Creampie Fetish - Catching a Cum Donor Pt1
The sun beat down on the back of my neck, but I barely felt it. All my blood had rushed south the moment Heather’s back door swung open.
There she was, a vision in a flimsy yellow sundress, a basket of laundry perched on her hip. She hummed some pop song, oblivious to the audience of one having a heart attack behind a poorly trimmed hedge.
I watched, my mouth dry, as she bent at the waist to pull a sheet from the basket.
The hem of that dress rode up, way up, offering me a breathtaking glimpse of toned, tanned thighs and the sinful curve of her ass, barely contained by a scrap of vibrant pink lace. Fuck.
My cock strained against my jeans, a painful, insistent throb that synced with my hammering heart.
She straightened, clipped the sheet to the line, and bent over again. And again. Each time, that flash of pink, a maddening tease.
It was the panties. Those fucking pink panties.
They were everything.
I’d seen her husband, a meek-looking guy, kiss her goodbye that morning.
Seen other men, stronger men, darker men, visit in the afternoons. Heard the sounds from her pool house, the rhythmic slap of skin on skin, her throaty moans drifting over the fence as I sat on my deck, desperately fisting my own cock, imagining it was me making her scream.
A reckless, dizzying impulse seized me.
As she turned to go inside for another basket, I moved. A quick, silent dash across the property line. My fingers, trembling, snatched the delicate lace from the line.
I was back in the shadow of my own oak tree before her screen door slapped shut.
The scent of her—sun-warmed cotton, a hint of jasmine, and something uniquely musky, hers—hit me like a drug. I couldn’t help myself. My belt buckle clinked, my zipper hissed, and my aching cock sprang free into the humid afternoon air. I was bare, exposed, lost.
I wrapped the soft, warm silk around my throbbing length, and the sensation was fucking electric. Fuck, yes.
I started to pump, my fist a tight tunnel of lace and lust, my eyes squeezed shut, picturing her. Heather. On her knees. Those full, pouty lips wrapped around me. Those 38DD tits are bouncing in my face.
“Oh! You found my panties!”
The voice, sweet as honey and laced with amused delight, didn’t register at first. It was just another thread in my fantasy. Then my eyes snapped open.
She was there. Leaning against my fence, a knowing, devastating smile played on her lips. Her green eyes weren’t shocked. They were… hungry.
They tracked down my body, over my heaving chest, down to my fist,
“I wondered where those had flown off to,” she purred, unlatching the gate and stepping into my yard like she owned it.
Her sundress swayed around her thighs with each step.
“Heather, I… fuck, I’m so sorry, I just—” I stammered, trying to cover myself, my face burning.
She was in front of me now, so close I could smell her perfume properly.
Reached out, not for the panties, but to wrap her cool, soft fingers around my wrist. Pulled my hand and the lace-wrapped cock it held away from my body.
“Don’t be sorry, baby. I’ve seen you watching. I’ve seen you stroking that beautiful cock, thinking about me.” She leaned in, her breath hot on my ear.
“You wanna know what I taste like? You wanna stop imagining and start fucking?”
I could only nod, a helpless, eager bob of my head.
“Good boy,” she whispered, her dominance a velvet whip. “Now follow Mommy. And bring my panties.”
She led me, naked and painfully erect, back across the lawn, through her pristine backyard, and into the cool, dim pool house. The air smelled of chlorine and sex. She turned to me, her eyes dark with desire.
“Those panties looked so good on your cock, baby. But you know where I want them?”
She took them from my limp hand and brought them to her face, inhaling deeply, moaning at the scent of my pre-cum on the silk.
“I want them in my mouth while you fuck me.”
She didn’t wait for an answer. She shoved the lace into her mouth, the fabric bulging behind her lips, and dropped to her knees. Her hands gripped my ass, pulling me forward, and her mouth, oh fuck,
The sensation was unbelievable—the wet, hot suction of her mouth combined with the rough, textured friction of the lace panties she was sucking on at the same time. My head slammed back against the doorframe as her tongue worked miracles, swirling around the head, milking me through the fabric.
“Heather… fuck… I’m gonna…” I groaned.
She pulled off with a lewd, wet pop, the panties still dangling from her lips.
“Not yet,” she commanded, her voice muffled.
She stood, turned her back to me, and looked over her shoulder.
“I want you to fuck this married pussy first. I want to feel you stretching me open. My husband’s never stretched me like you will.”
Heather
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