He had a small dick but he made me cum so many times with his mouth and hands I just had to…check. Again. Plus I don’t have any other offers.
He’s coming over on Friday afternoon and the timing is perfect: I’ve just been made redundant and need an escape. Something to make reality go away for a bit.
I dress in stockings and suspenders, noticing with a little pride that I’ve lost weight since I last wore them. I zip up the ridiculous knee-high boots that I can’t walk in and slip on a figure-hugging black dress. I’m very ready to be fucked – or at least brought to orgasm by those magic hands.
But he’s late – an hour later than expected. It’s not an issue as I don’t have anywhere to be, but still. So when he arrives smelling fresh and looking handsome I’m excited. And then he pushes me against the wall.
His hands paw at me and I can wait no longer. I was meant to pay it cool. He snakes a hand up my dress and pulls my pants aside. I groan because it’s been a while since anyone did that. Standing in my hallway anyway, they usually wait until I get upstairs. His fingers pry and tease me open, my lips are wet as he kisses me. God, he smells great. Somehow I manage to get upstairs in the boots, tottering a bit. But I want to keep them on.
We kiss and I wrestle with his belt in a familiar way, trying to get the tension right and undo him. His dick is straining, neatly packaged in those tight shorts with stripes, I forget the brand. He lunges for my breasts, pulling them out of the bra and biting the nipples, swirling his tongue around them.
Like last time he doesn’t want me to handle his dick. But unlike last time there is no massage, I don’t even know where the oil is. The boots are still on, which makes things hard as they are pseudo-velvet and catch on the bedding.
God, I love dressing up, always have, always will. It’s always been more for my benefit than theirs. The anticipation, the different sets I own, depending on which mood I’m in and who is coming over. Sometimes I’ve even dressed up alone, ready to pleasure myself. Slutty, sporty, casual, Never no knickers darling. Your prize is always gift wrapped. The boots are too much maybe, but I wanted to be fucked in them. His head is between my thighs and I don’t care, to the point where I’m actually fantasising he is someone else. Actually anyone else: my boss, the colleague I hate, the last guy I fucked, the ones I used to fuck. And it works, suddenly I’m gripping his hair and grinding into his mouth and oh yes indeed.
“Did you enjoy that?” he asks. I mean. Uhhuh could you not tell I think to myself.
“Yes, so good” I exclaim and get up, putting my knickers and a robe on. I can’t wait for him to be out of the house.
He kisses me with a slobbery wet kiss and although I can taste myself on his lips, I vow never to see him again.