CT: Good morning. Confirming for our coffee. I can be there at 9:30. Still feeling playful?:)
Me: Lol. We'll see.
CT: Grand. Jeans. Green jacket. Tan cap. Brogue: Peaky Blinders meets urban outdoorsman.
What are you wearing?
Me: Jeans, black t-shirt, light grey jacket.
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The day was bright and warm. I get to the Starbucks early, grab my drink, and sit at the table to wait for him. It was noisy and hot in the cafe. Not exactly conducive to conversation.
He's running late; "the train is a bloody nightmare."
I'm sweating by the time he gets there. He orders his drink and we take it outside and decide to start walking north towards Central Park with no particular destination.
He's taller than me. Slim build with ruggedly handsome features. He resembles his profile picture, but doesn't really look like it. But that's not out of the ordinary in my Tinder experience; especially if the angles are not head on.
We talk about our backgrounds and current lives and what we should do for the afternoon. Decision made: day drinking. I'm slightly hung over, so to me, this is a great idea. We walk to several pubs. It's 10am and nothing is open. Perfect time to go back to the hotel so I can check out and change into sneakers.
I start to pack and he sits in the armchair in the corner watching. He tells me to stop packing and come over to him.
I stand between his legs and take his cap off.
"Kiss me." I obliged.
Those lips. Full and soft. I suck his bottom lip into my mouth, dragging my teeth along it as I let it go. He runs his tongue along my lips...
I love a good kiss and he kisses very well. Sensuous & soft; hungry & rough...
I've described sipping my favorite Scotch (Oban) by comparing it to a really great kiss: a hint of smoke, a layer of sweetness, spicy on the tongue, salty, warmth that builds to heat, a bite at the end. That was his kiss.
"Kneel"
"Yes, daddy"
He unbuckles his belt. "I want you to start here." I rub his hard cock through the fabric.
While I was unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans he reminds me: "Yes daddy."
"Yes, daddy," I reply. God I am so out of practice. But this is fun. I'm having fun. I'm pretty sure I smirked through the whole thing.
I pull his jeans down and wrap my hand around his cock.
Let's talk about cocks. There are as many personal preferences in cocks as there are individual cocks, not to mention that your preferences might change depending on who you partner is at the time. CT has a quintessentially perfect cock: thick, hard, and long. Too long to take completely in my mouth, but just so.
As I took him into my mouth, he removed my hand from the base of his cock. No hands allowed.
He used his hands, though. He held his hand lightly under my chin, and as I would move up and down his shaft, building from long, slow strokes into a faster rhythm, he would lift me off of his cock, or just hold me still; not letting me move. Other times he would twine his fingers into my hair and force my rhythm.
This was a slow, lazy blow job.
I ran my tongue up and down his cock, tasting and feeling him, taking him almost fully into my mouth and breathing him in. He liked that. "Deep throat my cock."
"Yes daddy."
He let me do what I wanted for the most part. I wanted to milk him so badly and make him beg me to let him cum. But he controlled that, forcing himself deep into my throat, or making me stop when he got close. A firm smack to my cheek reminded me anytime I didn't stop when told, or when I forgot "yes, daddy."
Eye contact. Not a request: "Look at me." Not something I'm usually comfortable with or ever do, but for him, I did. "And don't even think about not swallowing." No complaints: There was lots of pre-cum and he tasted good.
"Make me cum." Finally he let me finish him off. Long, slow strokes. Sucking on the tip. Taking him as far I my mouth as I could. Stroking my tongue at the base.
He held me there as he came, pulsing in my mouth.
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Back on the streets, we find a pub and have some pints and fries.
And my panties are so wet.
