It’s essential to have goals. My slut goals vary. For the past six months, geography has been fun. At first, it was a match with places I had been, which extended into areas I wanted to go or know about. Being curious is a neat way to learn and make my way through the male population of my corner of the world. Not every message gets a response, but the profile was packed with details and interests that matched the reality of my luscious curves and sultry desire. Loving good sex is one thing, but knowing someone is into what you have to offer can be motivating.
“Love your pictures” was his opening foray. Hardly something to swoon over, but I don’t fuck for poetry, so I figured what the hell. The banter was intriguing. He was young and anxious to learn about my twisted little world of domination and submission. A weird little world of my knowledge and experience for him and a youthful cock and passion for my orgasm for me was enough to make him a regular. His full lips and generous mouth, athletic body, and desire for a heightened sexual experience solidified our mutual passion.
“We can meet at my place. I have roommates, but they won’t be an issue. I want you so bad.” That was the message the morning after our first meet. “I would love to see you in heels and stocking.” Quickly followed.
I was happy to oblige the following Tuesday. I slipped into a barely decent little black dress, low cut in the back and skimming the edge of my thigh, black sheer stay-ups, and black suede heels with shiny metal spike heels. The porch light was a bare light bulb. The starkness was notable was in such stark contrast to the Aladdin’s cave of treasure and pleasure I hoped to find beyond that bare bulb.
I paid little attention to the terrain as I climbed the stairs and stepped onto the grass. My hell sunk, and I fell forward onto my hands and knees. I looked up as he stepped out of his door. I righted myself and passed him my tote bag, and I brushed off the dead leaf and pulled my dress back in place. In some weird way, it was the perfect ice breaker. He whisked me to his room and fussed my wet, bruised knee. The niceties of a first meet were swamped by the adrenaline pumping through my system. He was talking, and I was watching his mouth, those full pillow lips I longed to suck and nibble. I nibbled my own lower lip as I waited for him to stop talking. My clit twitched, and his hands smoothed and caressed my legs and thighs. His fingers found the edge of the stay-ups, and my breath hitched in my throat, a small moan of pleasure escaped. I checked myself. We made eye contact, I fought the urge to speak, he dropped to his knees in front of me. He brought my face to his and kissed me. “This isn’t very sadistic” my thought was halted by the wakening of my sex, my clit twitched, and I was instantly wet.
His mouth kissed and suckled my inner thigh. His teeth grazed over the stocking, and his hand found my ankles and put them behind his neck. I lay back on the bed, still dressed and enjoying the hunger of his mouth on my thighs. My panties are soaked. The burgundy satin would be dark with my wetness. I stretched and writhed as he pulled the panties to the side and opened me with his strong ample tongue. He was out of my reach, and not a word had passed between us. I fought my desire to create social interaction. Instead, I emptied my mind and stayed in my body. He had found the spot, the holy grail of the squirt spot. He surprised himself and was delighted with himself.
As I moaned in pleasure, I interjected, “you might want to grab a towel,” ever the practical slut. I broke the spell. He stood in front of me; I sat up facing his cock. It’s stretched against his body-hugging boxers. I trace his cock’s outline with my long, manicured nails. I continue to fondle and careless until his hand instinctually lands on my head. I look into his eyes with my fingers stroking the outside of his boxers. I finally speak.
“ask for what you want.” My voice is barely above a whisper, but it’s firm. His eyes bulge. My power shift is subtle, and I wait for him. His eyes bulge, and he motions towards his cock, unwilling to say the words. I hold his eyes, occasionally blinking, smiling softly—my hand retreats.
“Babe,” his tone is pleading and weak. With that. I stand, kiss his mouth, adjust my stockings. And get ready to leave. “Seriously, you’re going to leave me like this?” The pussy is almost whimpering. With that, I picked up my bag.
“Next time when I tell you to do something, you will do it. Shame really, you have a beautiful cock.” I walked out the door, stayed on my toes, and left.