The Visitor

Bridget Bellecerise
11 mins read
Published almost 2 years ago

Rough fingers, strong hands are gliding across my breasts, tracing the contours of my stomach. He kisses and nips his way down my body, licking the crease where my thigh meets my hip. He lifts his eyes to meet my gaze. 

Not him again. 

I sigh and sink deeper into the foamy, fragrant water. It’s a bit tepid, so I turn the hot valve, letting in a stream of steaming water. I lay back again, feeling the heat creep past my calves, thighs, up my back. 

With each breath I take, I relax more into the marble. I begin to touch my soft skin - pink from the warmth and the rough gloves I’ve used to make it smooth. My thighs yield to my fingers as they make their way up, feeling the firmness of the bones jutting from my hips, then the softness of my belly. I reach back down to my pubic bone, then choose to tease myself a bit longer. I bring my awareness to my ribs, my sternum, the weight of my breasts. Pinching and twisting my rosy nipples, I watch them harden and enjoy the tingle. 

A flash of strong shoulders presses into my mind, bright beneath my closed eyelids. 

But I push the image away. 

Fucking Corey. Get out of my head. 

He’s been dominating my dreams and my waking life too often lately. My lust has never driven me to focus on one man like this before. I am beginning to fear his power over me.

I slide my head under the water, running my nails along my scalp. Goosebumps raise on my limbs, and my nipples harden more. 


I start touching myself again, upper thighs now, but can’t escape the image of his perfect shoulder. I can see the tendons working above me, holding him just close enough that I can smell him where the knot of his jaw meets his neck. Irish Spring and gin. He’s pushing himself into me while I run my hand down his bicep and over his veiny forearm. 

Ugh, fine. 

I give into my deeper wants, the wants that don’t give a fuck about avoiding attachment. The wants that turn into physically painful needs. 

I clench my pussy and run my middle finger across my clit, gentle at first, then harder, circling its border. Jerk. Gasp. Slow down. I’m already slick, and I need something inside me.  

I rise out of the tub, streams of water tickling my charged nipples, and towel off hastily, thinking about filling my pussy with my thickest vibrator.

I pad over the cool hardwood to my bedroom. Pause to listen. 

Was that a knock?

I am clearly not expecting company. I check my phone - nothing. 

But yes, that’s another knock.

There’s no way it could be him. He said he has plans - vague as ever. I look through the peephole and my stomach drops when I see a shock of deep auburn hair, a thick brow cocked. He begins to turn away and I push back the lock with a click. He pauses mid-step and I swing open the door, clutching my towel at my breasts. 

Both his brows are raised now, in surprise and amusement. His eyes crinkle with a smile, and his full lips follow. He takes a moment to look me over, my wet hair slicked back, cheeks flushed from my thoughts of him just moments before. I wonder if he can see my fantasies flitting across my face. 

“How’s it goin’?” he says. He has a delicious New Zealand accent and an easy nature, though when I drink him in I can see his cock hardening through his black trousers. 

I take my time to respond. I am too busy committing this image to memory. It's the first time I’ve seen him in a suit. He looks beautiful. Long black brogues, perfectly fitted pants and a black jacket that highlights his broad shoulders and tapered waist. 

“What’s up?” I ask, eyebrow raised. Unsmiling. Even though I was about to make myself come to the thought of his cock a few minutes ago, I’m not letting him in this easily. 

He pauses in the middle of running his eyes across my exposed collarbone to say, “I was at a party. Good drinks, good company.” His amber eyes dip into my cleavage. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Can I come in?” His eyes meet mine and I finally step back, dropping my towel so that it’s poised right above my nipples. 

“I like this,” I say, running my index finger and thumb over his lapel. “Why haven’t you worn it for me?” 

Then I press my palm to his chest, just the thin fabric of his crisp white shirt separating us. I feel the warmth of him underneath, the soothing beat of his heart. I slide my hand to his shoulder, pushing his jacket down his arm. He takes it off the rest of the way for me and tosses it on a kitchen chair. 

The outlines of his gorgeous, toned body can be made out from under the sheer fabric, and I turn around so he can’t see me bite my lip and roll my eyes. 

“You should probably shut the door,” I say, and drop my towel to the floor. I hear him exhale and step forward to close the distance between us. 

He brushes my hair to one side so he can kiss my neck down to the top of my shoulder, his other hand at my hip, rough fingers running over the soft flesh, finding the crease where the top of my thigh meets my pussy. 

I lean back into him, and sigh. “Couldn’t stop thinking about me, eh?”

“Mhm,” he murmurs into the crook of my neck. “I’ll show you.”

Suddenly he spins me around and lifts me, setting me on the edge of the kitchen island. 

His head follows the curve of my breast and my waist, and stops between my legs. I lean back, savoring the heat of his breath tracing my skin, echoing over my thighs, my pussy, until he reaches my clit. He glides his tongue, sharp and firm, past my hole, over my clit, flicking it over and over. He slides his fingers inside of me easily, curling them upwards. His tongue becomes soft and slow, caressing my clit as it swells, aching for more pressure. I push my hips toward his mouth and he reads me perfectly, alternating between rough strokes and taking me into his mouth to suck me steadily.

I cry out, hips bucking wildly, and he pauses to rumble a few words into my thigh. “I love how wet I make you.” 

I laugh at his cockiness and how he doesn’t even realize how right he is, pulling his face up to meet mine. 

Tracing my thumbnail over his sharp jawline, I say, “I was busy before you so rudely interrupted,” before I kiss him.

I love the feeling of his tongue in my mouth, sweet from my juices with a tang of gin and tonic lingering from earlier in the night. 

Now, it’s my turn to show him how much I’ve been thinking about him. 

I claw up the back of his neck with one hand and work his cock out of his pants with the other. I feel its warmth in my hand and groan in anticipation. I want to taste it, lick it, tease it. 

But I want him to beg for me. 

I spit in my hand and run the ends of my fingers over his thick head. I can feel blood steadily pulsing as I lightly graze my nails from base to tip and he moans my name. 

At that, I grip his cock harder, stroking faster.

“Do you want to feel my mouth on your cock?” I ask. I listen for his whine, push him back and hop from the counter. 

I kneel so that his cock is hovering over my face, look up and bite my lip.

“Are you sure?”

I’m smirking now. He deserves a bit of torment too. 

He growls and shoves his cock down my throat, cradling the back of my head. It fills my mouth completely, and I start to drool from the edges of my lips. I press my hand into his hip and pull back, only allowing his head inside. 

I swirl my tongue around his tip, work my hands over his shaft, looking up to his face - he’s biting his lip, flushed, eyes closed. 

Entertained, I watch his face as I suddenly take his whole cock in my mouth. He gasps, eyes opening wide. 

I love feeling this power over him. 

I keep letting him in deeper and deeper until I feel his cock twitch, and he pulls me up to his face, chuckling. 

“I don’t want to come yet,” he says.

“Well, what do you want to do?” I ask, feigning innocence. 

He grins wickedly, and tears his black leather belt from his pants, looping it around my waist. He tightens it so that it digs into my skin. I shriek and laugh, I’m on fire and so ready to be dominated by him. I use this moment to take in the sight of him - still clothed except for his cock standing firm out of his pants. His dark brown eyes are sleepy looking with lust, his hair tousled, burning red skin creeping out from under his crisp white collar. He dips his fingers in my now dripping pussy, in and out, then shoves them into my mouth, making me taste my own juices. I lick them clean eagerly, then look at him, awaiting instruction. 

“Turn around.”

I obey, making a show of it as I press my palms against the edge of the counter, angling my ass up toward him.

He hooks his feet inside of mine, using them to push my legs wider, then grabs a fistful of hair at the nape of my neck, and uses it to bend me over and pin me to the counter. 

I gasp when my nipples hit the cold marble, tightening to points so firm they sting. With his other hand he takes the belt around my waist and uses it to pull my hips against his. I close my eyes and feel his warm cock throbbing at my entrance. I try to press him in, but he pulls back and I groan, drool spilling from my lips. 

“Sorry, what was that?” I can hear the grin in his voice. 

“Please,” I moan. 

“Didn’t catch that.” He pulses against me, allowing the smallest bit of him to enter. 


He is having too much fun watching me beg for his cock, and I can’t say I’m mad about it. 

“Fuck me now!” I demand, and he plunges his thick cock into me. Halfway, again, deeper, and finally he’s all the way inside, his thickness opening me wide and filling me perfectly. 

I bite my lip to stop myself from screaming with pleasure that tonight's fantasy was being fulfilled so perfectly. 

“Did you miss my cock?” he growls in my ear. 

“Yeah.” My voice breaks when he rams into me. He laughs and pulls the belt as he thrusts, making my hips meet his with greater and greater force. I give into him and cry out, screaming and whining, begging for more. I can feel my juices mixing with his, dripping down my thighs, the rough fabric of his trousers rubbing against my bare skin. 

“Touch yourself.”

I reach down for my swollen clit and massage it frantically, teasing out an orgasm as the pressure from his cock fights against my tightening pussy. 

“Now, now,” he cautions, “I want you to come with me.”

I let out a high pitched squeal and release my muscles, my fingers. I’m so close. I’ve been ready for this all night. His breaths get shorter, his thrusts faster. 

I know he’s close too. 

I reach down to work my clit again. 

“Oh fuck,” I clench my pussy as tightly as I can, feeling myself wrap around the contours of his cock. It’s pressing against my very limit. My walls ache and I desperately rub my clit. I feel my orgasm spark, the gush of heat.

“Come for me, Corey. Give it to me!” I snarl, then scream as I feel his deep thrusts, his white-hot come filling me up. My pussy tightens, my clit is on fire, and I squeeze until I have every last drop of him.

He stays in me, cock pulsing and twitching until I can feel it soften, feel our come streaming down my legs.

I stand up to press myself against his shirt, now damp with sweat. He holds me for a moment, pulls out, and turns me around. I look up at his face, admire the flush still sweeping across his high cheekbones, the smirk that crinkles the corners of his eyes as he tries to smooth my disheveled hair. He uses his belt to pull me close to him again and he gently tilts my chin toward his face before he kisses me deeply. He unbuckles it, and does up his pants. He doesn’t mention the massive wet spot we’ve left. 

He turns to get his jacket and I gasp, realizing the front door of my apartment has been wide open. We both start laughing at our spontaneous show.

 I giggle. “Hopefully old Mrs. Furlow from down the way didn’t get an eyeful.”

“Catch you later, yeah?” He grabs his jacket. 

“Yeah,” I smile at him. I turn away, still naked, to open myself a bottle of wine.

He clicks the door shut behind him.

More by Bridget:

Better Than Dreaming
In His Head
The Training Session

Written by
Bridget Bellecerise

Bridget Bellecerise keeps herself busy by conquering the mountains and men of Colorado. While she doesn’t like being told what to do when her clothes are on, it’s a different story in the bedroom. She draws her inspiration from her adventures in dating and the hot fantasies that occupy her mind.