Convention Crush: The Warrior's Secret
by PhoenixI spot you weaving through the throng of cosplayers at the chaotic comic convention, your Jackie costume—a fierce, leather-clad warrior princess—clinging to your curves like it was poured on. The air
about 6 hours ago
•short read•hot intensityI spot you weaving through the throng of cosplayers at the chaotic comic convention, your Jackie costume—a fierce, leather-clad warrior princess—clinging to your curves like it was poured on. The air buzzes with excited chatter and the scent of popcorn and sweat, but all I can focus on is that effortless grin you flash when our eyes lock. It's the same one that hooked me last time, back in that cramped pullout on the highway, when we fogged up the windows and forgot the world existed.
"Hey, warrior queen," I say, sidling up behind you, my hand brushing the small of your back. "Fancy raiding some hidden treasures with me? I hear the vendor hall has a secret nook behind the comic stacks."
You turn, your eyes sparkling with that mischievous glint I remember from our warehouse escapade, where we pressed against cold brick and let the thrill of almost getting caught ignite us. "Jason, you devil," you murmur, your voice low and teasing. "Lead the way, but if we get busted, you're taking the blame."
We slip away from the main floor, dodging caped crusaders and giggling groups, until we duck into a dimly overlooked alcove stacked floor-to-ceiling with dog-eared graphic novels. The space is tight, barely enough room for two, with fluorescent lights humming overhead like a faulty Bat-signal. I pull you close, our bodies aligning in the dusty confines, and I can feel the heat radiating off you already.
My fingers trace the zipper of your costume, tugging it down inch by inch, exposing the soft swell of your breasts. "Fuck, Jackie, you look even better out of this getup," I whisper, my lips grazing your neck. You shiver, arching into me, your hands fumbling with my shirt buttons until it hangs open, revealing my chest.
We don't waste time on words after that. I hoist you up against the shelves, your legs wrapping around my waist as our mouths crash together—hot, urgent, tongues dancing like we're battling for dominance. Your nails dig into my shoulders, and I grind against you, feeling the damp heat through your pants. "God, I need you," you gasp, breaking the kiss to nip at my earlobe. "Right here, right now."
I set you down just long enough to strip us both, clothes pooling at our feet in a tangle of fabric and forgotten inhibitions. The cool air hits your skin, making your nipples harden into peaks I can't resist. I drop to my knees, parting your thighs with my hands, and bury my face between them. Your pussy is slick and ready, tasting like salt and desire as I lick along your folds, circling your clit with my tongue. You moan, fingers threading through my hair, pulling me closer. "Yes, Jason, just like that—fuck, don't stop."
The thrill of the convention noise filtering in—laughter, announcements—only amps it up, like we're stealing this moment from the chaos. I slide two fingers inside you, curling them to hit that spot that makes your hips buck, while my mouth sucks harder. You're trembling now, breaths coming in ragged bursts, and when you come, it's with a muffled cry, your juices coating my chin as you ride the wave.
But I'm not done. I stand, my dick throbbing hard against your thigh, and you drop to your knees in the cramped space, taking me in your mouth without hesitation. Your lips stretch around me, tongue swirling the head, and I groan, bracing against the shelves. "Shit, Jackie, your mouth is magic." You hum in response, the vibration shooting straight to my balls, sucking me deep until I'm fighting not to thrust too hard.
We switch again, you pushing me back against the books as you straddle me on the thin carpeted floor. I guide my cock to your entrance, and you sink down, inch by inch, enveloping me in tight, wet heat. We move together, slow at first, savoring the stretch and slide, then faster, your breasts bouncing with each roll of your hips. I grip your ass, fingers teasing the cleft, dipping in just enough to make you gasp. "You like that?" I growl, and you nod, riding me harder, chasing another peak.
It builds like a storm, our bodies slick with sweat, the risk of discovery making every thrust electric. You clench around me, coming again with a shuddering "Fuck, Jason!" and it pulls me over the edge. I thrust up deep, spilling inside you in hot pulses, a creamy rush that leaves us both panting.
We collapse in a heap, laughing softly as we catch our breath, quickly dressing amid scattered comics. "Best con ever," you say, pecking my lips with a grin that promises more adventures.
As we
"Hey, warrior queen," I say, sidling up behind you, my hand brushing the small of your back. "Fancy raiding some hidden treasures with me? I hear the vendor hall has a secret nook behind the comic stacks."
You turn, your eyes sparkling with that mischievous glint I remember from our warehouse escapade, where we pressed against cold brick and let the thrill of almost getting caught ignite us. "Jason, you devil," you murmur, your voice low and teasing. "Lead the way, but if we get busted, you're taking the blame."
We slip away from the main floor, dodging caped crusaders and giggling groups, until we duck into a dimly overlooked alcove stacked floor-to-ceiling with dog-eared graphic novels. The space is tight, barely enough room for two, with fluorescent lights humming overhead like a faulty Bat-signal. I pull you close, our bodies aligning in the dusty confines, and I can feel the heat radiating off you already.
My fingers trace the zipper of your costume, tugging it down inch by inch, exposing the soft swell of your breasts. "Fuck, Jackie, you look even better out of this getup," I whisper, my lips grazing your neck. You shiver, arching into me, your hands fumbling with my shirt buttons until it hangs open, revealing my chest.
We don't waste time on words after that. I hoist you up against the shelves, your legs wrapping around my waist as our mouths crash together—hot, urgent, tongues dancing like we're battling for dominance. Your nails dig into my shoulders, and I grind against you, feeling the damp heat through your pants. "God, I need you," you gasp, breaking the kiss to nip at my earlobe. "Right here, right now."
I set you down just long enough to strip us both, clothes pooling at our feet in a tangle of fabric and forgotten inhibitions. The cool air hits your skin, making your nipples harden into peaks I can't resist. I drop to my knees, parting your thighs with my hands, and bury my face between them. Your pussy is slick and ready, tasting like salt and desire as I lick along your folds, circling your clit with my tongue. You moan, fingers threading through my hair, pulling me closer. "Yes, Jason, just like that—fuck, don't stop."
The thrill of the convention noise filtering in—laughter, announcements—only amps it up, like we're stealing this moment from the chaos. I slide two fingers inside you, curling them to hit that spot that makes your hips buck, while my mouth sucks harder. You're trembling now, breaths coming in ragged bursts, and when you come, it's with a muffled cry, your juices coating my chin as you ride the wave.
But I'm not done. I stand, my dick throbbing hard against your thigh, and you drop to your knees in the cramped space, taking me in your mouth without hesitation. Your lips stretch around me, tongue swirling the head, and I groan, bracing against the shelves. "Shit, Jackie, your mouth is magic." You hum in response, the vibration shooting straight to my balls, sucking me deep until I'm fighting not to thrust too hard.
We switch again, you pushing me back against the books as you straddle me on the thin carpeted floor. I guide my cock to your entrance, and you sink down, inch by inch, enveloping me in tight, wet heat. We move together, slow at first, savoring the stretch and slide, then faster, your breasts bouncing with each roll of your hips. I grip your ass, fingers teasing the cleft, dipping in just enough to make you gasp. "You like that?" I growl, and you nod, riding me harder, chasing another peak.
It builds like a storm, our bodies slick with sweat, the risk of discovery making every thrust electric. You clench around me, coming again with a shuddering "Fuck, Jason!" and it pulls me over the edge. I thrust up deep, spilling inside you in hot pulses, a creamy rush that leaves us both panting.
We collapse in a heap, laughing softly as we catch our breath, quickly dressing amid scattered comics. "Best con ever," you say, pecking my lips with a grin that promises more adventures.
As we