Fault

Really, really, how was it my fault? Wouldn't the same thing happen to anyone?

Did she know that? Was she hoping for that? Read on...

When I got home Sunday, back to our place, from a weekend away, I walked in carrying a bag of groceries. I was going to cook Emily dinner.

I walked into the kitchen and saw Emily sitting in the great room, talking on her cell phone.

Dressed in something just about like that outfit. Lounging back, talking, legs crossed, heels on, sitting in the leather chair in the air conditioned place.

"No," she laughed, "he just walked in, actually. Yes, I'm looking forward to seeing you too, Sara," she said finishing her conversation and ending her call.

I just stared.

"What," she asked, "what's wroing."

I had trouble speaking. I was hot, sweaty from my day outside. The cool air shocked my system. My amazingly hot girlfriend shocked me even more.

"Fuck, Em," I managed to mumble.

"Not before you make me dinner," she laughed.

I'm not sure what I made. No, no, I know, but really, my mind was NOT on dinner, not at all. She knew it, and teased me the whole time. Putting away dishes while rubbing against me. Bending over. Just being around. Teasing me. Taunting me.

Finally, finally, we went upstairs. Finally. I showered, dried off, rubbed scented lotion on me, slipped on a satin camisole and tap panty set, went into the bedroom, and attacked her.

I liked her. Kissed her. Massaged her. All the while she used her hands, and more teasingly, her stocking covered feet to tease me, touch me, torment me.

Until she at last, let me inside her. Until at last, she had me on my back, where she'd been hovering over my face, holding my head, making me lick her to orgasm after orgasm. At last, she moved the leg of my satin panties aside.

She lowered her body down to me, down to my throbbing erection, slid herself over me.

She was wet. Very wet. Ocean soaked wet. She started to let me inside her, then stopped, once, twice, again, again.

"Em," I begged her.

"You want me so badly, don't you?"

"Yes," I groaned as she lowered her hips so she enveloped me.

"You make me so wet, sissy," she whispered in my ear as she raised her hips and lowered them again. I dress for her often, almost all the time, but she rarely uses that word, rarely calls me a sissy.

The rarity of it makes it so much more powerful. She knows, she must know. So it wasn't my fault.

She was on top of me. She was dressed so beautifully. She teased me. Tormented me. Taunted me. It wasn't my fault. How could it be.

"Em, I..." The back of my mind was screaming. Stop. Things were happening too fast. Her damp pussy, her dirty words.

"Such a pretty sissy."

I tried to push her off, then felt myself sink back into the bed. It was too much. Sissy. Sissy.

"Uugh," I moaned, hips jerking, exploding less than sixty seconds after she climbed on top of me.

Emily was grinding herself on me, just beginning to ride me, just beginning to find a rhythm, to lose herself in fucking me.

"Did you just come," she asked, obvious surprise in her voice.

"Yes," I mumbled, embarrassed, suddenly, almost un-erotically, feeling less a man.

"I...that was...quick," she said, obviously surprised that I'd cum before she even began to get off.

"I'm sorry, Emily," I started to mumble.

"That...that's okay, sissy" she said, almost giggling, still moving up and down me. "I shouldn't expect you to satisfy me like a man, should I?"

"Em," I gasped, feeling a second wave of pleasure wash over me, involuntarily plunging my hips upward, my still relatively hard penis pushing into her.

"Oh," she flinched, "yes, right there, don't move, right there."

I held still, thrust into her for several seconds, then fell back to the bed. Emily pushed down onto me, pushed her hips downward, trying to find it again.

I could tell she was close. But I'd had an orgasm. I'd cum. I was quickly ebbing libido.

Emily leaned over, put her mouth to my ear. "Maybe I need a man to fuck me, sissy. A man," she said, hips moving again. "A man like Evan."

Despite having cum, her words pushed me, edged me, thrilled me. I was shaking, pushed my hips up again.

"Maybe you want me to fuck a man, maybe you want Evan to fuck me," she said, shaking as she twisted, an orgasm flowing over her, finally.

It wasn't my fault. How could it be? She knew what she was doing. Emily knew what she was doing to me. She teased me. It wasn't my fault I'd cum so quickly.

"A man," her words echoed in my ear. "A man."

"Evan."

"Evan."

"Maybe you want me to fuck Evan."