I had an unexpectedly fun time with Saya tonight. I mean, I knew hoped it would be fun, but I didn’t anticipate how much fun.
It began with a drink at a dark red, sexy speakeasy that I like. After a couple of drinks for me and halfway through her first, we headed upstairs to the slightly less dark, but equally red steakhouse above. I had steak. Saya had salmon. For dessert, she had a key lime pie. I had a capuccino.
This romp was a trade. Saya is transactional with sex. Money, alas, is not the currency with which I pay. I pay with words and with fun. Somewhat to my surprise, this was a trade that appealed to Saya. When I offered advice in exchange for cocksucking, she accepted more quickly, more readily than I anticipated.
She wore a slinky white bodycon dress that showed off her curves magnificently. I’m always surprised by how tall Saya is. I say always. We’ve met three times. Each time, I’ve been surprised.
Before we left the restaurant, I needed Saya’s panties. Right here at the table?!??
No. You can go to the bathroom.
Moments later she emerged, and handed me a pair of purple and black panties that matched nicely the bra I could see under her dress when she leaned forward.
We walked three blocks to the hotel and checked in, riding up in the elevator with another no-doubt curious guest.
We entered the hotel room. We kissed briefly. I washed my hands and lay down on the bed. Take my shoes off, please, I said.
I like these shoes, Saya said. I think I’ll keep them.
You’ll keep them? I asked, surprised. She seemed surprised that she had spoken those words aloud, that I had heard her thought.
I stroked my cock through my pants, idly, and asked her to take over for me. She climbed on the bed, knelt between my legs, and stroked my very hard cock. I said something about how hard it was. We talked about arousal, tumescence, and wetness, and the relationship between them. I foretold my likely lack of tumescence when fucking.
Saya removed my pants and my boxers, and I unbuttoned my shirt. It looks really big, she said.
My cock is not big.
Well. It looks big.
I grabbed a fistful of her newly straightened, lustrous, black, long hair and pushed her head down on my cock. The last time Saya went down on me, there were six other women in the room. This was a whole different thing. Feeling her tongue on my frenulum, her hands cupping my balls, and her mouth going up and down—I was in ecstasy.
As she sucked my cock, she stroked it, gazed at it. This would feel so good in me. Why don’t you like fucking?!?
A conversation ensued. It’s not that I don’t like it. It’s that, as hard as my cock is now, as hard as it will stay, when I fuck, it just typically wilts after a bit.
Why?
I don’t know. It probably has something to do with my relationship with my mother, I said, as I pushed her head back down on me.
After a bit, I guided her. Don’t suck so much. Lick a bit, I said. She asked if I wanted her to lick my balls, and I said, yes, please, but don’t suck them.
I suggested she take a break and laid her down next to me. We kissed a bit. I felt her delicious B-cup breasts through her dress, and kissed my way down. I didn’t wait too long before I pressed my tongue against her clit, slid a finger, and then two into her pussy. Pressed my palm down against her pubis. Traded the pubis-pressing for a thumb in her ass.
She was wet and delicious. I was in ecstasy. She was wet and delicious. I guess, probably aroused. 😉 Her first orgasm was shuddering, powerful. Her thighs clamped my ears. I could hear nothing. When she finally made me stop, she praised me, saying things like, no one’s ever made me come like that before.
I love hearing those words, whether they’re true or not.
I’m always amused when people say I’m really good at giving head. My experience of going down on a woman is that it’s always a brand new thing. Every woman is different. If I’m good at performing oral sex, it’s not because of some technique or skill. It’s because of my intuitive reading of a woman’s body. The moves I deployed on Saya, the pressure, the speed, was completely different from what I might do with Serena or Charlotte or Milica or anyone else. I appreciate the appreciation, but I think it’s slightly misplaced. I don’t think I’m that good. I think I’m simply a good listener.
The sex wasn’t rough. It was tender. Characteristically, although there was fucking, it was brief. Saya rode me for two or three or five minutes before my cock slipped out. But the fucking was bracketed by lots and lots of oral.
She sucked my cock some more, and I went and fetched my rope and vibrator. I bent her knees, wrapped the rope around her thighs and calves. I tied her wrists together and affixed them to the headboard. I ran rope from her legs to the headboard as well. She wasn’t spread-eagled, but her range of motion was severely limited.
I began with the vibrator, which, after not too long, she asked me to remove. It’s too much, she said. I lowered my head back down between her pretty thighs.
After a stretch during which it seemed maybe our neighbors knocked on our door and asked us to be more quiet, and Saya had what may or may not have been a rolling three- or four-minute orgasm, I untied her.
Are those shibari knots? she asked me.
The knots were pretty, but no. And when the time came to untie them, the fact that they were not shibari knots became manifestly evident. Shibari knots are easy to untie. They’re elegantly fastened, strong, and simple, even when complex. My knots are somewhat clumsy. They’re not beautiful, and they don’t untie easily. But untie her I did.
And once again, I had her lower her head between my thighs, where I kept it until I filled her mouth with my cum.
Saya is fucking gorgeous, and she knows it. She’s pretty. She’s funny. And she’s fun.
And, she tastes awesome.
