I sit in the bar, waiting. It’s dark. The piano player is in his cups. My phone vibrates with your text: “I’m at the airport. Be there shortly.”
I told you what to wear (a tiny black dress, heels, thigh-highs, black boyshorts, strapless bra, a choker and diamond earrings). I bought your plane ticket. And now, I am waiting.
The distance from the airport to the bar seems infinite to both of us. We send each other filthy texts. My cock makes moving from my seat inadvisable.
As your cab nears the bar, I text you: walk straight to the bathroom when you arrive. I want to see your ass.
Finally, finally, you walk in. And right past me, without even meeting my gaze. You walk to the bathroom. My neck cranes to follow your magnificent ass as it passes me.
An eon passes. You emerge, a smile lifting one corner of your mouth. You sit next to me, peck my cheek, and stick a balled hand into my pocket as the other reaches down and squeezes my hard cock. Hard.
The hand in my pocket opens, and emerges. I feel a ball remaining in my pocket and I know what it is. The thought of your dripping panties, smelling of your cunt, so close to my cock drives me mad.
I slide a hand under the table, up your thigh, into your cunt. You’re slick, and ready. You slide forward, onto my hand. Neither of us seems able to maintain particularly good posture.
The waiter arrives. We shimmy up in our seats. I’m sure he can smell my hand, that he can see your wetness on it, as I rest it on the table. “Check please,” I say.
My original plan had been to drink a few drinks, tease one another a bit, before retiring.
But fuck that.
We’re going now.
We walk the two long blocks, you just a few steps in front of me the whole way, so I can watch your ass sway. As we approach our destination, you drop your keys. You make an ornate show of bending down to retrieve them – a process which seems to take a minute or two – and then, into the building.
Into the elevator, where I press up against you and once again, my hand is deep in your cunt. We’re lucky we’re headed to a high floor. Your mouth tastes of whiskey – so does mine.
The door opens – my hand slides out of your cunt as you pull your dress down over your hips. Again, you walk in front of me, leading the way. In we go.
The moment the door is closed, I turn you around and throw you back on the bed. You squeal just a little in surprise. Well, not exactly surprise.
I tie a blindfold around your eyes, being careful not to catch your long hair. I tie your wrists together behind your back. You’re not perfectly restrained, but you don’t particularly want to escape.
“Wait here,” I say.
The music switches on, Delta blues.
You can’t hear me.
Did I go to the bathroom? Am I getting undressed?
A song finishes. You’re getting impatient. You were ready; now, you’re just a little peeved.
The music stops. What the fuck?
And then you hear the “smack,” and feel the sting on your ass. What was that?
Again, another smack, another sting, this one deeper, with more of an after-burn.
You wait for the next one but it doesn’t come. Instead, you feel my hand gently caressing the rising welts. My tongue runs along the ridge of a red line on your ass. It drags down your thigh, toward your cunt, but stopping far short.
And then another stinging smack.
“OW!” you say.
And as you say it, my hand plunges once more into your cunt, deep, hard. You press against my hand, craving the pressure against you, in you.
I pull my hand out, and am gone again. It’s still, silent.
You think you sense me moving near your face, when you feel your head yanked back by your hair, turned to the side. You feel my cock hard against your lips as you breathe hard, straining just a little for oxygen. You open your mouth to take me in, and I fuck your face – hard, pulling you against me, my cock deep into your mouth, by your hair.
You can’t breathe, you gasp. You force your head back to let you get some air but I’m pushing forward into you. Your neck aches – this isn’t a good angle. Your lower back hurts – you’re arching up. You want to ask me to stop, but your mouth is too full of cock.
And then, as suddenly as it started, it stops.
My cock slides out of your mouth; my hand drops your head on the bed.
A minute passes. Another one. The music starts again, just where it left off.
What’s next, you wonder?