Eating well

I met Charlotte for a delicious sushi meal – one of the best sushi restaurants I’ve ever been to. Not the best – my favorite sushi restaurant is directly across the street from my office, costs a gazillion dollars per omakase plate, and is impossible to get reservations at. I try, routinely, and whenever I succeed, I go.

Charlotte was in the red dress (the Hedy Red Satin Corset Dress, from Miss Circle) she had gotten in hopes of wearing it to the sex party we didn’t go to a month or three ago.

She had been excited to wear the dress – so much so that she’d worn it to work that day – an improbable outfit for her usually casual workplace.

It’s (not) hard to imagine what her coworkers must have thought – Charlotte, always smoking hot, was especially so in this dress. Her breasts were nearly visible in it (“It’s made for much bigger boobs than mine!” she said), and her curves strained, temptingly, torturing-ly, at the fabric.

When I walked into the restaurant, she was glowing red at the table closest to the front door. The waiter took my coat, my hat, my bag, I kissed her hello, and sat down to join her.

“You look good enough to eat!” I said. And she did. (I should say, the taste of my cum wasn’t quite fresh in her mouth at this point, but the aftertaste may well have still been around from her previous, hour-long, sucking of my cock.)

We had a long, leisurely meal, one course after another. Her favorites were the scallop and the toro; mine, the eel and the uni. We each had some extras after the whole thing was done. And, we talked about the strangely asexual but incredibly hot Chinese couple sitting next to us. I taught Charlotte to speak Ubbi Dubbi – or at least the slightly bastardized version I speak – so we could talk about them. And, we negotiated orgasms.

Charlotte owed me a lot. The evening devoted to me hadn’t gone as planned. She had stopped early, not feeling so good. And I had told her that I was going to be rationing her orgasms pretty tightly til that situation had been resolved. Frustratingly, Charlotte seemed (and still seems) not particularly interested in remedying that situation.

I had offered her one orgasm in exchange for a video for Athena – something she had delivered earlier in the day, to quite remarkable effect. In the video, Charlotte held the phone at arm’s length, focused on her very pretty face, as, with her other hand, she made herself come. In that remarkable red dress. As she whimpered in ecstasy, the phone never left her face, her eyes barely drifted from the camera. And, after coming, she said, “Athena – come join us.”

It was, um, quite a thing. “Are you really gonna share that with Athena?” she asked, right after pressing “send.”

“Yes!” I said. “Unless you don’t want me to.”

“No,” she said. “I was just curious.”

Sharing it with Athena was challenging. I couldn’t figure out how to get the video into Snapchat – our go-to medium. Or e-mail – it was too big. I could’ve uploaded it to Google Drive and shared a link, I suppose, but instead, I posted it on the blog. In a secret post. Which I’ve since taken down, because I don’t want hackers finding it! And if they knew it was there? They would devote considerable computing firepower to the task.

Athena replied, almost instantly (or rather, one minute after receiving the one-minute video):

Oh my
First of allllll
She is cute and pretty and beautiful and sexyyyy
I’m intrigued [emoji of face with magnifying glass]
Thanks for the video charchar [heart emoji] I loved every second of it
I wanna meet herrrr

So. With that, Charlotte had earned one orgasm.

As we sat, as we ate, we discussed Charlotte’s (or “Charchar’s,” as Athena styled her) current roster of men. There are six or seven. Including one whose cock is too big, and another who wants her in a threesome with his primary partner – to whom Charchar isn’t all that attracted. Charlotte previously had discussed her anxiety and her roster with her good friend, B, and together, they had agreed that she would remove two – J and C – from that roster. But Charlotte, junkie that she is, wasn’t prepared to remove either of them without seeing them each one last time. Even C with the painfully big cock.

I said to her, “If you end it with one of them right now, that’s an orgasm. If you end it with both, that’s two orgasms – plus five bonus orgasms.”

“Right now?” Charlotte said.

“Whenever you like!” I said. I’m just telling you that that’s the price of those seven orgasms.

She had plans with C that upcoming Friday. “I could make plans with B [the aforementioned good friend] Friday night….” said Charlotte. And she did, by text, right then.

We finished our meal, walked out on the street, and began walking to the hotel – a seven-minute-or-so walk. As we walked, Charlotte made up her mind. She wanted the orgasms. She sent the texts.

[Ed. note: this was not me trying to control Charlotte, trying to protect against my jealousy by removing men from her roster. This was me trying to protect Charlotte from her manic desire never to say goodbye to a man, to hang onto the hope that a man might become better than he is. “Why would you have sex with someone you know is going to hurt you with his penis in a way you don’t like, when you equally easily could have sex with someone whom either you know won’t hurt you that way or, even, with someone about whom that’s not yet something you know. I wasn’t trying to limit her sex. Or her partners. I was trying to get her to follow through on a decision she had made days before but was, addict-like, stalling on.]

[Ed. note 2: B ended up canceling on Charlotte at the last minute for those Friday plans, leaving Charlotte feeling – at least for an hour or three – furious with me, for having fucked up her Friday plans (“I’m not going to follow your advice for a long time,” she texted me. She was angry. And not a little desperate. It wasn’t nice. For her. For me.]

So we checked in to the hotel. There was a strange little vertical pencil-sharpener/vaporizer thing sitting on the counter. We played with it a bit, speculating on what it was: the vapor only seemed to come out when we waved our hands over it. Finally, I got it: “It’s sanitizer!” The good-looking, burly guy behind the counter smiled. “I was enjoying watching you guys!” he said.

Up to the room we went. A few seconds after entering, I smacked Charlotte hard, across the face. (Not something I’ve done with a lot of women. Not something I have wanted to do with a lot of women. But it’s fun to smack Charlotte around a bit. And she likes it. So….)

On our way to the hotel, I had told her that I wanted to see her legs tied up in such a way that her ankles were in the air. And this hotel, I knew, has the most excellent beds for this purpose: not a four-poster, alas, but the headboard, at least, has a little slot for rope to pass through that allows all sorts of mischief. After kissing Charlotte a bit, after choking her, pressing her head against the cold window, hard, I tossed her on the bed. Her dress came off. I had her rotate herself, so she was splayed with her head at the top, her feet at the bottom. And I got out my rope.

In round 1, with Charlotte’s hands and legs tied to the headboard, her tights still on, I started on her cunt with the wand. But Charlotte was complaining, soon. “It hurts!” she said. “Like in a way that doesn’t let me enjoy myself!” I loosened the bonds a bit, but the problem persisted. There was another problem in her mind: I hadn’t tied her legs symmetrically – the right leg was at a slightly different angle than the right. This was an aesthetic problem; not a physical one. I wasn’t too troubled by that, and I wasn’t inclined to indulge her. The pain thing, though, mattered. I don’t mind hurting Charlotte, but I want the hurt to be hot, and she was communicating clearly that this hurt wasn’t hot.

So down came her legs.

I wasn’t ready to give Charlotte her first orgasm. I wanted her to wait. To wait. To wait. And, maybe, to beg….

It didn’t take long before she was begging, before her legs were quivering, shaking. I brought her closer and closer – first with the wand, and then, after I yanked off her tights (though truthfully it was a little less graceful than “yanking” because of the rope), with my tongue, and with my fingers. Her thighs were shaking on my ears, she was begging, and, finally, I let her have orgasm #1. It. Was. Powerful.

Six of the remaining seven came in something like rapid succession, though I reserved one for after I had come. To which we now turned our attention. First, I fucked Charlotte’s face in the position you see above. Then, after untying her completely, I had her feast on my cock at some length. And, I spanked her a bit. She wanted me to bruise her, but only a little. We ascertained that blows rained down from above on a lying-down ass reverberate painfully through the body in a way in which downward blows from above when standing don’t.

My birthday passed a couple of weeks ago, and Charlotte thought about getting me a Fleshlight modeled on the sensations of her mouth, if such a thing were possible. Um. Best. Gift. Ever?

Charlotte’s cock-sucking continues to improve. She started off great, and she has been using me as a laboratory for the development of her skills. On this particular evening, she sucked my balls – something she hadn’t done before. “SOFTER!” I said, a couple of times. My balls are really sensitive, and while it felt tremendous when she was as gentle as possible, the moment she was anything more than that, there was no pleasure to be had. So she adjusted. And it felt awesome.

She is a little squicked out by men’s assholes. She likes having her ass eaten, having a finger in her ass, but she’s not (yet) ready to try those things on me. No worries. She will. Soon enough.

She also doesn’t want to tie me up. At one point in the evening I mentioned that possibility. I fucking love being tied up by someone who is devoted to pleasing me. But she isn’t there, either. Yet.

Eventually, at some length, I refreshed Charlotte’s memory of the taste of my cum. In abundance. And I took that last orgasm from her with my tongue and my fingers.

We climbed under the covers, she snuggled up under my arm, and we chit-chatted and snuggled. “Do you like snuggling?” she asked.

“I do and I don’t,” I said. “I really can’t sleep that way, but I like it a little now, for example….”

We lay there in silence. Charlotte drifted off. I did too a couple of times, each time waking myself with one of those sleep shudders. Finally, I tapped her alabaster cheek softly: “I’m going to leave,” I whispered. “Don’t forget your vibrator!” I said. [She had lost her vibrator in a hotel room on a previous date.] She picked up the vibrator and tossed it onto the pile of clothes at the desk.

I kissed her good-bye, and left. Yet another fun fucking night!

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