I just wanted to watch Atlanta. This was the “B.A.N” episode, which I’ll later title as my favorite of the show but I didn’t get to figure that out that night. She said she was waiting to see it too. Win-win. There I am ready to go. In she walks.

She’s wearing panties and a long tee that just barely covers her ass; it’s clothing in name only. Her hair is tied up in a messy bun. It’s the coy “I’m just getting ready for bed but if something happens I’m probably down” dress code. Goddamnit.

There I am sunk into her ridiculously soft, made-for-hard-fucking-but-i-guess-not-tv-viewing mattress. She plops down next to me, and drapes a leg over my lower half and snuggles close. We’re no more than three minutes in and she’s already inching her chest onto mine and her hand closer down my mid section. She is Insatiable sometimes. Normally I’d oblige and have her pinned down and let my tongue work its magic. But Donald was on the screen. I want this more. I’m fixed ahead; if I don’t acknowledge she’d lose interest. Lol

She turns her head to look at me. I stay the course. She brings her lips closer to my cheek and neck. Would Paper Boi’s chain look good on me?

She retreats frustrated. I feel assured. But only a minute goes by.

She steps back to the mound. Pressing her body more into mine. Her annoyance transformed into confidence. “I’m not really in the mood for TV tonight” Her hand snakes down to my crotch and just leaves it resting there. I feel her breath on my neck. My dick twitches and begins to swell. Strike one.

“No shit, Aisha. But this is a good one.” I respond, my tone somewhat pleading. I thought you were into the show?”

“I am. But we don’t have to watch it right now.” Strike two.

“How about after?”

“No…”

Now my mind is thinking how can I take this annoyance out on her, make her a complete mess, without giving myself a throbbing, raging hard on that’ll force a need for my own release. Should I stretch out the foreplay for as long as possible? See how needy she really is? Sometimes she leans in for a kiss, and I provide only the slightest glances and affection. Or I could caress her thighs and massage her back while holding her close. Sometimes I’ll flip her over and caress her thighs as I massage her breasts. Kiss the small part behind her ear. Rhythmically and gently, but assuredly, grabbing fist fulls of hair to give a taste of what’s to come. Put my thighs in between her legs, and let her rub against me and show how much she wants it.

It was all fine until that last move. I sometimes forget that’s my kryptonite when I’m trying to play mighty and indifferent: when I feel her wetness on my outer thigh. It’s not a particularly sensitive spot, and that’s why it does it for me. If I can feel her warm, soaked through, needing juices in an area of my body that’s not particularly sensitive to feeling in the first place. Can you imagine how slick she must be? How ravenous she is now for my cock? I started to imagine.

She sensed the dynamic shift. “How about you stop pretending you’re still watching the show...” With a shimmy and a tug, the panties are off. She climbs on top, the position she knows I’m weak for. She makes slow, efficient, deliberate movements that coat my cock with her juices.

“Is cereal soup? Why or why not?” I’m not sure who said it.

Her entire self blocked the TV, my field of view now completely fixed on her as she removed the one and only baggy t-shirt. Her nipples look especially hard. I cop a feel; they were diamond sharp. Strike 3. She flashes that smirk that says “I win.”