What am I like? I lead you up the the garden path, hide us behind a well-placed bush and tittilate you with my torrid tongue, then leave you before the climax, simply skip away and never mention it again. I am referring, of course, to the impending date which I mooted on the 19th of October. Fear not! I am not psychologically scarred, am not suffering from heart-stopping flashbacks and terrifying nightmares (to which some previous such encounters have come precariously close to producing). No. None of the above. It was excellently awesome. Bloody brilliant. Fucking fantastic.
He was crossing the hotel carpark when I first laid actual eyes on him. I was retrieving my laptop (more of that later) from the boot of my car. He was bang on time. A very good omen, I always think. He glanced up, caught my eye and grinned his recognition before quickly eyeing me up and down. What he saw he obviously liked and I fancied he even licked his lips at the prospect. He gallantly carried my bag and we sidled - as nonchalantly as two strangers who are about to fuck possibly can - past reception and into the lift. Small talk - traffic, weather, dinner or lack of it - filled the lift before the short walk, the clicking keycard and somewhat awkward ingress into my generic little room. An offer of tea, its acceptance and subsequent kettle filling, cup rattling followed, till he eschewed the tea, simply took me in his arms and kissed me. And how he kissed me. In mere moments, straps were off shoulders, dress was around my waist and my tits were out. Our mouths parted and suddenly his was around my second - or third depending on your tastes - most intimate sexual appendages. I remember thinking that if he sucks clit like he sucks nipple then I won't last for more than a moment.
He eased me back onto the bed and now we were kissing again. I manually tested his groin, hoping for a tangible sign of his arousal and lo! Fuck. He was rigid, ready to break and enter whatever hole I offered. And I intended to offer all three, hoped he would find the ultimate pleasure in each, for condoms come in packs of three, we had three hours, and I am a great believer in providence.
His mouth was again sucking on my aching teats and now his hand crossed my belly, skirted my pubis and settled on my thigh where it proceeded to inch towards my now dripping lips. He suddenly sat up, peeled off his shirt and cast it aside. My mouth found his nipples and my gentle licks elicited many a moan from his lovely lips. Again our mouths locked and now our hands were free to roam. I undid his jeans, tugged open his button flies and delved inside. I had seen his cock on cam and it had looked impressive enough, but the beast now in my hand was of an altogether different species. I could barely close my hand around it. Forefinger and thumb formed the C of cunt and proceeded to act like one, squeezing his prodigious girth before rhythmically tugging back and forth, up and down, till his deepening groans warned me to cease. His jeans came off and so did my dress and we dived back into the fray, pants and knickers teasingly still in place. His hand was suddenly inside mine, delighting in the prepubescent smoothness it found there. Mine was inside his, slowly stroking his full length, measuring him up, considering the impending delicious pain it would soon administer to my privates.
'Fuck, you are so wet!'
Not an ounce of romance here and I was glad. I needed fucking, was perfectly primed, and he had the perfect equipment to do it.
'So are you!'
And he was, precum oozing onto my fingers with every stroke.
I lisped like a schoolgirl, a ploy that had brought him prematurely off on our first cam-fuck.
'I want to do something naughty, something weally, weally naughty.'
'Oh, fuck, yes, anything...'
A joint effort freed him from his tight black pants. I eased his legs off the bed and positioned myself on the floor between them. Words were unnecessary. A smile and a wink and my mouth was around him. He grabbed my hair and forced my face into his groin. I resisted just enough, just enough, then took him deep into my throat, skilfully suppressing a gag till he was all but completely in me. Fuck, he was big. My mouth was forced open almost as much as his disbelieving eyes. I slowly drew him out and proceeded to lick and stroke him right to the very edge, over and over till he could bear it no more.
'Fuck, you give amazing head, Alexandra!'
And I do.
And now it was my turn. I clambered onto the bed. He positioned himself between my legs then kissed me, while his dick prodded my panties between my thighs, pressed my wetness back up inside me, the skimpy sopping cloth all that kept us apart. Another kiss before his mouth began the long journey south. No eight lane superhighway here. He took the back roads, meandered, paused to admire the scenery - he undoubtedly loved the scenery - till at last his tongue teased my most intimate parts, tasting my juice-soaked knickers, nibbling on my cloth-covered lips till I too could bear it no more.
'Lick me!'
It was as much plea as order, as much whisper as squeal. My knickers hit the wall. I even fancy they might still be stuck there. His mouth hit the target. I even fancy it is there now, nuzzling, kissing, lapping, licking, lolling and penetrating. Much as I am now, I was pissing lubrication and he was swallowing, swallowing, sucking and swallowing. A finger entered, then two... three... He hit the spot, yes, that mythical spot that many scientists say does not actually exist. Well, it does. I have experimented, researched enough to know it does. And the gorgeous fucker hit it, full on, bulls-eye, then rubbed it, roughly massaged it, all the while tastefully tonguing my clit. It was too much. Way too much. A sledgehammer on an ant. A Ferrari racing a tortoise. An atom bomb on Cleethorpes. I came. As simple as that. If you were in a Yorkshire hotel that night and thought you heard a murder, a long protracted and painful murder, then that was me. Close the investigation. Call off the sniffer dogs. Fuck. Orgasm isn't a word I use lightly - and nor should you in my experience - but I will use it whole-heartedly here. I had an orgasm. A fucking incredible gut-wrenching orgasm that I am certain caused me self-inflicted internal damage. And still the fucker forced his hand up me, still the dirty bastard clamped his mouth around my cunty bits, and still I came. On and on and on and on.
'Tea?'
Now he was asking. And I was refusing.
'No. Please just fuck me. I want your cum up me.'
Within that rather forward statement was an implicit, 'Well, up me, yes, inside me, of course, but encased in a condom, for fuck's sake, for this is the twenty-first century and all manner of ills can reside in uncontained bodily fluids'. And, though he was on my wavelength, he was sadly on another planet. Or even in another galaxy. He glanced around.
'Where are they?'
'They?'
He coughed, having perhaps already glimpsed the awful inescapable truth.
'Where are the condoms?'
His expectant look told me I had brought them, when I was absolutely fucking certain I had not. My incredulous gasp and zig-zag mouth told him that, sexual equality or not, that condom bringing was his fucking responsibility. His fucking job. He has the cock, after all. He is the sprayer of spunk.
If the plethora of fucks in the preceding paragraph hint somewhat at my disappointment, then good. They should. For I was terribly disappointed. Though not, I hasten to add, even minutely tempted to take his flesh directly into my cathedralesque body, nor his spunk into my pristine chapel of a womb. Fuck that. Or rather don't.
Suffice to say, I wanked him onto my tits. But not just any old wank onto tits. Surely you know me better than that? This was a Rolls Royce wank onto Real Madrid tits. To stave off my cock-starved frustration and his pussyless perturbation, I logged into Cam4 (hence the earlier carpark/laptop reference) and showed the whole fucking world (well, the seventy-nine who eventually tuned in) how a sexually-skilled young woman teases cum from a young man's very meaty cock. Tease describes my efforts and not the eventual outcome: he exploded, spouted, like some untimely geyser. It was incredible. It was everywhere. I tasted it (I know, cathedralesque blah-blah, pristine chapel doo-dah: it would have been rude, unbearably rude, not to do so... And it looked - and tasted - wholesome enough). It was an amazing experience and was probably more rewarding than any (considering the orgasm I had already achieved) cunt-stretching cervix-battering he could have dispensed me. The watching crowd expressed their satisfaction (Fuck, I'm cumming! Cumming! Me too! Fuck Alex your tits are amazing. Wank it baby! Fantastic tit wank Alex! Lucky guy! Yeah, lucky fucking guy! Cummmmmmmmingggggg!!!!!!) and, as his cock finally deflated and oozed its last, we waved the assembled throng a synchronised, anonymous and very satisfied goodbye.
He quickly - almost too quickly, to be honest - dressed, eschewed my offer of a shower, even turned down a last plea for tea, kissed my lips (my facial lips) and he was away.
So there you have it. Bet you wish you had never asked! Oh, you didn't ask. So it's my fault is it? My fault you are forever plagued by those rather sordid images. Well - and here's a solution-producing solution - have a quick wank on me and exorcise them for good! :)
You'll be pleased to know I now constantly carry condons. And I would urge you to do the same.
Now be good a good boy/girl/other and have a great weekend. And read some porn. My porn. And cum. Cum loads. I intend to.
Take care and lots of love,
Alexandra xxxxxxx
