My bomb-fight ended with him dominating me

Do you remember those Carnival days when the house was ours and no one else’s? Sticky heat, the distant music of some parade, and the certainty that no neighbor would come banging on the gate. I’d had the plan in my head since morning, long before you went out to buy the case of beer.

As soon as I saw you turn the corner carrying the case with both hands, I knew it was my moment. I shouted to you that I’d left the gate unlocked, that you could push it open with your shoulder without putting anything down.

—Come in, it’s open! —I said, with the most innocent voice I could fake.

You smiled. That smile of yours, the one that never suspects a thing.

What you didn’t anticipate was what was waiting for you when you crossed the threshold.

I never imagined I’d have such good aim that afternoon.

Pow!

The water balloon burst right against your chest and left your shirt soaking wet in an instant. Anyone else would have dropped the box from the shock, but not you. You held on tight, looked at the stain spreading across the fabric, and then slowly lifted your face. Your gaze found me at once, just barely peeking around the corner of the house, dying of laughter over the attack I’d ambushed you with.

—There’s your ammo! —I shouted, and threw another one at you that, now alerted, you dodged easily.

I know you, Damián. I know that in strength and speed I’m always going to lose to you. The only way I can beat you is by ambush, when you least expect it.

I’d left the cooler full of ice next to the bucket, the filled balloons floating like little mines about to explode. I watched you put the bottles away one by one, unhurried, with that patience of yours that made me restless with adrenaline. Every second you took tightened my chest a little more.

I took advantage of the moment and ran down the side hallway toward the back patio.

***

I hid behind the mango tree, with two balloons in each hand that I’d taken from the reserve bucket. My heart was pounding a mile a minute. It didn’t matter if I lost the war: no one could take away my victory for hitting you in the chest first.

I saw you come into the patio with your own ammo. As soon as you spotted me behind the trunk, you ran toward me like an enraged bull. I let out a yell, threw a balloon at you, and missed badly. I fled my hiding place toward the other side of the house.

Pow!

The impact made me squeal. Now the fabric of my denim shorts was wet: you’d hit me square on one ass cheek.

I got to the corner and from there threw the last one I had left at you. I growled, frustrated by my bad aim. I went back around to the front, took two balloons from your bucket, but while I was bent over to reach them I felt the blow in my side.

Those two hits in a row lit up my competitive streak. At least one more, I’m going to hit you with one more. I started throwing everything I had at you, one after another, and finally I hit you in the leg.

—Ha! —I exclaimed, triumphant, and fled again, leaving you with just one balloon behind.

—You can’t get me! —I taunted from the back patio.

—You know damn well what I’m going to give you —you answered, your voice breathless from the marathon we were running from one side to the other.

My goal was to reach the second bucket, but I’d barely stopped for a second to look over my shoulder when you were already almost on top of me. You overtook me and got there first. I spun around and ran to the front again, and when I turned my head to find you, you were nowhere to be seen.

I stood glued to the corner, waiting for you to appear in front of me.

Stupid me.

Because all of a sudden I let out that startled squeal that always slips out of me when you catch me off guard.

Whoooosh!

The icy water came down over me from head to toe. You’d lost interest in the balloons: you took the whole bucket and, with the stealth of a panther, came up behind me to empty it over me in one go.

I wiped water off my face with both hands, spitting out water, and slapped your arm.

—Cheater!

—Me, a cheater? Look who’s talking.

I grimaced. You weren’t wrong.

—It’s just that if I don’t ambush you, I can never get you —I said, pouting.

—Now we both have wet chests.

—You only have a wet chest and leg —I replied, folding my arms—. I’m the one who’s completely soaked.

—Completely? You’re completely soaked? —your voice suddenly dropped to that deep, suggestive tone that melts me.

***

I already knew I’d end up wetter than you in this war. I hadn’t imagined you’d be such a brute as to dump the whole bucket over me, but the truth is it was perfect for the second part of my plan. Despite the afternoon sun, the breeze brushing my wet skin had my flesh covered in goose bumps. And it was no accident that I wasn’t wearing anything under my T-shirt, and that I’d chosen white on purpose.

The wet fabric clung to my body, my nipples outlined against the cotton. I felt your gaze change.

I think it’s time to end this war.

The way you were looking at me soaked me between the legs without needing to touch me. You looked at my tits like a starving beast. You came closer and took what was yours: your big hands gathered them together and squeezed. My T-shirt was dripping, the water pooling and falling in thin streams while you touched me and kneaded me.

You ran your thumbs over my hardened peaks and a shiver went down my spine. You lowered your head and bit one of my nipples through the fabric, drawing a moan from me halfway between pain and pleasure.

—You’re so fucking delicious —you said in a rough voice before kissing me. Your tongue slipped into my mouth and tangled with mine, slow, possessive.

Your hands moved down to my ass.

—I’m taking you to the back.

It wasn’t a question. I gave a little hop and wrapped my legs around your hips. I wanted to grind against the hard bulge in your pants, but hanging there like that I couldn’t reach. You held my whole weight by my ass and walked carrying me to the back patio, my tits crushed against your chest. I kissed your neck and licked your ear all the way to the wicker sofa.

You let me down before sitting and, without losing a second, started unbuttoning my shorts. The wet denim seemed painted onto my skin; you had to work it down my thighs until it ended up a wrinkled puddle at my feet.

You devoured me with your eyes. You looked at my white thong, soaked too. You were seated with your legs together, I was standing between your knees, so close that my chest rose and fell with my breathing inches from your face. I wanted your mouth on my tits again, but first you reached out, slid the thong fabric to the side, and ran a finger between my lips.

—So fucking delicious. You’re dripping wet.

—You do this to me —I answered, rocking my hips without being able to help it.

You slid your finger inside me, coated it with my wetness, and moved up to rub my clit. I shuddered all over. You had me so turned on that desperation overpowered patience: I peeled the fabric away from my skin, tugged my T-shirt up almost to my neck, and freed my breasts to tempt your mouth.

You parted your lips and sucked one nipple with ravenous hunger, while your finger went in and out and, from time to time, returned to my swollen clit. Again and again, your mouth devouring my breasts. I grabbed your shoulders so I wouldn’t fall, needing to cling to your solid body because my knees were going weak.

I felt deliciously obscene, perversely surrendered. You kept bringing me closer and closer to the edge.

—No, not yet —I panted—. Put it in. Please, I want you inside.

***

I moved away so you could take off your shirt and lower your pants to your ankles. Your cock emerged thick and hard between your legs. I leaned down and took it in my mouth, sucked and licked you a little, leaving your shaft slick with my spit, looking you in the eye while I did it.

Then I climbed onto your lap, in one of my favorite positions, the one where your mouth can still reach my tits while you bury yourself all the way inside me.

God, how good it felt when you stretched me open. You fit perfectly, my cunt received you hungrily, always eager for you. I rose and fell slowly at first, feeling every inch go in and out. I arched my back and sought your mouth with mine; we kissed while I rocked on your lap, impaled on your rigid cock.

With every second, the desire sped up. We broke the kiss and I moved faster. Your hands caught my ass, you squeezed my flesh, groped my ass like you wanted to keep all of it, setting the pace, pushing me to ride you harder.

My tits bounced with every thrust. You managed to catch one nipple between your lips and sucked hard, your tongue stimulating that sensitive spot. In this position I don’t need to touch myself; the friction only took me higher and higher.

—Oh, so good. I’m close.

—I want you to come for me —you ordered, in that commanding tone that forces me to please you.

I moved frantically, and that friction drove me to the very top, until I fell over the abyss. Pleasure wrapped around me, I stopped seeing, I only felt you and what you were doing to my body. All my muscles contracted; my cunt clamped around you and my clit pulsed again and again with the force of the orgasm.

I stopped for a moment, needing to catch my breath.

—Did you come good? —you asked.

—Divine —I panted.

I tried to move again, but I didn’t have any strength left.

—Get on all fours.

***

I climbed off you with trembling legs. Your cock came out of me still hard as a rock. I knelt on the patio sofa and grabbed the backrest. You positioned your cock at my entrance and pushed it all the way in at once, tearing a hypersensitive moan from my throat.

That way you felt bigger, and I felt tighter. I was wrecked from everything before, but I pulled out the strength I had left to give you the pleasure you still hadn’t reached. I squeezed you with the muscles of my pussy, pushed back against you. You fucked me fast and hard, my ass slapping against your body, my tits swinging, the wicker creaking under us.

—Fill me up, daddy. Fill me all the way up.

You drove it into me harder and harder until I heard the low murmur of your groan. Your cock clenched inside me, I felt it tightening, and you spilled your seed deep inside me, stream after stream.

You empty and me overflowing. You pulled out slowly and gave me a spank as I straightened up.

I wanted to pull my shirt down to cover myself, but the wet fabric was ice-cold, so I ended up taking it off. I hung it over the back of a chair and kissed you.

—Good? —I asked.

—So good.

—Did you like my surprise water-balloon war?

—I never saw it coming —you said, squeezing my ass again—. I liked it. I liked it a lot.

—Do you want me to go get you something to clean up with? —you asked after, attentive as always.

I love that you’re like that with me.

—No, thanks. I’m going to take a quick shower.

One more kiss and I turned to go back into the house, with the evidence of your orgasm sliding warm along the inside of my left thigh. And already thinking about how I was going to surprise you next Carnival.