Climb Aboard…

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1833

Abstract

ide my bra as I imagine the sensation of him kneading my flesh over my jumper, before reaching inside to make contact with my heated skin.</p><p id="6f36">I’m drawn out of my fantasy by the sound of him clearing his throat.</p><p id="9f2e">“You’re staring at my crotch,” he chuckles. “Are you aware?”</p><p id="4cd6">I blush and giggle. Whoops. I guess I’m not exactly being discrete here.</p><p id="d18e">“Err, sorry? It <i>is </i>a very good view, and I can’t stop thinking about riding you.”</p><p id="159d">He raises his hand and lays it on my leg, squeezing firmly. He smiles that sexy, crooked smile, the one that says he’s feeling frisky and, instantly, a warm drizzle of slick moisture leaks from my pussy.</p><p id="5c83">“Well, by all means, climb aboard,” he murmurs, and leans back, angling his hips so that his bulge is even more pronounced. I practically drool as I see that his cock is starting to harden.</p><p id="a506">“But what about the golf?” I purr, as I set my tablet aside and slink onto his lap. The warm press of his growing erection nudges at my dampening mound, and I grind against him. He groans and grips my hips, as I lower my mouth to his and share his carbon dioxide for a moment before closing my lips over his and sucking his moist flesh in a hot, wet kiss.</p><p id="87f9">When I release his mouth, and rock against his crotch again, he breathes, “Fuck the golf.”</p><p id="eb48">My sentiments exactly. I reach down to unbutton his jeans, while he fumbles with the remote control…..</p><p id="77b0"><i>Jupiter Grant is a self-published author, <a href="https://jupiterslair.com/">blogger</a>, narrator and audiobook producer.</i></p><p id="e317"><i>Enquiries and comments are always welcome. You can also find me on Twitter @GrantJupiter</i></p><p id="3af8"><b><i>Also by Jupiter:</i></b></p><div i

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I pick up my tablet and start scrolling through my emails. But though my fingers are running up and down the screen, my mind is very much focussed on his crotch…

I find myself fantasizing about straddling his lap, as he watches golf on the TV. I don’t get his “sports” thing (is golf even a sport, really?), and I admit I get fed up when he ignores me in favour of watching people hit balls around. After all, I could be hitting his balls around. But I don’t want to be a spoilsport (literally), so I pick up my tablet and start scrolling through my emails. But though my fingers are running up and down the screen, my mind is very much focussed on his crotch.

The bulge in the front of his jeans when he sits never fails to draw my eye. Is his cock even bigger like this, or is it just a figment of my imagination? I feel myself getting wet as I picture myself climbing onto his lap, a thigh on either side of his warm body, and feeling the protruding heft of his bulge pressing against my groin. I imagine myself slowly pulling his glasses off his face, before leaning forward to run my tongue over his half-opened lips. I think about his hands finding my thighs, sliding up to cup my buttocks, then up my back, under my arms, and front and centre at my breasts. My nipples harden inside my bra as I imagine the sensation of him kneading my flesh over my jumper, before reaching inside to make contact with my heated skin.

I’m drawn out of my fantasy by the sound of him clearing his throat.

“You’re staring at my crotch,” he chuckles. “Are you aware?”

I blush and giggle. Whoops. I guess I’m not exactly being discrete here.

“Err, sorry? It is a very good view, and I can’t stop thinking about riding you.”

He raises his hand and lays it on my leg, squeezing firmly. He smiles that sexy, crooked smile, the one that says he’s feeling frisky and, instantly, a warm drizzle of slick moisture leaks from my pussy.

“Well, by all means, climb aboard,” he murmurs, and leans back, angling his hips so that his bulge is even more pronounced. I practically drool as I see that his cock is starting to harden.

“But what about the golf?” I purr, as I set my tablet aside and slink onto his lap. The warm press of his growing erection nudges at my dampening mound, and I grind against him. He groans and grips my hips, as I lower my mouth to his and share his carbon dioxide for a moment before closing my lips over his and sucking his moist flesh in a hot, wet kiss.

When I release his mouth, and rock against his crotch again, he breathes, “Fuck the golf.”

My sentiments exactly. I reach down to unbutton his jeans, while he fumbles with the remote control…..

Jupiter Grant is a self-published author, blogger, narrator and audiobook producer.

Enquiries and comments are always welcome. You can also find me on Twitter @GrantJupiter

Also by Jupiter: