Homecoming

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Timothy

Not one for school, Timothy joined the army after graduating community college. A quarterback in high school, Timothy is in pique physical condition and strong-minded, making him a perfect fit for the military.

Veronica

Veronica is a 24-year-old nursing student who rents the upstairs apartment of her grandparent’s house. A high school cheerleader and gymnast, she takes pride in her health and appearance. She dreams of marrying her high school sweetheart Timothy and moving to the country.

I sat on the familiar cushioned stool, examining the girl staring back at me in the mirror, my knees spread just far enough apart for the cool air to glide across my bare skin. I see the same pale blue eyes, round nose, and narrow cheekbones as I did years ago. This is the same place I sat to prepare for the homecoming dance, cheerleading tryouts, and my first date.

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Homecoming

I sat on the familiar cushioned stool, examining the girl staring back at me in the mirror, my knees spread just far enough apart for the cool air to glide across my bare skin. I see the same pale blue eyes, round nose, and narrow cheekbones as I did years ago. This is the same place I sat to prepare for the homecoming dance, cheerleading tryouts, and my first date.

It’s the same place I sat just 30 days prior, grooming myself for Timothy’s send-off. I felt proud and humbled over his decision but also nervous and apprehensive. Would they be kind to him in boot camp? Would he eat and sleep enough? Would they break him?

I also selfishly thought about what 30 days away from Timothy meant for me. Missing his strong hands on my body. The taste of his lips. The way he knew how to tease me and please me with the perfect mixture of aggression and patience. Timothy was my first in so many ways. My first lover. My first orgasm. And the first one to show me just how thrilling rough sex could be.

I touch my cheek, blushing at the thought. I still have flashbacks to the first time he tied me up, blindfolded, and spanked me. I bite my lip, the memory electrifying my senses. I open my eyes, looking at my reflection. It’s still me except now my eyes are alive with desire. I want him home. Now.

I grab my long, thick blonde hair between my thin fingers and give it a tug the way Timothy has done so many times before. My lips part slightly. It feels good but not as good as when he does it. I slowly twirl a two-inch strand around my index finger. I can feel every strand of hair tugging at my scalp. The sensitive, virgin skin burning with a mix of pain and desire.

With one more tug, my nipples spring to life. I graze them with the palm of my hand as they grow firm beneath my thin white nightshirt. I press my knees open a few inches wider, pulling down on my hair with one hand and continuing to flick and pinch my taut nipples with the other. I arch my neck and close my eyes, getting lost in the sensation.

I hear the bedroom door open and close gently but I don’t move. My heart stops and my breath catches in my throat. It’s him. I can barely breathe. My hair is intertwined in my fingers now as I pull harder, a mix of urgency and anticipation. I sense him getting closer and slide the loose-fitting shirt off my shoulders, exposing my breasts to the open air. Another intake of breath forces my lips farther apart as I stifled a groan.

He’s behind me now. The entire atmosphere in the room has shifted in his presence. The air is somehow more alive — electrified. I keep my eyes shut tight but I can feel him. I can smell him. My Timothy. I want nothing more than to stand up and throw my arms around him but I don’t. It’s more fun this way.

I slowly slide my hand from my breast, down the center of my torso, stopping briefly at the waistband of my shorts. Before I can reach my most sacred spot, he grips my wrist.

“No”, he whispers seductively in my ear. “Don’t touch.” His breath is warm and smells of sweet mint.

I exhale loudly, letting him guide my hand back to my lap, placing it on my knee. I can sense a playful smirk dancing across his lips. He wants all my pleasure for himself. The thought intoxicates me. His hands are on my shoulders now. Strong and firm. His desire and desperation radiate through my skin. He kneads the tight muscles in my neck with expert precision, gentle at first but slowly increasing with pressure and urgency.

His hands slide across my shoulder blades, gently tickling my flesh. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as he grips all of my hair in a tight bundle before tugging down, fast and hard. I gasp.

“You like that?” He leans down and whispers in my ear, his voice husky and drunk with power.

“Yes.” My voice and breath barely escape my lips as he pulls down harder, forcing my neck back and my chin toward the sky.

As if just noticing my exposed breasts, he slowly walks his fingers down my collarbone and chest, giving each erect nipple his undivided attention. He pinches and tugs them with just the right amount of pressure. Twirling and pulling, responding to my body language as if inside my head. Heat and warmth radiate down my belly and spread like wildfire between my legs. I begin to rock back and forth on the stool, my swollen clit rubbing against the cushion beneath me. He steps closer, pressing his growing erection into my back. I can’t help but grin. He wants me too.

Then, without warning, he kicks the stool from beneath me and my legs give out. He catches my body as it collapses, one strong arm around my waist and the other still clinging to my thick locks. I gasp in surprise and excitement. He pauses, giving me a chance to regain my balance. I grip the dresser as he presses my belly inward, forcing me to bend at the waist. I’m bent over the dresser now, at his complete mercy.

I stare into the mirror, straining to get a glimpse of him but from this angle, I can’t see his face. All I see is his gorgeous, chiseled body. Bootcamp has done him good. The soft light from my lamp dances across the lines and curves of his biceps. The muscles in his forearm flex and strain as he slowly wraps my hair around his hand, holding tight like a cowboy on the reins of a wild horse.

My breasts hang loosely beneath me and with one swift move, he removes my now saturated shorts, exposing me fully. He looks down, drinking in my body, his free hand slowly trailing down my tailbone and tracing the lines of my lower back and ass. He gives my backside a firm smack, tugging on my hair simultaneously. My body bucks forward and I laugh wildly. Using his barefoot, he kicks my legs farther apart, forcing my chest and face down onto the dresser. The wood is cold and hard against my nipples. My face is pressed into the surface and now I can just see the curved lines of his mouth. Those perfect delicious lips form a sinister and seductive smile.

“Are you ready for this?” His voice is so calm and measured, with a hint of playfulness that sends goosebumps up my skin, to my nipples, and back down to my clit.

I nod gently, unable to formulate words amid the desire that consumes me.

I close my eyes, gripping the surface of the dresser which offers little traction. I relish in the sensation as he slides the tip of his erection up and down my wet folds. He slowly penetrates an inch before pulling out. The teasing game continues. I try to lift my upper body but he overpowers me. He still has a hold of my hair and now, his forearm is resting on my upper back, keeping me in position.

“You want this?” He taunts.

I struggle to nod as my cheek presses harder against the unforgiving surface. This time, he pushes into my wetness a few inches without stopping. He plunges the entire length of his glorious cock into my body, spreading my lips with ease. I gasp as his swollen balls make contact with my flesh. He pulls back out, leaving the tip in place before thrusting into me again.

I try to push up on my hands but he forces me back down, pushing and pulling my body against his rock hard tool.

“I want to see,” I plead breathily. “I want to see you fuck me.”

After a moment’s pause, he releases his grip on my back, letting me up. I look into the mirror and a fresh flood of heat permeates my body, settling between my legs where his cock slides in and out of my pussy. I watch the muscles in his torso twist and tighten with every stroke. He’s still gripping my hair tightly, his other hand kneading the flesh of my ass. My small tits sway freely beneath me. I want more.

“Pull my hair,” I cry out. “Harder. Do it hard.”

He grunts even louder and obliges, yanking backward with brute force, sending a sharp pain through my scalp. The sensation skirts the line between pain and pleasure. I cry out again. The harder he tugs on my hair, the harder he fucks me.

I feel pressure swelling in my belly, building as our bodies slam into one another. The perfume bottles and lotion on my dresser fall over and the mirror taps rhythmically against the wall as he fucks with me a steady rhythm.

I reach back, gripping his muscular ass, willing him to go deeper. His skin is moist with sweat and I know I’m about to explode.

“Fuck me hard, Timothy. I’m gonna come!”

No sooner do the words escape my lips than we climax in unison. With one hand still twisted in my hair, his other holds my hip, guiding my body over his shaft. I feel the rush of heat as he fills me up, our thick, sweet juices mixed together in ultimate satisfaction. As my orgasm subsides, I collapse onto the dresser. He slows his pace and for the first time in what feels like forever, he releases my hair. I sigh audibly, the sensation of blood rushing back into my scalp is a welcome relief.

I rest my head on my folded arms as he slowly slides out of me, the aftermath of our encounter gliding down my inner thighs. I gaze up at him in the mirror, basking in an overwhelming sense of euphoria.

“Welcome home, baby.”

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