Tuesday Morning Surprise

I knocked at nine on Tuesday morning. I hadn’t planned it. I’d woken up, stared at the ceiling, and my body had carried me here before my mind caught up. My hand was still raised from the second knock when the door swung open.

Mr. Dewitt stood in his cardigan, glasses perched low, a book in his hand. Surprise flickered across his face, then settled into something warmer.

“Stacy. It’s Tuesday.”

“I know.” My voice came out rougher than I expected. “I couldn’t wait.”

He studied me for a long moment. Then he stepped aside.

I walked past him, into the familiar smell of old books and lemon polish. The door clicked shut. I turned to face him.

“I skipped my ten o’clock,” I said. “I don’t have another until three.”

He set the book on the side table. “That gives us five hours.”

“Yes.”

He crossed the room, slow, deliberate. His hand came up to cup my cheek. The touch was gentle, almost tender. “You came to me.”

“I couldn’t stop thinking about it.” The words tumbled out. “About Sunday. About the shower. About how full I felt when I left.”

His thumb traced my lower lip. “What do you want?”

“Everything.”

He smiled. A slow, genuine smile that reached his pale blue eyes. Then he took my hand and led me to the bedroom.

The black sheets were fresh, crisp. The ropes were still coiled at each post. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled me between his knees.

“Undress me,” he said.

My fingers found the buttons of his cardigan. I pushed it from his shoulders, let it fall. His shirt followed, the fabric sliding over his chest. I worked his belt open, his trousers, pushed them down his hips. He lifted his hips, and I pulled them free.

He sat naked before me. His cock was already half-hard, lengthening as I watched. The silver hair on his chest caught the morning light.

“Now you,” he said.

I stripped faster. Jeans, blouse, bra, panties. The air hit my skin. I stood before him, bare and waiting.

He reached out, fingers tracing the freckles on my hip. “Come here.”

I climbed onto his lap, straddling him. His cock pressed against my belly, hard now. I sank down, taking him inside me in one slow motion. The fullness made me gasp.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his hands gripping my hips. “Take what you need.”

I began to move. Slow at first, finding a rhythm. His hands guided me, gentle but firm. I rode him in the morning light, the room quiet except for our breathing.

His thumb found my clit, rubbing in circles. I sped up, chasing the peak. The orgasm rose, crested, broke. I cried out, my inner walls clenching around him. He held me through it, his thumb still circling, extending the pleasure.

I collapsed against his chest. He kissed my shoulder.

“That was one,” he said. “We have time for more.”

He laid me back on the black sheet, spread my thighs. His mouth found my clit immediately—no teasing, no delay. He licked with purpose, with hunger, his tongue pressing hard against the sensitive nub. My back arched. My fingers twisted in the sheet.

“I want you to cum on my tongue,” he said, the words vibrating through me. “I want to taste it.”

The pressure built fast. I came with a sob, my hips bucking against his face. He didn’t stop. He licked through the aftershocks, slow and deliberate, until I was gasping, pushing at his head.

“Too much,” I breathed.

He pulled back, lips glistening. “Good.”

He flipped me onto my stomach. His hands spread my cheeks, and I felt his tongue at my ass, circling the tight ring of muscle. The sensation was strange, intense. I gripped the pillow.

“You’re so responsive,” he said. “Every part of you.”

His tongue pressed inside me. I moaned into the pillow. He worked me open, slow and thorough, until I was pushing back against his face.

“Please,” I said. “I need you inside me.”

He rose, positioned himself behind me. The head of his cock pressed against my entrance. He pushed in, slow, deep, filling me completely. The stretch was sharp, familiar, welcome.

He fucked me with long, languid strokes. His hand reached beneath me, found my clit. The double sensation built fast, overwhelming. I came again, my body trembling around him.

“I’m going to fill you,” he said, his voice strained. “I’m going to pump you so full.”

He thrust deeper, held, and I felt the first pulse. Hot. Thick. Another. Another. His seed flooded me, warm and deep. He stayed inside, breathing hard.

Then he pulled out, rolled me onto my back, and positioned himself between my legs. His cock was still hard, slick with both of us.

“Again,” he said.

He pushed into my ass. The stretch was immediate, the fullness deeper. I cried out, my hands finding his shoulders. He began to move, slow at first, then faster. His hand found my clit, rubbing in rhythm.

“Cum with me,” he said.

The orgasm rose, crested, broke. I clenched around him, and he followed, a low groan escaping his throat. His seed pumped into me, filling that channel, mixing with what was already there.

He collapsed onto me, his weight pressing me into the mattress. His breath was hot against my neck.

“Two hours down,” he murmured. “Three to go.”

I laughed. A breathless, surprised sound. He lifted his head, smiled at me.

“Hungry?” he asked.

We ate in bed. Toast and jam, orange juice, his fingers feeding me bites between kisses. The afternoon sun slanted through the window, warming the black sheet. His hand rested on my thigh, thumb tracing lazy circles.

After eating, he pulled me on top of him. I sank onto his cock, still wet, still ready. I rode him slowly, savoring the fullness. His hands guided my hips, his eyes never leaving my face.

“You’re beautiful,” he said. “Do you know that?”

I didn’t answer. I leaned down, kissed him. His lips were soft, warm. His tongue met mine.

I came with his mouth on mine, swallowing my own cry.

By the time the clock neared three, I had lost count. Five orgasms? Seven? My body was a vessel of sensation, every nerve raw and singing. His seed leaked from me with every step.

I dressed slowly. Jeans. Blouse. Bra. Panties. Each layer felt foreign, covering the evidence. He watched from the bed, naked, his softening cock resting against his thigh.

“Same time Friday,” he said.

I nodded. My hand rested on my stomach, where his warmth was still sealed inside me.

I walked home in the afternoon sun. The walk blurred. My thighs were slick. My body hummed.

I reached my apartment, unlocked the door, stepped inside. The phone was ringing.

I picked it up. “Hello?”

“Stacy, honey!” My grandfather’s voice, warm and booming. “I’m at the bus station. Thought I’d surprise you! Can you come pick me up?”

The blood drained from my face.

“Grandpa?” My voice came out thin. “You’re here? In town?”

“Sure am! Got the early bus. Thought we’d spend the week together. Surprise!”

I stared at the wall. His seed was still warm inside me. My hair was tangled. My lips were swollen.

“Stacy? You there?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, I’m here. I’ll… I’ll be right there.”

I hung up. My hand pressed against my belly.

I was full of Mr. Dewitt. And my grandfather was waiting at the bus station.