Vinyls & Voracity

Sonic Boom, the store is called, little logo of an explosion plastered on all the glass windows of the store.

Fitting name, considering the inside is an audiophiles heaven - wood paneling, plenty of plants, little sound absorbers hung up on the walls. Probably just for decor, though. It's filled with vinyls, posters of vinyls, and people dressed in outfits that screamed: "I'm not like other people", and maybe the odd, "Paris Fashion Week is for normies, I have taste".

Your people, really. You scoff, walking past the top-40er scanning through Sabrina Carpenter and Olivia Rodrigo albums (great artists, but you'd never be caught buying their albums. You like nugu stuff, 'cause you're different), making your way to the lower floor. Rows of milk crates hold albums in various states of dismay, because for some reason, milk crates are the hip place to store vinyls. Scanning, you find the 'T' section.

While Tyler the Creator is far from underground, his highly experimental music lands him as one of your favourite artists, so, after saving up (because, let's be honest, do audiophiles ever have stores of money?), you know Flower Boy would be the perfect edition to really make your room stand out.

You walk there with just the perfect display of hip - groovy mixed with just a hint of aloofness, whatever the fuck that means. You can see from here they do indeed have Flower Boy, but judging by the emptiness of the crate, it's the last one. Perfect. You reach out to it.

You have the perfect place for it. You'll stick the album sleeve on your bedside wall, right next to your beabadoobee album, maybe 'Space Cadet'. Flower Boy and Space Cadet, you make some half-assed connection about space and earth and how you'r-

Someone grabs the album. You curse inwardly, but it's washed away as your eyes climb her slender arm, dotted with tattoos that she'd probably claim have some deep, introspective meaning. You gloss over her, outfit that could put anyone here to shame. Slightly baggy crop top, and denim shorts, her pale skin radiates the whole room. Her hair falls down in long strands of black and silver, and you're left stunned, honestly.

She locks eyes with you, and they're large and expressive, and, in combination with the way she grips the vinyl, it's challenging.

A soft curl of her plump lips exposes just the tip of her tongue, and you almost forget about the album. Until she appraises you, a quick look up and down. Her smile widens.

"I think I was here first," she says. It's like, melodic, her voice, which kind of makes you want to give it up, but of course, no one's a bigger music head than you are, so you just can't in good faith let this go to someone else.

"Hmm, what, so you're like one of those fake fans who just found Tyler recently right?" You say, leaning on the shelf. Might as well get comfortable. "And now you're going through his entire back catalogue, to like, prove you're a real fan?" Yeah, you'll accept her challenge.

Her grip on the vinyl tightens, and she bites her lip - at the challenge or at you, you don't know, but it's dangerous because they look even fuller now, which seems impossible, but here you are.

"What are you doing, then?" She asks, pushing her head forward. Her cheeks are full and red, and the way she tilts her head places it at the forefront. You still don't know what to make of the artsy girl, but something tells you it's a front. She doesn't really care about the vinyl anymore, she found something more interesting.

"Probably the same thing," you say, and even though it's an admission of defeat, or more accurately, an admission of equality, you say it smugly. "Here," you say, grabbing another vinyl, the black and silver 'Chromakopia', and hand it to her. "Take this one, matches your hair."

She doesn't even look down, just keeps her eyes trained on you. "Already have it," she says simply. "Because unlike you, I'm not a fake fan." She lets the words hang there on her tongue, mouth frozen in the last position of her speech like she's waiting for your retort.

So, she denies that admission of equality.

"But I can tell you are," she says when no retort comes. Her eyes flick to your feet. "Doc Martens? Pretty last year, don't you think?"

She took your truce and threw it back in your face, and that damn smirk still lines hers. She's having fun here, and you're on your back foot.

Her smile is so damn bright it hurts, but your ego is in shatters. Not like it's rare though, your types egos are really quite fragile. Hence the clothes. But, maybe you could use that.

"You know what, take it," and it's your turn to curl your lips. "On second thought, Tyler's not really my taste". If there's one thing you know about these artsy types, it's they'll defend their artists to tooth and nail. But you don't give her a chance. You're off to the next row of shelves, and you can feel her eyes bearing into the back of your skull.

You would've liked to see those plump lips in action more, but for some odd reason, you have a feeling this isn't over.

That moments comes when you're leaving the store. She's leaning back on the brick wall right near the door, cigarette already burning. You now notice her legs, and although she's not tall, your eyes follow them for what seems like miles. She takes a drag, and you swear you can see that little mole right under her lip wave at you like: "come here! You think you can question my music taste?"

"What'd you get?" She asks, eyeing your tote, which is considerably more full than 10 minutes ago. You smirk, knowing you got her. Her voice is lined with genuine curiosity, which is funny, because clearly you are a Tyler fan, and your earlier comment was just a ruse. But still, artsy kids and their egos, right?

You pull out the vinyl. "It'll go perfect on my vinyl wall," you say, equal parts flexing the album and the fact you have a vinyl wall. "You know him?"

"Tch. Do I know him," she scoffs. "Of course I do. It's Keshi."

"Hmm." It's all you give her, and clearly, she wants to prove herself.

"I guess you have good taste," she says. It's not a full compliment, really. You know how these games are played. "He's been on my radar since, oh I don't know, his first EP."

Yep, there it is. It's meant to bother you, and that pleased little look on her face makes it so it does indeed get under your skin.

The mole is dancing around in your peripheral vision, and she sees your eyes flick from her bare legs to her toned tummy, back up to the mole, and she presses her advantage even further. "It's a good album. Looks great on my wall, right next to his other albums."

You should just walk away, but that cigarette is trapped between her lips again, and just the sight of it leaves you woozy.

"Sounds like you have good taste too," you admit.

She smiles. "I do."

"Mhm." You say a little aggressively, because yeah, now you definitely lost.

"Wanna see?" She asks suddenly.

It catches you off guard. "See what?"

"My taste," she smiles. "I live down the street."

For some reason, you say yes. Her apartment is a little old, a little run down, but it's littered with personality. She does indeed have a vinyl wall, but also one of those old vinyl players (not the one's with that brass trumpet looking thing, because she's an audiophile, not a grandma), a couple of wine glasses scattered around, and plenty of plants.

She bends lower than she needs to when she places the vinyl in the player, and her long legs look so fucking milky and delicious. You suddenly realize you're in this girls apartment, alone, with her long legs and her attitude, and you think, well fuck, this is going better than expected.

She loads the tonearm. "You've never listened to it, right?" She asks, and you draw away from her hips to realize she's been staring at you. "No? Perfect, I'll start it from the beginning."

She saunters over to you, still smirking. She must have done something since inviting you over, because her collarbone is so damn alluring right now, peaking out from her crop top. You could've sworn it didn't look that good when she was grabbing your album. The ring of the music starts, and she's less than a foot away from you now, leaning against the back of her couch with her arms crossed.

You don't know what to make of it, any of it.

She opens her mouth again, just a bit so you can see her tongue just past her lips. She stares at you expectantly.

"So, what do you think?"

"Hmm?"

"The album?" You definitely weren't paying attention. You almost forgot she was playing something new for you, something to validate her good taste in music.

"Oh. Ye- yeah it's good." You say, stuttering because you're more focused on how fragile she looks, on how you could probably pick her up and fuck her while she begs for more - but that's getting ahead of yourself.

"I told you I had good taste," she smiles happily. She's so close you can feel her breath on you. It's minty and warm, and you swear she angles her face while she says it, just to give you a better view of that mole.

She gives a small chuckle, and you know then you've fallen into her trap. The pretense is gone, the one that's been there since you both grabbed the album- fuck, you can't even remember which album it was, and the same pretense of a new album she wanted to play for you.

"Now I guess we'll have to see," she says slowly, annunciating each word, mouthing every damn syllable with exaggeration. She places her hands on your shoulders, and you're fucking trembling, because this woman is so god damn hot. She leans into you, mouth right next to your ear. "If you have good taste."

Her hands trail down your body till they find the string of your pants, and you're too stunned to do anything. She climbs down on her knees, letting your pants fall to the ground. Honestly, your taken aback, because yeah, she's fucking stunning, but you never thought that tension about the album was fucking sexual tension.

But you see her looking up at you, plump lips pursed together and you have half a hard on already. She grabs your hand, placing it in her hair. "Well, show me you have good taste," she says, rubbing her lips together before releasing it with a 'pop'.

Your hand rests there for a second, silky hair flowing out of it, before you regain composure.

She's fucking hot, she has good taste in music, and she's on her knees giving you permission to use her. Yeah, get it to-fucking-gether.

You grab a fistful of her hair, dragging her closer to your cock. She opens her mouth a bit, and drags a wet tongue over the underside of it. The sensation is riveting. It sends a jolt coursing through you.

"Nngh," you stutter, but you angle her face higher, taking your almost fully erect penis, and slapping it on her lips. She purses them, large eyes still staring at you hungrily. The sound is erotic, and she lets out a grunt as you tap her lips with your cock.

You lift it off of her face. You're still in shock, really. None of your movements have been really assertive, but when her eyes twinkle, and she says "your music taste is so fucking hot," it gives you all the reason to start.

She opens her mouth, and you slide into her, welcoming the feeling of sublimity. It's wet and hot, and your knees buckle. She makes a noise, somewhere between a grunt and a moan, and soon her lips, her fucking dick sucking lips are working you like you've never been worked before. You slide in and out of her mouth, and she laps everything up.

You're throbbing inside of her, but clearly, she can take more. Your other hand grabs another fistful of her hair, and you thrust.

Even her fucking gargles are melodic. Drool and spit leaks from her mouth as you thrust into her, tip penetrating her tight throat. She places her hands on your thighs as a brace.

She looks like a damn mess, but her eyes still stare up at you with that same challenging glare.

"F-fuck," you moan, and you would've moaned her name if you knew it.

You bottom out into her, holding your cock in her throat. She makes a strangled sort of noise, but her hand climbs down her tight little body, and starts fiddling with what you assume is her own pleasure source.

Eventually, you back out. She takes a deep breath, releasing a pool of saliva down her front.

She leans back, body looking used, but face still wearing that confident composure. She huffs, but smiles and sticks her tongue out again.

You can't possibly keep her from what she wants, right? You grab her by the hair once again, sliding back into her now familiar warmth. This time, her hands find your balls, slowly massaging them. You groan, thrusting faster.

The site of her lips wrapped around your length is dizzying. You brush the hair out of her face as you slam into her, and that perfect face that you want to use looks back at you, unruined. Like nothing you do to her would ever effect her, like she has you right where she wants you.

Your vision blurs as the pleasure wells up inside of you. The pressure lingers, tightening, controlling. You thrust faster, eliciting even deeper groans from her.

Your grunts grow too, and soon, the pleasure releases into pure bliss. You explode inside of her.

Finally, her eyes close as your cum fills her mouth. It overflows, some of it leaking out the corners of her lips, but she keeps ahold of what she can. Soon, she opens her eyes, locking them with yours, and swallows. It's slow, not all at once. Just a little at a time, but that makes it all the more hot, especially considering your cock is still lodged between those plump lips - god you can't stop looking at her lips.

She slowly pushes off of your cock, finally swallowing all of your seed. She gives a refreshed sort of gasp, her tongue flicking out to lap up some of the cum that's spilled out of her mouth.

You can barely stand, the pleasure having rippled through your entire body, but when she says: "I was right, you do have good taste," it stirs something in you.

You pick her up, hoisting by the waist, and she clings to you like a koala, with a playful little laugh.

You circle around to the front of the couch, throwing her down onto it.

She gives a yelp as she floats down to it, bouncing on the leather.

It's your turn to fall to your knees, and she's taking off her shorts as you do.

She's wearing beige lace panties, and when you see it, you can't help but grab her long, slender legs. They're fucking smooth, and you could honestly touch them forever, but her pussy is hiding behind that beige lace, so you drag her bosom to the edge of the couch.

She's still giggling as she takes a single finger, hooking it around the string of her panties, and slides it to the side revealing her perfectly smooth, dripping wet cunt.

You're fucking drooling just as much as she is wet, and it isn't until she says "taste me," in an almost needy beg that your tongue gets to work.

You don't dive right in, but instead lick around her folds, lapping up all her wetness. She's groaning and squirming, but your arms are still hooked around her legs, keeping her in place.

"F-fuck, nngh," she moans, and you can still hear the cheerfulness in her voice, and it turns you on even more. Her smell is hypnotizing, and you can't possibly hold yourself back anymore.

Your tongue brushed her folds, and that sweet irony taste floods your tongue. It's divine. It's liquid from the heavens. It's the nectar of the gods, and a little half gasp escapes her lips.

Her hands find your hair, squeezing tight, but you don't let up. Your arm wraps deeper around her leg to circle back to her cunt, thumb brushing her clit.

She jolts into you, sending your tongue inside of her. You go with it, because you wouldn't dream of complaining about being deeper in her folds.

Her squirming turns your on even more, so you go deeper, lick even faster, circle her clit with even more vigor until she's practically scream, hand leaving your hair and clenching into her couch.

You feel her body tense, and her legs wrap around your head with surprising strength, holding you in place as her pussy walls flutter on your tongue, sending a torrent of her juices coating your tongue.

The record player hums scratches indicating the vinyl should be flipped, but of course, the grainy sound sustains.

It doesn't matter anyway, because the sound of her cumming is a greater song than any record could play.

You pull back as her shudders subside, and just take everything in. Her hair, disheveled, shirt all crumpled as if she was playing with her tits while you ate her out, and her petite, lithe form shakes.

She's all huffy, and a little out of it - which makes you happy, actually, because the way she felt so in control as she sucked you off didn't sit right with you.

So to see her squirm underneath you was rewarding. So much so you have to sneak in a dig. "I got that vinyl first," you breathe.

She looks at you, still shaking, wide and incredulous look on her face. "You're still thinking about that?"

You don't even answer, you just grip her midriff, and pull up to meet her. You knew her lips would be soft, you didn't know they'd be made of pillows, marshmallows and clouds. You soak into her, almost get lost, but you don't, because you want to do oh so much more to this girl.

"What's your name?" you whisper between kisses - and it's not because you want to get to know her any better, at least for the moment, you just need something to moan when you fuck her in about half a minute.

"Ch-chaeyoung," she moans, and you repeat it.

The words feel right in your mouth, and you say them into her . Her arms wrap around you, and yours climb to the crop top still draped around her form.

You practically tear it off, breaking kisses with her for only moments to eventually lift it over her head. She's so beautiful you almost think your heart is going to stop. She's not carrying a lot on her chest, but what she is is smooth and milky and perfect, accented with the cutest pink nipples you'll ever see.

"Jesus fuck, Chaeyoung," you mutter, and that smile you saw from your vinyl altercation lines her face again. That confident sort of challenge, like: 'yeah, I'm fucking hot. What are you going to do about it?'

Your hands dart to her tits, taking in the soft flesh, fingers finding her button nipples. You give them a squeeze, and she raises her eyebrows.

Okay, not good enough. You pinch them now, and she gives you a hint of a smile. It's your signal to keep going, so you palm them, the whole of them, giving them a firm squeeze, thumb brushing her nipples. She rolls her head back, so you dive in with your tongue. It's unkempt, really, the way your attacking her tits. Your mouth is all over, covering her chest with your saliva, but you can't fucking help yourself, because this girl— because Chaeyoung is kind of perfect.

Your tongue works on each tit equally, jumping from nipple to nipple, while a hand travels down her stomach, past her waist until you feel her wetness in your fingers. Just like her lips, her cunt is wet and soft, and from your slight touch, her body shakes under you. You can already feel the slickness on your fingers, and you have the urge to reach them up to her mouth just so you can taste her again, but her tits are in your mouth and your hand is on her pussy, and really, that's fine too.

You climb lower, past what your fingers have already discovered in her clit, and down to her entrance. You give her a rub, and her hand shoots to the back of your head, before you enter. Just a finger, for now, but her breath hitches just the same.

You tear your mouth away from her tits, jumping back to her mouth. She takes you in, huffing "fuck me with two fingers," before her tongue is in yours.

So you do, and her moistness so fucking erotic you may never wash your hands again.

You keep fucking her with your fingers, but you want more - it's hard tho, because every time you pull away from her lips, Chaeyoung pulls you back in. It's like every crash is the first time, her mole still teasing, but in a different way, pulling you back in for more.

Your cock is throbbing once again, and the sound of the record player is just a distant memory, it's old school, it's not underground and you have new things to explore.

Like how your cock feels in her cunt.

You tear yourself with all your willpower away from her, and she pushes her lip out in a pout.

Clearly, her lips are your weak spot for her, so the fact you don't jump in with ten times the voracity is quite impressive.

But there are other things to explore, like your penis, hovering inches away from her sopping folds. You slide her panties down, and it reveals a little happy face tattoo right on her waste. Fucking of course she has a tattoo here, and of course it's smiling up at you like: 'you're gonna love this'.

Enough with that, this is no time to be stunlocked. You line up the head to her entrance, and push in.

You've had sex before - hell, you had sex last week. But this, this is on another level. On penetration, you know all hope of lasting long is null. The way she sucks you in, the way her walls cling perfectly to you. It's like she was sculpted for you perfectly, the snark, the teasing, the music taste, those perfect lips and her gods damned cunt.

"Chaeyoung," you moan, and it's not enough, because you'd scream it to the heaven's, you'd etch it to every vinyl in your house so you could only listen to her name.

You're not even halfway in yet and you can barely orient yourself.

It looks like Chaeyoung too feels it, that spark, that connection you have, because her head is rolled back and her eyes are close, and she's moaning even harder than when you were tongue fucking her.

Yeah, you're definitely not lasting long. Well, might as well go out with a bang.

Your hips contract in a thrust - the slap of your balls echoes the room and you wouldn't be surprised if one of those empty wine glasses shattered at the noise. You almost cum right there, it takes everything not to. In fact, you have to close your eyes, take your mind off those GOD damn lips and her fluttering eyes, else you would've lost it.

You unsheathe, climbing back out until just the tip is in before ramming back again. It's another song, the slap of your manhood on her, but one just as catchy. You play with the rhythm slowing down and speeding up, and her groans act as melodies like some perverse grand orchestra. You open your eyes to find her just as ethereal as before. You're still close, but you've garnered some focus. You start to move at a consistent rhythm, and her hips roll into you, matching it with force.

Your hands find her tits once again, half for balance, and half because they feel so fucking nice.

You thrust, and thrust and thrust until she's screaming out in pleasure, and you're lost in her scent and the way she looks feels, until that familiar pressure builds up again.

You want to cum everywhere.

But you're already spent having came moments ago, and the image of her lips, leaking your seed fills your mind. You keep pumping, voraciously, and the well of pressure fills.

It fills your pelvis as her walls tighten around you, flaring even more pleasure within you, and you pull out because—

Yeah, you think through the blinding pleasure as you climb up. You were right to cum on her tits and her face, because it looks so good on her against pale skin,

It webs across her, spraying her tits and face alike. She's still shaking from her orgasm as you cum on her, waves of the white liquid coating her.

Eventually, the pleasure subsides and you collapse back on the couch.

"That was— fuck, that was amazing," you manage. "I'll get you some tissues."

"No need," she huffs, scooping the liquid from her skin into her mouth. "But maybe you can flip the vinyl. I think it's time for part 2."

Whether she's talking about the album or the sex, you have no idea.