I received a text mystery message the other night that mentioned my name, asked about my (former) work and if I was interested in meeting again because the first time was enjoyable. I had deleted the number from my phone and the sender must have pre-dated my spiffy new Word document with old numbers listed to manage the sexual recycling that keeps coming back. I was caught between rampant curiosity and being annoyed that I had to send a ‘just who is this?’ message without knowing if I wanted to really find out who it was. Curiosity won and I replied and waited impatiently to learn which can of worms I had potentially re-opened.
Ah, Mr Chilled, I was not expecting this! We met in January for a sensual bout of everything-but-sex and drifted apart until he sent an e-mail months ago and wandered off again after I replied positively. He and Mr OMG should get together and compare notes about who has the vaguest concept of time.
To his credit, I rolled out a few messages detailing my lack of enthusiasm for his patchy communication history and he didn’t shy away. He must’ve been randy. He asked me over on a night I was free and I thought, Why not? I may as well complete the hat trick of ill-conceived encounters while finishing the business we left open.
I had concerns on the day that my current distracted, flighty state would clash with his slow sex way of being and I was setting myself up for disaster, but everything came together more nicely than I expected. After talking and circling around each other, we kissed until my lips were swollen and I was ravenous for much more of him. I sat him back on his bed and slid his cock in and out of my mouth with a measured slow rhythm, going down as deeply as I could, holding him for a teasingly long count and sliding out slowly without releasing the head of his cock. He was responding enthusiastically and I felt him shiver uncontrollably when I found room to roll my tongue along the underside of his shaft when his cock was held still inside my mouth. I haven’t thought of doing that before but it worked big time. Perception and memories of the previous encounter told me to eat this man slowly and methodically and he was held captive by nothing but lips and tongue.
I came up to kiss him and he rolled me on the bed and parted my legs and spent a long time working with his tongue and fingers. He was as deliberate and skilled as I remembered and I was awash with pleasure but I couldn’t reach orgasm again. I squirmed about joyously though until I thought his tongue might need a rest and I squealed with anticipation when I saw him reach for a condom. We didn’t manage to get to penetration the first and only time we met and I was bursting to know how his cock piercing would feel.
I was at the stage of arousal that I wanted to be filled, needed to be filled, and fucked, firmly and basically, now. He raised my legs in preparation for what I thought was going to be a pounding, and he inserted only the head of his cock. I tried to push into him but he withdrew and taunted me with hints of promise. This was not the time for games! After what I’d call an agonising wait he picked up the tempo and depth and we fucked happily in a couple of positions, although afterwards I thought the piercing didn’t make a difference to the sensation. After a while he lost his erection (I don’t know his body well enough to know why) and went down on me again. I turned him around into a 69 position and positioned his cock in the cleft between my breasts and massaged the shaft. He became rock hard when my tongue licked along his perineum and we feasted on each other until I thought his poor tongue might fossilise.
I called him up for air, laid on my side and clasped his buttocks in my hands as his cock slid in and out of my mouth again. He withdrew at the last moment and came in a mess over my shoulders and breasts. Afterwards when we were sprawled about on his bed, I said that he felt sublime and explained my current orgasmic challenge that I can take up to 40 minutes to come when masturbating so I haven’t been bothering because I bore myself to sleep — he laughed with a hint of pity and horror, I think. He started dozing and I looked at the clock and saw it was 3am. Shit. The Drummer was due home from work in 90 minutes and my drive home was more than an hour. He has no problems with whatever time I get home but I feel uneasy if I’m out carousing when he’s been working and coming off a long nightshift.
Mr Chilled and I had been fucking for five hours and the time had flown, so that’s an improvement on the past few weeks.