On The Prowl, But My Prey Is Hungy Too. Category: Long and Satisfying.
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Welcome to ‘On The Prowl, But My Prey Is Hungy Too.’
I definitely need to work on brevity! I had in mind that this would be a fairly short piece – perhaps around the 1000-word mark. It’s topping out at 3000 words and therefore deserves its inclusion in the ‘Long and Satisfying’ category. I will have a punt at some more flash fiction soon, but in the meantime, I hope you enjoy this, which is approximately a 17-minute read.
***
I must be thinking that I’m going to get a hook-up tonight. There’s no other reasonable explanation for what I’m doing now; the attention to detail, that is.
I’ve just had a long soak in the bath, with one of my expensive bath-bombes, no less. Glass of chilled white wine: check. Sexy R&B playlist on my Bluetooth speaker: check. Legs, smooth as silk: check. I’ll need to give them some special attention with my body butter later to make sure they’re especially soft and silky. The last task before I begin the dressing process is currently underway. I am sitting on the edge of the bath, with my feminine razor in my slightly trembling hand, carefully working away at my most intimate part, making sure it’s as smooth and soft as I can get it. Why is my hand shaking? Seriously, why?
It’s what’s going through my head. I’m used to shaving my pussy every few days to keep it smooth and hairless. I’ve done it countless times since my teens. Why is my hand now trembling then? The reason is what I am planning to do later.
***
I can feel myself blushing. My free hand, the one not holding the razor, touches my clit by accident/not by accident as I work away, and I shudder deliciously. I track the outline until I brush the nub of my hard clitoris. I shudder again, harder this time. My nipples are hard, and I feel like the surface of my skin is tingling, hoping for – no – anticipating the touch of someone else.
I finish up, and it’s all I can do not to just sit there and touch myself, fingers pinching nipples, brushing across my clit, dipping inside me, building, building until I come. No. I have something better in mind… I have to stop and get ready. But… Oh shit. Yes, there, fuck, fuck, fuck!
***
Oh, fuck! I HAVE to stop and get a hold of myself. Not in that way! Get a grip and just get ready, for god’s sake. If this all works out, I’ll get my share and then some tonight. If not, I’ll just come back and finish what I’ve just started. Damn. I’m so horny I can hardly think.
I move to the bedroom and I smear myself in my warm, heady, vanilla-scented body butter, massaging it in. Underwear follows, black and sheer. I’ll wear stockings and suspenders tonight. This is not a time to hold back. Lace-top seamed stockings with six suspender straps—gold-coloured metal fastenings glint against the black floral design of the welt. I fasten them one by one, noting again the tremor in my hands. I slip my matching black thong up my thighs and pull it up so that it cradles my twinging, tingling sex. Bra, then a little black dress follows. Is there a better outfit when you want to go out and find someone to fuck? I have several. This one has a scooped cowl neck and thin shoulder straps. It shows a bit of cleavage. Just enough to be provocative but still concealing enough for plausible deniability.
Black shoes: patent. Heels: five inches. I mean, what else? Heels are a subliminal nod towards bondage and domination, aren’t they? Amazing to look at, but you can’t travel quickly in them or do anything quickly, for that matter. Not while you’re standing upright on them anyway. It’s like being in a hobble dress. You have to embrace the restriction. Lean into the fact that you are making yourself more vulnerable. Willingly. Wantonly.
***
I’m such a little slut when I’m like this. A dirty little fucking slut. That’s what I want to be, though. I want to go out and give myself away. Save your flowers; save your chocolates. Don’t tell me how pretty I am or that you’d love to see me again or some bullshit like that. Yank my knickers to one side. Rip them, preferably. Shove it in me and fuck me like I’m a sex-doll with no feelings; just an object to objectify. Finish in me and wipe your cock on my expensive dress before leaving me lying there in a puddle of our mingled fluids.
Seriously… I have got to get out of the door before I drive myself crazy. I need to readjust myself: splash my face and reapply a spritz of perfume to my neck and hair. Just so you know, when you come, even if I’m kneeling there in front of you, I decide where. You can fuck my mouth, but I’m still in charge; still calling the shots even if you think I’ve completely submitted to you. Oh god, my mind is in the sewer, and I love it.
A short while later, the taxi deposits me outside the bar, and now that I’m here, I’m less assured, less certain of what I want, how I want to be. I could just get back in the taxi, tell him I’ve changed my mind and ask him to take me home. No, oh no. Not after all this. I’m going in. All in.
***
The bar is busy but not excessively so. It’s a Friday evening, but this bar, surrounded as it is by office buildings, caters mostly for the after-work crowd, most of whom have settled up and left for the evening. A trickle of latecomers has bolstered the numbers, but there’s still room for me to sit at the bar. Good! I love sitting at the bar. Not only do you usually receive good service, especially if you’re flirty with the bar staff, but it’s also a great way to meet people. Someone who likes the look of you can come to order their drink right next to you and maybe strike up a conversation. If I like the look of them, I can be sure to flash a bit of stocking top to grease the wheels, so to speak.
The guy who is standing at my elbow now isn’t my type. He offers to buy me a drink, and I feel a little bad, as I always do, politely but firmly turning him away. There’s no way of pretending it’s not a rejection; I’ve been here long enough that it’s clear I’m not waiting for someone. I try to do it as kindly as I can without giving mixed messages, but I can see he’s a little crestfallen.
It’s getting late. This bar stops serving at 11, and the place is already beginning to empty as people begin to drift out, on their way home or to some place where they can get another drink.
***
‘Time at the bar, ladies and gentlemen.’ The barman that I’ve been checking out begins clearing the tables. I’ve had my eye on him all evening. He’s the one I’ve been stalking this evening. The others coming to the bar, flashing looks at my crossed legs, a surreptitious glance at the little peak of white flesh above the welt of my stockings, hoping their wife or girlfriend won’t notice them looking – they haven’t really been on my radar. I feel like the lioness now. I’ve bided my time and will pounce once I have completely isolated him from the rest of this herd. There. All gone now. The clink of glasses behind me as he carries a tray of empties past. He pauses.
‘We have to close soon.’ He says. I run my eyes over him, trying to be as obvious as possible. He has a toned physique under the black fitted shirt which he’s wearing. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and the definition in his forearms; the veins which extend down to his huge hands… I can almost feel those long, thick fingers grabbing, pulling, yanking.
‘Can I just finish up my drink?’ I ask, swirling the ice around with my straw.
‘Sure.’ He replies. ‘I have to finish loading the glass washer.’
The clearing up is done, and all of the shutters, except the one over the door, have been pulled down. The bar is lit with a dim golden light from the overheads and the blue glow of strips running under the bottles and glasses at the back of the bar.
***
I swivel on my stool to face him. I will offer to let him escort me to a taxi and take it from there.
‘I guess I’d better settle up.’ I say to him, holding his gaze provocatively.
He drops his bar towel on the counter. ‘Take the dress off.’ He demands abruptly.
My mouth falls open. ‘You heard me.’ He says. ‘Let’s not pretend we don’t know what’s going on here. Get the dress off – now.’
I slip from the stool and stand before him. My face is flushed – I can feel the warmth in my cheeks – and, without delay, I slip the shoulder straps and with a couple of wiggles the black dress slips to the floor where it lands in a soft heap around my heels. He crouches in front of me, pushing his nose towards my black knickers and draws in a deep breath through his nose, giving a little moan of approval. Now he slips my thong down over my thighs and, stepping out of it, I obligingly assist with this disrobing ceremony.
***
He holds the thong to his nose and inhales deeply. His face then, pressed into my crotch as he inhales over and over, sucking my scent deep into his lungs. I hold his head and wish we were horizontal, then I could open my thighs for him, and he could do what I’m longing for him to do. He stands, takes hold of me and kisses me deeply. My heart is pounding in my chest. If I’m completely honest, I could happily forego foreplay tonight. I’ve been in such a state of high arousal for several hours that he would be in me to the hilt in a single thrust, and I would be in the throes of a shuddering orgasm about five seconds later. It’s clear, though, that this is not what’s on his mind.
He pulls his head back and unbuckles his jeans. God yes! Just fuck me! He yanks at his belt, then roughly takes my hand and plants it, uncompromisingly, on the tumescence which is straining now at his black boxer trunks.
‘Suck me.’ He demands.
Performing fellatio is a favourite activity but, at this moment, all I can think of is how quickly I can arrange to feel his groin slapping against me, his cock buried in me to the throbbing, straining hilt. I’ve become lust-crazed. I’ve done it to myself, of course, thinking about this all day, and this is the result. I’ve lost control, but there’s nothing now to do but submit to his demands, or he may not give me what I need so badly.
***
I sink to my knees and pull down the waistband of his shorts. His cock springs free, hitting me on the nose as it rears upwards, curving towards me like a scimitar, ready to impale; to spear me to the core. Grabbing it by its base, I plunge my mouth over it, feeling it swelling further. It’s not subtle; there’s no finesse to my technique this evening. My mouth is hole for him to fuck. He rests his hands on the bar counter as I crouch in front of it, my head bobbing. I have to come up for air and use the opportunity to try to reduce the frenzy a little. It’s against my, almost overwhelming, urge right now, but I have enough sense left to me to realise that if I carry on like this, he will peak too soon and explode in my mouth, and while that would be wonderful, it’s not what I’m craving.
I run my mouth up and down the side of his shaft, flicking the underside of his glans with the tip of my tongue when I arrive there. He is leaking pre-cum in impressive quantities. I catch a drip on the flat of my tongue and lick it around my lips, another, glistening string like dew drops on a spider’s web swings from the tip as it slowly seeps down. I take the tip of his cock and wipe it across my face, smearing the sticky fluid over my cheeks before clamping my mouth over the tip of his cock again and swirling my tongue over it.
‘Stop!’ He gasps. ‘I don’t want to come yet. ‘Get up.’
***
I comply and allow him to steer me to the nearest table. It’s round and cleared for the evening. He roughly shoves a couple of chairs out of the way and indicates the tabletop. ‘On there.’ He snaps.
I climb on. ‘No! On all fours.’
I shuffle around, I’ve had a few drinks and, aware that I’m a little drunk, am cautious in my movements in case I fall off. After a moment or two adjusting, I am presented to him as if on a pedestal. This pedestal is not for reverent adoration, though. This pedestal is more like an altar, where I will be sacrificed to the god of my lust, which, right now, is holding full sway. I push my hips back.
Standing behind me, I know the view he is getting; the pale white globes of my backside, framed by the black tops of my stockings and the taught suspender straps; my freshly shaved pussy, lips flushed and inviting, shining with wetness. I hear him groan again, and then those massive hands are gripping my buttocks, forcing them wider while he plunges his face between them. His breath is hot and urgent, his lips and tongue mashed against me, into me. He’s like a parched man who, stumbling from the desert, has found an oasis and, flinging himself down to drink, is now lapping and swallowing as though his life depends upon it. I shiver and squeal with delight, driving my hips further back. Oh Fuck, that’s going to get me there very quickly.
***
He senses how close I am and withdraws abruptly, leaving me gasping, teetering just short of my orgasm. I reach my hand down through my legs to give myself the final shove off the edge. ‘Not yet!’ He has hold of my hand, gripping it, not roughly but firmly. ‘Not yet. I want to feel you come while I fuck you. I want to feel your pussy clamping down on me.’ I utter some gibberish, the gist of which is ‘OK, just put it in me quickly then!’
A sharp stinging pain on my arse cheek makes me yelp and moan as my clitoris sparks in response to the slap. Another, and another. I let out a low moan from the back of my throat. Deep, guttural. Animalistic. Whoreish.
Mercifully he understands that I cannot wait any longer and, rubbing the head of that great cock up and down my dripping slit a few times, then drives forward, making me groan again, in debauched abandon. Oh fuck. This. This is what I need. Now fucking give it to me. I feel him, deep, deep within. His cock is twitching, and it nearly sends me over the edge. I clamp around it, gripping as he begins to move. When he pushes forward, I feel his flat, taught stomach leaning against me as he tries to ensure that every last millimetre is inside me, and I give a little squeal again. It’s almost too much to bear; I’m so wound up, it feels as though the lightest movement of that shaft within my sensitive, saturated space will send me into orbit.
***
He begins to thrust, slowly at first, and I focus on just retaining some element of control over what is happening. So much for me remaining in charge. The position, angle, and amount of fluid I have produced conspire to make obscene sucking noises, as he pumps back and forth, in and out. It seems to inspire him, and he begins to warm to his task, thrusting, still with a slow tempo, but impaling me with the full length each time. I think he will fall out but, just when the tip of his cock seems about to exit my body, he switches direction smoothly; running me through again, the engorged underside of his glans raking across the sensitive front wall of my vagina and all the while the slithering sloppy noises reinforcing just what a slut-on-heat I am.
The consistent, relaxed tempo of the thrusting holds me right on the edge. It’s almost enough to send me to La La Land, but not quite. I think I’m going to lose my mind if I don’t come very, very soon.
***
Still, he doesn’t speed up, but I can tell by the movement of his hips that he’s nearly there, too. The change of direction is not so smooth, his movements have become slightly more jerky and his fingers now, digging hard into the soft flesh of my arse. His breathing, too, is becoming ragged. Still the same tempo, in and out, he is mashing into me now, though, forcing forward as if he is trying to drive himself right through me. The pressure pile-driving into me is all-consuming and, cresting rapidly, at last, oh god, at last, my orgasm begins to hit. As it does, he drives forward one last time and holds there, his hips grinding into me as I feel his cock twitching and jumping inside me, god, inside me, filling me.
I pull up my panties, adjust my bra and step into my dress as he straightens himself up and re-buckles his belt. I’ve always fancied him like crazy – he just does it for me. Sometimes it’s good to add a little sexy fantasy play into the mix, though. Don’t you think?
‘Just need to switch off and lock up, then let’s get a cab home, babe.’ He says, touching my cheek lovingly. ‘Shall we get a takeaway to go with that bottle of fizz in the fridge?’
Love, Jaimie xx
Jaimie
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3 thoughts on “On The Prowl, But My Prey Is Hungry Too”
Hello me, it’s me. Just checking that this thing is working bc nobody leaves any comments, so I thought I’d better check it’s not the tech.
Nope, it’s not the tech… *sniff*
‘Love me, love me, say that you love me; fool me, fool me, go on and fool me.’
That’s a great way to wake myself up for work 😵💫
(I started yesterday but was interrupted by food being done, right at the ‘Take the dress off.’ x.x)