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This story includes scenes of graphic sex.
You cannot publish or post this story anywhere else without my permission.
This is based on a true story, although some details changed to protect the not-at-all-innocent.
I’m there now…but I don’t mind waiting. Call me when you’re off the train. No panties.
Well, shit. I should’ve known. I’d just spent eight hours on a bus, followed by an hour on a sweaty train from Midtown to Brooklyn. I’d assumed I could freshen up at the Airbnb I’d rented (sight unseen) but my bus had arrived late, and then of course the subway was terribly confusing. So here I was, dragging my suitcase behind me, still dressed in my work clothes – a rather unexciting pair of summer slacks and a tee shirt. This was not the panties-free outfit I had planned for a sexy rendezvous with my summer fling.
I emerged from the subway and started walking towards the Airbnb, convinced there would be a McDonalds or some such in which I could change despite my 2am arrival. No McDonalds, but I did pass a brightly lit bodega. The door jangled when I walked in.
“Is there a bathroom I could use?” I asked. The fellow at the counter jabbed his thumb towards the back of the store. I squeezed past narrow aisles stacked with brightly colored potato chip bags to a tiny, smelly closet of a bathroom. There wasn’t any room to fully open the suitcase, of course, but I unzipped the top, dug around, and somehow managed to pull out a flirty little summer dress and make the switch. My yoga training was coming in handy (not only did it give me lean muscles and soft curves… but also made it easy for me to squeeze my tight little body into even tighter spaces). I threw my long blonde hair up in a messy bun. It would have to do. No panties, of course.
When I emerged a minute or two later and passed by the cashier he gave my transformation a baffled look. I just shrugged and thanked him as the door jangled shut behind me.
I called Max and told him I’d just stepped off the train (a lie). He told me to walk north. As I walked, I saw a young man turn the corner a block ahead. He had a big black instrument case strung over his shoulder and was wearing tight black pants. I experienced a full-body shudder of recognition. Oh yeah…that was him.
I didn’t call out. I waited until he heard my steps behind him and turned. I smiled and quickened my pace to close the distance between us. “Hi,” I said. “Hi,” he said back.
Kissing him was every bit as incredible as I remembered. He had the softest, most supple, knowledgeable lips. His tongue matched mine thrust for thrust. I pressed my chest up against his and grabbed handfuls of his short, spiky black hair as he reached down to run his hand over my thigh, cupping my bare bottom with the palm of his hand. He murmured approval. My pussy was already soaked and aching for attention.
He pulled away and I followed him down the street. We made small talk about the show tomorrow night, about my bus journey, about the heat of the summer night. Even though it was well past 2am now, there were people out on the street, a bouncy reggae tune in French playing in some nearby backyard party. We found the place, struggled with the wrought iron front door, and climbed up a few flights of stairs. “This is it, I think,” I announced, but as I fumbled for the key, he dropped his case and pressed me up against the wall.
His hand went straight for my bare pussy. His thumb pressed against my clit canlı bahis şirketleri as his fingers slid inside me with ease. I rocked my hips into his skillful manipulations and he swallowed my moans with his mouth. What with eight hours of fevered anticipation on the bus, the walk to the apartment with my pussy bare to the hot summer air, his wet, open mouthed kisses…it took me maybe thirty seconds to come, clutching his shoulders with my fingers, my legs shaking. He pulled his fingers from me and made sure I was watching as he licked each finger clean, one by one. I realized my own lips were parted, eager.
“Let’s go inside,” he said.
I unlocked the door and fumbled for a light switch. We were in a narrow hallway. We stumbled over a stranger’s shoes and our own bags and suitcases. Our hands were still grasping for each other’s bodies. He was kissing my neck as I fumbled for his belt buckle. I fell to my knees, my mouth watering, shoving his pants down around his ankles, finally uncovering that perfect cock.
God, his cock. Months of sexts and ephemeral snapchats were no substitute for the real thing. Perfectly formed, big but not cervix-bruising enormous, deliciously thick, and smooth to the touch with a round, bulging head. His balls were slightly darker, their puckered skin thoughtfully shaven.
I filled my mouth with it, groaning in satisfaction. I grabbed his ass to pull him in deeper. “You wanted that so much, didn’t you,” he growled, more a statement than a question. “You couldn’t wait to get my cock in your mouth.” I grunted assent, gagging slightly as his cock bumped the back of my throat. I wrapped one hand around the base of it and moved it up and down in time with my mouth. “No,” he said. “Just your mouth. Fuck your pussy with your fingers instead.”
I could feel sweat starting to bead between my breasts, under my arms, behind my knees. The air was so still and humid. I pushed my fingers between my legs. He grabbed my hair and shoved himself deeper down my throat. I gagged, but he didn’t let up. I licked and sucked as my eyes watered.
In one of our particularly kinky hours-long sexting conversations, while I was furiously masturbating alone on my bed in small town Pennsylvania, and he was holed up in a bathroom or a tiny hotel room in Barcelona or Berlin or wherever-the-fuck, he had described this. I won’t let you up. I can tell you’re coming by the way I feel you frantically breathing around the base of my cock. That’ll get me excited for sure, as I watch your eyes water as you try to make yourself come before you run out of air. I had been turned on by the fantasy of course, but I hadn’t been sure how I’d feel about the reality.
Max reached down with his other hand and pinched my nose shut. I gurgled and gagged, and came, hard.
I flung myself backwards, gasping for air, wiping away the spit that covered my mouth and face. My whole body shivered and shook. The reality was just as obscenely erotic as the fantasy. I felt alive with pleasure.
Max pulled me to my feet and kissed me, a little softer now. “Should we go in?”
Just through the hallway was a small living room, only enough room for a small table, a few bookshelves, a gray couch. Two windows, one open to the hot summer air, one with an air conditioner. “We should turn on the air conditioner,” I suggested, but the idea was quickly forgotten as Max pulled down the neckline of my dress to uncover my breasts, my hard, eager nipples. He sucked one canlı kaçak iddaa of them into that luscious mouth, laving it with his ardent tongue. My nipples are one of the most sensitive parts of my body and Max knew exactly what to do with them. He thumbed the other nipple, rubbing back and forth until I felt mindless with need. “Fuck,” I gasped. I fell back onto the couch as he pulled my dress over my head, discarding it on the floor.
I watched as he knelt down to unlace his shoes. He watched me watching. “Spread your legs,” he said. “Let me see your wet little pussy.” I did as he asked. I felt the sweat of my thighs, the wetness of my pussy seeping into the absorbent grey material. Max couldn’t wait. He grabbed my legs and pulled me to the edge of the couch. He thumbed my clit. He pushed the head of his bulging cock right up against my needy pussy. He rubbed it up and down my pussy lips, making me writhe. “Fuck me,” I gasped. “Please, fuck me!”
He pushed into me in one hard thrust. Our moans were in unison. His big hands clutched my thighs as our hips thrust urgently together. I felt sweat drip from his brow onto my chest. I fell back onto my elbows, giving me more leverage to fuck him. I heard the squelching noises of our wet bodies. “Oh my god, you feel so incredible,” I moaned. “Your big hard cock inside me.” I knew how it turned him on, those dirty words coming out of my soft little mouth, my blonde haired, blue eyed innocent face. It turned me on to say them. I contracted my pelvic muscles, smiled in satisfaction as he groaned in response.
He pulled away then and stood up. It appeared that he was finally going to take off his shoes and pants. I launched myself off the couch and onto my knees, eager to fill my mouth with his cock again. As he yanked off his belt, I paused and leaned back. “What are you going to do with that?” I asked, coyly.
I had pictured him binding my hands behind my back, but instead, after a moment’s thought, he looped it around my neck, handing me the free end. “Pull.” I was surprised at my lack of hesitation. I pulled.
Again he yanked my hair forward, which was starting to clump together in a wet, sweaty mess at the nape of my neck, to pull his cock deep into my throat. I gagged. “Pull.” I pulled on the belt. Saliva was dripping down my chin, down the balls I cupped in my free hand. “Pull.” I pulled again. I held out as long as I could before dropping the belt and drawing back, dragging air through my sore throat into my needy lungs. He picked me up, deposited me on all fours on the couch, and was buried inside me before I could say a word. Again my whole body thrummed with pleasure.
Now that I had a moment to think, to breathe, I become aware of the open window, which looked out onto a public courtyard. I became aware of the slap-slap-slap of our wet bodies slamming together, of my loud cries. Of the steady stream of sweat dripping from him onto my backside. I started to say “maybe we should close the window and put the air conditioner on” but now he was rubbing my clit again and I was coming hard on his cock, and I didn’t fucking care any more.
When he came he pressed his whole body into mine, pushing me into the couch, creating a me-shaped sweat stain on the fabric. When he came I felt his body shake and shudder and him bury his face in my shoulder. When he came, I felt more satiated than I’d felt in months.
We lay there for a moment. My arms and legs were shaky from bracing myself against the canlı kaçak bahis couch, and when I stood up I felt a bit feeble and vulnerable. “Let’s take a shower,” he suggested, and then, with a rueful smile, “and maybe we should turn the air conditioner on.”
Fifteen minutes later we were lying on cool cotton sheets. We’d finally made it to the bedroom, where the air conditioner was pumping cool air over our clean, bare skin. It was glorious. I was idly playing with his balls, gently running my nails over them. He was running his hand through my damp hair.
“I’m not going to set an alarm,” he decided. Then he added, “You realize tomorrow’s the first time we’ll get to sleep in together?”
“Are you kidding me?” I scoffed. “Tomorrow’s the first time we’ll spend daylight hours together. Unless you count me driving you back to your hotel in the morning.” He chuckled.
We’d met last summer, at a concert. It was in a dark dive of a hipster bar, and I had squeezed my way up to the front of the crowd with my short skirt and my can of PBR, dragging a sexy friend behind me. I knew all the words to the songs. I was an obvious groupie and an easy target, and I assumed that’s why a few members of the band – including Max – had hopped down to chat with us afterwards.
A delirious, decadent booze filled night had ensued. Max gave me a piggy back ride down a steep, deserted street. He kissed me in a smoky bar playing 90s tunes. He fucked me in my little room in the crumbling old Victorian I shared with three other people. We were both baffled and delighted by our sexual chemistry. We shared fantasies and secrets. I let him come on my face and afterwards he rolled away, full of boyish unabashed glee, gasping “oh my god, that was so hot. You’re so hot!” He was so simultaneously adorable and sexy I couldn’t stand it. We fucked for hours and hours. Slept for maybe one. Fucked again. I found myself begging for his cock. I was consumed with the desire to please and be pleased by him.
With his mouth and tongue, and his fingers plunging in and out of my ass and my pussy, this man I’d known for half a day gave me the most incredible orgasm of my life, one that went on and on and left me on the verge of tears from the intensity of it.
I drove him to his hotel in the morning. “We should get together again,” he had suggested as we kissed goodbye. That’s sweet, I thought. The chances of him actually texting me? Slim to none.
But he did. Often. You up? He’d ask. I’m bored and horny in a French hotel room. Thinking about burying my tongue into your hot pussy. We would tease each other mercilessly. Send increasingly raunchy videos and photos. Send me a photo of you on your back with your ass towards me, your ankles crossed up in the air, he’d suggest with remarkable specificity. (That photo was a lot sexier than I’d expected – my soft little pussy lips all exposed.) I want to see that buzzing cock ring you told me about in action, I demanded. His cock all veined and pulsing made me lick my lips in eagerness.
Sometimes he sent me other photos too – of his travels, of the band, of the crowds. We’d compare notes on our new favorite artists. We’d talk about family and friends. When we had the chance, we’d meet – I would drive to Philadelphia, to Pittsburgh, to Washington, DC – to see a show, to suck his cock in an empty classroom, to come on his fingers in a stairwell, to fuck him for hours in an Airbnb. And every time I’d think, This is just an odd summer fling that for some reason, hasn’t ended yet.
And yet here I was, a year later, on a sticky summer night in NYC…lying in bed with him, discussing what to eat for breakfast the next day.
I guess this summer fling isn’t ending any time soon.
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