An Evening of Serving--

Just want some feedback, as I had to force this one along a little.

thanks
girl


I glance at the clock as I take the chicken out of the oven. Only an hour left until your arrival. I have been cleaning my small, yet comfortable apartment all day. I glance around as I turn the chicken breasts over and wonder if I have missed something you might disapprove of.
I put the chicken back in the oven, and stir the pasta. I walk around the living room, confirming that my CDs and DVDs are in complete alphabetical order. The blanket thrown over the back of the couch is neat and straight, the pillows perfect leaning against both the back and arms of the couch. The remote to the TV and stereo system were on the coffee table, which also had one candle lit in the center. There were votive candles on the entertainment center and window sills of the same scent. The table had two taper candles, unscented, waiting to be lit.
You said I had not needed to worry about the condition of my bedroom, as this was a first meeting. Well, the first face to face meeting. My mind drifts back to the first meeting, the things that were done, things I let you do to me, all without seeing your face. My body starts to respond to the thoughts so I have to stop thinking about that night, about what might occur tonight. I tend to my bedroom anyways, picking up the random clothes that are littering the floor, and smoothing the black and white down comforter.
I look at the clock, and realize there’s only a half hour left. I run to the kitchen and take the pasta off the stove and toss it from the pan into the waiting strainer. As I take the strainer in my hand to shake it, I notice my hands are shaking. I sigh and take a deep breath. I don’t know why I am so nervous. I shake the feeling off as I take the chicken out of the oven and set it upon the stove.

I take the plates from the table; place a chicken breast on each, along with some pasta. I place both back on the table, along with the sauce, as I don’t know how much, if any, sauce you like. With that done, I light the candles on the table, and take my position.
You will only knock on the door once when you arrive. Then you will walk in and I must be ready.
I unlock the door, take one last glance around the open room and smile. I think everything is as perfect as it could be. I get into the position you had specified to me in an earlier conversation.
I hear you knock, and my heart starts to pound so loud I am sure You can hear it. Part of me wants to get up and slam the door shut but it’s to late.
You close the door behind you and stand above me. I so desperately want to look at you, into your eyes but I can’t. I feel your eyes roam over my body, Looking at the quiver in my legs from kneeling, my hands clasped together, my chest rising and falling from my heavy breathing.
You say nothing, but touch me on the shoulder, which is the cue to rise, and lead you to the table. I am still not allowed to look at you, not until you say so. You sit down and you ask for some sauce for your pasta. I take the ladle and pour some on your plate until you let me know when I have poured enough. I proceed to ask you if you need anything else, and the answer is silence.
I begin to worry, thinking I have overlooked something. You finally tell me to sit, and enjoy the meal. The conversation over the meal is like that of a first date. You compliment me on the dinner, and the choice of the chilled chardonnay I have chosen.
Although we have talked many times before you ask me questions about myself, nothing sexual. Just things like what my ideal job would be, if I had any siblings, things like that. I eat little as I am nervous, and ask if you want seconds when done. You simply reply no, and I clear the plates away. I refill your wine glass without being asked, and continue to clean off the table.
I go to the sink, to rinse off all the dishes. I ask you how work was that day, and my response is feeling you press against me. You push me against the sink, biting into my neck. I drop the plate and the cloth, and grab the edges of the counter.
One hand of yours is on my waist, pulling me close to you, the other has wrapped itself in my hair. The hand on my waist snakes it way up and under my green and white shirt, I sigh as I feel your skin against mine. I put an arm back around your neck to keep me steady, and you let go of my hair.
Your hand pulls down the cups of my bra and you pinch tight as you find my nipples. The hand that was pulling my hair makes its way down to my waist and pulls my skirt up. I hear a breathy “good girl” as you take in that I have obeyed, and forgone any panties.
You run your hand over my smooth, soft, freshly shaven skin and moan into my ear. You stroke my lips, and now it’s my turn to moan as you slip a finger in between them and run it up and down the already wet, soft flesh. You find my spot, my button, and you pinch and rub as you play with my nipple and kiss my neck.
I don’t know how long we have stood there like this, as my moans get louder, your actions become faster. I tell you im close, and you pull away. I whimper at the loss of your touch, but say nothing. You tell me to hurry up and finish so you can enjoy my company some more.
I quickly finish and leave the kitchen to find you sitting on my couch, sipping on your champagne, watching what appears to be Scrubs. I hesitate for a moment, and then sit at your feet. I feel your eyes on me, and I look up slightly, but enough where I am looking at you.
Your hand comes down to my head and strokes my hair for a minute. I can’t even describe the feeling of sitting on the floor besides you in my own place. You order me on my knees, and I do so. When I look, I realize your legs are spread apart and I put myself between them. You settle back and watch TV. I am unsure if I am supposed to remain like this or not, but something tells me I am not to. I bend down and kiss your hard cock through the pants.
I unbuckle the belt and undo the pants, just enough so I can pull your hardness out. I quickly take in its beauty and then I lick the head, like I would a lollipop, and then start to take you in my mouth. First just the head and then inch by inch I take more of you in with each downward struck of my mouth. When I finally have you all in, I stay there for as long as I can, then pull up. I take all of you in again and this time your hand goes to the back of my head, holding me there until im gagging. You release me, and I start to suck you hard and fast. You keep your hand softly on my head, grabbing at my hair as I pleasure you.
You pull me off of you and take your cock in your hand, stroking it. I sit back on my legs and bend my head and take your balls into my mouth and swirling my tongue around them, sucking gently. I hear you moan out after a few minutes and I pull away and push your hand away from your cock and take you back into my mouth. After a few strokes with my mouth you pull off of you again, this time pulling me up as well. You stand with me, and bring me to the arm of the couch and bend me over it.
I feel a hand on my ass, rubbing. You tell me to spread my cheeks for you and I do. A finger goes to my wet hole, and then into my little rosebud. Your finger roughly enters me and I gasp out in pleasure/pain. You pull out after a few strokes, and I feel something cold, and wet hit me. I realize that its lubrication and gasp out when your head makes its why in between my cheeks and you tell me to spread them wider. I do, and gasp as I feel you start to push your way in.
I cry out, and the tears start to pour from my eyes. You force the head in and then a little more and start to slowly stroke until all of you is in me.
You pull my long hair back as I begin to match you thrust for thrust. This goes on for a few minutes, until I think you are about to cum, and then you pull out, and without pause, you plunge yourself deep into my wet tight pussy. You hear me scream out as you fuck me fast and hard. Your hand finds a nipple and squeezes hard. I thrust back into you, making you go deeper into me.
The hand that found my nipple works its way down to my clit, and squeezes hard. My cunt muscles tightened around your cock, squeezing it, vice like.
You release my clit, and bring your hand to my hips, grabbing me tight. Your other hand is still wrapped in my hair and you pull me up hard. I am now leaning against you and you bite my neck again as you fill me with cum.
When all you have is in me, you release me, and around to where my face lays. You push your cock against my lips and I open, cleaning the juices off of your softening cock. You then pull away from me, redo your pants and belt and walk out. The last thing I remember you saying is ‘I can’t wait for next time, cunt’.

I love that ending! Thanks for sharing this. :)

tessa

Dear goodgirl_85
I wonder if you set me up. As I read the story I started to get a little tired of the first person singular, and then, boom, there was the last sentence. What a change of pace after all the first person dialog. Sort of like hearing a bunch of violins playing, and then having a drum strike the conclusion.
I liked the way the ending pulled a surprised reaction out of me.

gg... it was a good story and brought forth several real and enticing emotions...

My only comment is that there was one item of inconsistency. The chardonnay becoming champagne...

You’ve done well, good girl. It’s a nice little story, but here’s the problem I had—I’m a female. Yes, when you write in the first and second person, you alienate half your readers. I mean, I think I’ve got a pretty vivid imagination, but there’s just no way I can get my head around such things as: “ You pull me off of you and take your cock in your hand, stroking it.”

Now, take or leave my advice here, but while I enjoyed your story, I thought it could have had a lot more sizzle with less detail about the chicken breast and more about yours! Damn it girl, you told us all about the meal, your apartment, even what was on the television, but very little about you! Yes, it’s you (and him) your readers are interested in the most—the rest is just a back drop.

I wish you well with your future writing. :)

Thanks for your advice. And sorry Tessa for not thanking you weeks ago. Actually this was a writing assignment for a friend of mine. He wanted me to write about an evening together. How I prepare beforehand, etc.

I do write in first person because that's the style i am good at. I have made several attempts to write in third person and it just doesn't seem right to me.

girl

goodgirl, first person writing is good--it's nice and intimate--and you do it well, but combining it with the second person, well, I think anyway, will always tend to alienate your female readers.

You say you wrote this for a friend about an evening you spent together--I'm sure he enjoyed it.
:)