I’d met Cricket months ago, but she’d been in a monogamous relationship since then. Fresh out of one, we met for a drink. She wore short black shorts, a white/grey striped top, soft, not quite sheer, but close. I’d asked her to swap out the nude bra she’d been wearing earlier in the day, and she’d done so, switching to a fancier, black and purple/red? thing. I could see the faint outline of the bra through her shirt.
She sat at the dark, empty, sumptuous, bar waiting for me, along with the drink I’d asked her to order. We talked for two drinks’ worth – about our lives the last few months, and about how, soon, she’d be sucking my cock. Her pussy was wet (she told me) – her shorts didn’t really give me much access, even though the bar was deserted.
Less than an hour after we’d met, I had my hand on her throat, pressing her up against a wall. I had asked Sofia for a sexual “request” for our evening – she wanted me to have Cricket against a wall, her hands over her head, while I attended to her body, but only with Cricket’s o.k. I had brought up the idea in the bar, and Cricket was enthusiastic. Cricket’s not small, but she’s not big. Her jet-black hair hangs down to her shoulders, and her eyes dance, dirty. Her breasts are full, and she’s got just enough meat on toned body to grab a handful of her ass.
So I pressed her up against the wall and plugged in the Hitachi Magic Wand she’d brought. I pressed it against her cunt and, in no time, she was writhing. She had not come for a couple of days, at my request, and she was quite ready.
I stripped her nude, and tossed her on the bed. I spread her legs, and dove in, feasting on her pristine-ly shaven (waxed?) pussy. She tasted sweet, clean, yummy. She’d told me her “safe word” would be red, and I collected two or three utterances of “red” between the wand and my tongue, her thighs squeezing my head.
After the final “red,” she said to me, “Um, you don’t have an Advil, do you?” Her eyes were closed, and she clearly was in not-insignificant pain. I went out and fetched some Advil for her. She was apologetic, and regretful. My cock hadn’t been sprung loose from my trousers, and I was visibly hard. But she was in no state to get me off. “No worries,” I said. And I meant it. I had had a blast between her thighs, and was happy to send her on her way, even if I was still high and dry.
Shortly after our evening together, I received the following from her: “Apparently, sex headaches are real. And awful. I write this as I’m en route to the hospital…. I’ll keep you posted. This ought to be interesting.” She included this link. At the hospital, they told her she had a “status migrainosus.” I almost feel guilty. Almost.
No doubt, she will make it up to me…. I’m looking forward to that.