“You’re not fucking real.”

I shouldn’t have replied, but the disregard irritated me. “What’s your fucking problem, I am real. I have a real problem here, between my legs,” I shot back. He replied, hours later, no words, just that ubiquitous bathroom-mirror picture of his naked torso and arms. A really nice torso. Fisted arms, slightly flexed and those goddamn veins that suggestively crawled from forearm to bicep.

Ugh, FINE. I’ll bite.

He was close to my age, from the Mid-West, traveling to LA for work and wary of me. Moreso than I was of him. Tit for tat, we went on, revealing small parts of ourselves to each other. A photo of my pussy for one of his face, a clothed full body shot of his for one of my face, then my spanked ass, my pussy again, but when wet, bent over and spread open. A dick pic never made an appearance. It amused me that it felt like I were the aggressor, the one pursuing him.

A breakthrough came in the form of swapping Linkedin profiles, which I would not recommend and won’t be doing again. This finally put him at enough ease that I was a real girl - it was on. That and the fact that we talked and texted for 10 fucking days. To be fair, this coincided with when he would be in LA.

The plans were simple: the hotel lobby bar for a drink, then to his room, for business. His requests were simple: a completely bare pussy and lace panties under a skirt. I acquiesced, of course. Mine were simple, too: a light blue dress shirt, a belt with a buckle and neat below it.

We settled on meeting late afternoon, so it wouldn’t be overcrowded at the bar. I spotted him sitting by himself, staring down at his phone, and thank God he was because I was a ball of knots and nerves walking up to him. “Hi”, I whispered. He looked up and smiled at me with such pretty eyes, eyes that dropped from my face and down my body, inspecting me.

I paired what he asked me to wear with a light blue shirt, because I thought it would be funny if we matched. It was a flimsy short sleeved blouse with buttons that clung closer to my frame than his shirt did to his broad shoulders. I knew my nipples were visibly beaded through the fabric as he continued to look me over. My breaths were already short, tight, like I couldn’t get enough air.

We didn’t say much. He continued to stare at me, and I couldn’t muster up any false bravado to save my life. When he stood up, he towered at least a heads length over me and I’m sure I squeaked. He ushered us to the bar; Scotch and soda for him, an old fashioned for me, with two Luxardos. I was only interested in the Luxardos.

He kept his hand on my thigh, by my knee, the entire time we were at the bar. He spoke, of what, I am not certain. All I remember was his hand and the way he absently rubbed circles against me with his thumb. How his fingers indented into my skin when he squeezed me. How hard my heart was beating, how uncomfortably wet I was getting, the almost painful tension in my lower belly.

“Give me your room key. What room are you in?” I snapped, as soon as I finished the second cherry. “I need to go and make sure you’re not going to murder me”. He smiled, a genuine smile and gave me the card, then gave my thigh a firmer squeeze.

I made my way to the elevator alone, still nervous but aroused. Deliriously aroused. I got to his floor, then into his room and found it neat. Not so neat that it would suggest I’d get murdered. The view was nice.

Before long I heard a knock on the door, I walked towards it to open it, but he was already inside. “Hi”, I said again. This seemed to be the only thing I could say, so far. He stalked up to me, put his hands under ass and lifted me up, pulling me close to his body, carrying me. My legs hung on either side of his arms, wrapped around him and I could already feel myself tensing up. I put one arm over his shoulder so I wouldn’t fall and used the other hand to push against his chest to create distance.

I was going to fuck this up. Shit just got real. I suddenly felt too vulnerable, too small pressed up against him, like a defenseless flower that just got plucked from the earth by a bear. I sighed inwardly, my body going rigid, and he noticed.

He set me down gently on the bed, and I sat up watching him like a scared rabbit. He scooted away from me and sat himself on the bed too. He looked at me seriously and grabbed my hand, holding just my fingertips, his thumb brushing over them gingerly. “Do you want to stop? We don’t have to do anything. We can stop.” He was so earnest, and I was so relieved I could cry.

I finally looked up at him and shook my head, “I don’t want to stop, just give me a minute.” He grinned cheekily and boyish, then lifted my hand to his face, pressing his cheek into my palm. “You set the pace then”.

Pulling myself up to my knees on the bed, I inched closer to where he sat and asked him to stay still so I could inspect him. I noticed how neatly combed his brown hair was, so I mussed it up with my fingers. He smirked and pulled a face at me, disarming me further. I like to play, and he just told me I could play with him how I liked.

He had light brown eyes, with flecks of green, hazel, is it? They followed me as I inched even closer in front of him. I started to touch his face, running my fingers along his jawline, down his neck. Then I gave him a little kiss on his cheek, a thank you for being nice and patient with me. I planted more closed lip kisses all over his face, avoiding his mouth, as he remained still.

Eventually, the anxiety in my body rolled away and everything felt good. I started to unbutton his shirt, giving him little pecks under his chin. His skin was so warm; I nuzzled my face close into his neck. That’s when he said, “that’s enough, stop teasing me”.

“I’m not, I’m cherishing you. Do you feel cherished?” I smiled to myself and told him he could touch me now. Not a second later I felt his hands circle my hips, pulling me onto him so I straddled him. He grabbed the back of my head, leaned his face into mine and kissed me. Gentle at first, then demanding as his tongue darted into my mouth, seeking more.

Quickly, it became a blur of kissing, sucking, biting, our faces pressed into the others. His shirt was off, so was mine and my skirt hiked up at my waist. He was on top of me and I was wantonly writhing my little body under him, pressing upwards, trying to grind my lace clad pussy against him, against his cock through his pants, offering myself up like a bitch in heat.

I reached down to unbuckle his belt but he swatted my hand away. What the fuck? Oh right, right, that’s not what we’re doing here.

“Alright, that’s really enough”, I heard him mutter. Then his hands were on me, he lifted my body and positioned me at the head of the bed, laid me down on two pillows, propping me up so I could see. He glided his hands from my neck, over my tits, tweaking my nipples to a point, and rested a flattened palm on my abdomen, holding me captive. His body scooted downward, he tapped my leg and jerked his head up, motioning for me to bend my knees and lift my legs.

Once my feet were planted on the bed, thighs on either side of him, he used his other hand to spread my legs further apart then dipped his head in between.

I held still, peering down to look at him. He was staring at my cunt, still trapped behind lace. His mouth was slightly opened, he was inhaling deeply, his eyes glazed. He caught me staring and he gave my inner thigh a little bite before sliding a finger underneath the lace and pulling it to one side. He caught the wet, bunched fabric with his thumb, hooking it to keep it out of the way. He groaned and I felt myself pulse. I knew I was wet all over, my thighs, between my ass cheeks. I tried to rock my hips closer to mouth but he pressed down on me, a warning.

I was his to play with now.

Finally, his fingers grazed my dewy folds, and I could feel him spreading me open to him. No more teasing. He flattened his tongue, and he licked me from my opening all the way up to my achy clit. A single lashing that sent me somewhere else, to another planet. He kept lashing his tongue at me, the licks were deliberately slow, meant to torture.

Torture, huh? What he didn’t know was how amped I was, how close I was. Every lick felt like an electrical current, starting at my core and spreading hot and heady outwards to every part of my body. If he kept going, I’d be coming any second now. But he paused, bringing his lips to my little nub and returned to me a closed lipped kiss and then chuckled.

This incensed me and I thrashed against him, demanding the friction of his tongue. He stilled me again by pressing down on my abdomen, his other arm snaked around, holding my leg wide and apart while he rested his cheek against my inner thigh.

I was glaring at him now. I barked - yes barked - “Make me come. Now.”

“Ask nicely.”

“Make me come. Now, please” I said, trying to squish his face between my thighs.

“Try again,” he murmured, pressing his tongue between my butt cheeks.

A frantic moan ripped from my throat. “Please. Can you please let me come?”

“Are you going to be a good girl?”

I nodded, barely breathing. I liked that.

He finally relented and brought my clit into his mouth, sucking on me, swirling his tongue against the bead of nerves with a practiced precision that entranced my hips to move with him. He hummed a low growl of approval from the back of his throat, like he was the victor in whatever game we were playing. His mouth continued working, latched to my mound. I could only hear our breaths, my heartbeat, and the sounds of supple wet flesh getting more and more vulgar by the second until finally… I heard myself cry out.

A fiery, white, hot jolt ignited by his tongue, radiating from my very core, pushing into every fiber of my being, causing my body to strain and contort as the current flowed again and again through me. I clutched his brown hair, riding the sensation out against his lips until it ebbed away.

Before I could even compose myself, I felt his face rumble against my thighs. He was chuckling, again. “That was easy,” he teased.

"Do you often make women come then laugh at them?" I asked, facetiously.

The night went on; I gently rode his face, he folded me in half and ate me from behind, he spanked my ass, he lashed the strap of his belt on my clit over and over, he tongued my fuck hole until I whimpered for mercy. Each act was always punctuated with an orgasm, or two.

The darker it got outside, the dirtier it sounded inside. The wetness, slapping, slurping, spitting, moaning, the begging and pleading, the words.

“Tell me what you want. Do you need to come again?”, he worked his fingers slow, in and out of my pussy.

“No! it’s not that”, I shook my head, frustrated.

“Say it, tell me what you want.”

“I want – I want your cock. Please, ugh!”

“What for? Orgasms aren’t enough for dirty little sluts like you? What do you want my cock for?”

I squeezed my eyes tight and backed my pussy into his fingers. He withdrew them and made me straddle his face again, his tongue out and wagging at me. I dutifully rocked myself against him until I came … again. What a life.

He kept his pants on the whole time. I didn’t even get to see his cock that night. “No Reciprocation” is a full sentence.

“Come back tomorrow and I will consider letting you play with my cock.”

TOMORROW?! Fuck. My. Life.

__________________________________________

There was a tomorrow. But this is already soooo long. And reciprocation happened, am I allowed to post it here, hmm? I’ll read the rules the again and be back for Pt. 2

Maybe.