This story includes scenes of graphic sex.
You cannot publish or post this story anywhere else without my permission.
This is based on a true story, although some details changed to protect the not-at-all-innocent.
*****
I'm there now...but I don't mind waiting. Call me when you're off the train. No panties.
Well, shit. I should've known. I'd just spent eight hours on a bus, followed by an hour on a sweaty train from Midtown to Brooklyn. I'd assumed I could freshen up at the Airbnb I'd rented (sight unseen) but my bus had arrived late, and then of course the subway was terribly confusing. So here I was, dragging my suitcase behind me, still dressed in my work clothes - a rather unexciting pair of summer slacks and a tee shirt. This was not the panties-free outfit I had planned for a sexy rendezvous with my summer fling.
I emerged from the subway and started walking towards the Airbnb, convinced there would be a McDonalds or some such in which I could change despite my 2am arrival. No McDonalds, but I did pass a brightly lit bodega. The door jangled when I walked in.
"Is there a bathroom I could use?" I asked. The fellow at the counter jabbed his thumb towards the back of the store. I squeezed past narrow aisles stacked with brightly colored potato chip bags to a tiny, smelly closet of a bathroom. There wasn't any room to fully open the suitcase, of course, but I unzipped the top, dug around, and somehow managed to pull out a flirty little summer dress and make the switch. My yoga training was coming in handy (not only did it give me lean muscles and soft curves... but also made it easy for me to squeeze my tight little body into even tighter spaces). I threw my long blonde hair up in a messy bun. It would have to do. No panties, of course.
When I emerged a minute or two later and passed by the cashier he gave my transformation a baffled look. I just shrugged and thanked him as the door jangled shut behind me.
I called Max and told him I'd just stepped off the train (a lie). He told me to walk north. As I walked, I saw a young man turn the corner a block ahead. He had a big black instrument case strung over his shoulder and was wearing tight black pants. I experienced a full-body shudder of recognition. Oh yeah...that was him.
I didn't call out. I waited until he heard my steps behind him and turned. I smiled and quickened my pace to close the distance between us. "Hi," I said. "Hi," he said back.
Kissing him was every bit as incredible as I remembered. He had the softest, most supple, knowledgeable lips. His tongue matched mine thrust for thrust. I pressed my chest up against his and grabbed handfuls of his short, spiky black hair as he reached down to run his hand over my thigh, cupping my bare bottom with the palm of his hand. He murmured approval. My pussy was already soaked and aching for attention.
He pulled away and I followed him down the street. We made small talk about the show tomorrow night, about my bus journey, about the heat of the summer night. Even though it was well past 2am now, there were people out on the street, a bouncy reggae tune in French playing in some nearby backyard party. We found the place, struggled with the wrought iron front door, and climbed up a few flights of stairs. "This is it, I think," I announced, but as I fumbled for the key, he dropped his case and pressed me up against the wall.
His hand went straight for my bare pussy. His thumb pressed against my clit as his fingers slid inside me with ease. I rocked my hips into his skillful manipulations and he swallowed my moans with his mouth. What with eight hours of fevered anticipation on the bus, the walk to the apartment with my pussy bare to the hot summer air, his wet, open mouthed kisses...it took me maybe thirty seconds to come, clutching his shoulders with my fingers, my legs shaking. He pulled his fingers from me and made sure I was watching as he licked each finger clean, one by one. I realized my own lips were parted, eager.
"Let's go inside," he said.
I unlocked the door and fumbled for a light switch. We were in a narrow hallway. We stumbled over a stranger's shoes and our own bags and suitcases. Our hands were still grasping for each other's bodies. He was kissing my neck as I fumbled for his belt buckle. I fell to my knees, my mouth watering, shoving his pants down around his ankles, finally uncovering that perfect cock.
God, his cock. Months of sexts and ephemeral snapchats were no substitute for the real thing. Perfectly formed, big but not cervix-bruising enormous, deliciously thick, and smooth to the touch with a round, bulging head. His balls were slightly darker, their puckered skin thoughtfully shaven.
I filled my mouth with it, groaning in satisfaction. I grabbed his ass to pull him in deeper. "You wanted that so much, didn't you," he growled, more a statement than a question. "You couldn't wait to get my cock in your mouth." I grunted assent, gagging slightly as his cock bumped the back of my throat. I wrapped one hand around the base of it and moved it up and down in time with my mouth. "No," he said. "Just your mouth. Fuck your pussy with your fingers instead."
