt off and tell me to turn around and bend over the desk by my couch, a command I would enthusiastically oblige to.

He would caress my ass softly, and part my legs, positioning himself right behind me, and slide his fingers to my pussy to feel how wet my pussy is and slowly enter me, feeling my walls clasp tightly around him. He would sharply breathe in as my pussy holds him tight and warm, my juices dripping down my leg, and then he would hold me by the waist and start thrusting into me.

We would moan together, feeling the passion and heat our bodies create together. Him, buried deep inside me, his finger playing with my clit and my body submitting to his, drinking in every thrust and wanting more. He would fuck me harder until I came apart screaming his name and he would cum inside my pussy.

Fuck I missed him.

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