Hi Alcibiades,

I hope you don’t mind me contacting you first. :P Just wanted to let you know that I am free all day on Thursday and most of the day on Friday, in case you would like to see me again…

*kisses*

Julia

‎That was my ridiculously self-effacing message to the guy who had fucked me in the ass two days before. I was on tenterhooks for the next 5 hours until he replied.

Hi Julia,

I don’t mind at all ;-) I definitely would like to see you again, but I’m not sure when exactly. Is it okay if I tell whether it’s going to be Thursday or Friday in 1-2 days?

Alcibiades

Yes! I exulted, doing a mental fist-pump of jubilation, and hoping he would choose Thursday, as I already had a date with the Professor on Friday.

He chose Thursday. My ardour had cooled somewhat by then and I was, as always, debating whether or not to cancel, but our last meeting had been so hot, I knew I owed it to myself to go through with it. So I showed up at his door looking even lovelier than usual, in a black dress, stockings, and heels.

“There won’t be time for three rounds today,” Alcibiades warned me, as I walked in, gingerly stepping over piles of books, towels and empty pizza boxes‎.

“Oh really?” I asked, crest-fallen.

‎”I like that dress,” he commented, surveying me. “Now take it off.”‎

He made me take off everything except the garter belt and stockings. Then he made me get on my knees to suck him, stopping every now and then to smack me about the face with his cock before sliding it back into my mouth and face-fucking me until my eyes were watering and my entire face, it seemed, was covered with spit. Then he told me to kneel on the sofa, facing the back of the sofa, with my hands on the head-rest.

“Arch your back and stick your ass out,” he told me. “Further.”

I did as he asked, and he began to probe my exposed pussy with his fingers. It felt really good, and there was something so humiliating about presenting myself to him in this obscene manner just for him to stand there impassively manipulating my pussy – much more so than if he had been fucking me. Also, as I moaned and rocked gently back and forth on his fingers, my nipples brushed ever so slightly against the rough fabric of the sofa, sending ripples of excitement through my body. I was dripping wet already by the time he fucked me, and it wasn’t long before I was gripping the back of the sofa and moaning as I came. My pussy was so wet I could hear squelching sounds as his cock pumped in and out of me, but I was limp and lifeless after coming, no longer pushing back to meet his thrusts as I had before.

“Time to fuck your ass,” he told me, pulling out of my pussy, and summarily entering my ass. My feelings of post-orgasmic bliss quickly dissipated with the pain of this brutal ass-fucking. He came with a couple of deep, hard thrusts. I shot a quick glance at the condom as he pulled out – it looked a tiny bit messy! I quickly grabbed a tissue and surreptitiously dabbed at myself while he was in the bathroom, but I was clean.

“You might want to wipe your ass a little,” he told me, returning. God, how humiliating!! I was cringing, ready to die. I sat awkwardly on the edge of the bed beside him as we chatted about child prodigies. I told him about this guy, whose online course at MIT I had taken while preparing for an interview with Google. He told me about his plans to turn his future offspring into academic superstars. It wasn’t until halfway through the conversation that it occurred to me that in the past, I would have been unable to discuss this topic with a man without feeling a little hurt and insulted at the obvious implication that I would not be the one to bear his children. Whereas now, of course, there’s just no question…‎

Eventually he reached across me to grab the back of my head and used it to bring me down towards his flaccid cock, wet and salty from his come as I took it in my mouth. I sucked him until he was nice and hard again, then he told me to get on all fours and fucked me doggy style. Then he flipped me over, spread my legs wide apart and entered me in missionary. As I felt myself getting close, he pulled out and pointed the head of his cock at my ass. Oh no! How could he attempt this, after what had just happened? I grimaced, shaking my head desperately from side to side – but should I actually ask him to stop? I knew he would, if I asked him. But I decided not to ask, and just to resign myself to the total humiliation and destruction of my self-esteem which would surely ensue from this disastrous decision. My ass felt tighter than ever, tensing up from the stress and anxiety. But he forced my legs even wider apart with his hands on the back of my thighs, staring at me intensely as he fucked me. Oh God! I just had to give in, forget about the consequences. He murmured, “putain…” as he came. And that final thrust into my ass triggered a delicious wave of contractions in both my ass and my pussy, which trembled against his pelvis as he collapsed on top of me. I lay there gasping beneath him, euphoria coursing through my veins. It was so incredible, I almost forgot the perilous situation I was in. But the condom was spotless when he pulled out. Well!

We lay side by side this time, talking now of other things – terrorism, the war in Syria and the refugee crisis. The sky had grown overcast outside and the room darkened. I began to feel somewhat unsettled. It’s one thing to quibble about the incessant branding of suicide bombers as “cowards” – that’s just a semantic argument, and we agreed on that. And one can certainly oppose the influx of refugees on a political and/or economic basis. But on, I feel, a deeper level, he insisted on the moral reprehensibility of any man fleeing civil war, or, in other words, refusing to fight for his country.

“Listen, Alcibiades,” I told him. “There may be some honourable men out there, willing to lay down their lives for a just cause. But I think you’ll find that in most cases, those most easily persuaded to lay down their lives are those who have nothing to live for in the first place. And what’s so glorious about that?”

The thing is, I know where he’s coming from. I used to hold this romantic view of war and wartime heroism myself… when I was about ten. (In fact, I sometimes wonder if my tendency to glorify stoicism and endurance of physical pain might not stem, at least in part, from a surfeit of war movies in my childhood – The Great Escape, Von Ryan’s Express… my Dad was a huge fan.) And so his silly insistence on a man’s “moral responsibility” to fight for his country just reminded me of the age difference between us. Or am I just completely amoral?

I tried to find some common ground, conceding that perhaps in some circumstances one might have a moral duty to intervene, for instance, to put an end to something like the Holocaust, but that only dug me deeper into a hole, as he turned out to be vehemently opposed to intervention on an international level. Ah, so a global super-power, which could actually sway the outcome of a war one way or another, should not intervene, but the benighted Kurdish boy, whose interview in a local newspaper had provoked this outburst, should blindly sacrifice his life – for nothing?‎

“I think it’s morally reprehensible, that’s all,” he said finally.

“You just have too many morals,” I told him.

“Oh, I have too many morals, do I?” he grinned. “I think it’s time for you to suck my cock again.”

Yes! About time. But hey, I thought he’d said there wouldn’t be time for three rounds? His cock was very rapidly hardening, though. And I didn’t want that whole silly discussion about war to have been for nothing…‎

“Was it raining when you got here?” he asked, abruptly.

“Mmhm,” I answered in the affirmative. It hadn’t actually been raining when I got there, but I didn’t want to interrupt the blow-job to say “no”.

“Thanks for not taking your mouth off my cock to answer,” Alcibiades commended me. “As soon as I asked, I wondered why the hell I had just given you a reason to take my cock out of your mouth…”

Stifling a giggle, I continued to suck him, until he stopped me and flipped me over onto my back, pushing my legs all the way back and holding my ankles on either side of my head, he penetrated me deeply, so deeply that it almost hurt, I could feel the head of his cock banging against my cervix as he fucked me. All of a sudden, again taking me by surprise, I felt my G-spot swelling with each thrust, and soon the pressure became unbearable, I was screaming, screaming… his eyes widened as he watched my face contort in ecstacy, and he came himself seconds later. Two simultaneous orgasms – not bad for a casual sex partner, eh?

“Sorry,” he said, jumping up and pulling on his shorts. “But I really must ask you to leave now. My thesis is not going to write itself.”

“Adios, amigo,” I tittered, pulling on my clothes and high heels and stumbling out of his messy apartment. It wasn’t until much later that I asked myself: hey, what happened to all the slapping? and choking? and verbal degradation? What happened to calling me a slut and making me beg to be fucked like one? Now that he’s fucked me a couple of times, he no longer needs to woo me? The honeymoon’s over, I guess! :P

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3 thoughts on “Dulce et Decorum

  1. This whole business of war is awful. Of course we have to stand up to Hitler, but dying to support a rebel in a country being bombed into submission by all sides. No thanks. Agree with you.

    Oh yes, the sex was hot, too!

    Like

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