It has been months. So when I bump into him at the station I don’t quite recognise him, I actually think “hmm he’s handsome” before he waves at me and shocks me out of my daze. There is a lot of small talk as we travel to mine. I look at him and acknowledge the fact I am being greedy. But him contacting me was a nice surprise and I do not want to turn him down.
Back at mine we feel and fall into each other. His cock feels like a thick log in his pants, always bigger than I remember. He pushes me back on the bed and we grope each other through layers. The room is chilly and between my legs is wet. It’s like an old dance between us but where once there were feelings, now there is nothing. But I enjoy the way he handles me, forcing his fingers into my knickers and licking my clit. He’s a true artist – I have never known anyone eat me with such gusto. That is enough to turn me on alone.
We move to 69 and I grind myself on his beard, swallowing him down at the same time. But it feels hurried and I can’t relax into it. I ride him, and he bites and squeezes my tits, I’m close to coming but he stops and I lose the rhythm and momentum. We go from floor to bed and back again, he fucks me from behind, top and upside down. We take a breather but not for long enough. He cannot leave me alone, my cunt is so dry I reach for the lube. His hands explore my pussy again and my ass pops open to house his finger despite my weak protestations: I actually enjoy his cock and his finger inside me. Again I lose my orgasm in the maelstrom. He realised he can’t come from penetration either: he asks me what I want to do. I ride him again and we switch positions, me underneath.
In the end he wanks over my pussy and I frantically massage my clit, coming when his hot melty cum hits my cunt lips.
There is nothing like dashing through the city’s commuter crowd with no knickers on. Ok, it’s November so I’m wearing tights but the crotch is soaked. I rushing to meet him at his hotel, dressed in the filthiest get up I could manage: a crotchless bodysuit with holes for my tits to poke out of, covered by a black satin basque.
He meets me in the lobby and grabs me in the lift, I trace the outline of his erection in his jeans.
He opens the door to his room and we go in. I don’t even make a note of the number. I’m delighted with myself for getting this far, a new room to ravage, and someone else to clear up. I undress quickly and show him my outfit – his erection means he has to take off his clothes. I get out my collar and lead and asks if he wants to use them – moments later I am pulled to the chaise longue and lie back. He tongues my clit and teases my pussy – oh reader it is sublime. I think about how I played with myself before I left the house, and then he pops a finger inside. It’s a little cold but delicious. I buck and writhe in his hands and he pulls me to the bed. He’s the kind of guy who likes to pull my legs apart and graze there . He uses a series of movements which have me in ecstasy; a little nibble of the clit, his tongue brushing the whole area, his finger inside and oh god I am coming and he is still nibbling my clit and it’s too much and I keep shuddering but it is beautiful.
Wordlessly he reaches for a condom and I marvel at how his cock stands so hard out in front but with a little curve at the end. We fuck on the bed, the chaise longue and then he drags me to the table – I kneel on a stool and press my tits against the cold marble. He tried to whip me with the leash. On the bed he comes on top of me after twisting my body this way and that.
We lie there and chat for a little while and I use the bathroom. I retrieve my things and produce a new basque from my bag to wear home. The crotchless one isn’t what I want to climb into now.
He admires it and miraculously his erection appears again. I blush as he pulls me back onto the bed. My mouth says “I love being your hotel slut” and he kisses me.
3 days later and I’ve had time to think about the encounter. Nothing terrible happened, but there wasn’t much passion to it. So how did we have a simultaneous orgasm?
Was it his smooth, tanned and hairless body? Was it how hard his cock was, so much so it was almost purple? Was it letting him lick and play with my breasts for longer than usual?
I want to tell you about the way I lay on top of him, with his cock nestled in my butt cheeks, and as I reached back to feel it, exclaiming how wet it was. I need to explain how he knelt to lick my clit and pussy lips, me wondering if he was doing it just because I asked, under duress. I lay there, wanting more but still bucking and reeling at his touch. And when his fingers enter me I almost lose it. I was wet way before I even met him, so intense was my libido; and now I am struggling to stay in control.
I can tell to sit on his face is too much for him so I take his stalk in my hands and mouth. And then I can take no more. I hand him a condom and climb on top. As he slides inside I smile – it feels incredible. His face is quite a picture, I can’t tell what he’s thinking. He buries his face in my tits and I quite enjoy him practically washing his face with them. I slide up and down his stiff pole and very quickly I’m coming. His face scrunches up and I realise he is too.
We go again a little later and he rides me this time. His technique amuses me. And there he goes – the condom full of his cum.
He’s scratched my itch and I’m glad. Maybe the secret is not to think about it at all?
It is exactly 36 days since I last had sex. As a sex blogger by night, normal civilian by day – this makes things hard. My black book has lost pages I kept reading and turning the corner over on and circling key words; now the cover has torn off. I’ve had some very odd experiences recently: being stood up, ghosted and let down are only supposed to happen when you are dating. This is just fucking, isn’t it? I have even turned down sex, blanked a fuck buddy and had a man in my house who I’ve slept with many times hugging me. I could easily have put my fingers in his mouth or on his belt and things would have turned out differently.
But here I am, in an hour and a half I’m meeting a new one. We’ve had a stilted conversation on the phone and have arranged to get a coffee together. I haven’t planned what to wear but I found myself on the bus feeling horny for the first time in forever, and in the swimming pool touching myself. I am craving a mouth on my pussy, fingers and tongue all over my body. But I’m nervous. A new lover is delicious, but I’m tired of new lovers. Regularity is horny. The expectation, the build-up is everything. Wish me luck.
I meet him in the lobby of a hotel opposite his, it is terrible so we leave quickly and head somewhere else. Bright lights and single businessmen are not what we need. There are corners to be seduced in elsewhere.
On first glance I don’t fancy him at all, but I’m so keen to have sex and so delighted to be out for a drink with a handsome gentleman for a change. His Scottish accent is a huge turn on and I can tell he has a good body from the way his top hugs his chest. We spend around half an hour chatting and then head up to his room in the hotel down the road.
I giggle as the guy and girl on reception nod at us. We haven’t even kissed yet. We go up in a very red lift, turn a corner and he unlocks his door. The room is modern and spacious and there is little sign of anyone staying there. I throw off my coat and shyly ask to use the loo. The bathroom has all the miniature products I like and I scold myself for thinking about stealing them.
I don’t remember how it starts – if I’m honest I don’t even remember what I was wearing. But very quickly we are into a 69 and I am astride his face, hoping desperately that he can’t tell I’m about to start my period and that I’m okay down there.
We switch and I take his cock in my hands. He kneads my tits and licks the nipples, his beard tickling me. He gets out condoms from the bathroom and unrolls one expertly onto his blossoming cock. As he enters me I sigh; I’m delighted how he fills me and grabs my ass to get purchase. He suggests we fuck on the armchair but we both get up to find it won’t quite work. I suggest the floor and I straddle him, bucking up and down until he leaps up and we try for the bed again.
He comes twice and for some reason I can’t come at all. Maybe I feel nothing, maybe I feel too self conscious.
It’s almost a relief to put clothes on. I’d love for him to ask me to stay all night and lazily fuck each other to sleep; but I can tell neither of us really want that.
I leave and he walks me out past the same two on reception. He’s off to get food and I go towards the tube. He tells me to get home safe which makes me laugh.
A young homeless guy approaches me, tells me his woes and I feel more compassion for him than the guy I just left. I give him a fiver and he grins.
The lights are dimmed. There is some incense burning, and the room is warm. I am encouraged to take my clothes off. The laptop shines on the floor, emitting a sound that is eastern, a slow drum beat with an occasional moan. No pan pipes. He asks for a scarf to cover me with, I hand him a Hammam towel, which he places like a shroud over me. He tells me to close my eyes. I feel him scamper across the bed and sit on his haunches behind my head. His hands start to caress my neck and shoulders. It’s hard not to giggle. The music and the situation is amusing; the fact that this was totally unexpected too. Not half an hour ago we were having a drink in the pub. And now this.
(Much later, when I’m thinking about the experience and reliving it to write, I wonder if this was actually the brush off. What was in it for him, I wonder?”)
His hands massage my arms, my hands, my legs and feet. I am not turned on until he gently pulls my legs apart. His hands work up my thighs and I grow wet. Maybe he senses this because next I feel his tongue on my nipples, and I giggle. I slip in and out of a dream in which I am Cleopatra travelling on a boat down the Nile flanked by servants and slave girls. The incense and slow drum beat add to this. But the sighing noises bring me back to my room and the situation. I want to be fucked now; I want his hands inside me and his body on mine.
But I stop myself because he is in control here, I am the passive vessel for his ridiculous magic. He wears only his boxers; yet I cannot tell if he is hard, big or turned on. I am so close to orgasm now. When he asks me to turn over it is a relief. I can’t place my head comfortably so I wiggle a little and he asks if I’m okay. He works on my shoulders and neck again and on my hands and wrists. The oil smells divine, but I do worry about my sheets. His hands travel again up my thighs and I no longer have control of my body.
Do I orgasm? I feel like a queen. That is enough.