I knock so gently there’s barely a noise. I fiddle with the belt on my long jacket, a bulging knot of thread where seams meet is starting to fray. I notice things like that when I’m nervous. I kinda wish I’d taken a pain pill earlier. I’d be more relaxed but it’s been over 6 days since my last one. The longest I’ve gone this year is 14 days. That was back when I had a job and steady income. The pain started to seem worth it for once. I slept more, drank less. Felt like I finally had wind beneath my wings. I wasn’t prepared for my first summer job in a port city.
Less than a month later I end up here, on a stranger’s doorstep. The lace of my thong is tickling the inside of my thigh. Rough material of my cheap pseudo-trench coat slides against satin underwear while chafing exposed skin. I don’t even know if this will work. What if he isn’t interested? That last makeout session was plenty hot. Passion I can taste. It’s still there, a lump at the back of my throat bumping against every swallow. I could choke on my desire but instead I groan. There’s a similar lump in my groin, thrusting my emotions to the center of attention.
September came crashing down like thunder. I wasn’t ready for unemployment, defenses got weak and now I’m in this position. The last time I surprised a man in his own home with lingerie we got married a couple years later. Granted, the effort I put into that event didn’t yield the climax I hoped for. Older and wiser, I’m more confident in my ability to get what I want. Fortunately, my desires skew toward mutual pleasure, so I don’t have to do more than have fun to make everyone happy. Whether I’m getting strung up for spankings or punishing a bad boy, there’s room for everyone to have a good time. The perfect switch.
My ass clenches when I hear footsteps. The moment of truth approaches. Jingle of a chain before the door opens and I see his left eye. There’s genuine surprise before the mask slips into place. I hope my smile doesn’t flicker as I feel a seed out doubt take root. He welcomes me in with the typical what-a-surprise spiel. The theatrics only make me want him more. I feel a clenching in my gut and start moving before my norepinephrine chooses a flight response. “I hope you don’t mind,” walking through the door, “I was in the area and need your help with something.” Inside the apartment, I’m unbelting the jacket with my back to him, pulse racing.
He starts into an embellished version of, “I don’t mind,” as I let the shoulders of the trench coat slip. His words trail off. The best part of short hair is my upper back. Contoured scapular muscles set against carefully chosen patches of ink. My shoulders relax and chest supported, the arms of the coat pin my elbow at a suggestive angle. All he can see is the straps of my bra but that’s enough to dilate pupils. The mask slips away long enough to see desire register in his gaze. My nipples harden and there’s a tighter clenching lower in my groin. Sweat beads on my forehead as the pressure increases.
I turn and let the front of the jacket fall open. His flustered smile is all the confirmation I need. Choosing a simple lace bra with matching thong I added black high heel boots for confidence. With the added height we are eye level. I didn’t realize he was this short until now, a thought I push to the back of my mind. (I don’t 69 a 1-night stand.) Moving in close enough to feel the warm of his body against my belly, I brushing against him with a swish of satin on polyester. I breathe once, hot against his cheek, before going in for the kiss. He doesn’t back down and for a moment our bodies are pressed at length, each cell singing upon contact.
I know he wants me. I can feel it. The id yearns to push him down and fuck right there but my ego has other plans in store. Grabbing both hands, I pull my willing victim toward the plush microfiber sectional. Backing him into the far right seat I expertly deploy the recliner while placing both my knees along the armrests. Leaning back with the movement I straddle him like a bull-rider getting ready for a run. His dark eyes are following my movements and he exhales sharply when the back of the chair sinks suddenly. Taking advantage, I dive in to kiss him before we’re done moving. Sliding his tongue in my mouth I lay my body against his like a wet cloth.
The bulge of him against my thigh is unmistakable. I want to reach into his jeans and wrap fingers around the soft skin of that hard penis. I swallow against the lump in my throat and thrust my pelvis into his boner once or twice to acknowledge its there. He groans in response. Enjoying the sound I rake my hands down his chest and sit back on my knees again. Black silk crotch on display, I know my legs look amazing. The thigh muscles required for good sex are readily apparent if you perch on your knees. Balancing effortlessly above a man in a recliner – that comes with practice.
In full control of the situation, he doesn’t resisted any of the steps in my seductive dance. Since I have the lead, I decide to push the limits. “How are you today?” I ask, like we bumped into each other on the street. His dry wit rises to the occasion, “Fine,” voice smooth and casual, “and yourself?” Too high-pitched to be genuine, he still lobs the ball cleanly back into my court. I lean in close with honey dripping from my tongue and whisper, “Ask me again in 20 minutes.” A slight furrow reveals my advantage. That’s not part of typical parlay.
I leave his face and bend sharply to breath hot against the shape of his erection. Picked up that trick from a friend back home. He probably secures half his conquests just by breathing. My ass cheeks held high and parted by a black lace thong must look incredible with my head buried in his lap. Pushing down my with hands I’m able to slide my legs down until feet find the floor. I make eye contact while unzipping his pants, just to confirm consent. Even at the beginning, our connection is strong enough to trust nonverbal signals. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to date him in the first place. Maybe I’m just lazy?
With his pants splayed open like a fresh surgical field I fish into the boxer briefs for my prize. Standing the soldier on end I look him in the eye for a full second, taking in the mundane details of this particular cock. Like a semi-famous painting in a museum, I’ll probably only see it once. Best to savor the moment. Catching him looking at me admiring his dick I flash a smile before licking him base to tip. His jaw relaxes while I keep eye contact, going up and down each side. Left. Then right. My own personal popsicle, penis-flavored. My eyelids flutter closed just before my lips wrap around his soft, pink head.
Placing his palm gently against the base of my skull as I swirl my tongue around, I know he’s repressing the urge to clutch the hair on the back of my head. I come up just enough to mutter, “Grab me,” and he tangles a fist into the hair at the nape of my neck. I moan involuntarily with the pressure. Vibration makes him grunt in approval. Encouraged, I continue to hum my pleasure into his red hot root. I don’t know him that well, so I’m surprised when he loosens his grip and says, “Oh god, I can’t hold it.” Before the words register I feel a hot thickness at the back of my throat. In that split second I have two choices – recoil sputtering or swallow.
Blame it on the heat of passion. Or because I care what he thinks. Who knows, but I decide to push through and begin to suck against him like a straw. Deep moans of pleasure are reward enough to tolerate the bitter taste in my throat. It’s for the best. Only assholes come in my mouth so I probably dodged a bullet on this one. He pats the back of my head lovingly, like I’m a spaniel. I know he’s not a bad guy but I cling to every annoyance with desperate hope it will break my deal. I almost decide to stop there and go home satisfied with my fate.
Instead I stand up and demurely wipe the corners of my mouth. With an exaggerated sexiness I offer him my hand. He looks confused for a moment. I sigh and say, “I’m offering to help you up.” He grins and apologizes for his dopiness, blaming the recent orgasm. I nod and again emphasize the proffered hand. Obviously reluctant to stand, he accepts the invitation and hefts his pants up with the other hand while standing. The recliner chair snaps back into place with the pressure of his legs. I turn with his hand trailing over my right shoulder and lead him toward the bedroom.
He staggers slightly but follows, beginning to stutter excuses about not getting hard again. Turning around at the doorway, I lean in and kiss him hard. He responds, less quickly than before. “I don’t need your dick for this part,” I croon and lead him into the dimly lit room. A king size bed waits, firm and uncaring. Pushing him flat, I straddle him with my pelvis firmly pressed into his middle-aged belly. Thrusting slightly I can tell he does not enjoy this position. Ignoring that I lean over and ask, “May I sit on your face?”
He smiles and says, “If you want.” If there was more I didn’t hear it because I immediately accept the invite. Discovering my metaphorical penis a few weeks back, I’ve waited for a chance to shove it in someone’s mouth for a while now. Knowing this is my only chance makes me brave and before I know it I’m pressing against his soft mouth. I’ve spent enough time underneath people to know a little bit about submissive comfort. I’m most comfortable when I can angle my body in a ways that leaves room for personal style. I only take the lead if they have no oral skills.
Surprised by distinct style, his approach is clearly based on skill. After a minute, he reaches up to grab the back of my thighs to pull my crotch tighter against him. A mixture of suction and pressure searches out my sensitive spots and he listens to my reactions. More aroused than I planned, my arms start to lose tension. Without warning, he leverages out from under me and rotates my hips in one smooth motion. I’m caught off guard splayed beneath his carnal gaze. For a moment he seems to growl and then I feel hard pressure.
Thinking his cock is hard again, I squeal in protest. He stops, confused. “What about a condom?” I ask plaintively. “Don’t need it for this,” he grins and holds up the two fingers he’s using to drive me wild. I giggle in surprise, “Oh my,” and relax as he resumes ministrations. My moans rise into screams when he adds a third digit. Amazed, I’ve never been touched with this level of dexterity. I casually muse on whether he’s half-elf when a crescendo of pleasure erupts. I hear wetness squishing around his pumping hand and realize I’ve squirted all over his fist.
He pulls his fingers out in sucking wet pop. I lay there, amazed. In all of my experience, I’ve never come like that. I’m reluctant to move, in case I’m dreaming. The soft buzz of pleasure vibrates around me. Any movement will certainly break that spell. I can hear him breathing but can’t see anything except the off-white, cracked ceiling. “Wow,” I breathe.
“Yeah,” he assents.
Regaining awareness, I sit up suddenly. Realizing I’m still basically dressed, it’s time to leave – before I can think straight. I look at him, sitting on the end of the bed, “Thanks,” and then I turn to walk away. He doesn’t say anything as I leave the bedroom and gather my jacket. I wonder if there’s more to say but come up empty. I got what I wanted and there’s nothing left for me here. It’s the best exit I can hope for. Walking out the door to the elevator, I briefly wonder if he will follow me. He doesn’t.