Disclaimer - No, I don't know Scarlett Johansson and none of this happened. It is all fiction.
Autumn Winds
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Time moved slow in the life of Scarlett Johansson.
She had achieved everything now over the age of 40. One of the biggest symbols in Hollywood of her generation. A catalog of films, awards and two failed marriages. She became a mother of two and was living life without the grind of worrying about money anymore.
Last summer she met John Goldberg. A war veteran who was also over the age of 40 with a similar life behind him. A failed marriage, heartbreaks and living through rough times. John worked security at events. Scarlett spotted him after a fashion show in Italy last year where she attended. They began talking that night and became close friends. They related to much pain in life, finding a bond with each other. After Scarlett convinced him to come with her to the US, their relationship took off. She helped get a better job where he could lay low away from the rest of the world. She wanted much the same, leaving behind her own Hollywood lifestyle in the spotlight.
The late autumn rain streaked down the floor-to-ceiling windows of the hotel suite, blurring the lights of midtown Manhattan outside. The room was warm, the only illumination coming from a single lamp beside the king-sized bed, casting long shadows across the rumpled sheets. They had checked in together yesterday night. Scarlett was always busy with phone calls and other work from her agents. No moment was ever dull in her life.
John sat on the edge of the mattress, still slightly damp from the shower, his thin frame relaxed. His short, curly hair was tousled, and the light beard framed a face that looked tired but hungry for something. Her and nothing else. Scarlett stood before him, a towel wrapped loosely around her body, her blonde hair falling in wet waves over her shoulders. He could see the tattoos on her back. She let it drop to the floor, standing there naked for him and showing her ass.
Her big tits swung free, pale and full, when she turned around. John reached out to caress her figure, but she gently slapped his hand away with a soft laugh.
"Not just yet," she murmured, her voice low and smoky. "I want to take my time with you. We didn't get to have fun last night."
John smiled, "no, you were too busy on the phone." Scarlett laughed, "at least I wasn't wasting time. Besides, it would be better to wait for a good time like right now."
She knelt between his legs, her fingers working the buttons of his fading blue jeans. The movement was slow. He lifted his hips, and she pulled the denim down along with his black boxers, freeing his cock. It was already hard, standing thick and eager outward from the stomach and pointing in her direction. She wrapped her fingers around the base, feeling the heat and the pulse as she squeezed it. Pushing her fingers down, she moved them back up and began to work his dick in her grasp.
"I've been thinking about this all day," John admitted to her. "Watching you across the dinner table, knowing what was coming. You had that look in your eye. You can't hide it from me."
She smiled, her eyes locked on his as she twisted her eyebrows into a seductive look. "You think about my mouth a lot?"
He nodded, "yeah. It's a pretty mouth."
She lowered her head and took him in. Not all at once, no, that wasn't the game tonight. Her tongue traced a slow, wet path from the base to the tip, circling the head before she parted her lips and sucked just the purple crown into her mouth. Her hand pumped the shaft in a lazy, torturous rhythm as she sucked the head.
John let his head fall back, his fingers threading into her damp hair. She hummed around him, a low vibration that made his hips buck involuntarily. She pulled back, a string of saliva connecting her bottom lip to his cock.
"You like that?" she said with a deep threat. "You like the way I push it down my throat?"
"Oh yeah baby."
"Only for you. This is all for you."
She took him deeper, inch by inch, her tongue working the underside. Her jaw relaxed, and she swallowed him down until her nose pressed against his pubic bone. She held there for a long moment, her throat contracting around the head, before slowly pulling back, gasping for air. The pause was only for a few seconds to let Scarlett lick the tip again. She put it back in her mouth as he moaned.
"Keep going. Don't stop, baby. Please don't stop."
She didn't. She built a rhythm—long, deep strokes that had her gagging slightly on each descent, followed by slow, wet pulls that left him glistening. She alternated between sucking just the head, flicking her tongue over the slit, and taking him all the way down again. Her free hand cupped his balls, rolling them gently against her palm.
"Tell me what you want to do now," she purred against his cock, her lips brushing the sensitive skin.
"I want to fuck your tits, babe."
She smiled, a wicked glint in her eyes. "Then let's do it."
She stayed on her knees in front of him. She cupped her breasts, pressing them together from the sides, the soft flesh forming a tight, warm channel. She squeezed them, letting the cleavage swallow the tip of his cock.
"Come here," she said, guiding him forward. "Slide it in. You know how much I like it."
John positioned himself, the head of his cock nudging against the smooth skin. He thrust his dick at her chest, and her tits wrapped around it, the sensation soft and firm all at once. She looked down, watching his cock disappear between them.
"Oh, that's fucking good," she breathed. "Look at that. Your cock buried in my tits. You like how they feel?"
"So soft," he grunted, rocking his hips. "So perfect. This always feel so, so good."
She let him set the pace—fast and desperate, then slow and deep. Her hands pressed her tits tighter, creating more friction, and she leaned forward to lick the head every time it emerged from the top of her cleavage.
"Cum for me, John," she whispered, her voice dripping with need. "I want to feel you shoot all over me. Cover my tits. Mark me in your cum."
He was close, thrusting faster and harder after she spoke. He gripped her shoulders, thrusting harder, faster, the wet sound of skin slapping filling the room as he looked at his cock moving in her cleavage, barely visible with each thrust.
"Look at me," she demanded, her eyes locked onto his as she worked her tits around his dick. "Cum on my tits. Give it to me. Cum for me!"
With a guttural groan, he drove forward one final time. His cock pulsed between her big breasts, hot streaks of cum splashing across her skin, coating her cleavage in thick white ropes. Her neck was soaked, drenched like a necklace coating the skin. She watched, her lips parted, her breathing heavy, as the last drops dripped down her chest.
She ran a finger through the mess, lifting it to her mouth and tasting it with a satisfied smile. "I love doing dirty things with you." She got up from the floor and moved back to the bed. Laying back on the rumpled sheets, her body still humming from the orgasm John had wrung from her after the wonderful tittyfucking. John joined her on bed as Scarlett lifted her leg, inviting him to see her pussy. Soft like velvet, wet and pink. His fingers working her clit while she rode his thigh, her moans muffled against his shoulder.
But the hunger hadn't faded. She rolled onto her stomach, pushing herself up on her elbows, and looked back at him over her shoulder. Her blonde hair looked gold against the pillow, her lips swollen. The look in her eye told him all he needed to know. Desire was strong. She didn't just want him. She needed him. Right here, right now.
"Turn over," she said, her voice husky. "I want you from behind."
John didn't need to be told twice. He moved behind her, his thin frame casting a long shadow across her pale skin. His hands found her hips, squeezing the soft flesh as she arched her back, presenting herself to him. Her pussy was slick and glistening, still wet from his fingers and her own arousal.
"Fuck, you're beautiful like this," he muttered, running the head of his cock through her folds, coating himself in her wetness.
"Stop teasing," she breathed, pressing back against him. "I need you inside me. Now."
He pushed forward in one smooth, deep stroke filling her up. The slow thrust made him stop to give her time to adjust and get used to his full size. She gasped, her fingers gripping the sheets as he filled her completely. For a moment, neither of them moved—just the heat of their bodies, the pulse of their breathing, the stretch of her around him.
"Oh, god," she whispered. "Yessssssss," voice raising to a sharp moan, "more... I want more. Give it to me."
John began to move, slow at first, pulling almost all the way out before sinking back in. The angle was perfect, his hips grinding against her ass with each thrust. He braced one hand on the mattress beside her head, the other gripping her hip, his fingers digging into her soft skin.
"You like this position baby?" he asked.
"Yes," she moaned, her voice muffled by the pillow. "Don't stop. Fuck me harder. You know how I like it."
He picked up the pace, the slap of his hips against her ass echoing in the quiet room. Her tits swung beneath her, heavy and full, and she reached one hand down to touch herself, her fingers circling her clit as he drove into her.
"Look at you," he grunted. "You're so fucking beautiful. Anytime we do this, it is like seeing art."
"Because you fuck me so good," she whimpered. "You know exactly how to hit that spot. Right there. Fuck, right there. Keep going, you know how I want it. Fuck me."
Her moans grew higher, more frantic, as the pressure built inside her. John leaned forward, his chest pressing against her back, his lips at her ear.
"Yes, yes, yes! Ohhhhhhh, yes," she chanted, her fingers working faster and faster going. "I'm so close! Ohhhhhhhh! So... so close! Make me cum. Please, John, make me cum. I'm begging you."
He drove into her with deep, punishing strokes, his balls slapping against her clit with each thrust. Her body trembled, her thighs quaking, and then she shattered—a sharp, keening cry escaping her lips as her orgasm crashed through her. Her pussy clenched around him, rippling and pulsing from the full thrusts, and he groaned at the sensation, his rhythm faltering. He kept thrusting through her climax, drawing it out until she collapsed onto the bed, her body limp and trembling. Scarlett moaned, feeling his cock still moving inside her. But he wasn't finished. Not yet. He pulled out slowly, the sound wet and obscene, and she gasped at the sudden emptiness from her womanhood.
"Stay right there," he ordered.
She obeyed, her back still arched for him to see her beautiful tattoos. He knelt behind her, his cock slick and throbbing, and wrapped his hand around his shaft. He stroked himself twice, three times, groaming as he aimed for her back.
"Look at what you do to me. Look at this fucking mess."
With low groan, he came—hot, thick ropes of cum streaking across her lower back, splashing against her pale skin. He watched as the first load landed just above her ass, followed by another that streaked across her spine, then a third that pooled in the small of her back. His hand kept pumping, milking out every last drop until his cock twitched and softened.
The room was quiet except for their heavy breathing. Scarlett lay still, her cheek pressed against the pillow, her eyes half-closed. She could feel his cum cooling on her skin, a warm, sticky reminder of what they'd done.
She reached back with one hand, dipping her fingers into the mess, and brought them to her mouth. She sucked them clean, tasting him.
"Mmmmmmmm, that's a good ending."
John collapsed beside her, pulling her close despite the mess. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, his hand splayed across her cum-covered back. "So good, baby. So good..."