Red red wine

I am on a date. My first in over a year. It is going well. We have covered travelling, work, comedy, TV, music, pets and a bit of homeowner stuff. I fancy him. He is better in the flesh and I imagine myself in a relationship with him. I like his hair, his eyes, his shoes and just about everything. Except the fact he is good at interrupting me and then not going back to my story but explaining his.

We finish our first round and I ask if he wants another. He does, so I go around the bar and watch him from behind. He doesn’t get his phone out or look around. I’m grinning.


The rounds continue, we move to more intimate seating but he doesn’t make a move on me. So far he’s only touched my shoulder. I keep laughing and he keeps thinking I’m laughing at him. (He clearly hasn’t read the blogs on “how to tell if someone fancies you”). The bar closes and the tannoy announces “the complex is closing” so we giggle our way out of there and try and find somewhere else to drink.

In the movie version of the date, the camera will pan across to one of the tackiest pubs I’ve ever been in. As it’s supposedly a hotel I guess it’s open later on a Sunday. I don’t need more wine but here I am with a terrible tasting glass of vinegar after the delicious Malbec I’ve just had. I count 6 television screens in my view all showing a game of football in which we can’t make out the teams.

This bar also has to close so we slip into the station to get trains home. He is Overground, I am Underground. He does a stupid sad face and I cave in, cursing myself.


 

Back at mine, he removes his shoes without me asking him to and requests more wine. I have only one bottle of red and really don’t want any more. He sits cross-legged on the floor which puzzles me as I have plenty of seats. We start to watch “Jaws” which- now I think about it- is possibly the oddest first date movie ever. I ask him to sit next to me and suddenly I realise its after 1am and I have work in the morning.

We go upstairs and he carries the bottle and glasses. The next few hours are very hazy. I have a ridiculous assumption that NOTHING WILL HAPPEN and MY CLOTHES WILL STAY ON. I don’t remember getting undressed, but I do remember how he pulls my breasts out of my bra exclaiming how fantastic they are. I do remember how beautiful his cock is and how I can barely keep it out of my mouth. I do recall how he holds his wine while I’m doing it and asks for another bottle (which I ignore). I do remember how he spits on his fingers and rubs my clit maniacally. He does the same with my breasts, spitting directly on them and biting my nipples too hard.

We go for every position known to man and I love how he takes me from behind, but putting his whole weight on my back, craving the closeness.

I can’t come. Have I actually had too much sex already this year?

The Doxy comes out. He is fascinated by it, and me using it and rubs his cock furiously as I try to orgasm.

I realise it is now 5.18 am and tell him I need to be up in four hours.

——–

I actually wake at 8, feeling like death. I manage to make it downstairs for water and paracetamol. Sadly these are brought up not long after. I sit on the sofa, wondering how to wake him up. He groans as I tell him I have to leave in half an hour. We do the walk of shame together, a short tube ride and kiss goodbye with pursed lips.

The sense of guilt is immense as I head to a full day of meetings.

A game of two halves with no home goals

 

We have 2o minutes because he is late. I’m meeting family in town but the chance of fucking him beforehand and arriving breathless and rosy-cheeked is amusing me. I know, bad girl. It’s not ideal but I am breathless as I wait. He comes in and jokes that this is indeed the very definition of a quickie. We both strip standing up and I kneel to take his cock in my mouth. Soon he is groaning and holding my head. He pulls me up to kiss me and then we flip to eat each other out.

I glance at the clock and tell him I have to get ready to leave. He pulls out and tries to dress with his erection still poking out. He chides that we won’t count this one, and tells me we won’t mention it again. Neither of us have come.

I am early to meet my relatives. Damn.


Exactly a week later, Saturday night and he’s lazily texting me. I hadn’t realised he’s in the area. I ask if he wants to come over and suddenly I have half an hour to get ready. I bathe, shave and dress in something easy to take off.

He wants to sit down and chat, his hands are freezing but soon up my gown and kneading my thighs. I’m watching “Shaun of the Dead” and he mentions its his favourite movie. And then we go up. He tells me he has to leave at 12, so we have around 2 hours. I tell him this is the ultimate booty call – he asks if its a problem. I take off my robe and say no.

My basque is easy to pull my tits out of and his cold hands cup them as he nibbles at my nipples. I barely touch his cock and he pulls aside the material to probe my pussy. Soon he is down there and his tongue is darting in and out. I’m self conscious – my pubic hair isn’t as smooth as usual but he doesn’t say a word.

For the next twenty minutes he plays a symphony  with fingers and tongue, flipping me around to get the best position for him to lick me. It is unlike anything I’ve experienced. We then switch again to 69, I’m sweating by now and he is breathless too. But reader, how do I love this position. Picking up his thick cock, massaging it and deep-throating him until he squeaks, pulling me off because he can’t take it. I love how my throat closes on him, how he stops licking while he comes to terms with what I’m doing.

And then I mount him. As ever, his cock fills me like no other. We try some different positions and then he delivers the first blow:

“Why haven’t you come yet?”

It stuns me. I stop my jiggling and tell him not to mention it as it makes matters worse. He has already pulled out twice to stop himself orgasm. And now I’m under pressure. He pulls out and starts to fuck me from behind, grabbing my hips in the way that I love. And then he’s switched again and my legs are in the air – and OH GOD HE’S SUCKING MY TOES!

I’ve come close to orgasm twice now but stupidly have stopped myself. I curse myself for having wanked so much during the day – abandoning my Doxy for a vibe I haven’t used in months not knowing I’d have an evening visitor. I tell him maybe I’m all out but he’s still giving me a hard time. And then he looks at the clock and realises he’s out of time.

He asks to come in my mouth and I’m more than happy to agree. For some reason he suddenly tells me he hasn’t slept with anyone else for months. My cunt tweaks and his hot come fills my throat. He actually apologises because it lasts for longer than usual.

I’m left with an odd feeling of failure and worry that I seem to have lost my ability to orgasm with a him, even anyone given my recent run.

Fingered

He is my favourite fuckboy, but don’t tell him that. He has just the right mix of cheeky and kinky. Oh, and he lives 10 minutes away.

Sometimes the thought of fucking is more exciting than actually doing it. There is no build up with him. I normally contact him to ask if he’s free, he takes ages to reply and then eventually submits and comes over.

I don’t go through all my normal prep for some reason. Yes, I have special underwear on. Yes, I’m turned on and touch myself and check I smell good. I don’t slick myself with lube though. It’s just a precaution: I don’t do it every time, only when I feel I need to. And this time I forget.

So when his fingers roughly find their way right into my pussy without a word, it hurts. A lot. And it shocks me because it doesn’t normally. And I surprise myself because I don’t say anything. A part of me enjoys how it feels. And then I worry: is it my age? Is a dry pussy a symptom, nay a warning: “you fuck too much girl it’s payback”.

I don’t have long to think about this as he’s flipped me over and is licking me out. The pain subsides and the pleasure seeps over me. And then my clit begins to throb at his touch and everything is sore. This time I grab the lube and slather it over my parts, it stings and I wince a little. He questions why and I tell him it hurts. And I feel pretty bad.

He grabs my hips from behind and I pass him a condom. It feels better now he’s inside me. But still not quite right. I’m annoyed with my body for letting me down and the fact I’m worried about it makes me enjoy it far less than usual. He doesn’t notice all this internal monologue and fucks me hard over the side of the bed, coming with a quick grunt.

When he leaves, all I can think about is climbing into the bath.