For Authentication Purposes by Amber L. Johnson Page A

gotta be a very standard pussy you’re sporting under there.” He dropped his face to mine, his lips just out of reach. “Let. Me. See.”
    “You first,” I blurted out.
    “Bunny Dawn. Are you negotiating?” He was amused.
    “Yeah. Let me see what all the fuss is about.” I backed up a foot and looked down at his zipper.
    He shrugged and reached for his top button, popping it open as he stared at my face. The teeth of the zipper made a delicious noise as he held it between his fingers and lowered it to move his hands inward and into his boxers. Shoving them down a bit, along with his jeans, he reached inside and moved his dick from the precarious downward position it had just been in.
    I held my breath and pressed my lips together as his fist came up with . . .  
    “Dear God.” I could hardly breathe.
    He chuckled as I stepped closer. My fingers curled into my palms to not reach out and touch it. It was unexpectedly pretty. He was hard, that much was obvious. And it was long and looked to be a good width. But it was the head that had me so enamored. The pretty pink and blue hues of it, how round and helmet-like the tip was.
    I wanted to nuzzle my face against it. Give it a little kiss on the slit. I wanted it inside me.
    After another thirty seconds of staring, he secured it inside his underwear and zipped his jeans back up.
    “Why are you hard?” I asked, breaking my tractor beam gaze away from his crotch.
    A laugh erupted from his throat as he reached out a hand then rubbed his thumb over my earlobe. “Because there is something so sexy about how shy you act around me. You want me to think you’re so timid, but you’re not.” He dropped his hand and shrugged again. “It turns me on. A lot.”  
    I let out a long breath as I stared into his eyes.  
    “Now you.” He pressed.
    Like some stupid harem girl transfixed by a snake charmer, I dropped my robe to my feet. He gazed over my body once as he sucked in a quick breath between his teeth. Zeroing in on my stomach, his eyes traveled even more torturously slow until they settled between my thighs. My hands were clenching and unclenching as he pursed his lips and then licked them.
    “We should go,” he muttered and pulled his gaze back up to my face.
    My entire body had been so rigid under his inspection that it felt almost sore to move when he turned his back to me and retrieved the bag he’d brought over. Tossing it at me, he gave a quick smile. “I got you carrot cake.”
    And the moment was lost.
    “Drop the Bunny shit!” I yelled as he closed the door behind him.

8.

    Wardo
    God, she was so easy to rile up.  
    Letting myself into her apartment had resulted in the exact reaction I hoped for. Her asking to see my hard-on was the icing on the cake.  
    Or the icing on the carrot cake.  
    I knew, I just knew , she was going to use the money I gave her to buy a vibrator. She was much easier to convince than I had given her credit for at first.  
    “Come on my lap.”
    “Buy a vibrator.”
    “Show me your pussy.”
    It wouldn’t be long before I watched her use the toys I was going with her to buy. I’d teach her the art of the orgasm. She’d beg me to go down on her. I’d wait until she asked for my cock, and I’d still hold out. But first we were going to a porn shop to buy her a vibrator. It had to be one of the top five moments in my entire life.
    I’d whacked off so much the night before that I was sore and my wrist and my dick both felt cramped. I’d started in the shower because soap and water makes it so much easier to work it. I could fist my shaft as hard as I wanted to, jerk it as fast as I could go, and it would be consistent throughout the entire experience. I liked to press my arm against the wall for balance and rest my forehead there so I could watch and pretend it was her hand doing it.  
    I could see it. Her delicate fist working hard and fast. I’d teach her to grip and turn her wrist. I’d show her how to let her