God these titles! I'm sorry, world... Another morning addition over breakfast. Saturday night was a rather interesting experience. Roomie 1, Roomie 2 and I went out and by and by (I won't besmirch the name of the club but was along Varick St), and a certain consumption of alcohol, dancing, ensued. Dresses were high-hemmed and low cut, heels and the more exciting sets of underwear were worn. To cut to the chase R1 and R2 left me behind in the subsequent rush to secure the hottest single guys in the room. Wasn't happy.
Suddenly at the bar I was face to face with a not-too-bad looking guy, a good 6' (my head came to his chin anyway), slim but not at all wiry, and very large...hands. More drinks (his expense :D ). He wasn't gropey, but very tactile in a sort of restrained but earnest way, that in my slightly alcohol-fueled befuddlement was rather a turn-on. There was no sign whatever of R2, and R1 was merrily engaged with a new-found friend of her own. Suddenly in a gross lack of judgement (but happily with no evil consequences), I had pulled from from his stool and we danced across the room to the half-dark corridor that ran round the outside of half the room towards the bathrooms and cloakroom.
We made out in the dimness, breath suffused with whiskey entering my mouth, and despite the close by presence of many people just through some double doors, he pressed me up against the wall, his large...hands stroking my cheek, trickling fingers running downwards, and I reveled in his strong grasp of my boobs. He pushed himself against me, my head tilted back to kiss him and I lifted a leg up against his as he reached with his fingers gently up my leg. I grinned as he brushed aside the thong, felt his hand pulling at the short rough hairs, and I sucked at his face as his fingertips entered me. I think he would have gone even further then and there, but I couldn't. I pushed him gently away, and he kept on kissing me as R1 updated me by text on the progress of her own Saturday night's endeavors. We wouldn't be seeing her again for the night, I safely concluded.
So by and by we were a little way across town, in his posh but sparsely furnished pad - the building even had a working elevator and everything - drinking what ordinarily would have been pretty noxious wine on the squishy couch as in the corner a muted TV showed something of sporty stuff in London. He had his arm around me, his hand reaching round to gently knead my breast. After a while I looked at him, then around the room to a bedroom door left ajar, leaning forward I kissed him, stood up holding his hand. He had on his face the most outrageous grin of desire, but it at the time only made things more exciting. And it was pretty obvious he was already excited himself. To hell with the bedroom, I thought, and before he stood up too, I dropped to the floor, resting my chin on his knee. Our smiling, lustful eyes locked as he unfastened his belt and pants, and my eager hands reached out to him.
He was short, and fat, inside his boxers, but still beautifully formed, and clean...dicks rarely actually taste good (I beg you, gentle reader, to disagree), but his was a delightful exception, I remember thinking at the time. The thought drove me to a little frenzy as he pulled his shirt over his head, then planted a hand either side of my face and guided me up and down. Before, this action might have annoyed me, but here was a guy whom I hardly wanted in control of me (and certainly not in any particularly kinky way), but I felt I wanted him to take charge. Not using me, nor teaching me, but through little actions encouraging me to be, for this night only, just for his pleasure. Or that's how it seemed just then anyway. I closed my lips tight on his head as I surrendered power of my neck to him, and he moved me up and down his funny fat little shaft, firm in my mouth. Then up he stood, towering over me, and holding my head surprisingly tenderly he pushed his cock in my mouth, my teeth pressed against his crotch, and for a few moments he fucked my face, groaning, until I pulled away gasping for air.
He bodily picked me up, placing me on the couch facing away from him, and with care took off my dress, unclasping my bra but keeping it on, then pressing his body against mine, cupping my boobs and only then pulling away the bra, massaging his warm strong fingers into my breasts, kissing my neck. I was taller than him now, he brought one hand slowly down my body, and followed down my back with his lips, working his way by kisses until his wet lips were against my butt. He sniffed, pulling at the thong - at which I burst out laughing.
"Are you dirty?" he asked, and I wasn't sure if he meant my ass or my general inclination. "Dirty?" I asked back, as his finger traced exquisitely down the fabric to the softer, wetter fronter part. I gasped as he stroked even through the underwear. "A dirty slut," he explained in an eager undertone. I giggled, and said that I was as he fingered through the thong. "Good," purred he, putting me on my knees on the couch, my arms planted on the back, pulling aside the crotch of the thong, pressing his face up really close to my cunt, swirling his tongue around my wet little hole. It wasn't the best oral ever, but it was exciting how it drove him into an eager, playful roughness.
He pulled my ass down, closer to the seat, and straightened up behind me, I felt his wide firm moist head at my entrance. "You want this don't you?" He teased, his cockhead rubbing up and down. "Don't you - slut?" "So...badly..." I began; I wasn't sure how to respond in his little game, but it was enough and with a half-muted cry of joy he thrust inside me. His width at first hurt a little in that sweet fashion. A few strokes, and then we were off, his hands clutching at my butt as he fucked, his hips and pelvis swinging into me. He was loud, groaning, squeezing my flesh in his hands, "Such a fucking good slut..." and other endearments. Far too much porn, evidently - but it was actually so much (dirty) fun.
I expected an explosion within a minute, but clearly what he lacked in visual appeal on the dick-front he more than made up for in other areas, and his thick shaft was an amazing, welcome and different experience. He slowed eventually. "Ride me" he hissed eagerly, settling down on the couch and pulling me on him, and I bounced on him in great fashion, then he held me a few inches above him, and roughly he thrust upwards into me. We moved onto the thick piled rug on the floor, knocking a glass onto the bare polished wood beside it. We struggled, slippery with sweat, as he came at me from the side, wrapping my leg round him. Then I was under him, both legs drawn up and he fucked and fucked with his fat little cock, and I felt a growing dizziness and I breathed faster, and came as he continued. He laughed at my orgasm. "Such a slut...I've not finished yet!"
Incoherently, I told him to take me, and he did, bending me over and we returned to a more comfortable doggy, my head on the rug and my ass in the air. He licked me, his tongue roving over my asshole more than once, then he came up behind me and plunged in, and we were a heaving mass of sweating flesh. "Slut, where should I come, slut?" He asked, and the sweet soft pain of him was too much for me, and I didn't answer. He spanked me (it was hard, I was red even the next morning). "I want to come on your face, you little slut," he gasped, and I let him. He withdrew, and in a movement span me round as he stood up, and I looked up into his eyes and was there for him as he came.
I sucked him a little bit more, but he was exhausted. We both were, and we lay on the sweaty rug a while, and I watched his cock shrink back to rest, our heart rates falling. "Fantastic," he said happily. "Though I guess we should take a shower... you want to stay the night, Jess?" He was sweet and tender now, in such a contrast to the 'sluts' of earlier. I texted Rs 1 and 2, and then in the shower he and I kissed more, and I brought him again, sucking him off as the water cascaded down.
I stayed, and I woke in the morning with his unconscious fingers up against my cunt, half dreamily caressing. It was only when we had a little Sunday breakfast at about 10, that I noticed in the kitchen area the photographs, and his ring, and I might not have thought more of it until she called him.
And so now, I've been complicit in his own philandering. Sleeping with different girls (or guys) is one thing; but now, despite the horny memories of Saturday night, it is a horrible thing to have been a party to the stand of a married guy. He was great - I might have seen him again, even though he was about 10 years older than me, and the roughness and gentleness was such a turn on, even in memory. But I draw the line, and in rediscovered guilt, I have to leave for work.
So by and by we were a little way across town, in his posh but sparsely furnished pad - the building even had a working elevator and everything - drinking what ordinarily would have been pretty noxious wine on the squishy couch as in the corner a muted TV showed something of sporty stuff in London. He had his arm around me, his hand reaching round to gently knead my breast. After a while I looked at him, then around the room to a bedroom door left ajar, leaning forward I kissed him, stood up holding his hand. He had on his face the most outrageous grin of desire, but it at the time only made things more exciting. And it was pretty obvious he was already excited himself. To hell with the bedroom, I thought, and before he stood up too, I dropped to the floor, resting my chin on his knee. Our smiling, lustful eyes locked as he unfastened his belt and pants, and my eager hands reached out to him.
He was short, and fat, inside his boxers, but still beautifully formed, and clean...dicks rarely actually taste good (I beg you, gentle reader, to disagree), but his was a delightful exception, I remember thinking at the time. The thought drove me to a little frenzy as he pulled his shirt over his head, then planted a hand either side of my face and guided me up and down. Before, this action might have annoyed me, but here was a guy whom I hardly wanted in control of me (and certainly not in any particularly kinky way), but I felt I wanted him to take charge. Not using me, nor teaching me, but through little actions encouraging me to be, for this night only, just for his pleasure. Or that's how it seemed just then anyway. I closed my lips tight on his head as I surrendered power of my neck to him, and he moved me up and down his funny fat little shaft, firm in my mouth. Then up he stood, towering over me, and holding my head surprisingly tenderly he pushed his cock in my mouth, my teeth pressed against his crotch, and for a few moments he fucked my face, groaning, until I pulled away gasping for air.
He bodily picked me up, placing me on the couch facing away from him, and with care took off my dress, unclasping my bra but keeping it on, then pressing his body against mine, cupping my boobs and only then pulling away the bra, massaging his warm strong fingers into my breasts, kissing my neck. I was taller than him now, he brought one hand slowly down my body, and followed down my back with his lips, working his way by kisses until his wet lips were against my butt. He sniffed, pulling at the thong - at which I burst out laughing.
"Are you dirty?" he asked, and I wasn't sure if he meant my ass or my general inclination. "Dirty?" I asked back, as his finger traced exquisitely down the fabric to the softer, wetter fronter part. I gasped as he stroked even through the underwear. "A dirty slut," he explained in an eager undertone. I giggled, and said that I was as he fingered through the thong. "Good," purred he, putting me on my knees on the couch, my arms planted on the back, pulling aside the crotch of the thong, pressing his face up really close to my cunt, swirling his tongue around my wet little hole. It wasn't the best oral ever, but it was exciting how it drove him into an eager, playful roughness.
He pulled my ass down, closer to the seat, and straightened up behind me, I felt his wide firm moist head at my entrance. "You want this don't you?" He teased, his cockhead rubbing up and down. "Don't you - slut?" "So...badly..." I began; I wasn't sure how to respond in his little game, but it was enough and with a half-muted cry of joy he thrust inside me. His width at first hurt a little in that sweet fashion. A few strokes, and then we were off, his hands clutching at my butt as he fucked, his hips and pelvis swinging into me. He was loud, groaning, squeezing my flesh in his hands, "Such a fucking good slut..." and other endearments. Far too much porn, evidently - but it was actually so much (dirty) fun.
I expected an explosion within a minute, but clearly what he lacked in visual appeal on the dick-front he more than made up for in other areas, and his thick shaft was an amazing, welcome and different experience. He slowed eventually. "Ride me" he hissed eagerly, settling down on the couch and pulling me on him, and I bounced on him in great fashion, then he held me a few inches above him, and roughly he thrust upwards into me. We moved onto the thick piled rug on the floor, knocking a glass onto the bare polished wood beside it. We struggled, slippery with sweat, as he came at me from the side, wrapping my leg round him. Then I was under him, both legs drawn up and he fucked and fucked with his fat little cock, and I felt a growing dizziness and I breathed faster, and came as he continued. He laughed at my orgasm. "Such a slut...I've not finished yet!"
Incoherently, I told him to take me, and he did, bending me over and we returned to a more comfortable doggy, my head on the rug and my ass in the air. He licked me, his tongue roving over my asshole more than once, then he came up behind me and plunged in, and we were a heaving mass of sweating flesh. "Slut, where should I come, slut?" He asked, and the sweet soft pain of him was too much for me, and I didn't answer. He spanked me (it was hard, I was red even the next morning). "I want to come on your face, you little slut," he gasped, and I let him. He withdrew, and in a movement span me round as he stood up, and I looked up into his eyes and was there for him as he came.
I sucked him a little bit more, but he was exhausted. We both were, and we lay on the sweaty rug a while, and I watched his cock shrink back to rest, our heart rates falling. "Fantastic," he said happily. "Though I guess we should take a shower... you want to stay the night, Jess?" He was sweet and tender now, in such a contrast to the 'sluts' of earlier. I texted Rs 1 and 2, and then in the shower he and I kissed more, and I brought him again, sucking him off as the water cascaded down.
I stayed, and I woke in the morning with his unconscious fingers up against my cunt, half dreamily caressing. It was only when we had a little Sunday breakfast at about 10, that I noticed in the kitchen area the photographs, and his ring, and I might not have thought more of it until she called him.
And so now, I've been complicit in his own philandering. Sleeping with different girls (or guys) is one thing; but now, despite the horny memories of Saturday night, it is a horrible thing to have been a party to the stand of a married guy. He was great - I might have seen him again, even though he was about 10 years older than me, and the roughness and gentleness was such a turn on, even in memory. But I draw the line, and in rediscovered guilt, I have to leave for work.
No comments:
Post a Comment