First Face-Sitting Ride With His Busty New Girlfriend

Warrick’s apartment smelled like the cheap citrus cleaner he’d used on the counter and the warmer scent of the pizza they’d split an hour ago. He was twenty-two, still in the habit of checking his phone every few minutes even when the person he wanted was already there, and Esther had kicked off her boots by the door the way she always did, like the place belonged to her the second she stepped inside. She was twenty-four, curves packed into a soft gray sweater that did nothing to hide the weight of her breasts, hips and ass filling her jeans so thoroughly the denim creaked when she sat. They’d been dating three weeks. Three weeks of her laughing at his jokes with her whole throat, of her hand sliding under his shirt in the back of his car, of her whispering exactly what she wanted to do to him once they finally had a night alone. Tonight was that night. Both of them knew it. Both of them wanted it.

He kept glancing at her mouth. Full, painted a color that looked like it would stain. She caught him looking and smiled slow.

“You’re nervous,” she said. Not a question.

“A little,” he admitted. His voice came out lower than he meant. “I want this. I want you. I just—don’t want to mess it up.”

Esther set her wine glass down and crossed the short space between the couch and where he stood near the kitchen island. Her palms settled on his chest, warm through the cotton of his T-shirt. “You won’t mess it up if you listen.” Her thumbs stroked once, deliberate. “I’m not shy, Warrick. I’ve been thinking about getting my hands on you since the second date. You good with that? With me taking what I want?”

“Yeah.” The word left him in a rush. “God, yeah. Whatever you want.”

She kissed him then, and it wasn’t the careful kind they’d shared outside his building. This one opened immediately, her tongue sliding against his, her body pressing in so the heavy give of her breasts flattened against him. He groaned into her mouth and his hands found her waist, then slid lower, palms filling with the thick curve of her ass. She made a pleased sound and rocked into him, letting him feel how solid she was, how much of her there was to hold.

Clothes came off in pieces. Her sweater first, tugged over her head so her hair fell wild around her shoulders and her bra—plain black, straining—was suddenly the only thing between his eyes and the full, natural weight of her tits. He reached for the clasp and she let him, watched his face while the cups dropped and her breasts spilled free, heavy and pale, nipples already tight. He stared. Couldn’t help it. She laughed, low and satisfied, and shoved his shirt up and off, then went for his belt.

“Bed,” she said, already walking backward toward the short hallway, jeans half-unbuttoned, tits swaying with every step. “Now.”

He followed like he was being pulled. In the bedroom the lamp was already on, warm and low. Esther peeled her jeans down her thighs, panties with them, and stood naked for a second while he kicked his own pants away. She was all soft power—wide hips, thick ass, the dark triangle of hair between her legs already glistening. Warrick’s cock stood hard against his stomach, flushed and leaking at the tip. She looked at it, then at his face, and the smile she gave him was pure appetite.

“Lie down,” she ordered. “On your back. Hands wherever you want them, but don’t you dare try to flip me.”

He dropped onto the mattress, pulse hammering. Esther climbed up after him, straddling his thighs for a moment so he could see everything—the way her stomach curved, the way her breasts hung and shifted when she leaned forward to kiss him again. Then she broke the kiss, swung one knee over his chest, and kept going. He had half a second to realize what she was doing before her thick ass settled above his face and her soaked pussy lowered onto his mouth.

The shock of it punched the air out of him. Hot, slick, the taste of her flooding his tongue the instant she made contact. She was heavy on him, not crushing, but deliberate, grinding down so his nose pressed into the soft skin above her clit and his mouth was sealed against her. He made a muffled sound and she laughed, breathless.

“Lick,” she said, voice gone rough. “Put that tongue to work. I’ve been wet since I walked in the door and you’re going to clean it up.”

He did. Eager, messy, tongue flattening and stroking through her folds, circling her clit when she rocked forward to give him the angle. Esther moaned and reached back without looking, her hand wrapping around his cock in a firm grip that made his hips jerk. She stroked him once, long and slow from base to tip, spreading the precum that had already beaded there. Her thumb swiped over the head and she brought her fingers to her own mouth, tasting him while she ground on his face.

“Fuck, you leak so much,” she murmured. “Sweet. Keep licking. Don’t stop.”

Warrick’s world narrowed to the wet heat smothering him and the steady pull of her fist. He licked harder, tongue pushing inside her, then dragging up to flick her clit in quick strokes. Esther’s thighs trembled on either side of his head. She jerked him in time with the roll of her hips—long, firm strokes that twisted a little at the top, thumb pressing just under the head on every upstroke. Precum kept spilling over her fingers. She kept tasting it, sucking her own digits clean between gasps, and the sight of her doing it, even from the awkward angle of his eyes rolling up, made his cock throb so hard it hurt.

“Right there,” she panted. “Don’t you change a thing. God, your mouth—”

She came the first time with a sharp cry, pussy clenching around his tongue, a fresh rush of wetness coating his chin and lips. Her hand never stopped moving on him, but the rhythm changed—tighter, slower, squeezing at the base whenever his balls drew up and his thighs started to shake. She was edging him on purpose. He could feel it. Every time he got close she eased off just enough to drag him back from the edge, then sped up again until he was panting against her, desperate sounds muffled into her cunt.

“Not yet,” she told him, voice shaking but sure. “You don’t get to cum until I say. I’m not done.”

She shifted her weight, grinding her clit harder against his tongue, tits bouncing heavily above him with every roll. The second orgasm built slower. He could feel it in the way her thighs locked, in the broken little sounds she made, in the way her free hand braced on the mattress so she could ride his face with more force. Warrick licked like his life depended on it, nose buried, tongue relentless. Esther’s strokes on his cock turned ruthless—fast, slick, twisting—then slowed again the second his hips bucked. She tasted him one more time, moaning at the flavor, and that was what tipped her.

“Fuck—yes—right there, don’t stop, I’m—”

She came harder the second time, a full-body shudder that pressed her pussy down so tight against his mouth he could barely breathe. Her cry was raw. Juice slicked his cheeks. Her hand fisted him through it, stroking hard even as she shook, and the pressure that had been coiling in Warrick’s gut finally snapped.

He came with a choked groan into her, cock pulsing in her grip. The first thick jets shot up across her stomach and splashed hot over the undersides of her huge tits, striping the soft skin while she was still grinding through the aftershocks. Esther moved fast. She spun on him, knees planting on either side of his hips, and sank down in one smooth drop, taking his spurting cock balls-deep into her soaked pussy just as the next pulse ripped out of him. The tight, wet clutch of her made him shout. She rode the length of it for two hard strokes, his cum already leaking out around the base and smearing her thighs, then she leaned forward, breasts swaying, and dropped her mouth over him instead.

She took him to the back of her throat in one motion, lips sealed around the base, swallowing while he was still cumming. The rest of his load pumped straight down her throat in heavy spurts. She didn’t pull off. She sucked and swallowed, throat working, one hand cupping his balls and squeezing gently to milk every last drop while her other hand smeared the mess on her tits, spreading it over her nipples. Warrick’s vision whited out. His hands clutched the sheets. He kept cumming, longer than he thought he could, until his cock twitched empty and oversensitive against her tongue and she finally, slowly, let him slip free with a wet sound.

Esther sat back on his thighs, breathing hard, cum glistening on her chest and chin, pussy still flushed and open. She looked down at him—wrecked, panting, face shiny with her—and smiled like she’d just won something.

Warrick stared up at her, chest heaving, and understood with sudden, total clarity that the night hadn’t started when she walked through his door. It had started the moment she decided he was hers, and he had never once been the one in charge.