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You emailed me that bright, cold, January afternoon, and told me that, after some consideration, you had decided that you really did want to see what would happen if we met. You said that I should name a time and a place, and told me that you really would show.
I suggested a drink. I named a quiet little bar where we could chat and talk, where we would be able to gradually introduce those parts of ourselves to one another that we felt would encourage the situation. I named a day that weekend, and a time when I would be there.
On the evening in question, I dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt, tossing a sweater on to keep warm. A reserved, business casual look. I put on a black overcoat and my hat — the one with the colorful feather in the leather band around the crown — and stepped out to meet you.
When I got to the bar, I selected a table away from most of the folks there, off to one side, so that we could quietly talk with minimal interruption. We had interesting things to say to one another, and I wanted to be sure that we heard each other clearly.
I ordered a whiskey and ginger, and opened the copy of the New York Times I had brought with me. I casually looked over stories that normally would hold my interest, but had far more interesting things in mind; I kept an eye on the other patrons, and scanned the door from time to time, waiting to see you enter.
And when you did enter, I knew immediately it was you. You hadn’t mentioned what you planned to wear, but you had reluctantly given me a reasonable description of yourself, and when I laid eyes on you, I knew it was accurate.
I didn’t put down the paper, but I didn’t hide behind it, either. I openly looked at you, knowing that you’d eventually find my gaze, and know who I was. After scanning the room, you did meet my gaze, gave a brief smile, and slowly strolled over to where I was sitting. You took off your coat and sat; I folded my paper and set it aside.
“Hello there,” I opened.
“Hi,” you said simply. I was amused by your seeming hesitation; you had expressed yourself boldly in your emails.
You ordered a drink, and we made small talk. The weather, the Superbowl, the strange scratch on the edge of the table. Someone put money into the jukebox, and strains of The National’s “Fake Empire” floated across the room.
Our small talk moved to larger talk. We discussed how funny a thing Craigslist is.
“So,” you asked, “do you do anything else on Craigslist, or do you just sit around all day posting sex stories?”
I told you that I’d used it to find some networking hardware, to buy a major appliance for a friend, and that I sometimes frequented the discussion boards on slow days at the office.
“But you always go back to the sex” you stated flatly.
“What’s wrong with sex?” I asked. I stood and moved to sit in the chair to your right, as opposed to the chair across from you. “Everyone likes sex. It’s a part of us. It’s included in Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. It both feeds and feeds off of the most primal, visceral parts of our psyches. And besides,” I said conspiratorially, “who doesn’t like being tossed against a wall and pounded hard from behind?”
I leaned closer, “who doesn’t like being bent over the arm of a sofa, or tossed onto all fours on a bed, and given it hard and deep?”
We chatted, we flirted, we made ridiculous double-entendres. I excused myself to use the men’s room, and when I came back moments later, I stood behind you as you sat, put my large hands onto your shoulders, and gave them a firm and lasting squeeze. Bending down so that my lips were less than an inch from your right ear, I whispered, “it’s time for us to pay our bill. It’s time for us to go. We have much to do.”
We paid, we left the building, we walked to our cars; yours happened to be parked next to mine. You stood between their rear bumpers and, pausing, said, “So…..”
“So…..” I replied. Then I stood close to you, and slid my right hand to the left side of your neck, just below your ear, my fingers wrapped across its back. I had caught some of your hair when I slid my fingers back, and I clenched them tightly as I pressed by mouth against yours, tasting you, kissing you deeply, not lightly, almost urgently. My other hand slid to your hip, and held you in place.
“…now you follow me,” I continued after breaking off, and stepping back. With the hand I had on your hip, I spun you slowly around until you were facing your driver’s door, and gave you a pat on the ass to get you moving in the right direction. Getting in my own car, I took my time. I started it up, I adjusted the mirrors, I tuned the stereo. Then I looked over at you, gave you a brief smile, backed out, and headed back to my place.
For the first mile or two, you fell behind, and I vaguely wondered if you were going to chicken out, if you were going beylikdüzü otele gelen escort to become unnerved, if you were going to decide that you didn’t want this after all. I did not drive quickly, nor did I drive slowly. My pace was methodical and unyielding. I was gratified to see that you did speed up, that you closed the distance, that you were practically on my ass — not unlike I planned to be on yours before too long.
I pulled onto the side street behind the house, and parked the car. When I got out, I saw you doing the same, and as you got out yourself, I saw a smile on your face that hadn’t been there when we left. It intrigued me…
We walked quietly to the back door. I unlocked it and entered, and you followed me into the darkness of the kitchen. I didn’t make it across the room to turn the light on; with one hand, you closed the door behind you, and with the other, you reached over my back and latched onto my shoulder. I turned, and as the door closed, you closed the distance between us, pressing me backwards against the counter. You kissed me, much like I had kissed you in the parking lot, and you pressed yourself against me, both of your hands on my sides. And as you kissed me, and pressed against me, and you could feel my arousal growing, you slid your hands down my sides to the line of my belt. Each hand slid just one finger into the waist of my pants, and, stepping away from me, though still kissing me, you brought both hands between us, resting them on my belt buckle. After a moment, you began to work at it, slipping the black leather from its silver constraints
You playfully bit my lip as your left hand pushed away the hanging belt and your right hand zeroed in on my zipper. I opened my mouth to speak, but you pressed your own against it, and filled it with your tongue as you deftly undid the zipper, and pushed my slacks down. They hit the floor with a jangle of keys and change, and then the house was silent again save our breathing and kissing.
I had brought both of my hands to your head, so that I could kiss you more forcefully and deeply. Your own hands chose their destinations specifically. Your left was on my side, while your right pressed firmly against the front of my shorts, and paused there for several moments. Feeling me respond to you, you slid that hand up to the top of my shorts, and inched your fingers under the waistband. The depth of my kissing remained unchanged — until you slid the rest of your hand under the band, your fingertips against my skin as they slid down me and, with no hesitation whatsoever, took me in your hand, wrapping your fingers around me. You squeezed me, pressing me into your palm, and I pulled my mouth away from you and let out a low, breathy moan. We stood there for seconds, our faces inches apart, my cock aching and hardening in your fist.
“Don’t move,” you whispered. You removed your hand from me, and removed my shorts to the floor. Again, you wrapped your hand around me, and you kissed me briefly but deeply, and then you slid to your knees, in front of me. I smiled to myself in the darkness, and set a hand on the counter behind me. I expected teasing, or a build up. Playfulness and a sense of latent hesitation. What I received instead was your right hand firmly cupping my balls, your left hand pressed against me with your thumb and index finger tightened around the base of my cock, your mouth sliding down the length of me until your lips met your left hand, and my swollen head practically in the back of your throat. You held yourself there for several moments, massaging me with your tongue. It came as something of a surprise, and the unexpected pleasure felt so good that I almost lost it then and there, but I did not. You took your mouth off of me, though, and began working in earnest. You massaged me and licked me, sucking on me hard, and taking me totally into your mouth, sliding my across your tongue. I braced myself against the counter more thoroughly, and stood there moaning in the darkness.
I learned that you meant business. You did not pause, did not slow down, did not take a break. Your mouth and lips did not, at any time, leave contact with my cock, which was growing ridiculously hard.
And when I told you to slow down, you gave no heed. And when I said, “hey, really, slow down a minute, will you? Hey…slow down…slow…uh…slow…hey….uh…uh..uhhhhh,” you ignored me. I was aching in your mouth, and when I moved my other hand to your shoulder, you locked your lips down on me, and slid your mouth up and down my length, working me tirelessly.
And when I said, “hey, slow down slow down slow…oh….yeah…I’m gonna….” you sucked even more, swirling your tongue around me, feeling my hand move to your head, feeling my hips begin thrusting, feeling me throbbing and twitching in your mouth as beylikdüzü rus escort I lost control, bursting into your mouth, onto your tongue, spilling warm cum into your throat.
I stood there in the dark, breathing heavily, my cock still twitching in your mouth as you sucked on it, licking me clean.
I still had my coat on.
You stood up, and in the scant illumination of the street lamp coming through the window, I could see you licking your lips.
“I needed that,” you said coyly. I indicated that I had needed that, too.
I shrugged out of my coat, and drew you close for a kiss. I stepped out of my pants, and backed you against the center island. And there, while I kissed you, I removed every article of clothing you had on. I removed your coat, your scarf. I removed your shirt, your lace bra. I toyed with your nipples, feeling them harding between my fingers as you kicked off your shoes. I undid your pants, and slid my hands down your legs as they brought down your thong. And when my hands had reached your ankles, I set my mouth against your thigh, kissing it in a line towards your already glistening self. You felt my breath on you, the tip of my tongue against you. You were soaked.
I stood, and pushed you on to the island; I laid you down upon its length. It was as if your body was on an alter, waiting to be sacrificed. I came around to the side, and my hands were on you. I bent over, and my lips were on you. Your nipples flushed and firmed to my tongue. You squirmed and murmured, but said nothing. I pressed my mouth against yours once more, and as I did, I placed my own hand on the top of your hip. My right hand in your hair, I kissed you deeply while my left hand slid to your mound, felt your wetness, explored the delicate and aroused folds of your heat. I set my finger and thumb on either side of your swollen clit, and pinched; you pulled your mouth away from me to quickly draw air into your lungs.
As you did, I slid my middle finger into you, wet and slick, up to the second knuckle. You reached your arm around me, and seized on my ass.
“Here you are,” I said. “I’ve got you right here,” I wiggled my finger. You moaned.
I wiggled my finger more, but not needlessly. I sought to find it, that spot, that fleshy, reactive spot just inside of you. And when the tip of my finger lighted on it, I knew I had you. Slowly I massaged you inside, all the while massaging your clit with my thumb, performing slow circles with both. My hand on your head, while the other manipulating your sex, I had the whole of you in my armspan; I had contained you.
And while you lay there, squirming at first, and then responding to the rhythm of my left hand, I bent again and kissed your body. I kissed your breasts. I kissed your chest and stomach. I kissed your hips. I returned up, and kissed your mouth. But always I massaged you, those circles, feeling you tighten around my finger, hearing your breath quicken, my hand growing slick with your wetness. You had stopped kissing quite as passionately as I worked you. In the dark, though I knew they were open, I knew your eyes were beginning to glaze over, your mouth open, as you came closer and closer to the point of no return.
I moved to take my left hand from you, but you tightened your grip on my ass. “Don’t stop,” you said. “Don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop don’t…” Your words trailed off as I slid both my middle and ring fingers into you completely, sliding them both back to that spot to begin massaging anew.
“Oh god don’t stop oh god don’t stop oh god,” you had begun to shiver and tremble. Your hips began to buck against my wrist. Your clit swelled against my thumb. You very nearly dug your nails into my butt cheek as you bit your lip, as you arched your back, as you clenched around my fingers, as your body twitched and jerked on the island, that makeshift alter of sex and wetness. You moaned, you barked, you lost your breath…
…and you came, hard and relentless, your body slick with sweat in the dark of the kitchen.
When you regained your breath, I smiled quietly and said, “that’s what I wanted.”
“Yeah,” you replied. “Me, too.”
I offered you a glass of water. You sat up and drank thirstily, the island completely slick with you.
You set the glass down beside you, and I stepped close, saying, “That was a delightful appetizer. But I’m not done with you.”
I coaxed you off the island, and we padded naked out of the kitchen and down the hall.
I pondered the dining room. I pondered the living room. I’d fucked in both, but the sofas were all leather, the rugs were all braided. Mindful of the damage the rugs had caused in the past, and disinterested in the clinginess of the leather, I guided you up the stairs.
It was only our first evening together; there was no need to beylikdüzü türbanlı escort inflict pain or discomfort on you just yet.
At the top of the stairs, my hand on the small of your back, I guided you to the room on the left; we had not lit a single light, but I knew where I was going.
Before I had left for the evening, I had lit a small, single votive candle on the dresser; the light reflecting from the mirror behind it cast shadows all over the room. You looked at it, looked at me, and raised your eyebrows.
I nodded. I smiled. I stepped behind you, my naked self against yours. I set my hands on your hips and kissed your neck. You rolled your head back against my shoulder as I kissed. The candle’s shadows flickered as I glanced at us in the mirror.
In someone’s coat, a cellphone rang.
I pressed my fingertips against your hips, your sides. I pressed them against your back, your shoulders. I pressed them against your buttocks, your thighs, your stomach. I took each of your nipples in each of my hands, and teased them to attention again.
You could feel me growing against you as I stood behind you. You wiggled back against me. I set my hands back firmly on your hips, and turned us both around so that we were facing my dimly lit bed. I moved forward, pressing myself against you, slowly but without stopping, until you yourself had your knees pressed against the bed. I pressed you forward still, and you knelt on the bed facing away from me, walking on your knees a few feet in.
I slid a hand down your back to between your legs, and toyed with the moisture I found there. I used my other hand to press against your shoulder, and you got down on all fours, and then folded your arms beneath yourself. You wiggled your ass and hips at me, and I slid a finger easily into you, quickly finding that very same spot I had found earlier.
You moaned softly into the mattress.
I slid my finger out of you, and toyed with your ass a while, gently, but surely. My finger was slick with you, and I pressed it into your tight little hole, easily, but completely.
My cock had grown very hard. Your asshole tightened around my finger. I liked that. So I removed it, and did it again with my thumb. You like having my thumb in your ass. I knew this.
So there I stood, my thumb in your ass with the rest of my fingers reaching up towards the small of your back. I toyed at your pussy with my other hand, slicking it before wrapping my fingers around myself, feeling me harden in my own hand.
I pressed the head of my cock against the lips of your pussy. I massaged you with myself. I teased you. And then I plunged into you, my entire length easily sliding into you. And I stood there, my thumb in your ass, my cock balls-deep in your pussy, and I pressed my hips against your ass cheeks, allowing my mass to hold me there. You moaned, you whimpered, you pleaded wordlessly.
I rode. I pulled myself out, leaving just my head in you, and plunged completely back in. My balls slapped against you as I rode. Your hips high in the air beckoned me to hold them, to use them, to ride them. I rode hard and deep. I was excited, you were wet and needing it. Badly.
I thought about stopping. I thought about moving you, repositioning you. But I liked you where you were, so useful, so accessible, to easy to fuck just the way you were. And my cock was already in you.
Keeping my thumb in your ass the whole time, using it to position you how I wanted you, I moved my other hand from your hip to your back, and from your back to a handful of your hair. And with a handful of your hair, I tugged, and you obliged, raising your shoulders, lifting your head back towards me, and moving your whole body back onto me, impaling your sopping wet pussy on my cock, bucking back against me, riding my cock as hard from in front as I was riding you from behind. You took it, needing it, wrapping yourself around me, gripping me inside of you, tightening around me almost in panic as you closed in on what you needed.
With each thrust I myself to harder, closer. You felt very, very good wrapped around me, the hot, wet flesh inside of your pussy clenching around me, working me as I worked you.
I paused for but a moment.
“Are you ready?” I asked.
“Mnnnngguh?” you asked without words.
“I can feel you’re close,” I toyed.
“Nnnngh…come on,” you practically begged.
I began thrusting again. “Ohgodyes,” you sighed as I rode you. But I wasn’t done with what I had to say.
“I’m going to fill you,” I began.
“Ohgodyes,” you said.
“I’m going to burst inside of you,” I continued.
“Ohgodyes,” you said.
“I’m going to unload my cock deep inside of you,” I mentioned.
“Ohgodyes,” you said.
“I’m going to totally and completely empty my balls into your body,” I went on.
“Ohgodyes,” you said.
“And you are going to feel every last drop of my hot cum flooding into you,” I remarked as I plunged hard and deep into you, feeling you squeezing me rhythmically, your soaked pussy spasming uncontrollably, milking my cock inside of you as you came.
“Ohgodyes,” you said.
“Ohgodyes,” I answered as you felt the warmth of my cum filling you.
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