Oct 132016
 

There’s an app called “Breather.”

They market themselves as providing “meeting rooms on demand.” If you download the app, you can find rooms by the hour near you.

The reservation function is not what it might be – it’s a little hard to figure out what’s free, what’s booked, and to get a general overview of availability. But… they do make nice rooms available on an hourly basis. Something that occasionally can come in handy.

The other day, Tamora and I shared our first experience of Breather. Tamora has often canceled dates at the last minute or otherwise flaked on me. She’s assured me she’s not ambivalent, that she’s “skittish.” I’m not sure what the difference is. All I know is that I’m no longer prepared to risk money on the bet that she’ll show up. No matter how good her mouth feels on my cock.

So on this particular occasion, we agreed that, in order to assuage my skittishness about her skittishness, she would book the room. At the appointed time, she had managed to overcome her skittishness, and she and I met. We had some business to attend to: in the course of the lead-up to the date, I had made a bad misstep, making a joke about posting her name on this blog if she failed to show up. (She knows my name, too. And even in the joke itself, I said that I would only do so with her permission. But never mind that….) The joke had landed flat, and had nearly put the kibosh on yet another date. She and I have planned a dozen dates, and had only three or four.

Thank God, she overcame her rufflement at the joke. We sat and talked for ten minutes. She expressed her unhappiness about my having made the joke. I expressed my regret at having made it. I told her I needed her mouth on my cock. She told me she needed the same. And she kneeled before me, lowered my pants, and took my cock into her mouth for the better part of the next two hours.

There were breaks: she read Breather’s terms and conditions to see if we were in violation of them. (It seemed not, unless they deemed what we were doing “inappropriate.”) We moved her from her knees on the floor to her knees on the long couch, as I swung around to my left. And we chatted a little. Mostly, about the lack of shades on the windows and the utter visibility of our tryst to hundreds of people in adjacent offices, and thousands walking by (we were on the second floor, very nearly at street level).

Tamora’s not submissive, so I didn’t tell her to bend over so I could fuck her from behind, or to lower her cunt onto my mouth so I could lick her clit. Instead, I asked her about her preferences, told her I was torn, that I wanted all of those things, and that I was perfectly content to have nothing other than her mouth on my cock. 

On that day, all she wanted was to suck my cock. 

Fine with me. No complaints here. Her mouth is soft, her tongue adept. And so it was. 

She explained that for her, cock sucking is all about the sensation. My pleasure is irrelevant to her. She just likes the feeling of (my?) cock on her tongue, her lips, in her mouth. 

No problem. I like that feeling, too. As our time wound down, I filled her mouth with my cum, bucking and thrusting, holding her head down forcefully.

Because she’s not a sub, she wouldn’t write on the whiteboard thoughtfully provided for us. But I did.

Before the day saw out, she wrote me, “I need you to lick me sometime soon, please.”

I like Tamora.

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