“You know,” the kindly young train conductor said, putting away his credit card reader. “You could send them an email…”

“Send whom an email?” I muttered wearily.

“Thameslink,” he said brightly. “Just tell them, just explain what happened. They might give you some of your money back. You never know.”

I smiled wretchedly at him, then turned back to the window, watching the incongruously picturesque English countryside fly by. Yes, good idea. Explain to Thameslink how I came to be stranded in a seaside resort with a stack of unusable and erroneously bought tickets to London clutched within my curled fingers. Not to mention the now phenomenally extortionate price I had paid for my last-minute Eurostar fare back to Paris. (I hit the button to confirm purchase with a sense of helpless resignation. “Oh well,” I thought to myself. “I was just following my heart.” The same fatuous excuse I have used in many such situations, though none so clearly absurd and ill-advised as this.) And my cheeks burned with rage. Not at him, for letting me miss my train – after his solemn promise! – and for not fucking me once all night – what the hell!?! – and for not even bothering to write to me afterwards, to see what had happened. No, my rage was directed not at him, but at myself, for being such an idiot. As always – always where men are concerned, an idiot.

Yes, I should explain all this to Thameslink, with Eurostar on copy – as well as my boss, for I was now almost sure to miss my important meeting back in Paris: how he had breezed into my apartment two days earlier with his cheeky grin and curiously demonstrative manner – so different from his aloof online presence – and handed me the money, and how freely and flippantly I had immediately begun to discuss my experiences the day before – too freely and flippantly? For he was sitting there watching me with a curious gleam in his eye and I thought, “oh God, have I gone too far?” And then he dragged me by my wrist to the sofa, and undid his trousers and pulled out his cock and forced it into my throat, all the way into my throat!! I had never had anyone so deep before, I could feel him tightly lodged there, halfway down my throat… I was choking and panicking, but he held my head to his cock, with a grip that was gentle but firm, so that I felt I could have pulled away if I really wanted to, but it was just a lot easier not to. Then he began to face-fuck me very brutally, only occasionally allowing me to draw back for a deep breath of air, and shoot him a look of angry resentment, with strings of spit hanging from my chin, but he didn’t care, he just rubbed it all over my face with a sadistic smile as he pulled me back down onto his cock by my hair and made me get back to work. Oh God, he was ruthless!! And just when I felt I could take no more, he pulled out and shot several jets of hot come all over my face, hair and eyes!

Abandoning my usual tradition of loving post-orgasmic licks, I staggered into the bathroom, blinded by come, to wash my face and I could hardly believe the sight of myself in the mirror – my makeup ruined, my eyes red and watering, and huge globs of semen in my hair! This was too much…

“Hey, you said the others weren’t dominant enough,” he said with a wink when I shakily emerged. “I just gave you what you wanted.”

Damn, I thought to myself. You really did.

“I spent two hours on my makeup earlier today,” I coldly informed him. But he grabbed my underwear and yanked me towards him, practically ripping it off me. I screamed in pain and horror – it was my most expensive set of underwear, which had cost about as much as he’d just paid me. (Of course, I had no idea, at the time, how much this date would actually end up costing me! Ha ha ha.) He pulled me onto his knee and began to kiss me deeply. Was it the Prosecco? I felt myself melting, melting into his lips and into… him.

We talked for what seemed like hours. No, actually we talked for hours. He told me all kinds of crazy stories and read me passages from the book he was writing. We drank all the Prosecco and then the wine the Edge had left in the fridge, which I had promised not to share with another man. (“No, no… we can’t.” “Why not?” “Well… OK.”) We listened to all my favourite music. He read my blog. I pressed my naked body up against his and ran my fingers through his hair and we kissed with tongue. He squeezed my tits and laughed raucously at the jets of milk spurting out. And no matter what we did, I knew I wanted more, much more of it.

“Get me some food,” he told me, just before midnight.

“What do you want?” I asked languidly from where I lay beside him, our legs entwined.

“A pepperoni pizza.”

“OK.”

“Oh good, so you’re not vegetarian, then…”

Half an hour later the pizza had miraculously appeared, and he sat beside me at the table while I gingerly peeled off the rounds of pepperoni before taking a bite. (“You should have told me.” “But don’t you like it? Have more, have more.”) There was something so fun, and kind of funny, about sitting there eating this pizza with him. I felt like I was 17 again.

“Let’s go to bed,” he said.

“Sure! But wait a minute, you’re not planning to actually sleep tonight, are you??”

“Damn right I am.”

“Oh,” my face fell. He tilted my chin up and looked deep into my eyes, and then slapped me – one sharp little slap on each cheek. I gasped in delight.

“Now take these off,” he tugged at my stockings. “I know you like to play the whore, but I want you naked in bed with me…”

Reluctantly, I peeled them off – that secret barrier between my sex partners and me, to keep things from getting too scarily intimate. All at once I felt so much more vulnerable, so exposed. He had me now – my real self, my fully naked body.

He pulled my thighs apart and began to lick my swollen pussy. I felt a tremor of excitement running through my limbs as his tongue gently flicked against my clitoris. I arched my back as the pleasure mounted, but he pulled my hips towards him and pressed the tip of his tongue ever so lightly against my quivering clitoris. I could feel my wetness spilling out of me and running down my thighs as I came.

He held my face in his hands as I kissed him with passion, then commanded me, “open your mouth”. I did as he said, trembling with uncertain anticipation, and he spat harshly into my mouth, and then kissed me, as I moaned with overwhelming arousal!! I was so taken aback by the violence of this sudden, degrading assault, and my own willingness and desire for him, all at once, that I felt I could hardly bear it!! He did it again, as I pressed the entire length of my naked body against his, overcome with excitement, my thighs clutching at him, my whole body felt electrified, with passion shooting through my veins, my muscles tensing, my screams of pleasure muffled between his lips!

“You came from just kissing?!” he marvelled.

Just kissing?!?!

We lay side by side, in the darkness, talking, and I was telling him something very important, when all of a sudden – “don’t stop, go on,” he said – I felt his lips on my breast, his tongue circling my erect nipple, his teeth gently brushing against it. I tried to keep speaking, but I somehow, I couldn’t remember what I’d been saying just moments before, and soon I was whimpering and writhing beneath him, my body straining against him as I felt myself flooding with pleasure again.

The whole night seemed full of such expressions of crazy desire (“Why won’t you rim me?” “You have to force me.” “Well, never mind, then.” “Force me… I want you to force me…”), but somehow, we did sleep eventually, cuddled together incongruously, and that was strange, but what was strange was that it wasn’t really that strange at all. And then it was morning, and he was just as cheeky and challenging as he had been the night before (“is that all you’ve got for me?”), and it wasn’t long before he had plunged his fingers into my throbbing pussy, pumping them against my G-spot, stopping every now and then to pull them out and shove them into my mouth for me to suck my juices off them. My pussy had never felt so swollen and wet before, with his fingers sinking into it like a sponge, squeezing out a flood of endorphins with every thrust.

“So when are we getting married?” he asked, as I threw my arms around him in grateful delight.

“Tomorrow. But I need to go to work now.”

“You do that. I’ll clean up here after you leave. And I’ll try to find your missing earring.”

“Thank you!! But just one more thing, babe…” I giggled, leaning in towards his sexy, sexy lips to kiss him goodbye. “What’s your name?”

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2 thoughts on “Joy as It Flies

  1. That was great, one of your longest posts in a while, and I sense a direct correlation between how much time you devote to describing an experience and how much you enjoyed it

    Looks like you have hit paydirt this time, congratulations

    Like

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