Animalistic Endeavours

Darkness creeps over the Glasgow skyline and a heavy drizzle falls from angry clouds. The weather reflects yer mood. Sombre. Morose. Yer friend is running late, and so there ye are standing alone in the queue for the restaurant. In the drizzle. Nightfall looming. Moisture hangs in the air and yer hair is becoming more straw-like by the second. No chance of ye pulling tonight then.

A few moments pass and ye become instantly aware of the man standing behind ye. He is cute. Nice eyes. He too, is alone. Our eyes meet momentarily but as the queue nudges forwards, ye turn yer attention to shuffling ahead, fearful someone may jump the line. Three more bodies stand between ye and the entrance to the popular eatery down Candleriggs, in the heart of Scotland’s biggest city.

Ye want out of this dismal weather. Ye need heat. Ye need a drink. Ye need some fun.

Once inside, yer handed a buzzer for yer table and yer told there is a one-hour wait. Ye head straight for the ladies room to touch up yer make up and check yer hair. A quick glance in the mirror confirms ye don’t look as bad as ye thought ye might after the speedy walk from the station in the drizzle. Yer eyes are adorned in charcoals and mauves. Smoky. Heavy on the eyeliner. Dark and seductive.

Ye apply a thick layer of pale pink shimmering lip gloss to hungry pouting lips and smile at yer reflection. There is a glint in yer eye. Yes. Not bad. Next stop— the bar.

Ye sashay across the room in yer high-heeled, knee high boots and a dress a bit on the short side for strong meaty thighs. Ye immediately come face to face with the cute chap from outside. Yer clit seems to react rather urgently at the sight of me, and ye have to adjust yer stride to settle her down.

Nipples prickle as ye near me. Ye scan the room for a girlfriend but I appear to be alone. The bartender asks me what I would like to drink, and I reply, “I think I’ll need to look at the menu.” As she turns to you to take yer order, I suddenly boom,

“Actually — I do know what I want.” Ye glance sideways, then back to the bartender. “He knows what he wants,” ye say, flicking yer head in my direction. Ye accompany this with a slight eye roll, to the amusement of the bartender.

I smile and place the menu assertively on the counter and asks for a vodka orange. Interesting choice. Ye order a large white wine (for yer friend), and a G&T, and within seconds it appears that the bartender thinks we are together. Ye lean towards me and whisper,

“I think she thinks we’re together,” to which I casually reply, “Then let her think that.”

Yer clit erupts once more and a small trickle of moisture escapes from yer freshly shaved pussy and settles into yer black lace panties. Yer certain I can smell the sex oozing from ye. Ye smile at me once more, and I offer to pay for yer drinks. Ye refuse, of course. Ye can’t possibly let a stranger buy ye a drink. Yer a modern girl, capable of buying yer own drinks. But I insist. And ye feel compelled to acquiesce. I have an enigmatic charm and ye feel wooed.

There is something about me. Something… different.

A moment later and yer phone buzzes in yer bag. It’s a message from my friend. She is running way behind schedule and will be at least another hour. Ye turn to me and ask me if I would like to join ye for a while, until yer friend arrives, and much to yer delight, I say, “I’d love to.”

Within minutes of settling into the cosy, relatively secluded booth, you discover everything about me, and time flies past. We are lost in conversation, as the drink flows, and the barriers come down. I’m polite, well spoken and very charming. Ye find yerself studying me closely, eyes connecting regularly, smiles aplenty. We have good rapport.

Yer knickers are becoming stickier by the minute, and ye are shifting in yer seat at the sensation of juices gathering down below. Ye long to ease yer right hand down in between yer thighs and upwards to yer most intimate place. To rub ye hard through yer thick black tights and lace panties. But ye resist. Ye barely know me — and besides, it would be far too obvious.

Ye are flirting, but in a subtle way. Yer no sure how to read me. I’m very handsome and have a killer smile. More than anything yer attracted to my warmth. I have a lovely nature. Non threatening. I make ye feel settled and calm. Appreciated.

Yer slightly concerned that I may not be the kind of man to give ye what you need. What ye desire. Sexually, ye think I might be too nice. Pity.

A few moments pass. Silence. A comfortable silence. We glance at each other and I wait until ye take a sip of yer gin to ask ye when ye last had an orgasm.

Yer eyes widen and ye slam the glass down on the table top, trying hard not to choke on the liquid which is trying to make its way down yer constricting throat. Ye swallow hard and compose yerself.

“Not this year,” ye reply. I raise my eyebrows and my eyes grow darker.

“Why would a pretty girl like you deny herself a good time for a few months?” I ask.

Now yer blushing and feeling slightly giddy. What do ye tell me? That yer was recently dumped by the love of yer life and ye can’t stand the thought of touching yerself because it reminds ye of him? And that nothing and nobody will ever come close to making ye body react like he was able to? So I’d rather go without.

Nope. Can’t tell me that. That’s lame. Even if it is the truth.

Yer heart tightens and yer reminded of the man who proclaims to love ye but cannot be with ye. Yer reminded that life is a bastard. Ye regain yer composure and announce,

“I am fasting. Starving myself of pleasure. I like to torture myself, you see. Deprive myself of what I like. It makes the end game much more satisfying.”

Ye look at me and yer top lip twitches and twists; this always happens when yer turned on and acting coy. I straighten my back and ask ye to elaborate. Sensing my curiosity, ye stall and stare at me intensely. My eyes are seductive yet cold. Ye think I am holding back. Both of us unable — maybe even unwilling — to talk, yer body goes into autopilot and ye find yerself sliding down off the chair under the table. Ye see legs and feet. Ye crawl gingerly over towards me, and slap yer hands firmly on my thighs.

Ye can feel me inhale deeply and the words, “What are you doing?” escape my mouth. Ye do not speak. Ye quickly unbuckle my brown leather belt.

My body is rigid and ye can tell I’m completely uncomfortable at the predicament. Ye don’t care. Ye need a release. This feels good.

Aware that the bar area is very busy and that time is against us, Ye eagerly undo my button and pull down my zipper. The smell of pre-cum hits ye first, and ye inhale a long slow sniff. Yum. Ye can see the outline of a thick hard cock under sage green Armani boxer shorts. A small circle of moisture where he has been leaking. He likes you.

Yer hand reaches down into the green material and ye gently wrap yer fingers around my shaft, freeing me from my boxers. My hands push hard down against the seat and I am unable to talk. I am trying to control myself but I know I am unable to. Ye suspect I am petrified and utterly elated all at once. Ye wrap yer warm wet lips around my leaking helmet. I groan. Yer mouth sliding up and down the length of my shaft. Slow delicate sucks all the way to the base and all the way back to the tip. Ye are met with more pre-cum. I am utterly delicious.

My hand suddenly grabs at yer hair and I force yer head downwards. My entire cock is now lodged deep down yer throat and ye can’t breathe. Ye love it. Ye love this feeling of being wanted.

Ye are gagging and choking — yer eyes are streaming and ye know yer cheeks will be streaked with black mascara.

Just as ye start to panic for air, I pull yer head upwards and away from my hard on. Ye look up to see me looking down at ye. I’m smiling a devilish smile. Yer hair still wrapped in my fist.

“Are you hungry?”

“Ravenous,” ye reply. And I once again force yer head downwards, yer mouth already agape and ready to consume my throbbing cock. Yer throat is assaulted once more.

Ye are now working me in a controlled rhythm. Our eyes are staring intently at each other. We are both composed but I occasionally look away to check for unwanted spectators. I tell ye there is a man watching us from the corner and ye stop momentarily to glance around at our audience.

When yer eyes connect with the stranger ye smile, mouth full of cock, and give him a little wave.

Thanks for watching the show, ye think to yerself.

Yer pussy gushes and ye let out a low pained moan of pleasure. The eye contact continues and it is not long before ye can feel me start to buck. I’m almost there. Ye haven’t had the pleasure of cum pumping down yer throat for months and yer ready for it. Oh so ready.

Within seconds ye feel the first wave of salty gloopy liquid escape his helmet and ye hear me whimper.

Ye stop sucking and open yer mouth wide, knowing fully I'm watching ye. My cum hits yer tongue and ye tip yer head backwards so the liquid can run back into yer throat. Ye mustn’t waste a single drop. I look totally in awe of ye. My eyes are glistening and my mouth holds a small smirk. A pained small smirk.

Ye are under no illusion that ye are chancing yer luck and if ye want to stay here for dinner, without being ejected for sexual deviancy, ye need to hurry along and return to yer seat opposite me. Ye swallow down hard and enjoy the taste of my juices as they run down my throat. A nice consistency. A pleasant taste. Yes. My cum is scrumptious.

Ye shimmy backwards and delicately manoeuvre yerself upwards into yer seat, facing me once more.

“I have a name. I just don’t want to tell you it.

“You’ve got something on your chin,” I remark. And we both laugh. I pass ye a serviette and ye shake yer head.

“I don’t need a napkin thank you.” Ye take yer forefinger and wipe at yer chin, a smear of cum glistening on ye finger. ye pop it in yer mouth and suck seductively. “Oh yummy,” Ye say. More smiles.

Just then the buzzer goes off. Yer table is ready. Ye stand to leave, using the napkin to remove the streaks of mascara and eye liner that have flooded yer cheeks.

“How do I look?” Ye ask.

“Like you’ve just had my cock down your throat,” I reply. I stand and lean towards ye, wrapping my hand round yer neck and pulling ye close. My hands are soft, warm and strong. I kiss ye gently on the lips, my tongue probing yer mouth, just enough to taste myself. Our eyes never leave each other.

“You’re a filthy little whore,” I whispers in yer ear. Ye step back and study me. I am a thing of beauty. Ye feel totally overcome with emotion. Satisfaction. Guilt. Sorrow. I continue to stare at ye intently, as ye turn to walk away. Yer heart is racing. I was right. Ye are a filthy little whore. Isn’t it funny how a perfect stranger can know you so well.

Even funnier when the stranger is your ex.

You to make your way to your table, but I take you by the hand and lead you from the restaurant, “I have a hotel just around the corner”. We stroll in the moonlight through the merchant city, your pussy buzzing with excitement from the thrill of what you had just done. We stumble through the hotel lobby, up the stairs bouncing from wall to wall as we eat each others face off, I struggle to get the keycard in the door, as you pull on my neck like an animal in attack mode, we fall in the door, as it slams behind us, I make my way to the bed and kick my shoes off. Now ye are feeling really horny. Ye reached for my fly but I push yer hand away.

“Greedy girl. How about you give me your glass, Ms. Smith?”

Yer pussy reacted, clenching at my audacity and anticipating the release of my cock. I stood, looming over ye, both hands free.

“You might want to take off your dress?”

My invitation were sounding more like orders every minute. I was dancing along the edge of permission. Tilting yer head back and to one side, ye say, “You can call me Cheryl.”

Taking the initiative I held a fistful of yer hair and pulled yer head slowly back onto the cold metal frame of the sofa. Then I brought my face close to yours, till our cheeks were practically touching. My breath was warm against yer neck.

“A good girl might get exactly what she wants,” I whispered.

With words good girl echoing in yer mind ye skipped through the buttons with one hand. Yer dress opened, revealing all yer flesh, cleavage bulging from a black lacy bra. I respond with a throaty groan, put my arms around ye and skilfully undo the clasp on yer bra. Yer boobs spilled out directly into my waiting hands. I twisted yer nipples and squeezed the flesh, obviously revelling in their size and weight. Ye could see the need in my eyes and allowed yer mouth to open with desire, no order necessary.

Ye begin unzipping my fly for round 2. Reaching in, ye pull my cock through and carefully began to manipulate my shaft back and forth over the already swollen purple knob, dripping in saliva and cum. Ye swear ye begin to salivate. Unable to look away ye simply took at the view before ye. Pre-cum glistening on the end of my knob and ye lean forward to lick it off but I take a step back.

“Perhaps if you lay sideways it would be easier to take off your panties.” Yer day was getting better and better. Ye swivelled gently, nursing yer ankle, and stretched yer legs along the white sofa. Ye open ye thighs to me, waiting for my fingers, but instead I reached for my beer and took a slow sip.

"You know, Cheryl, it might be better to let me watch you do it. To see those stocking tops framing your cunt."

Ye’d never met anyone like this before. My directness excited ye. My attitude was hot as hell. Ye peeled off yer panties and let your dress drop to the floor. Now yer plump, moist slit was on view – for me.

“That's more like it. What if you gave that gorgeous pussy a little stroke for me?” I practically purred the request, holding my dick and gently rubbing a fingertip across its tip.

Ye didn't need telling twice. Ye are wet. This was the sexiest scene ye’ve been involved in. Someone daring to take what they wanted from ye. Asking, yet telling ye what to do.

Ye push ye finger along the entrance to your love tunnel and feel the heat. Burning. Looking directly into my eyes ye push in further, parting yer legs. Now ye can smell yer own longing.

“Don't you think it's time for my treat, Cheryl?”

I picked out a black Givenchy scarf from the silk pile and just stood, looking, waiting.

"Yes," ye whispered.

Heart pounding, ye stretch yer hands above yer head and gripped the chrome pipes that framed the sofa. Ye arched yer back, raising yer boobs up towards me. In a few seconds I had both yer wrists tethered to the frame. Ye are shocked—at me, at yerself—but ye didn't want this to stop.

What ye did want was my cock in yer mouth again and ye didn't have to wait long. Kneeling astride ye, I was perfectly positioned to push my hips forward and impale yer face, dick plunging into the back of ye throat. Hardly able to breathe ye gasp in the air as I make short, sharp thrusts and my cock never left yer mouth.

Looking down into yer eyes, in between strokes I growled,

“Good girl. I'm guessing...you...love...IT...don't you...”

And at the sound of those words something strange began to happen. Ye started to climax, cunt pulsing against the stitched leather cushions as yer clitoris, already proud from the earlier encounter, rubbed and throbbed on the seams. What a release.

At the same time, your mouth seemed to mimic yer cunt's actions, massaging my shaft as ye sucked and slurped. Just as yer orgasm began to subside I started to cum. My cock is unyielding. Pulling out, I moaned, aiming my shot over yer breasts and covering yer milky skin with my spunk. Still not content, I kept jerking cum from my dick, spurting deep into yer cleavage. The explosion seemed never-ending.

Finally I got slowly to my feet and dropped onto the floor. Still panting, that cute smile opened again, the corners of my mouth turning up into a smile.

Everything freezes for a moment, like a lineup of runners waiting on the starting gun - desperate long silence, then everything happening at once. I’m in front of ye in seconds, the space between us disappears, and I put my hands to yer head, kissing hard, tongue slick and hot and hard into yer mouth.

Ye start moaning instantly, yer hips pushing forward towards me. Pussy, dripping, longing to be attended to, Stockings, attached to a garter. And nothing else. I look at ye, kiss ye again, I bend over ye again, and put my hands on yer inner thighs, pushing wide. I lean back on the sofa, yer hands still tied above your head, as you surrender yourself to me, my mouth clamps onto yer pussy, tongue pushing in between the hot warm folds of yer pussy lips, the wet erotic taste and smell of you filling my nostrils and my mouth.

I lick ye hard, using my hands to spread ye, tongue lapping and rubbing. Yer moaning, very quietly; I know yer biting yer tongue to keep from doing anything too loud.

"Cum baby, cum for me," I say. Ye can feel the rumble of my voice against yer pussy, and the feeling of it, of my chin, my lips, the tenor of my words, and instantly ye start orgasming, closing yer legs around my head like a vice.

I don't let ye rest at all. My fingers slide inside ye, and I stand up, fucking ye steadily with one hand while the other squeezes and massages your left tit.

Yer dripping on my hand, wet all over. Again, I demand: “Cum for me, C. Cum!”

Ye can't resist when I tell ye to, and another orgasm rips through ye. When ye open yer eyes again, ye see me untying your arms, releasing you to cup your roasting hot pussy, and massage your nipple with the other hand. I let myself slide off the sofa and onto my knees.

"Stand up, turn around," I say, sternly, quietly, insistently. Ye do.

"Bend over the desk," I say.

Ye do, leaning at the waist so that the fronts of yer hips are touching the edge of the desk, yer head flat turned to the side, resting on one cheek. There's still papers here, yer breasts are pushing down on them, yer hair spread out over them.

"Hold on," I say.

Ye grip the far side of the desk with both of yer hands and as soon as I do, I thrust into ye so hard ye shout.

“Oh!"

You know I don't need to tell ye to be quiet. Ye close yer mouth, and look back at me over yer shoulder as though to say,

"I'm all right now, go now, start, fuck me, fuck me now!”

Which is exactly what yer thinking in yer head, as my hands grip onto yer hips and my cock starts pounding ye.

"Bob, oh jesus... fuck, Robert" ye moan so quietly you can barely hear it. Still, the sound of my own name coming out of your mouth while I pump my cock deep into yer soaking wet cunt is so astoundingly erotic that I don't know how I haven't cum again yet.

I risk the noise of a smack and slap yer arse cheek once, twice. I need to again, so I risk it again, a third time, a fourth time. I can see the pinkness of my hand mark on yer bare skin, partially hidden only by where the garter sits across yer hip,

and where the strap comes down to meet yer stockings. I’m fucking ye hard, so hard, and ye look back at me again, and whisper: harder, harder, harder. Fuck. I don't have to be told twice. I let myself go, the front of my hips smacking hard and loud into yer arse cheeks. Ye start to clench inside, and orgasm building.

"I'm going to cum, Bob. Cum with me... Cum..."

I look down at ye, bare assed, lace topped stockings now coming undone from the straps from the manhandling, yer skin flushed and pink. So close. You're so close.

My eyes travel further up, to where yer hands are white knuckled, gripping the desk to hold still under my pounding, and then back to ye face.

And that's when you cum, ye start to fall into yer orgasm - bucking, gasping, pushing hard back against me. When you see me, mouth open, eyes rolling back, panting, utterly undone.

"Take it," I say, quietly. "Fuck baby, take it. I'm cumming, I'm cumming, I'm cumming, now! Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

I feel it, feel you tighten, my balls contracting even more. My cock thickens, swells, stretches ye even more, and you finish with several more strokes, and lay over me, breathing hard, as our sweaty hot bodies collapse on the floor from such rampant animalistic pumping.

 

 

M, 41, Single, Scottish 😉