A few days ago, I saw him again. I will need to come up with a name for him besides D.F.–and I will elaborate on why another time.

Before our last encounter, he told me I was going to finger myself as he drove us to his place. So, despite the fact that it was FREEZING out, I wore a short skirt, bustier tank top and heels (and a cashmere sweater–I didn’t want to get hypothermia). We were driving for about a minute before he told me to start playing with myself. As I opened my legs and started to finger my pussy, he grabbed one leg and slung it over the compartment between the two seats, so I was totally exposed.

“I would finger you,” he said, “but I need to keep my eyes on the road.”

By the time we hit the highway though, that plan had gone out the window. I moaned and touched myself until he was driven so crazy that he unzipped his pants. I ran my hand up and down his shaft, jacking him off while he rubbed my pussy. I got wetter and wetter as he played with my clit, sitting there with my legs spread wide open, squirming and gasping.

“Your house is too far away,” I moaned, desperate to have him inside me.

“No, it’s not far enough,” he smirked. He enjoyed torturing me.

When we got to his house, he told me to keep on my silver heels, then backed me against an armchair in his living room. “You’re not sitting,” he said. He told me to squat.

I bent my knees and plied as close to ground as I could get (which was pretty far–I do yoga!).

He released his cock, and shoved it in my mouth. “Finger yourself,” he told me.

I sucked him and slid my fingers into my pussy, sighing with pleasure. Apparently I wasn’t enthusiastic enough for him though, because minutes later he bent me back over the chair, so I was in almost a bridge position, and fucked me with his fingers until I was screaming and moaning. He tossed me back onto the ground.

That’s how you finger,” he spat.

Pushing his cock back into my mouth, he commanded me to get myself off. I pushed three fingers inside my hot, throbbing cunt, until I gushed.

“Good,” he said, then immediately ordered me to get up. I did as I was told, but asked permission to take off my sweater. He said yes, then led me across the room and bent me over the arm of the couch. I smiled.

He entered me from behind, and I was screaming on the first thrust. We fucked like that until he turned me over, put my heels over his shoulders, and drove into me with such intensity that I started to whimper. I came countless times like that, and then he pulled out and took off the condom.

He rubbed the length of his shaft up and down my slit. Said, “you love that raw cock, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I gasped. I felt intoxicated.

“Do you want it?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Do. You. Want. It?”


He slid his bare cock inside me.

There is simply nothing in the world like being penetrated by a condom-less man. I moaned loudly, as he slowly fucked me, letting me feel everything. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I wrapped my legs around his waist, squeezing him as I came and came.

When he was about to come, he pulled out, and his hot liquid spurted all over me. I sighed and collapsed, finally satisfied.

He looked into my eyes. “We are too intense.”

He’s right.

8 Comments on “Intense”

  1. phoenixasubbie says:

    You’re right. The feel of skin on skin beats a condom any day. Been too long… Thanks for letting me live vicariously 🙂

  2. mala says:

    Sounds like you are happy 🙂 Good for you 🙂

  3. JK says:

    I like this guy already, and I just met him.

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