I pulled into the cemetery at dawn. Shaking from nerves, I looked over and saw him. He was tall, 6'4" at least, covered in tattoos, and built like a professional wrestler. We met online two weeks prior over a shared interest in photography, cemeteries, and abandoned places.
As I drove up behind his truck, he began walking toward me. I got out, camera bag slung across my back, and a nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach. Instead of a hug or a handshake, he slid my gear off my arm, placing it gently on the ground, and lifted me onto the hood of my SUV. My 5', 130-pound body could not have stopped it if I tried. Without saying a word, he grabbed a handful of my long, loose hair, pulled my head back, and kissed my neck.
We had been together in person for less than a minute, and I could already feel myself getting wet from the feel of his mouth and cheeks on my skin. After what felt like hours, his lips touched mine, and I felt his massive hands slide under the back of my shirt. He pulled me closer to him, all the while kissing my neck and chest.
Without thinking, my hands made their way to his belt. Soon, I had his quickly hardening cock wrapped between my fingers. His hands were now inside of my leggings, pushing their way into the warmth of my pussy. It was slippery, I could feel that much, and his fingers were so large that I could feel each knuckle as they entered me.