In His Head

Bridget Bellecerise
12 mins read
Published over 1 year ago

I watch him tip his head back as he finishes his beer. He gives me a knowing look, one that makes me blush, then grabs our glasses and heads to the bar to get another round. 

His black jeans fit his ass perfectly, his narrow hips are leaning casually against the bar. He smiles at the bartender and I can see her swoon a little bit. It’s how most people react to him—his dark, chiseled, classically handsome features pair perfectly with his genuinely friendly outlook. His magic still works on me, too. 

How did I get so lucky?

I tap nervously on the table with my nails, twirl my hair. I sigh, try to relax, but I can’t stop this feeling in my stomach.

I flashback to when I was a child, probably three years old. I was playing tag with my sister and she fell, scraping her knee. I gasped at the sharp pain in my own leg and looked down, expecting to see blood. My knee was perfect, and the pain disappeared as quickly as it came. 

I didn’t realize then what I know now. 

My thoughts are interrupted by Rob breathlessly plopping into the stool across from me. Some of the suds slosh over the rim of his glass when he sets our beers down with a clink. 

“Everything all good?”

The bar has filled up, bodies and voices colliding, but when he speaks, I have no trouble hearing his deep timbre.

“Yeah!” I say, a little too cheerfully. I take a swig of beer to buy a little time and remind myself—

You wouldn’t be doing this if you weren’t sure about him. 

He looks at me expectantly, but gently. It’s always a judgment-free zone with him. Something that someone like me can appreciate more than most. 

“I actually have something to tell you.” I bite my lip, then, “And depending on your reaction, something to ask you.”

“I’m intrigued.” He leans forward so that his face is inches from mine, and I can smell his cologne, musky and rich, over the mix of beer and bar crowd. 

I’ve gone over this conversation so many times and started it so many ways in my head, but of course now, at the moment of truth, I start with, “Fuck.” 

His eyes lift at the corners, and he laughs, but waits. 

“Ever since I was young,” I start again, “I’ve had this sense that I’ve come to realize most people don’t have. When someone is cold, I can feel their shivers, their goose bumps. Not in my body, but through theirs.”

He nods slowly, his brows slightly furrowed. 

“One morning, when I was ten, I think, I was sitting across from my dad eating breakfast, and my vision went blurry and I looked up, but I wasn’t looking at my dad anymore. I was looking at myself through his eyes. It was blurry, but I could see my purple pj’s and blonde hair. He put his glasses on and I could see myself clearly, lifting cereal to my mouth, chewing it.” 

Rob reaches out to run his fingers over mine, and I’m grateful. I know how ridiculous I sound. I take a sip of my beer and smile at him. 

“They used to come to me randomly, these flashes, but now I can usually control them. I mostly block them out, to be honest. What I feel is enough.”

He chuckles and leans back, running his fingers through his hair. “So... you can’t read people’s minds, but... their bodies?”

“That’s a great way of putting it, yeah.” I’m grinning at his response, that he hasn’t run out the door, that he’s sticking with me. 

“And you could pick anyone in this bar and feel what they’re feeling right now.”

“Yes...I’d rather ask permission, though. It’s a little violating, isn’t it?”

Rob’s brow is still furrowed, but he reaches back across the table to brush my hand with his rough thumb. His eyes lift to mine, and they’re clear, bright. Excited, even. 

“You could feel how soft your hand is through me?”

I nod. Maybe I won’t even need to ask him the question I’ve been aching over, the reason for this conversation. 

He reaches for me to stroke my hair, caress my cheek. His touch is warm on my skin and he trails his fingers down my throat, stops at my collarbone. “And, if I gave you permission, you would be able to feel how you’re hard you’re making my cock right now?”

He’s smiling wickedly, and he playfully pinches my nipple. 

Ding ding ding.

I groan and bite my lip, leaning into him. He’s got it. 

He hops from his stool and pulls me close to him, lifting my arm to that we’re slow dancing in the middle of the bar. 

“If you gave me permission,” I whisper into his ear, “I could feel fucking everything.”

“What the fuck are we waiting for?” He kisses my temple and drags me to the door. 

“Alright, you have my permission. Now what?” He’s pouring two glasses of whiskey, the sleeves of his flannel shirt pushed up to reveal his gorgeously sculpted forearms. 

“I’m not sure, I haven’t exactly done this before.” I’m perched on the armrest of his blue velvet couch, my legs swinging, watching him. 

His hands move expertly as he corks the bottle and pops it in the freezer, then they glide over his hair before he takes a glass and brings it to me. 

“I have an idea—you’re not gonna like it.” I grin up at him. “Do the dishes.”

He bursts into laughter. “The least sexy foreplay of all time.”

“We’ll see about that.” I spank him as he turns to the sink. 

I close my eyes after watching him walk away. Breathe. Focus. I hear the whoosh of the water pouring from the faucet, the clink of the glass. He’s humming a little, enjoying the task despite himself. I stroke the soft velvet of the couch beneath me, and it’s heating up. Almost to the point of searing. And then the couch is melting at my touch, it turns to water, and then there’s the coolness of a porcelain plate, the rough texture of a towel. The ripple of glass of a tumbler pressing into my—no, his—finger pads. 

I’ve got it.

The sense spreads from his hands, up his arms where the hot water is splashing, the weight of his watch sits on his wrist. Soft shirt, slightly hunched shoulders, stiff jeans. Feet warm and dry in his shoes. 

“Fuck off, are your shoes always that comfy?”

He turns off the faucet—smooth and slick—and crosses the room to me, laughing. “It worked!”

My eyes are still closed but I see myself, laughing too, perkily sat there, waiting for him. 

So fucking weird. 

He wraps my hair in his fist and kisses me. My lips are so soft under his, my breath warm, the vibration of my groan rumbles into his hand, huge and pressed into my back. 

It’s wild how I can somehow add a sense. I haven’t lost any of my own sensation or ability. It’s like I’ve found something that has always been mine. 

I part my legs and pull him closer into me, tugging his belt loops, then moving my fingers to firmly stroke his cock.

Holy fuck, his cock.

It’s pulsing with heat against the seam of his pants, straining toward my touch, aching for more. 

“What’s it like?” he murmurs into the crook of my neck, my warm soft skin on his lips.

“Fucking amazing.” I can’t wait anymore. I push him back and kneel, feverishly undoing his pants, pulling his cock out of his boxers. 


The pent-up heat collides with the cool air in the room, then the stream of breath coming from my open mouth. I can feel it pulsing slightly as the blood flows through, waiting for more sensation. I wet my lips and caress his head—my god—gently, wanting to savor the moment. He groans and I do too, creating light vibrations. My mouth feels amazing. It’s somehow releasing and building tension all at once, soft and warm and wet on his throbbing skin. 

I squeeze one hand tight around the base of him, trapping that pleasurable pressure and start to work my mouth along his shaft, swirling my tongue, pulling with my hands. I’ve always prided myself on my great blowjob abilities, but now I’m able to enjoy them in a totally new way. 

Frenzied heat spreads from the fingers still gripping my hair to the cock being milked in my mouth and waves build up almost—almost—to the tip when he yanks my head away, gasping, “God, baby, not yet, not yet.” 

I’m gasping too, and laughing out loud.

“Holy fuck, Rob, I’m so good at that.”

He pulls me up to kiss me. 

“Wait till you feel your wet pussy come on me,” he whispers as he unbuttons my jeans and slips his fingers inside. I strip him fast and then I’m at my own clothes. Now I’m feeling my body against his, the points of my nipples pressing into his skin, my firm thighs wrapped around him, my soft ass in his strong palms. 

He breaks away from me and I whimper, the hot press of our bodies replaced by cold, empty space. I open my eyes and find him sitting on the couch, watching me with anticipation, with a flush spread across his chest, his cock standing straight up against his belly. 


I kneel in front of him, but he has a different idea, pulling me up and spinning me around to sit on his lap. My back feels so soft against his cock and I ache at the pulses that are gripping the head. 

“I want you to know how perfect you feel when you come.”

He lifts me by the hips and guides me onto him, slowly working his tip into me. I’m moaning, totally immersed in how my pussy feels wrapped around him, wet and hot and trembling. And then he’s filled me up completely. I try to bounce on him, but he holds me still, pinning my arms behind my back and then gently curling one hand around my throat. 

“There’s plenty of time for that, baby. Let me take care of you.”

I take a deep breath and open myself to him as he licks his fingers and starts to massage my clit. He’s right. It’s so easy to get overwhelmed by the new sensations. I lean my head back into the crook of his neck, and I can smell myself through him. Clean hair, heady vanilla perfume, the musky scent of our juices slipping from my pussy. 

“That’s a good girl.” The rumbling from his chest stirs me. “You ready to come for me?”


He smacks my clit so that it stings just enough and I cry out, my cunt jolting, squeezing around his cock.

“Yeah, Rob, please let me come,” I whine.

He rubs my clit and slaps it over and over and over until I’m screaming. My pussy feels incredible, coiling frantically around every inch of him, each slap making me pulse harder, and suddenly I’m hitting my peak. My pussy gapes wide, covering him with heat as I gush and then gasp, leaning back into him, panting.

He laughs, gently kissing my neck, running his fingers through my hair.

“Just give me a sec.”

A second is all I need before I’m dying to make him come. 

I hop from his lap and kneel on the couch beside him, leaning over the cushions with my ass in the air. I look back at him and smile. 

“Come for me, daddy,” I say, tilting my pussy up to him.

He groans, biting his lip, and stands to oblige me. He grabs my hips hard, and roughly shoves his cock into me. My swollen, fucked pussy feels amazing and I drive my hips back, taking him in more, more, more until he hits my limit and I cry out.

“You act like this is your first time.” He chuckles, showing me no mercy as he smacks my ass, grips my throat with his other hand and pulls my face back to kiss my temple. I close my eyes and watch him fuck me through his, every thrust sending shock waves through my body. My curves taper into my little waist, my lips are parted with pleasure. 

I can’t find any words to reply, I’m so immersed in the way his cock feels pounding into me over and over, building up heat. It’s so fucking hard and white hot and I can’t stand it anymore. 

“Please come. Please come. Please come.” I’m begging for it and he’s slamming into me harder and harder and finally, I’m screaming at the release he gives me. I can feel all the hot pressure surge through his cock as it pulses, his tip imploding as his come shoots through it. My wetness envelops him, holding his cock as he pumps one, two, three times. Even though it lasts only a few seconds, it feels like time stops to let me experience this amazing sensation. I’m gasping as his cock slowly releases its tension, releases its heat. He holds himself in me, relaxes. 

Still tingling, he slips out of me and pulls me to lay on top of him, kissing me lazily. I use my nails to rake his scalp and hold his head to my chest. I close my eyes and let his feelings drain from me like water.

“How do you like fucking yourself?” he finally asks, his eyes crinkling at the edges. He looks genuinely happy. 

“Well, frankly, I don’t know how you keep your hands off me,” I lift my eyebrow, ”or your dick. I’m a little impressed that you’re not just jerking off constantly.” 

He laughs. “I’m glad you understand. Think you wanna do it again?”

I scoff, “Of course. There’s a lot more to explore than just my pussy.”

He groans and kisses his way from my chest to my mouth, fingers reaching between my legs. I arch toward him.

I keep my mind to myself this time. A girl can only handle coming in so many ways.

More by Bridget:

Better Than Dreaming
She Loves the Attention
The Training Session
The Visitor

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.