Stop Running

Joey’s resolve crumbled. This was who Bianca was now. He couldn’t undo it. He had accidentally explained this into her, and it had settled, permanent and undeniable, into the very core of her being. She had accepted this as her truth. Even Mrs. Fowler had told him what she had become. What they had become.

His.

It was time to accept what had happened. As much as he could. Later, there would be time to worry about what came next.

Now it was time for something else. Something new.

At least to Joey.

Bianca seemed to sense the shift immediately. Her lips curled into a knowing smile, her fingers trailing up his chest like she was savoring every inch of him. Joey held his breath as she slid her hands around his neck, pulling herself even closer. She was warm, soft, inviting.

His hands hovered uncertainly at her waist. Was he really doing this? His heart pounded, his mind still screaming at him to stop, to think. But the heat of her body against his, the way she looked at him—like he was exactly what she wanted—was drowning out that voice.

"That’s it," she whispered, her lips brushing against his jaw. "Just let go, Joey. Take what you want."

Take what I want?

The words sent a shiver through him. His fingers tensed, then began to slide lower, gripping the curve of her hips as she straightened up. The still new and strange feeling of her body contrasting with the familiar feeling of the couch beneath them. Bianca let out a pleased hum, shifting even closer, her body molding against his. The thin fabric of her blouse did nothing to hide the heat of her skin, the way she fit against him so perfectly.

Shutting off his mind, he kissed her.

It was ****, unsteady at first. He didn't think about what he was doing, didn't ask himself if he was even doing it right, having only ever kissed two other women, both in the last two days. Bianca didn’t hesitate. She melted into him, parting her lips, pressing up against him in a way that made his head swim.

Oh, God.

His hands moved on their own, roaming the dip of her back, the curve of her belly. Bianca’s fingers slid into his hair, tugging just enough to send a sharp jolt down his spine. He groaned against her lips, his grip tightening. This was happening.

She arched into him, sighing softly, encouraging him with every little movement. His pulse pounded in his ears, drowning out everything but the feel of her, the taste of her. He had lost himself in it, in her.

And for once, he didn’t care.

Joey's body relaxed as he let the couch, and Bianca's own supple figure, support his weight. His lips were wet, brushing over her own perfectly full, perfectly colored lips, as their mouths mingled. Joey thrust his tongue into her mouth, the first time he had ever taken that initiative with a woman. There was a moment of fear, a moment he worried that in his enthusiasm he would hurt her. Could a woman literally **** on a tongue? But the fear only lasted for a moment. Bianca didn't flinch, accepting his flicking twisting tongue as she relaxed her mouth to give him more access to her.

At first Bianca was a passive partner in the kiss, but soon, her own tongue met his. His nerves flashed with electricity at her touch. But unlike his own insistent greedy movement, her tongue ran over his softly, gently. He calmed down, and tried to copy her movements with his own mouth. He leaned more of his weight against her, his hands clutching at her shoulders.

Her hands, which had held him so tightly, slipped down and began to work his belt, then his button, then his fly. His lips parted from hers, as Joey kicked his pants away from him, throwing them over the couch. He didn't even notice as Mrs. Fowler picked them up and folded them. He and Bianca were lost in each other's eyes. Their faces flushed. Their chests heaving.

Then he paused, his chest heaving as he tried to filled them with all the air he could.

They were both panting now.

His body had other ideas, though. There was no time to catch his breath.

Joey's hands flew back to Bianca as he attempted to work the buttons on her blouse, but found himself clumsy in his haste. The more he tried the more he fumbled. He was already failing at this.

As if noticing Joey's attention being drawn into the task rather than his own pleasure, Bianca violently ripped the shirt open, buttons flying everywhere. Then she shimmied out of her skirt, throwing it away from her too.

When she was done she turned back to meet Joey's ravenous gaze, a look of lust in her eyes, an appreciative smirk on her lips. She was beautiful. She sat before him in nothing but a white lacy push-up bra and matching panties, her expression free of shame as Joey drank in the sight.

"I hope you like it," she said, running her hands up and down her body, "It's all yours."

Joey's own underwear was failing miserably at its job. His erection, harder than he had ever felt before, had long escaped the confines of his waistband. There was no denying it: what it wanted, what he wanted, was perched in front of him, offering herself to him freely.

Bianca moved forward again. Gently, she lifted Joey's t-shirt over his head, then, her lips touching his neck, then chest, then stomach, she slid his underwear down, pausing when her face was in front of his groin, anointing it with the soft, loving kiss. Joey shook with pleasure, not just from the sensation, but from the very idea of what she was doing.

Bianca placed a hand on Joey's chest, guiding him down. He lay naked on his couch as Bianca straddled him. Then she leaned down, she brought her lips back to Joey's, her left hand gently gripping his cock.

"I need this in me," she said in a tone Joey had never heard from a woman before, "now."

Then she turned, sitting on top of his crotch in what Joey thought might be called a 'reverse cowgirl', her rear end facing toward Joey, and brought one hand back, pulling her underwear to one side.

"Please," she begged, "Please Joey, take what you want."

It was new territory, having sex with a woman, but Joey didn't hesitate. There was no way he could fail. She had given herself to him, completely. He could do this. He had his instincts. He'd had sex-ed. He had seen it on porn. He had imagined it countless times. She guided him towards her slick labia, his cock sliding into her waiting vagina. His hands gripping her hips, he lay there, fully immersed in Bianca's body, and shook with pleasure. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before. He was determined to make it last as long as he could.

And that was before she began to move.

Bianca was slow at first, tender. Then with increasing rhythm, Bianca moved like a machine designed to coax pleasure out of Joey's nervous system. He began to moan loudly with every movements, meeting every gyration with a thrust, faster and faster, deeper and deeper. His heart still pounded loudly in his ears, but now it was from exertion. Sweat began to form on his brow unnoticed. He didn't care. He was having sex. He had crossed a threshold. Each thrust, each movement, each touch, brought him closer to bliss and farther from the life he had known. He could feel her muscles around his cock, squeezing, holding, as if her entire body was focused on his pleasure.

Because he knew it was.

Bianca's moans matched his, but hers were animalistic, guttural, interspersed with cries of his name and repeated gasps of, 'Yes! Yes! Yes!'

Then Joey felt it, a tightening in his scrotum, a shiver up his spine. His fingers dug deeply into Bianca's hips, and he came like a thunderstorm. Again and again, he felt fountains of cum leave his body, filling his lover, who eagerly accepted it with encouraging mewls. He shook, his breath coming in ragged bursts. His knees wobbled, but he stood firm, pressed into Bianca as if his life depended on it.

Then, it was over. Joey trembled, post-orgasmic pleasure washing over him, before he finally slipped free and she turned around and lowered herself on top of him. At first he was scared that his scrawny body couldn't hold her weight, that she would crush him. But she didn't. Far from it. Bianca's body was warm and soft, and comfortable. Her legs tangled in his, her well-maintained pubic hair tickling his slick and softening penis, her breasts pushing softly into his chest, her face close to his, delivering sweet, tender kisses, punctuated by soft and repeating "Thank you, thank you."

Joey closed his eyes, and didn't open them for a long time. When he did, he and Bianca were alone in the living room.

Everything was the same, but different. In so many ways.

Maybe most striking though was the naked waitress rising and falling with each inhalation of his lungs. Or, perhaps, the tray of sandwiches and iced tea next to a pile of neatly folded clothes on the floor, that Donna had left for them.