The Accountant

He’s been pursuing me for about six months. One of the last from the swingers site I gave my number to. And dear reader, I have been putting him off. I’ve given him every excuse under the sun: a new job, working late, wrong time of the month, too tired, delays on the train, you name it, I’ve said it.

So when we meet one cold January evening, of course, I’m nervous. It’s been around 5 months since I slept with anyone. But he looks so freaking handsome. Better even than the one photo he’d sent me: a neat beard with flecks of grey and happy twinkling eyes. We have a few drinks and I definitely fancy him. But is he into me? I can never tell, friends. I can never tell.

I imagine when you are a man you know immediately. You must be able to sense or even smell a woman who wants you. There must be something. Am I tossing my hair, playing with my drink? Is he looking at my ass when I go to the bar? Ther must be research on this. There are people playing darts and I try to get him to play with me, thinking the interaction would be sexy. His arm on mine, showing me how to hit the bullseye. But no, all the boards are full.

I go to the loo and check myself. I’m soaking wet. Even meeting with the guy has me excited. I have to ask if he wants to come back – I don’t want a third drink. He says yes.

We take the tube and then the bus. It’s always fascinating to see how a guy reacts to the banality of travel, the boring bit before the icing on the cake. Impatience, indifference or just oh god he’s touching my thigh. Just that physical touch is so much. He wants me.

Like any well-behaved boy he takes his shoes off as he enters the house. And then his hands are snaking around my waist and we go upstairs.

I’d got it in my head that I’d been doing sex all wrong and had vowed to stop going down on a guy before he did that for me. Behave like a queen, get treated like a queen. So I try out my theory. Oh, daddy. He doesn’t even need to be asked.

I lie back on the bed as everything gets removed by him. I can’t believe how lucky I am that this man is not a complete psychopath. Why on earth did I put him off for so long? Fear, confidence, still being in love with the guy before.

He grips my thighs in a way I just LOVE. His technique is something else – lips, hands, fingers, beard all brushing against my pussy. I am soaked through, I can feel myself seeping onto the cover beneath me.

I have barely touched his cock at this point. He seems absolutely intent on pleasuring me but it has been so long that I can’t seem to come despite really really wanting to.

Eventually, I get to ride him, he hasn’t brought condoms but by now I have given up adding up his ‘score’ as he’s perfect. His body is lightly covered with hair, including his chest and as he lies back I exclaim ” you’ve got a six-pack” which he laughs at. He’s probably the most in-shape guy I’ve been with. And I’m going to enjoy it.

I tell him to look in the mirror and watch me fuck him. And he does as he’s told. All he says is “You’re so hot”, which I will take to my grave.

I’m back in the saddle, and boy does he makes me cum good.