I was running late. So fucking late.
My day long meetings went way longer than expected, some even bailing on me, only to be forced to reschedule those into conference calls on the four hour drive home. I was going to be late for a dinner because of this, and I needed to stop for gas while en route.
While pumping the gas, I got a message from a guy on Scruff. 7 miles away. With a message asking, “Do you want to suck my cock?”
45, 6’0″, 190. Handsome face. Solid hairless chest.
YES! Of course, I wanted to suck his cock. But why now? Why, when I was running so fucking far behind? But saying “no” wasn’t an option. Not really. I said I’d be there in 15 – as he was in a nearby hotel. Room 344.
I knocked. He answered. True to his pic, at least facially, as he was wearing nylon workout shorts and a t-shirt. But I could tell that chest was solid as hell and I knew it’d be beautiful.
For whatever reason, I do love a nice chest on a guy. That and a face. I know here and blogs like this we talk about the cock, but a good face and chest can let you get away with a lot lesser body parts.
The door shut and our hands went to each other. As if he knew me, his hands went right for my nipples over my dress and t-shirts. I quivered, as you might expect.
Reaching to cup his cock through the shorts, he was solid there too. I had no worries. He kept playing with my chest, which was hot, but it always makes me want to get fucked. Of course, this guy made me want to get fucked. Period.
That wasn’t meant to be – for a number of reasons – so we just touched, we played. He tried to kiss.
I would have kissed him, but he wasn’t very good at it, or very committed, even though he initiated it.
He also wasn’t very good at sucking cock.
He liked my cock – and it is a nice cock, even if I rarely use it – and made a few half-hearted attempts to suck it, but I don’t think it is really what he wanted to do. I think he just thought it was the admirable thing to do, but as you all know, I don’t care about reciprocation.
So it came down to me on his dick.
We started with me on my knees and him standing. Then he sat on the edge of his hotel bed. Both ways I would take him to the root.
When he’d stand, he would pump my face, but I won’t go as far as to say he fucked it. Neither of us were big on talking. I mean, my mouth was full and he’d moan a little, but gave little words of encouragement.
He seemed like a nice, decent man – getting his pleasure by moving his cock in and out of my mouth, past the ridge of my lips and pushing back in again and again.
Naturally, I wasn’t completely passive about this. I would use those lips. I would use my tongue. I would meet and match his pushing into my mouth by moving my head down his shaft. We worked in unison.
Like I said, he seemed like a nice guy.
But as he stood above me and I was working his dick, the signs were there of him getting closer to orgasm. This thick hefty tool became even more rigid. His breath became just a bit shallower.
All of a sudden his arm went around my neck and I was in a headlock.
His fat cock was now lodged down my throat. And he hissed, “Is THIS what you wanted? Is the load big enough for you?”
I could feel the pulses of his shaft. There was a faint odor of semen and an even more faint taste of bitter jizz. But in reality, it all went directly down my throat, bypassing my tastebuds as he held me in that tight grip.
Not swallowing wasn’t an option – not that I would have opted differently. Maybe he didn’t know that. Maybe he didn’t care.
I tried to nurse it a bit, but he yanked the cock out of my mouth and a glob of cum fell to my inner thigh. Hardly the shy one, I scooped it up with my index finger and ate it while he watched.
He grabbed his shorts and pulled them back on. He didn’t say it, but he was done. Done with the act. Done with his load. Done with me.
He did mentioned he gets back here every few months and would keep me in mind.
Let’s hope he does.