Filthy Fun: Part 1

Photo by slave boy julia (sjstudio1.com)

I woke up thinking about cock again. About what it would be like to give in to my temptation. To meet you at a public place, excuse myself to the bathroom with a wink and a smirk, and then to stand in there, waiting for you to follow. I wondered what it would be like to be terrified that you might not come in after me. What it would be like to brace myself on the cold, gritty sink, avoiding my own eye contact in the mirror, because what the fuck am I doing?

But I did it. I’m here. I’m standing in the hollow bathroom of this dive restaurant, and I’m waiting for you.

Just as I’m about to change my mind and flee the scene of my possible rejection, the door opens behind me. You’re here. You followed. We’re doing this.

But I can’t look up. I’m not ashamed of myself for wanting it so badly, but this is definitely a very naughty thing to be doing-meeting someone off the internet for a fling in a filthy place.

My eyes are still looking down. My hands are firmly gripping the sides of the water-stained sink, and I’m unknowingly swaying my hips. My whole body has been craving this for weeks.

I hear the door lock.

I close my eyes.

I inhale deeply.

I hear your movement. The sound of your boots on the tile. The masculinity of your breath as you come closer and closer.

Please be gentle with me.

Please be rough.

And then I feel you. I feel your body heat brushing up behind me, and I instinctively push my ass back to greet you- looking for that hard cock that you promised me every day and night since we began messaging each other.

Ah, there it is. A rush of tingles encircle me.

Your hands are roaming. Even though it feels warm and right and so, so sexy, I still can’t open my eyes to face my outrageous behavior reflecting in the mirror.

Your hand grazes my breast, and travels north, to gently clasp around the front of my neck. You pull my head back ever so slightly, and there it is, teeth and tongue on my flesh. You’ve found my sweet spot.

My arm reaches back to grip a handful of your thick, brown locks to urge you on. You’re doing everything just the way I imagined you would. Just the way we discussed.

My eyes pop open; we lock eyes in the looking glass. The rush of heat between my legs causes me to weaken, and I stumble. Intense sensations like this aren’t often felt by ordinary housewives like me. Especially inside of downtown cafes. Especially during the middle of the day while my kids are at school.

I smile because God I want this. I’m silently begging you not to stop.

I open my mouth, but I can’t speak. Your hands are strong and they’re touching me everywhere- exploring my curves and leaving small nail prongs and pinch bruises. You start to murmur things from our previous conversations. Things that we typed to each other late at night.

I can feel the pressure of your bound cock inside of your pants. You’ve been lightly thrusting your hips against my backside, and I don’t think I can take the anticipation anymore.

In a blink, your hands are moving, spinning me around to face you. And before I can even process what’s happened, before I can reach for that swelling, pulsing bulge in your jeans, you’ve grabbed my arms and thrust them above my head, pinning me up against the wall.

Fuck.

I’m soaking wet and simultaneously so very thirsty.

You bring your face close to mine, still holding me in my place. You hover. My breath is ragged. You crack a smile, and murmur, “Mmmm, yes” as you begin to nibble at my jaw, inching your wanting breath towards my mouth.

You find my lips. You taste fantastic like a fancy dessert. Your mouth meets mine move for move, just a slight step ahead of me as you lead our dance. Your tongue is soft, and with every lash of it, rippling waves of lust are going straight to that throbbing place between my legs.

Now I can feel you from the front, and as the pressure is hitting me closer to where my body wants it, my hips are responding with an intensity that is almost begging.

You release my arms, and as you do, you trail your hands down over my breasts, swooping them under my shirt. Your fingertips and palms are grabbing at my bare waist, wrapping around my back, gripping me, skin to skin. You dig your nails slightly into my back as you take your mouth from mine, and begin tasting your way over my throat, down my neckline, and onto my chest. And then fast as lightning, like you must have practiced this, my shirt is over my head, and hitting the ground.

You move my bra strap to the side so it falls off of my shoulder seductively. You start tasting my upper arm. A gentle bite. Another.

My hands are frantically trying to get to your pants. If I don’t feel what’s underneath, I might scream. You’re rock hard and I need you.

You sense my struggle with the button on your pants and lend me a hand. I’m not as smooth as you are. Maybe because I’m nervous. Or maybe because I’m lust drunk with top-shelf desire.

I slowly pull on the zipper and yank the sides of your pants down. You’re protruding through the fabric of your underwear, and I hold my breath as I know you’re about to reveal yourself to me.

I reach my hand inside and find my grip. Your tip is wet and your thickness is throbbing. A smile sneaks from my mouth and I release a hungry giggle.

You must appreciate the feel of my palm because you’ve temporarily stopped moving your mouth on my skin and your breathing has become quite sporadic. If you like how I do that, just wait.

I push you away from me a step and drop to my knees. You moan gently as I get in position to please you. You must be wanting this is as much as I do.

I fully free your cock, and as it springs to life in front of me, I wet my lips with my tongue and whisper the word “Gimme.”

I look up at you looking down on me with those sharp, blue eyes that seem to communicate everything that I need to know without you needing to say a single word. You look like a God standing above me, commanding me to continue.

I nod a greedy yes and slowly bring my glossed lips to the head of your swollen dick.

You roll your head back with a loud groan that echoes off of the walls around us. It feels like magic, doesn’t it?

I can hear your breath quicken as I tighten my grip. This is long overdue. You’re thick and solid, and your smell is intoxicating. I taste the clear, salty drops that you’ve so graciously released for me as I kneel before you. I take you all the way in. Adding a little extra hum, I open my throat; I let you slide as far back as you can reach.

You like this. You like this a lot. You like me concentrating so hard on pleasing you- one hand cupping your balls, the other trailing just behind my mouth up and down your length, playing a little game of follow the leader. You’re spitting hushed grunts through your gritted teeth trying not to raise any attention to anyone who might be lurking outside.

I can’t believe I’m doing this. I can’t believe I’m on my knees mouth fucking an older man that I barely know. I can’t believe a gorgeous man like you even agreed to meet me. I can’t believe I’m submitting to my carnal instinct.

All of those times that you had me gushing at snapshots of your naked body. All of those mornings that you had me longing for a filthy word from you to start the day. All of those times I used your naughty thoughts to tickle just the right place between my legs.

It’s all brought me here.

For Part 2 Click Here


About the Author

Paige is a 34 year old dreadlock mama, currently living in Virginia, exploring her deepest desires to be primally dominated. She has spent the last 12 years as a housewife, but has quietly fantasized long enough, and is now beginning her kinky journey to self realization and true pleasure. Paige writes erotica based off of a combination of personal fantasy and experience.

Fetlife: TangerineSpeedo

Comments

  1. Broken_Unicorn says:

    Very, very nice. I could almost imagine having written this from the other side.

  2. Wonderful as always!

  3. IanBoheme says:

    Very erotic and exciting. I like voyueristically reading your fantasies. It’s like I’m watching you experience them in person.

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