“My ass is virgin,” Eden had told me on our first date. A simple statement, quite out of place for an average date. A statement that might have meant “but you can fuck my cunt all you want, I’m a slut” or “I’m saving it for the right guy – is that you?”
I certainly took it as a challenge, because I was ready to be somebody’s Mr. Right, and I had a bit of a soft spot for sluts. I had married one, after all.
This date with Eden was my fifth “first date” since my wife had moved out, gone to live with her wealthy employer boyfriend. Date one had been the “sure thing”- a woman who my buddy had fucked steadily, but with no commitment. “Buy her a steak and she’ll fuck you. Heck, buy her a burger and she’ll probably blow you in the front seat of a pick up truck” I had been advised. Everything had worked perfectly, but the experience had been perfectly empty.
Having established that I could fuck women other than my soon to be ex-wife, date two had been a “nice girl” from a Christian singles dating site. I was shocked how horny a nice Christian girl could be. Not a slut, she insisted, which it turned out meant no fucking – just a hand job and my going down on her. A wonderful reminder of how much I love the taste of a woman.
After two or three reruns with that woman, and no sign my wick would get dipped, I declined her invitation to join her at a church retreat in favour of a wild Saturday night with another slut, who turned out to be Eden. I knew she was a slut because I had met her while out with date number one. Eden had been in the bar we had retired to after dinner so that date number one could slam back a couple of shots to be just drunk enough to say “I don’t know what I did” the next day. Eden had been much more sober, but was still all over the guy she seemed to be with, until she switched and was all over some other guy, all the while with one eye peeled in my direction, watching my date making out with me, while I mechanically complied. It was hard not to have my eye drawn to this exotic fair skinned freckled redhead with a mane flowing thickly to her waist, swaying as she moved on four inch stilettos, her legs and ass encased in skin tight white pants, her lemon yellow top more a scrap of silk than a shirt. The valley between her apparently braless firm teacup tits was tantalizingly displayed.
At some point my date had staggered to the ladies room. I had expected Eden to tag along, but some other drunken slutty woman offered first. While my date was gone, Eden had slipped her fingers around my hip. I expected her to fondle my already throbbing cock, which she did, but then she had fished my phone out of my pocket. As she whispered “Nice package – shame to waste it on her,” Eden had added herself as a contact.
Like I said, a slut, an easy woman.
My date had returned moments later and had drunkenly slumped into my arms, demanding to be taken home. We had not even made it out of the parking lot before she had fumbled my cock out of my pants and began giving me sloppy drunken head. I had almost climaxed before we reached my apartment. Not that the blow job was particularly excellent. Most guys will agree that some bj’s are better than others, but a lot of guys claim there is no such thing as a bad blow job. Based on my experience that night, I tend to disagree. The only thing that redeemed that drive home was imagining how much better Eden might be, and how much sexier she was than my date – the slut bobbing mutely up and down in my lap, fingers grasping my root painfully, nails scratching the stretched sensitive silky layer of skin, tongue lolling in her mouth slobbering around my head – no acrobatic swirls or rhythmic shifting in the licking. The way she attacked me, it was like she was a whore wanting to get her client off and on to the next john. I like sluts, I have never understood the attraction of whores. A slut does what she enjoys, sharing the pleasure, adding to my experience. If that isn’t there, as far as I’m concerned, I might as well stay home alone and jerk off.
About half way to my place, I knew that was the last date with that slut. I maintained my erection by playing mental movies of Eden in my head – that ass swishing within the fabric which was just opaque enough to tease that she might or might not be going commando; the elongation of her neck as she threw back her head in genuine gales of laughter. Oh, how I wanted to nibble that neck.
Somehow in spite of the distractions, I got us home safely, wishing for the last half mile that I had dropped the slut at her place first. Once we pulled into my parking space, I had no choice but to invite her up for the proverbial nightcap. After some half-hearted fumbling to try to stuff my hard cock into my pants, I just had her walk in front of me.
If it had been some mad passionate affair, the moment we entered the room, even before shutting the door, she would have been ripping my clothes off, shirt buttons popping, landing in güvenilir canlı bahis siteleri the dark only to be found weeks later behind the couch.
Instead, the slut had giggled, said, “got to tinkle” and wandered toward the bathroom. About half way there, all the contents of her stomach had come up violently. That killed my libido. I steered her to my couch, put a towel down to protect the upholstery and cleaned up the technicolour mess.
The next morning, I awoke alone in my bed, sun peaking around the window shades.
“Honey, can you make me some coffee and get me some aspirin?” I heard a voice calling.
To my everlasting shame, I called in reply, “First, you better finish that blow job you started last night.”
Still more drunk than hungover, my date staggered into my room. I was sprawled on top of the bedding, still half clothed, my erect cock pointing straight at the ceiling.
She had enough common sense not to try kissing me with her sour smelling mouth. Instead, she crawled up onto the mattress between my knees and lowered her face directly to my manhood. Like I said, most guys think a bad blow job is better than no blow job, but what followed was not even a bad blow job.
It was a paint by numbers blow job. Perhaps it was the total absence of eye contact, or the lack of dirty talk – lord knows, I love me a lady that talks filth – but more than anything, it was the sense that the sex was entirely mechanical, my date anxiously paying the price of that cup of joe rather than starting a bout of raucous morning play.
Her lipstick smeared mouth opened wide to take my girth. She swallowed just the head, her dainty fist grasping my shaft and pumping. After three beats, she released my meat from her mouth just long enough to lick once around the rim and then to run her tongue along the underside of my shaft to my scrotum, where her fingers were already kneading my balls. Her tongue quickly lapped around my root before travelling up the side of my swollen member. We had done this just often enough that I knew what would happen next, and sure enough, I was right. She licked all around my head, tongue darting into my slit, and then deep throated me. Something about her attitude made it difficult for me to fully concentrate on the experience. It was as if she was mentally composing her grocery list while trying to get me off.
I tried to spice up the experience by running my fingers through her curls, and whispering encouraging comments. All I got in return was the same pattern of up, down, shake the head right then left while swirling tongue, that she had used every time she gave me head.
After a dozen or so repetitions of this pattern, at the apex of an upward movement, she allowed my helmet to feel air. Her tongue again tasted my slit. I knew exactly why she did this – she was tasting for sperm mixing into the precum, gauging whether I was ready. Apparently the flavour was favourable, because on the next down bob, she snaked her baby finger inside my anus and stimulated my prostate, a sure fire recipe to cause great gobs of goo to explode out my balls and up my shaft. She professionally milked me, swallowing and gulping, until she raised upward and wiped the last bit of creamy splodge off her lips onto the back of her hand, which she then rubbed on my sheet.
“Now how about that coffee?” she asked without a trace of a smile.
An awkward hour later, I paid for a cab to take her home. Both of us silently knew that we were finished.
That led to my adventure in online Christian dating, thinking I might find a diamond in the rough. Eden did not even occur to me as a prospect. It turned out that the Nice Christian Girl did not enjoy eye contact either, and that I missed even paint by number blow jobs. My hand was more effective than the Nice Christian Girl, and no matter how great she tasted, not kissing after I ate her became tedious. All I got from an online dating service dedicated to “serious relationships” was more spinning my wheels in a situation that went no where in particular, so I just stopped calling.
I had ignored Eden’s phone number for over a month while dating the “Nice Christian Girl”. I had no reason to think that Eden would remember me, and calling suddenly might feel a little creepy.
Sometimes though God, or whatever force of physics creates random events in our lives, had spoken. That Wednesday, I ran down to the coffee kiosk in the lobby of our office tower to buy time to brood about Saturday night – I wanted to break things off with the NCG, but she always tasted pleasant and a blow job would be better than a night alone with porn.
“Remember me?” A voice cut through my distracted thoughts.
It was Eden of course, dressed professionally in a nice knit skirt suit, tasteful three inch heels supporting strong shapely legs encased in sheer black hose. I might have spent more than the tactful moment drinking all that in. She laughed.
“You güvenilir illegal bahis siteleri look as hungry as the Big Bad Wolf.”
“And you look as edible as Little Red Riding Hood, my dear.” Eden dissolved into a puddle of giggles, her nose crinkling, eyes dancing, hand covering her smile, but shoulders shaking enough to make those firm breasts jiggle.
It seemed that sober we were just as matched in our ease with each other as we had been when she was drunk. But then, she broke the spell.
“How come you never called me – I can’t believe that you’re still with that awful slut? She was no where near good enough for you.”
“How do you know that? I might be a very bad man.”
That created another gale of giggles.
“Perfect, I love my men bad. Call me – I’m still in your phone, right?”
With that she swung on one heel and swiftly swivelled down the hallway.
The next day, I phoned. This time Eden’s response was a hearty chuckle born deep in that elegant chest, warm and rich. We discovered that there was a new casual dining spot near her apartment we had both been hoping to try, and agreed to meet there the next night.
“If you can charm me and not get asparagus stuck in your teeth, I might let you walk me back to my apartment for a nightcap,” Eden teased laughingly as she hung up.
Someday I will have to go back to that restaurant, because I recall nothing about the food. My only memories are the lights sparkling off Eden’s silky hair, the way her eyes shone; the tiny lines when she wrinkled up her nose – and the view of tanned cleavage accented by her lemon yellow silk halter top. She was obviously braless, but had no need of the support. As we shared food and wine, she became increasingly animated, and soon I noted that her nipples were erect, and visible as shadows through the sheer fabric.
We were well into the second bottle of red wine when she said “what about that nightcap?”
I must have done a double take because she threw her head back, laughed even more heartily than on the phone – straight from the belly, not just the chest. My eyes of course were locked in on how her tits moved, the nipples never fully revealed, but the curves exposed.
“I should warn you though,” she said. “My ass is virgin.”
Just then the waiter arrived with the bill. I had no time to explore that remark further. It turned out her building was literally around the corner, so we hardly spoke before we entered the elevator.
Not that we spoke in the elevator either. Before the doors had even fully closed, Eden turned her head, looked up into my eyes and took a half step forward, all that was needed to make those tantalizing nipples brush against the fabric of my shirt. Her right hand cupped my neck, drawing my face down as she lifted hers up, her chin dropping just a millimetre, her lip slack, her tongue poking past her teeth. I might have closed my eyes then because there was nothing more to see.
Our mouths were busy, exploring new yet familiar flesh. My hands began on her shoulders, ran effortlessly down her almost naked back, finally firmly cupping her ass, that allegedly virgin territory, poured into her white jeans. The elevator was not the only thing that rose swiftly. Eden ground her loins against my hard package, moaning without breaking our kiss. The very fast elevator ride did not allow us to go much further before we reached Eden’s floor.
We spilled out into the hallway, but instead of rushing to her apartment, she spun me against the wall with surprisingly strength.
“Did you like that, in the elevator?” she asked. “Things were getting a bit out of control there.”
Without waiting for an answer, she rose up on tip toes and planted her lips on mine, kissing me deeply as her nipples pressed against my chest.
I could taste the wine on her breath as we kissed. Eden guided my hands, which had fallen automatically to her hips, and placed them on the underside of her tits. I hefted those mounds from below and then gently flicked the two nipples simultaneously with my thumbs. This made Eden sigh and briefly interrupt tour kiss.
“I want your cock so bad I can’t stand it. How long will I have to wait?”
Eden’s tongue travelled up and down my neck as I massaged her tits right there in the hallway, her belly grinding into my groin. I did not want to point out that she could be fucking me already if she had simply led me straight to her apartment. Clearly she derived extra thrill from making out in public areas.
Eden’s hands fumbled only briefly with my belt, and then expertly undid my pants, suggesting that she liked more than making out in public. I lowered my mouth to her nipple, taking it between my teeth, biting on it gently and then making it dance on the tip of my tongue. Eden was moaning more loudly, her hands exploring my ass and then rubbing my bulge.
“Fuck me right here. Fuck me like the slut that I am.”
No amount güvenilir bahis şirketleri of horniness makes skin tight jeans easy to undo, so we were both giggling as I inexpertly fumbled with the button at the waistband. Eden’s palm meanwhile was wrapped around my shaft, which she was stroking with soft silky skill.
“I really want your cock. Damn, your cock feels so good, hard and throbbing in my hand, but I just know that it will feels even better in my mouth and my cunt. I need to get it inside of me.”
Once that button yielded, the pants themselves relaxed away from her flesh, making her fully available to my touch, no panties shielding her dampness. I inserted a finger, and then a second, and a third, easily into her wetness. Eden groaned, her labia flexing fiercely, as if willing me to finger her more deeply.
Just as my thumb bobbed her clit, Eden gushed a flood of fluid, shivering with a mini-orgasmic quake. That loosened my fingers inside of her, and she twisted free, dropping to her knees right there in the hallway.
“It feels so good,” Eden moaned again, just before closing her lips and tongue around the tip of my swollen member, licking the precum off with a swirl of that tongue. Then she took my full length in her mouth, lowering her face about a half inch at a time until her lips were buried around my root. Her mouth was incredibly warm and soft around my flesh. I wondered if she wanted me to come n her mouth, hoping that if I did I could stay hard enough to fuck that pussy. One glance down at those perfect tanned tits swaying freely removed any doubt.
Eden allowed my cock to flop out of her mouth, giving it a teeny kiss and then rose up before I had a chance to flood her mouth with great gobs of goo. Her rock hard nipples brushed against me as she planted a kiss under my ear. My cock lifted a bit extra each time her breathing made those diamond bits drill harder against me.
She glanced down. “Damn, your cock looks so good, just jutting up like that. I need to feel how it fits inside of me.”
My hands seemed to think more quickly than my conscious brain, grasping those gorgeous buttocks, and lifting Eden up off the floor. She flexed her knees, wrapping her legs around me, helping me lower her cunt to my waiting tip.
I feel her warmth surround me. My cock slid in smooth as silk. “Hey, slut does that feel like you imagined it?”
“God, it’s even better.” She laughed throatily. “Your cock fits me so well.”
She was thrust enthusiastically against my erect shaft. My cock slid effortlessly in and out of her wet cunt. I leaned Eden back against the wall, in part for better leverage, in part for stability – though her legs were locked securely around me, I could not be sure that my knees were not turning to mush.
“Don’t stop fucking me! Don’t stop! I love how your cock feels inside me.” she screamed. In hindsight, it was a miracle that no one opened their door to see what was happening in the hallway.
About to lose all control, I quickened my pace. My fingers shifted for a better grip, and I found her buttocks pulling wide, my touch sliding deeper into her as cleavage. A few strokes later, I exploded inside of Eden, pumping solid bursts into her womb. My fingertip just touched her rosebud delicately, not even entering her asshole, but that was enough to make Eden come with gusto, her cunt convulsing around my still hard shaft, milking the last streams of seed from my tip.
We would have fallen over except the wall behind her gave us some support – my knees now really were jelly. Both of us were panting as we caught our breath. My finger was still resting in the opening to her forbidden passage, and my cock was slowly deflating but still firmly held in place by her swollen labia and her very well developed abdominal muscles. I could feel the aftershocks of her orgasm expressed as well toned muscles clamped and released around my cock.
“Good thing I’m proud to be a slut,” Eden laughed, “Or I might worry about what my neighbours think.”
My cock twitched just as she said ‘slut’. Eden broke into a wide grin and rotated her hips, drilling my finger deeper into her ass.
“You know, my girlfriends and I used to debate whether we were still virgins if a guy fingered us… according to them, my ass is no longer virgin…so why not take me to my apartment and give it a proper fucking?”
She kissed me, whether to prevent me from protesting, or to seal the deal. Not that I would have protested. I carried her three doors down, at which point she pulled a magnetic key card out of her tiny purse.
“Boy, you REALLY couldn’t wait,” I observed jokingly as she fumbled to unlock the door, jeans still around her knees, ankles still behind my thighs.
“Welcome to grandma’s house…but I hope you’ll do more than eat me up.”
Finally the door popped open, revealing a cute, neat tiny studio apartment. I glanced at the couch that no doubt folded out into a bed, but swiftly took the few steps over to the counter separating the living area from the galley kitchen, not even pausing to shut the door. I knew that Eden was such a slut she would not care, in fact she might get an extra thrill thinking about her neighbours seeing her lose her anal virginity.