You've been pretty busy lately, huh? Could probably use a little rest. Come here. You can sit right here, in my lap. [30M/29F] [Fingering] [Teasing] [Groping] [Nipple Play] [Second Person POV]

Come here.

Yes.

Right here.

You see me pointing, don’t you?

Don’t tilt your head to the side, like you’re confused. That’s cute every once in a while, but I’ve got something important to tell you.

That’s it. Right in my lap. Get comfy. Wiggle your hips a little. Don’t mind me. I’m just adjusting. One hand on your hip, the other tapping against your thigh. You’re lookin’ cute in that summer dress. Floral. Flowy. Short. The kind of airy cotton-linen blend that’s easy to pull up–slides right over your smooth thighs.

You don’t mind, right?

If you did, you probably wouldn’t be spreading your legs right now and–

Ah.

I see.

No panties? Really?

Not even a little thong?

*Someone’s* really asking for it today, huh? And there you go, arching your back against me, my hand sliding up the flex of your diaphragm to grab–well, you know what I’m grabbing. Just a little bit of friction with my thumb, against that cotton-linen blend. It’s thin enough–I can feel you getting aroused. Poke against it. More. More. More. Let out a little moan. A little whimper that turns to a whine when my other hand slides along the soft-as-satin curve of your inner thighs. I always stop–just for a second–to draw a lazy circle around your beauty mark. That simple gesture always tells you exactly where I’m going next.

Spread ‘em.

Arch your back against me.

Hand slipping beneath the décolletage of your dress. Pulling at it. Gentle, but firm. Fingerprints on your chest. Fingerprints on your inguinal groove, teasing the border, right by those perfect, pink lips. Crossing over, lightly but confidently, making you squirm against me.

Do you feel it growing?

Pushing?

Throbbing?

I know you do. That’s why you’re starting to move your hips. Why you’re grinding in my lap. Why you’re looking over your shoulder at me, watching my expression go to one of deep, almost primal concentration. Growing. Growing. Growing. Pressing against that fucking **warmth**.

Dress up.

Hiking it over your hips.

Both hands on your inner thighs now, spreading them wide.

No fucking thong.

Sliding down. Fingers running up your labia. Down. Up. Playing ring around the fucking rosie with your clit. Dipping into your slit. Wet. Warm. Snug.

Two fingers.

You’re wet enough.

Push them in. Curl towards your g-spot. Hold it there. Other hand on your clit–rubbing, rubbing, rubbing. Shake your fucking ass. Cock pressing between your cheeks now.

That’s it–be a fucking good girl. God….

–if you aren’t careful–

you’ll make me cum inside my pants.

Grunting the words between breaths. Pushing deeper. Rubbing faster. I want you to cum on me. Cum in my fucking lap. Fast, steady, firm. Just the way you like it.

Lips on your neck. Kissing. Sucking. Licking.

How can you even handle all this fucking *stimulation*?

Barely. That’s how. Words gone. Dripping into mush. Moans. Louder. Whinier. Hips moving, finding my length and running along it.
God, that fine fucking ass–the way I’m going to **spank** it. But not yet. Not until I bend you over. After you cum in my lap. Can feel your warmth against my chinos now–your wetness meeting my precum.

More. More. More.

And then–

There it fucking is. Body tense. Hair in my face. Bending against me. Pussy clenching around my digits. I can feel your heartbeat in your clit–you know that? And it’s fucking pounding right now.

Pushing you forward. Get on your stomach. Ass proud. Pants coming down. Now it’s **my** turn.