"Not interested in a personal trainer, a dom or a one night stand," my profile declared defiantly in the face of no one in particular.
I've been dominated before. Overpowered. Beaten and bruised in horrific ways that I wouldn't wish on anyone, even if they liked the pain. He bit huge chunks of flesh on my thighs that stayed a midnight purple for 2 weeks after. I felt my BONES bending under his weight, as he bent me backwards, threatening to snap my femur in two pieces over the back of his couch...
"No. No, I don't want a dom," I said again with absolute certainty.
Then one day, a few weeks later, I matched with G. on a dating app. I liked his sense of humor. His profile said, "Sick and perverted." His only photo showed a man in his early 40s, shaved head, sheepish blue eyes and a barely there smile, sitting in front of a dartboard wearing a t-shirt that said, "The liver is evil, it must be destroyed." He was cute in a familiar way, but I didn't recognize him.
We chatted while I sat with my hospice client that evening. He jokingly gave me the nickname Steve and asked if I would mind texting. There was something about him that had me hooked and I couldn't put my finger on it. (Side note: I've smoked a lot of pot in the last 20 years.) I fought to suppress my smile as I read the words "Hi Steve!" pop up on my text messaging app. For more than an hour we asked each other questions, learning everything we could about each other, all the while, he knew full well who I was and was dropping hints that were hitting me like slow motion raindrops.
Finally, embarrassingly, it clicked. It took one final question for me to realize I had been best friends with his wife 20 years earlier. I spent every weekend getting hammered at his house and going clubbing with G. and his wife and my boyfriend at the time, who worked with G. and is how we all met.
"Do you have a daughter named S.?" I texted.
"I do." he replied.
"Oh shit G. I think we know each other." Molasses in winter couldn't be slower...
In the effort of saving time and your attention, I'll speed this up. My aforementioned boyfriend is now my son's father, and unbeknownst to me, G's current best friend and business partner. Moving along...
G. asked me if I wanted to meet for drinks. I always thought he was cute years ago, and now neither of us is with our previous significant others. I told him I didn't see why we couldn't meet and catch up over a drink.
We spent hours one evening, at a corner table in a sports bar, rehashing the past, updating each other on what we'd been up to in the last 2 decades and taking turns running to the bathroom to pee. Turns out, neither of us is the picture of health these days. I've got COPD and he has Prostate Cancer (chemo being the reason I didn’t recognize his profile photo). Somehow, he seemed safe to me. We were tired of the bar but not each other, and it was getting late. I went home with him....
I had no clue of the long, wet night I had ahead of me. He was so unassuming in his reading glasses and backwards baseball cap (2 of my weird weaknesses). We fumbled around for a while, me feeling awkward now that I knew he was my son's father's business partner and best friend, and him waiting for me to shit or get off the pot.
I let go, just a little, and let him slide his hands up the front of my shirt from behind. There is something about having my breasts rubbed from behind that causes a kind of tonic immobility in me. He had his hands under my bra now and was applying a euphorically perfect amount of pressure to both of my nipples. All I could do was pant, eyes squeezed tightly shut, my head slung back against his chest, my hands clawing at his thighs. Before I knew it, he had my jeans unzipped and his hand deep in my soaked panties. He ran his middle finger straight down my clit and hooked it up inside me. I'd had enough of the couch and leapt up to pee and get myself together.
A few minutes later, we were in his bed, and he had resumed his position inside me. I was beyond wet at this point and was so riled up that I could've cum if he breathed on the right spot.
Earlier in our conversation I had told him a couple things about myself. #1 I'm a squirter and #2 I have multiple orgasms and can keep going long after my partner has gone to sleep. He decided to push those 2 details to their breaking point.
(From this point on, I realize my vocabulary is limited to moans, groans and sex noises. Sorry, not sorry. My brain shuts down when my vagina is at play.)
Still behind me, he slowly slipped his finger deep inside me, to get it really good and wet, and then found my clit with expert precision. He kissed my neck all the way down to my shoulder and back up. I felt like I was struck by an electrical current as he bit my neck. I moaned involuntarily, struggling to regain my composure.
"Did.... you... did you just bite me?"
"Yes," he said, the word rolling hot down my skin.
I stopped to think for a moment--this isn't the kind of thing I like...
"Do it again," I said, half begging, half commanding. He obliged and I learned the first thing about myself that night. I was wrong about not liking biting. The right pressure is great. I just hadn't been bitten the right way before then.
I suddenly remembered his finger, which was now strumming my G spot while his thumb held firm pressure on my clit.
"How many is that?" I whisper-moaned.
"How many is what?" he replied.
My brain screamed. How can he make me clarify at a time like this? My mouth can barely form words right now!
"Fingers!" I gasped, "How many??"
"Give me another," I demanded between gulps of air.
Suddenly his aura shifted, his grip on my body tightened and I felt his mouth against my ear, his lip curled in a primal snarl.
"Oh, you want another one, huh? You like that? Are you going to cum for me?" His tone was playful, breathy, commanding and sexy as hell.
"Uh-huh," I moaned again, and my head fell back over his shoulder as he plunged another finger even deeper inside me. It only took another second before I exploded like a tidal wave and flooded his bed.
He had one arm wrapped around me, holding my body tight against his, the fingers of one hand playing with my nipple. His mouth was pressed close to my ear as he resumed penetrating me with the fingers of his free hand.
"Oh my god that was amazing. Look what you did to my bed! Are you going to cum for me again?" he whispered.
I could only moan and offer an impish "uh-huh," in reply. And immediately I did, adding even more silky liquid to the growing puddle beneath me.
He started counting orgasms, and with my help, he learned my cues for when I was building up to an orgasm and when one was happening. He learned quickly what my insides feel like during a climax and before long, I no longer had to tell him when I was getting off, though he commanded me to anyway.
"Mmm you cumming aren't you? I can feel it. Yeah, cum for me baby, give me another one..." The way he was talking to me was burning me up--it was perfect. No one had ever talked to me like that, in exactly the way that makes my knees buckle. From behind and close to my ear and neck.
Why had no other man done this to me before? I've told plenty of men I like being kissed on my neck, but they never would do it. Eventually I gave up and forgot I liked it!
Though it's all a blur, at some point he had me on my knees, face down on the mattress, pounding me from behind, when he grabbed hold of my hair and growled in my ear, "Who does that pussy belong to?"
I could only moan in reply. He yanked my head back further and I stammered, "You!"
"Say it. I want to hear you say it."
"My pussy belongs to you!"
"Yes. It does. Now you're going to cum for me again, aren't you?"
"Uh-h-----" my bellow cut short by an oncoming freight train of an orgasm that shook my body like an earthquake.
"Oh yeah you are. I can feel you tightening up again. You're cumming again, aren't you? Yeah, you are. Yeah baby let me feel you cum for me again," he instructed.
This went on for hours. All he had to do was suggest it and I came for him every time. He had me up to at least 6 orgasms before he ever actually touched me with his cock. Over and over, he made me cum, talking to me like he was a personal trainer asking me for 5 more push-ups. Before the night was over, I'd had 35 orgasms and nearly tripled my measly record of 13 in a day.
Suddenly I understood why the girls in gangbang videos always look wet all over, makeup smudged and running, red and raw from multiple hours of slapping and pounding. They look like they've cried at some point, exhausted, but happy. I felt like I'd given birth while running a marathon.
My only other experience with G. was another night of the same. All night long, over and over again until eventually, he made me beg him to stop.
"Please.... no more.... I can't..." I panted, wet and torn.
"Oh, are you done? Have you had enough? You want me to stop?"
It took all my strength to say yes. My brain wanted him to go on forever, but my body was done.
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