the life and musings of a kinky slut

The First Time

The first time we fucked was on the night after I got back into town. An opportune text message, and myself coincidentally nearby, had me turning my car around and heading his way.

I didn’t go to his place with the intention of having sex. Upon my arrival, he offered me a drink. I had a cider or two. He drank a beer. And then there was pleasing, yet blunt, conversation.

G: What is it?
Me: No, I shouldn’t.
G: Come on. You only live once.
Me: Every time I’m in a room with you, I am constantly thinking about fucking you.
G: Constantly?
Me: It’s always at least in the back of my thoughts.

I pivoted the topic. Pulled out my phone, showed him pictures of my school friends, an excuse to sit closer to him.

G: Just so that you know, I’m semi hard right now.
Me: Why only semi?

I went back to talking about school, rambling in my excitement and nervousness. Then took a breath, and said what was on my mind.

Me: I want to give you head right now, but I don’t want it to be weird between us.
G: Why would it be weird?
Me: I don’t know.

I knew. I didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to think about it. I wanted him. That was enough in the moment.

He stood up, slipped off his pants, and sat back on the couch, bare from the waist down, no longer semi erect. His cock was just as pretty as I remembered it, maybe more so. I knelt in front of him. Took off my glasses. Put my hands behind my back.

I hadn’t given head in six months. I started slow. Remembered how much I liked to be playful with a cock in my mouth. He caressed my hair, my back; brushed my chest, my chin.

He took off his shirt, was now naked.

I brought a hand forward. He swept it back, then grabbed the bottom of my shirt and lifted it over my head. He unhooked and removed my bra, my mouth again on his cock. He stood, gripped my arm, and coaxed me to standing. He shoved up my skirt, then pushed me down to replace him on the couch.

He sucked on my breast, felt around my hips, and then ripped down my panties and tights. He put two of his fingers in his mouth, and then into me.

I leaned back, moaned, could hardly believe how my night had developed. He pumped his third and fourth digits in and out of me as I writhed in the middle of his living room.

Abruptly, he stopped, stood up, and walked towards the back, into his bedroom. I removed my skirt, now naked myself, and began undoing my hair in anticipation of his return.

“Come here.”

I obeyed.

[Every time I think about this moment, I bite my lip, take a breath, and then sigh. We’ve had this natural dynamic for as long as I’ve known him. He is effortlessly dominant, and I always want to submit to him. Being given a command, and happily following it, is a small act, yet I didn’t realize how much I craved just that for the past six months.]

He already had a condom on when I walked in. A nudge on my shoulder guided me up onto the bed.  Three breaths later, he was inside me. My legs wrapped around his waist. My nails gripped his back. I breathed in his scent, my head in the crook of his neck.

He laid his chest against my chest, rested his cheek against my cheek. We fucked close. It was intimate intense sex, intoxicating enveloping sex. I didn’t want to let him go.

He turned me over, gripped my hips, pulled me towards him. His chest against my back, our fingers interlaced, and again his cheek against my cheek.

He pulled me off the bed. Leaned me against the bed. Fucked me hard against his bed. He pulled my hair, and head, back.

“Are you going to come for me?”

I did.

Sweaty exhaustion followed, back on top of his bed.

G: Is it weird?
Me: Nope. I will officially add you to my ‘Friends I Fuck’ list. And, for next time, you can bite harder.

I felt high, playful. He looked a little too sweaty.

Me: Are you okay?
G: I think I’m getting sick.

Soon after, I made a polite exit. He was ill the next day, unfortunately cancelling our dinner plans.

I didn’t see him again until a week later.

Categorised as: Fucking | Gent

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