Hope springs eternal

“I am so wet.”

Hope texted this to me about two hours before we were to meet.

“An excellent way to be,” I replied. “Show me your mouth, please.” I followed with the address of the hotel at which we would meet.

Moments later, she sent her lips. Glossy. With lipstick. Carefully, delicately applied. Her lips are full. They were unsmiling, but with just a hint of… hunger.

“Good girl,” I replied, and told her the time at which I expected her presence.

“Yes, N.”

I had asked her to wear jeans and a t-shirt. I had in mind a wordless servicing. “May I see your cunt in your jeans?” I asked.

Three times, it seems, because Kik sucks sometimes.

She replied, her cunt in her jeans. Delicious. It made me hungry for her. It made me wonder if I would stick with my original intent to be serviced, not to taste her.

“Yummy. Thank you. My cock is hard,” I wrote.

“I’ve been aching all morning,” she responded.

As the time approached, I was a few minutes late. The subway didn’t cooperate. I got a room key. I walked to the elevator, and could see Hope, sitting in the sun, drinking a beer (her “second favorite thing to do,” she said). She couldn’t see me. Her back was to me. I went up to the room, intending to situate myself, and then to ask her to join me, but on my way, I established that she needed a key to work the elevator. “I’ll momentarily deposit a key next to you to enable you to reach me… No words please.”

I went downstairs, and fetched a second key. I deposited the key next to her – her blonde hair glistening in the sun, the t-shirt stretched taut across her back, her legs crossed. She didn’t see me approach, and she barely saw me leave.

I went back to the room, lay on the bed, and stroked my cock. It was hard. It had been hard all morning.

I texted her the room number. “Please come,” I said.

She entered the room. Her hair was lustrous, in a bun atop her head, two chopsticks holding it in place. The first time she had sucked my cock, I had removed the chopsticks and grabbed her hair. Today, I would leave the chopsticks in. Her breasts – full, round – strained against her (very soft) t-shirt. I ached to see them strain against it unintermediated by her bra.

“Kneel in front of the mirror,” I instructed her. I reached down, and started to remove her bra. She tried to help, lifting her t-shirt off, but I didn’t want the t-shirt off. “Keep the shirt on, please.” She finished the task of removing the bra, and I got what I wanted – her nipples, hard, poking through the soft, worn fabric. I grabbed her right breast, hard, and pinched the nipple.

I took a step back. Unbuttoned my trousers. Unzipped the fly. Pulled out my cock. And slid it between the perfectly painted lips she had sent me just two hours earlier.

She sucked, slobbered, licked, for about ten minutes, on her knees, as I fucked her (very, very pretty) face.

Because, at the end of the day, I’m a nice guy, and I felt for her knees, I moved myself to the bed, and instructed her to continue sucking my cock there. I set the timer on my phone for an hour, and told her she would suck my cock until the timer went off. And she did. Expertly. Hungrily. Devotedly. Obediently.

Several times, I pressed a foot up against her cunt, through her jeans. She touched herself a bit. “Do you want my permission to touch your pussy?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Please touch your pussy for me,” I responded.

After a bit, she pulled her hand away.

“Would you like permission to stop touching your pussy?”

She shook her head “no.”

“Then please continue.”

She touched her pussy some more. She sucked some more. I remembered that, once again, I’d failed to bring the panties I had taken from her on our first date.

I had her stop sucking, and lick. I had her play with my balls. I had her stop touching her pussy. I pressed against it with my leg some more.

Throughout, I imagined tasting her delicious cunt. I imagined asking her to stand next to me for a moment, so I could dip a hand into her panties. I imagined throwing her back on the bed, taking her jeans off, and devouring her. Her thighs are muscular, and the thought of them pressing against my ears is delicious.

In the end, though, I took from her what I had wanted: an hour of devotion to my painfully hard cock.

The timer went off, and I filled her mouth with my cum. I held her head down on me until the last wave of orgasm had washed over me, until I was ready for my cock to emerge into the cold air.

She stood up, fixed her hair, put her bra on. She kissed me, hard. And she walked out.

I tried to read her mood in her departure. Was she contented? Proud? Ashamed? Guilty? Ambivalent? Regretful? Aroused?

I couldn’t tell.

While she was still in the elevator, I texted her: “Thank you. That was exceedingly hot. I want you to make yourself come as soon as you can. And to tell me right before, and right after.”

“Yes, N,” she replied.

“You are a delightful toy,” I told her.

Less than half an hour later, I received, “I’m about to come.”

And two minutes after that, “Just came.”

“Excellent,” I told her. “Thank you. I like very much what just happened…. It made my cock hard for days in advance, and will do so for days to come. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she told me.

“I like being welcome,” I said. “I want more.”

“I’d like to give you more,” she replied.

And she will….

(In fact, she already did. I asked her for a photo for this post, and she suggested this one – an excellent choice. And, I asked her to come for me. For you. And she did. Here. YUM.)

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