It’s All About You


You look at the card with some degree of curiosity and a quiver in your belly, just north of your lonely clit. It is a brilliant white business card, with gold lettering and a professional, elegant border in the same color. It’s perfectly centered on your desk, mutely beckoning you, and you lift it from the desk, almost sorry to move it, so perfectly it was placed. Peering furtively inside three or four adjacent cubicles, you see nothing similar there, then look more closely at the tiny message.

The letters are a fancy, bold serif font, massive and…masculine, you realize. The message is tantalizing in its brevity, and what it hints at.

“It’s All About You. No Names, No Commitments.”

The number warns it’s for texting only, and you think about what the card’s message means, certain that you already know what its intent is.

Who left it? Likely a friend in the office, or someone setting you up for a cruel prank. No-one would ever have a card like this, dare to creep in and put it on your desk, carry through with the unspoken promise. It must be a joke, you decide, and put the card in your desk hurriedly as your co-workers file into the office.

Throughout the morning, you work at your reports and e-mails, pushing the mysterious note almost but not entirely out of your mind. No-one seems to be watching you, no-one is waiting for you to peer inside your desk for the card, no-one seems to be snickering to themselves at their cleverness, or contemplation of your deep embarrassment when you discover it was really all a trick.

At lunch, you barely taste your salad, savoring the thought of what you think that card might lead to. The rest of the day goes more slowly, but you doggedly press on, forcing your thoughts away from your wants. At the end of the day, you pull the card from your desk, and conceal it in your black leather wallet, a gift from the last man you slept with, nearly two years ago.


In your room that night, you hike your oversized shirt over your breasts, and touch yourself, massaging your tits the way he used to, feeling the nipples harden and curdle beneath your palms. Now you rub your clit, and pop your dildo inside the waiting warmth, but you feel as empty as always. Your orgasm is almost a reflex, but you have no-one else yet to bring that out of you. To tell the truth, you haven’t really been looking.

So, why the card? You drift off to sleep thinking about its origin, whatever that might be, and who it was that placed this temptation for you. The more your drowsy thoughts turn to the mystery of it, the more you convince yourself that it is only a joke. You pull down your nightshirt, pull up the covers, and sleep.


The next days are crisp and cool, and you feel the air whip past you, your nipples stiffening with each fresh Northern gust. You’ve gotten yourself off every night since you discovered the card on your desk, and still feel unfulfilled. Determined not to be the butt of what you know now must be some elaborate practical joke, you have whispered nothing about the business card to anyone, and kept it tucked away, sleeping like a predator in the daylight, pretending nothing has changed.

Twice you’ve pulled the card out of its lair, turned it with your fingertips, felt the precisely hewn corners and edges. You even scraped the long edge across your lips, telling yourself you’re only looking for a hint of some perfume or cologne, to help you catch your prey.

The day drags on, and you ignore the now-commanding siren of the card. No reason to think about it, you tell yourself, even as you know you want to be plunging your dildo deep inside you tonight, rubbing your clit and trying to surprise yourself with the inevitable orgasm.

It’s nearly five o’clock, and the card is insistent, crouching, waiting in your wallet for the past three days. Sliding it out of its pocket with almost sexual slowness, you weigh its almost sinful weightlessness in your hand, run your thumb over the sharp corner, almost a tiny erection ready to gouge your flesh. Should you call? But you’ve already decided you will.

Lingering behind the others, you head back to your desk with a feigned look, insinuating that you’ve left something behind. It takes fifteen minutes for the last of your colleagues to set out for their Friday night revelry, leaving you alone. A thrill of sensation runs from your throat to your clit, and your heart pounds while you contemplate the card. You start to put it away, and then snatch your phone from your purse, starting to text a message to my number.

Unsure what to send, you fumble through questions and greetings for several minutes, erasing each one as more amateurish and lame than the last. Finally, you go with the simple. “I want to meet.” Nothing happens, and you feel idiotic, naïve, tricked.

The answering text arrives in a few minutes. “Date and Time?”

Not convinced this is really happening, you reply, “Tonight, at eight.”

My reply is immediate. “Tonight at midnight. Details to follow.”

You Sinop Escort notice for the first time that you are panting, excited, and your pussy lips are warm and wet. Forcing yourself to tranquility, counting your breaths down to twelve a minute, you caution yourself that this is still an experiment. You’ve revealed nothing to me about yourself, no faintest hint of what you expect, how far you are willing to go to get it.

The danger of it thrills you, meeting someone new, mysterious, invisible. I’m no-one you’ve ever seen or met, and your heart quickens before skipping a beat. You want me, and we haven’t even met.


You arrive at midnight, following my directions precisely, playing the game the way it’s meant to be played. Pulling up to the suburban curb, you see very little except for some splashes of light from driveways and porches. Your destination is dark, hidden in the gloom of midnight. You turn off the engine, and sit in the dark for a few seconds.

My instructions were very specific, even down to what you were to wear, or not wear. Opening your overcoat, you slide first out of your black bra, and then your panties, the same color as your bra, and close the overcoat your naked skin. Slipping out of the car, you close it quietly and firmly, almost afraid to disturb the stillness with something so ordinary.

You see the wooden gate, slide it inwards on a metal track, and step onto the porch, gingerly slipping the gate back into its latched position. The only light is a feeble glow from the porch light, barely a nightlight, and you feel your way to the door, then knock.

I open the door for you, and you barely see my arm as I gesture you inside, into a foyer almost as dimly lit as the porch. The house is still, and cool air swirls as you step inside and shut the door behind you. Your voice is low and husky. “Slip your shoes off.” You comply, and feel a slight chill when your bare feet touch the floor, wooden and smooth.

I’m wearing a robe of some sort, and your hand brushes against it, feeling thick cotton, with braided cuffs just past my elbow. I take your hand, and lead you through a curtain into a great room. A candle in the corner gives just enough light for you to see the furniture, but not to tell more about it than its likely shapes and sizes.

I lead you further into the room, and you feel luxurious, thick carpet on the soles of your feet, between your toes. You begin to pant, ready for whatever may happen, dreading that it might be a mistake to be here, that no-one knows where you are or who you’re with. And you follow my touch.

“Take your coat off.” My voice is gentle, commanding, and somehow brings you comfort. Trusting now in your impulse, you unbutton the overcoat, top to bottom, each button taking its own time to come loose under your fingers. Soon enough it’s open, and you shrug your shoulders, feeling the lining slip off your shoulders and down your back like the lingering touch you’ve yearned for.

Your coat is pooled on the floor, and you’re naked, glorious in the shadows. You feel my hands cupping your ass as I lick and suck your nipples for a moment, then gently take one in my teeth, nipping at it, and you moan as they gingerly scrape your tender flesh. “Do you like that?”

You nod twice quickly, not wanting to break the spell. Your pussy is wet, warm, almost throbbing from your need. Again I speak. “I would like you to do something for me,” I whisper around your breasts, and you shiver with the sensation of my breath on them. Taking my mouth away from your gorgeous chest, I stand, still wearing my robe. “Open my robe.” Your fingers fly to the sash at my waist, and pull it away, and in your eagerness you throw the robe off my shoulders. I let it slip to the floor, and am now as naked as you in the cool, dark room.

You feel more than see my cock, brushing against your bush as I step forward into you and kiss you on the neck. You ask, “Do you want to fuck?”

“Soon, but first I need something else…” Taking your hands, I gently lower them past my waist, below my thighs, and you drop elegantly to your knees as I put my hands on your shoulders. “You want this…” It isn’t a question, and you shiver again, seeing my hard-on pointing straight-on at you. Your nod is the same double-tick as before. “I need you to suck it, take it all into your mouth and suck it, gently and hard. Would you?”

With a faint smile, you look up, and part your lips, letting your tongue dart out and lick the tip of the head. It’s my turn to groan, and your smile broadens, and you open wider…

You take my cock by inches into your mouth, letting your tongue bathe it slowly, salivating at the taste of the drop of pre-cum at the tip. Closing your mouth around my shaft, you start bobbing slowly back and forth. Unconsciously, you move almost like a snake being charmed, feeling the warm, stiff rod playing over your tongue, between your lips.

Playfully, perhaps to punish me for my earlier liberty with your nipple, which is still erect at the memory, Sinop Escort Bayan you smile again, and scrape your teeth across the sensitive head, before playing your tongue over the hole at the tip. I moan, a strangled sound, but you can tell I’m not close yet, and it’s safe to continue…

Cradling my balls in your hand, you stroke them lovingly, ignoring the man attached to them. The whole world is just you and the cock in your mouth. In the darkness it’s easy to imagine I’m anybody, or nobody at all. This makes you even wetter and your other hand drifts down to your pussy, testing the warmth and moistness as you continue to bob, fucking the cock sitting in mid-air with your mouth and lips and tongue.

My orgasm starts to near, and you feel my balls and cock begin to pulse with the oncoming rush of hot semen. Stroking the underside of my cock, you move your left hand from your pussy to my rod, and use your juices to lubricate it as you start to bring me the rest of the way. You jack faster and faster, waiting until the last moment to move your mouth, and let my cum gush over your tits. I gasp and groan, and cum jets out all over you, bathing you in a hot spurt, then another.

Rising to your feet, you look into my eyes, and speak for the first time. “It’s my turn now. But first…” You take some of my cum, scooping it with one finger, and laying the slimy fluid on my lips. “Taste it. Taste what you just did.” My tongue flicks out, tasting at your insistence. As I open my mouth further, you plant your lips on mine, and our tongues swim in my cum for a moment.

“On your knees, if you please.” You put your hands on my shoulders, and press down. Willingly, I drop to the floor, and stop with my face even with the heat and warmth coming from your crotch. As I lean into it, you decide I’m being too tentative, and grab the back of my head, pushing my face into your cunt. “Lick it. Fuck it with your tongue, and let me come in *your* mouth.”

Leading you to a chaise longue, I turn you around, and you lie face down, just the portion above your waist on it, and your knees on the floor. You edge them apart, spreading your ass and pussy, displaying them for me, inviting me to lavish my attentions on them. You hear me snap open something, and you smell ginger and musk waft through the air, just before you feel the cold liquid on your ass.

It instantly heats up, an herbal warmth that almost stings. My hands start to spread the oil, like lava, starting first with your ass. Paradoxically, the heat sends goosebumps up and down your spine, arms and legs. Parting your buttocks, I massage the oil into the crack, working it up and down, poking one finger inside momentarily. Then, I start to spread the oil onto your pussy, stroking your clit with one finger while oiling and moistening the lips. You start to rock back and forth in time to my stroking, and you start to sweat as the heat rises deep inside you.

Now, you are fully oiled and ready. I put my arms underneath your thighs, and lift you up so only your toes touch the floor, as I start to lap at your pussy. My tongue works its way down to your clit, and the feel of it, silky smooth, with the oil makes your heart flutter. I play my tongue in a circle around it, tickling and taunting it before I stand, still holding your pussy and ass to my face. You catch yourself, and use your hands on the chaise longue to balance. Your legs are behind my head, and you cross your ankles to make sure I do my best for you.

You feel my hands spread your buttocks, and my tongue trails to your asshole, rimming it, even penetrating it once. The oil is so hot, and your head beginning to swim from the blood rushing to it, and not all from gravity. Bathing your ass in kisses, I move back to your pussy, neglected for too long, and protrude my tongue into your gash, starting to fuck it with my tongue, in and out, in and out, in and out.

One of my fingers plays with your clit, and you are in heaven, a wonderful sensation as your muscles start to melt, then become stiffer with the onset of your first orgasm. You gasp and moan as your belly spasms, your whole body shakes in waves radiating out from your pussy, from your clit which I’m now flicking with my tongue, even as finger darts into your pussy, and another one into your anus.

The second orgasm hits you harder, and you clench your teeth to keep from screaming. It comes out instead as a feral snarl, and you feel all reason go. The whole universe is now your pleasure, the tongue and the fingers darting, playing, tasting you. You start to go limp, and feel a third orgasm building. Now my face is buried in your pussy, slick with your juices as I pick up speed, tongue against your clit, moving all around it. One of my fingers goes all the way into your anus, fucking your ass in time to your gasps.

My cock is once again hard, ready for you, but you’re not ready for it. You feel it brush against your chin, and consider taking it into your mouth again. But no, it’s your turn, not mine.

You cum one last time, almost sobbing Escort Sinop with the force of the release. Pussy juice, mixed with the oil and your sweat, run from your pussy down to your chest in an agonizingly slow stream. “Fuck me now.” The words escape your lips without any conscious decision, but you agree with them. “Fuck me now,” you insist quietly, with all the strength you can muster.

For a moment, you think I haven’t heard you. Then, I slowly stoop, and lower you to the chaise longue. Too weak to move yourself, you let me turn you around to face me, and the ceiling. My cock is swollen, and you think I might have come if I’d kept eating you out for long. In fact, you know it…

Lying on your back, naked in the light of the lone candle, you feel your latest orgasm subside. In the dimness, you see me, naked, erect, as I start to bend my mouth down to your pussy again. “No!” Then softer, “no. Fuck me. Put that cock inside me and fuck me.” I stop, but don’t move for a moment. “Honest to God, you eat pussy like a fucking demon, but I came here for your cock. Everything else is just an appetizer.

“Fuck me…”

Now I do change position, and you can’t tell if I’ve nodded in assent or not, but I move closer, kneeling as you lay back, and thrust forward, entering your pussy for the first time. You feel your lips spreading, being forced apart by my hard-on, slipping, sliding along the still sodden walls of your slit. You shaved your pussy for this, and feel the smoothness of my cock inside you, and the faintest tingle of my own pubic hair brushing, then pressing against your hairless lips.

I start to rock, gently, building in rhythm, fucking you slowly. Bending forward, I extend my tongue to lick, then suck at, your beautiful nipples. It feels divine, but you’re feeling impatient. My thrusts are too leisurely by half, but still so sweet to feel inside your crotch. The warmth from minutes ago is still there, and begins to rise again, and you bite your lip, arching your back to take the whole shaft in, grinding your clit against my bush with every thrust.

And still, it’s far too slow for you, too gentle, and you start to feel petulant, a little angry. “Too slow, motherfucker. Too goddamn slow,” you whisper. You see my face turn up to you, from where I was apparently gazing intently at your glorious, naked body, and my cock moving in and out of you. You’re not sure, but you imagine you see my eyes glance to yours, but I don’t ask. I don’t have to.

And yet, I still thrust slowly, maddeningly, almost painfully languid in my movements. Now you see the smile broadening over my face as I see how torturous you’re finding this. Now you do start to feel real anger, and realize I didn’t miss the point. I’m fucking you, but too gently, and you want the strength and fury from just before this.

“You sonofabitch!” Your voice rises to a normal volume, almost shocking in the still room. “Motherfucker! Fuck me harder you asshole. I don’t want to make love! I want to fuck! Pound my pussy, pound it! I want you to cum inside of me, and you better not fucking wait to pound it. Fuck me hard! I’m not here for anything else.” Your voice subsides suddenly, the force of your flash of anger spent, and you hear the plea in your own words. “Fuck me…please?”

I take one of your hands, and gently kiss the fingertips, before laying them on your clit. My rhythm starts to pick up, and I whisper one word. “Rub.” You obey, and start to knead your swollen clit with your thumb and forefinger. Under your palm, you feel the swelling as I enter you each time, and the deflation as I withdraw, and you feel a tinge of awe at how quickly our roles changed, your demands turning to a timid request, and my silent acquiescence shifting to a more demanding presence, one you are eager to follow…for the moment.

Now I’m humping you hard and fast, and your pussy, slick with sweat and oil and cum and your juices, feels like molten lava, with a thick stone column driving into you, sending viscous waves of sensation throughout your groin. You keep rubbing your clit, caught up in the hypnotic motion of my cock and your fingers.

“Let me come.” My words surprise you. Now I’m relinquishing control to you, letting you take charge, deciding my Fate on this torrid evening. “Let me come…” You recognize the tone as the same plea you made a little while ago, and wonder if I’m genuinely penitent, or mocking you.

A wicked grin crosses your face. “No, not yet, fucker.” You push me away, feeling a moment’s regret as my cock, so near to giving you what you want, leaves you. You stand, and push me onto the chaise longue, onto my back, cock still throbbing with the nearness of my orgasm. “None of this bullshit of pulling out. You shoot inside me. You get to come, but you may not pull out. Got that, you son of a bitch?”

I’m grinning now, and you realize I took control by granting you control, but you keep the victory for yourself. You slide down onto my cock, and feel me still straining with the effort of holding back the molten flood dammed up within me. You smile again, wicked and sensual, and start rotating your hips, feeling my cock touching every inch of your pussy and the walls of your womb. My eyes close, and you hear me start to pant, a strangled cry waiting to leap out, but only when you’re ready.

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