I was fucking a guy named Paul semi-regularly, and Paul was fine. He knew what to put where, he could last a while before he finished, he was willing to try new things, he was courteous, giving, and thoroughly…fine. If it was a Friday night and I needed to let off some pressure, I could do a lot worse than Paul. But this isn’t a story about Paul. This is a story about Chris.

Chris was Paul’s roommate. I didn’t interact with him much, just in passing on my way to Paul’s room. I didn’t know much about Chris. He watched a lot of TV, he was generally friendly, and he would occasionally bring women home and do unholy things to them. I never saw what was done, he kept it behind closed doors, but the sounds those women made were, frankly, enticing. Howls and screams and grunts. There were only two explanations for those kinds of sounds, and I knew he wasn’t killing them, so I knew I wanted a part of what was going on.

It wasn’t hard to do anything behind Paul’s back. First off, we weren’t in a relationship, we were just fucking. We were free to fuck whoever we wanted. Sure, he’d probably rather I wasn’t fucking his roommate, but that was never specifically a rule, so I didn’t feel too bad about it. Secondly, Paul worked a normal 9-5 job, and Chris worked odd hours at a factory, so it wasn’t difficult to find a time when Chris would be home but Paul wouldn’t. I took a day off work, just to be safe, and went over to the apartment about 9, walked upstairs, and knocked at the door. I was wearing a yellow button down blouse, unbuttoned just far enough to be enticing, and a blue knee length skirt with blue heels. I didn’t look like I was showing up for a booty call, but nothing was going to take more than a couple seconds and minimal effort to take off.

When Chris opened the door in an old t-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts, he was clearly surprised to see me. He told me that Paul wasn’t home, and I politely told him that I knew, and that I was there to see him. He nodded, with a small smile on his face, and let me in. I walked in and sat in the middle of the couch, and he settled in close to me. We chatted for a bit, though I don’t know why. We both knew what was about to happen. We talked about the weather, work, life, the usual casual conversation topics, when I asked him to tell me something I didn’t know about him. He, in a calm, even, matter of fact way told he’d wanted to fuck me since the first time he saw me. Then he asked me to tell him something that he didn’t know about me. So I told him that I wasn’t wearing any panties. We stared at each other for several long seconds, then he reached down and picked up the hem of my skirt between two fingers, almost daintily, and slowly pulled it up, not in a seductive way, but more like he was checking if I was lying. I don’t know why, but his utterly casual approach really worked for me. As my shaved pussy came into view, he nodded approvingly. Then, without a word, he slid off the couch, onto his knees, twisting around to position himself between my legs. I scooted my ass forward, giving him better access, already breathing heavily. He looked up at me, wordlessly asking permission. I nodded.

I don’t know what that man was doing to me, but I wish he’d write a book about it for everyone’s benefit. I could feel the usual exploration, broad swipes with his tongue, probing with his fingers, little sparks of pleasure beginning to pop up, I softly moaned to let him know what was good and what wasn’t. Textbook, every woman knows how it goes. Then it ramped up in a way I’d never felt before. It was like he had a direct line to the pleasure center of my brain, and he was holding nothing back. He snaked his arms under my legs, holding me firmly in place so I couldn’t buck my hips to forcefully while he continued his work. At some point, as I was riding wave after wave of pleasure, my arms had shot out to either side, desperately looking for something to anchor myself as I made all the kinds of sounds that I’d heard echoing from his room and then some.

He was relentless. Every time I thought he was losing his touch, leveraging one move for too long, he’d switch his focus and send me spiraling up to dizzying heights all over again. He never made any move to quiet me, he never moved to take it further, he just played me like a finely tuned instrument. By the time he stopped, easing to a nice soft landing, my hips hurt from bucking so hard against his firm grasp, my throat hurt from the sounds I’d been making, most of them I hadn’t even been aware of making in the moment. My eyes, which had been clenched shut for most of the experience, fluttered open. He was standing up, stretching his back with a grunt as I looked around for a clock. It was ten thirty. After a half hour of conversation, Chris had given me a solid hour of among the finest cunnilingus I’d ever experienced, and I’ve experienced plenty. He looked around, my juices still glistening on his mouth and chin. He looked back down at me and casually asked if I wanted to get something to eat, or if I wanted to go into his room and fuck. I smiled and told him, in a voice that was far more drowsy than I meant it to be, that I wasn’t hungry.

When I was finally able to get my legs to work and make my way into his bedroom, it wasn’t as depraved as I’d expected it. Not that he gave off that vibe, but the sounds I’d regularly heard coming from behind his door made me imagine toys of various sizes and styles scattered around, maybe straps on the headboard. Instead, it was clean, almost immaculately so. The bed was neatly made, there was no clutter, no dust. In fact, as I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, it occurred to me that, with my shirt and skirt rumpled, my auburn hair askew, and my drunkenly satisfied expression, I was the most messy thing in the entire room. He came in shortly after me, wiping his mouth. Smiling at him, I began to unbutton my top. He came in and kissed me fiercely, snaking his skilled tongue into my mouth as I finished the buttons on my shirt and shrugged it off, followed quickly by my bra, then my skirt. As we ended our kiss, I stepped back, sitting down on the bed. His eyes wandered over my 5’6” frame, lingering on my 36C tits. He hooked his thumbs on his waistband and pushed his shorts and underwear down in one movement, lazily kicking them to the side. His cock was…average. Maybe a bit thicker than average, but no longer than six inches, but it was rock hard, and swayed with every move he made as he moved toward me.

He didn’t waste time. I suppose after an hour of eating me out, there was no need for more foreplay, and he wasn’t wrong. One of his hands went to my tits, gently grabbing, and the other went to the small of my back, laying me down, but keeping it arched. With that, he pushed inside me, not hard, not slow, but a gentle, steady forward motion, like it was meant to be. I moaned softly. Most men like to linger for a bit, get used to the feeling of being inside me. I guess Chris thought he’d spent enough time familiarizing himself, because as soon as he reached full depth, he pulled back, rocking his hips back as he went, then he pitched them forward, looking into my eyes the entire time. It was a good strategy, but one I’d seen before. Then he did it again, and again, slightly different angles each time, always staring into my eyes, until he found the rhythm. He did something, between the angle and the force and the way the planets aligned, he hit a spot just right, and he knew it. Not that I kept it a secret. I let out a long, low, guttural “fuck” as he hit a spot that I’d experienced before, but only from men hitting it by accident. Chris knew what he’d done though, and he kept doing it. Thrust by thrust by thrust, he hammered that sweet, divine spot so perfectly that I was howling in ways that my already sore throat didn’t appreciate, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care if he knew it, if the neighbors down the hall knew it, if fucking Paul knew it all the way at his work. I didn’t care if I blew my voice out, it was all worth it.

I spent another hour riding luxurious waves of pleasure before he tapped out on me. He pulled free, jerking his cock a few times before shooting a thick load on my stomach with a grunt, then collapsed next to me, out of breath. We lazily high fived and he passed me some tissues to clean up, then stared at the ceiling and just talked, those deep, philosophical post-fucking conversations. He turned out to be incredibly easy to talk to, witty, intelligent, engaging. I didn’t even mind that he kept looking at my bare tits. I certainly kept an eye on his cock, noticing every twitch on its road to recovery. After a bit of time and some fluids, as well as plenty of staring and some provocative conversations, he got back to full hardness again, and I asked him if he minded if I took the reins. Ever the gentleman, he said yes, so I climbed on top of him.

Riding Chris was a different experience, though I wasn’t looking for that perfect angle he’d struck. Honestly, he’d been so kind both by eating me out so well and then fucking my brains out, I wanted to return the favor. I hit my stride quickly, though he didn’t really seem to care how slow or fast I fucked him as long as he could play with my tits, which I happily let him do. He didn’t last long as I gyrated my hips on top of him, though his second orgasm was less intense and less messy than his previous one. I kept going until I’d drained every drop, then rolled off of him. We chatted some more, but I quickly fell asleep. Chris had been fully exhausting, just like I’d hoped he would be.

I slept for hours before Chris woke me up. He was gentle and courteous, but told me in a whisper that Paul had just gotten home. Again, we had no agreement about who either of us was allowed to fuck, but I doubt he would have taken it well if I’d wandered out of Chris’s room looking infinitely more satisfied than I ever had with him, so I quietly got up and got dressed, thanking the powers that be that I hadn’t gotten partially undressed in the living room. Once dressed, I sat quietly on the edge of the bed while Chris went out and chatted with Paul. Fortunately, that didn’t last long before Paul went to get changed into more comfortable clothes. Chris gave me the go-ahead, and I quietly hurried to the door, giving Chris a passionate kiss before I slipped out. I told him that I definitely wanted to see him again, and he agreed, giving me another quick peck before flagging me away to head back down to my car and back home, still smiling from the thought of Chris and all the things his magical tongue could do.