You read part 1 of my evening, which ended with us arriving in a beautiful, historical, bar.
Much of the 45 minutes or so we spent in this beautiful and yet dive-y bar consisted of me trying to communicate with the driver of the car with Charlotte‘s phone in the back seat. She was more relaxed than I about the missing phone: “I know where it is. I’ll get it back,” she said. True enough, but still: in a similar situation I would feel quite vulnerable. Let alone that she was in a strange bar in a strange neighborhood with a strange man. I was more sensitive to all this than she seemed to be.
After a bit, I told her I wanted to smell her pussy, that I wanted her to excuse herself, and come back with her finger conveying her scent to me. Readers know I do this often. Sometimes, sending my date to the bathroom. Sometimes asking her to accomplish the conveyance right there, at the table.
Charlotte was abashed. “I really need a shower!” But I was undeterred. Moments later, she presented me a musky, salty, sweet-smelling finger. And moments after that, she said, “Ok. Get a hotel.”
I booked a hotel a 6-minute drive from the bar. When the driver returned Charlotte’s phone, I asked him to take us the short distance. I instructed Charlotte to come, again, before we arrived. She repeated her performance as we traveled the desolate streets, her head, again, lolling back, her eyes shut, her mouth agape, in silence. And we arrived.
I had her sit in the very basic hotel’s very basic lobby/lounge area, furnished with chairs and sofas that might have been made by blind people. (Nothing against that furniture – it’s just a type. And this was that type.) We took the elevator to 5, turned left, rounded a corner, and entered room 515 (I think). I kissed Charlotte, hard, for the first time. This was, honestly, the moment I knew for sure that we were going to have some serious fun.
Charlotte asked me if she could have the shower she had said she needed. “Sure,” I said, and lay myself down on the bed, stroking my cock, as I waited for her. And waited for her. And waited for her. Her shower was sufficiently long that I concluded (I think correctly) that she still was struggling with at least a little ambivalence.
When she finally emerged from the shower, wrapped in a towel, looking good enough to eat – and squeaky clean – I asked her to lay down on the bed, next to me.
We kissed. I spanked her temptingly-larger-than-her-frame-might-suggest ass once or twice. I laid her down on the bed and kissed her again.
(The next day, she said, “I was surprised you wanted to kiss me!” Huh? Did she think I related to her like a prostitute relates to a john?)
So I kissed her. Her mouth opened wide. Our tongues circled each other. And I began to travel down.
As I traced my mouth, my lips, my tongue, down her body, toward her cunt, much faster than I should have (but MUCH slower than I wanted, than I needed), her body began to give some hints of the responsiveness I was about to discover. She quivered a little, moaned a little, and then, when I nibbled the inside of her thigh, when I brushed my tongue ever so lightly across her clit, she let out a huge sigh of… relief? Gratitude?
It didn’t take long – and nothing more than my tongue – to elicit her first (third) orgasm. This time, she was LOUD. Were there neighbors? I’m pretty sure not, because over the next two hours she came I can’t count how many times. For the second (fourth) orgasm, I inserted a finger, and then two, in her pussy, pressing them up against its roof, thrusting them deep within. The deep thrusts reverberated deep in her throat, as vibrations seemed to travel up her body and out her mouth, converted to sound, to sighs, to moans. For the next orgasm, my thumb found her ass. And after that, it was a symphony of digits, orifices, and varied sensations.
I have no idea how many times Charlotte came. After ten or so, she started pleading. “Fuck me. Please. Fuck me.”
For the time being, I ignored her. I was hungry, like a beggar at a banquet, devouring her like she was my first meal in weeks, like she would be my last for weeks. Half a dozen times she said, “I need a break.” I ignored her. We had agreed the only word I had to interpret as “stop” was red. So I kept going. And kept going.
After some time, after maybe ten orgasms, she finally said, softly, but insistently, “Red.”
I lifted my head to hers, kissed her, and said, when you’re ready? I need you to suck my cock. We chatted, caressed, for a few minutes.
In no time, she was sucking my cock expertly, but as hard as it had been while I was going down on her, my erection inexplicably vanished. Shit happens, I know, but I was BUMMING. Bumming because I wanted the sensation of her warm, moist, welcoming, talented mouth on my fully erect, aching cock. And bumming because my cock was sending a very different message than the one I wanted it to send, than my (conscious) feelings warranted.
“Spin around,” I said. “Put your pussy in my face again.”
As we devoured one another simultaneously, as I collected orgasm after orgasm from her in a seemingly unending stream, my cock returned to its previous, really fucking hard, state – in Charlotte’s exceedingly welcoming mouth. She paused. “FUCK ME!” she pleaded, this time, in a way I honestly couldn’t resist. I turned her around and had her sit on my cock. We began to fuck. She leaned back, facing me, as I rubbed her clit with my thumb, my cock sliding in and out of her cunt. And…. I lost it. My erection vanished once again. I flipped her over, and resumed feasting on her. Orgasm after orgasm. And, though she previously had told me two fingers was her limit, at a certain point, I felt the need to tell her, “Um, you know I have three fingers in you.” And then, “I have four fingers in you.” And then, surprisingly to both of us – “I have all five fingers in you.” And I did. It wasn’t my full fist, but I definitely had all five fingers in her cunt, and it definitely felt surprisingly good to her.
There was more fucking – Charlotte wanted me on top of her, to pound away at her – and I did that, briefly, but again, my cock wasn’t cooperating. So, more orgasms were what was called for, and I took them from her. “You know that I have pretty much perfect control over when I come, don’t you?” I asked. “You read that?”
“No!” she said.
She asked me where I wanted to come. Or maybe I told her. I don’t remember. But I gave her the choice, I think, between in her pussy and in her mouth, and she chose her mouth. Which was delightful. She sucked my cock some more, and, finally, several hours after we had started, I contributed one orgasm to the panoply of orgasms that had filled the evening.
Did she come twenty times? I think, probably, yes. Thirty? Possibly? I’m not sure.
Here’s what I can say with certainty, though: Charlotte is the best fucking thing since sliced bread, and I am nowhere near finished with her. Which is good, because my sources tell me that she’s nowhere near finished with me, either.
Postscript: Without going into details, Charlotte found herself having to leave town for a bit the day following our date. It hadn’t been planned, and, in a strange way, it had not a little to do with our date itself. I’m sad, because it means that we won’t be able to get as much of each other as we both, it seems, want. On the plus side… Charlotte has agreed only to come on her own with my permission. And here is the first delicious orgasm I asked her to have for me. It’s ALL breath…. And insanely hot.