I’ve been on a few dates with The Romancer, who is quite taken with me. He’s funny, smart, incredibly romantic, terribly good to talk to, but (and I know this is shallow) his looks just don’t do it for me. And he’s a bad kisser. But last night marked our third date, which just happened to coincide with my inclination to cut BC loose, so I resolved to take action. I resolved to go on the date and drink enough champagne that I didn’t give a rats ass about looks. I decided to take advantage of a perfectly legitimate opportunity to get fucked. After all, BC really isn’t that attractive to me, but I still found myself begging him for more and more…maybe the Romancer would provide me with an equally pleasant surprise.
On the date I found The Romancer’s kissing technique had vastly improved since the last time I’d seen him which, along with several glasses of Brut, further convinced me that fucking him was an excellent idea. My plan went off without a hitch until we vacated the quiet, romantic restaurant and went back to his apartment only to find he had nothing in his liquor cabinet but some Grand Marnier. We were tipsy enough from dinner that it was actually quite funny, so we giggled about it and poured the orangey syrup over ice. He whispered in my ear that he thought it would taste better if he were licking it off me and with a grin I bent over, stuck my ass out and told him he should try it and see. He got on his knees behind me, slid his hands up my bare legs and under my skirt, then discovered ma garantie de la victoire. Along with a pair of killer five-inch silver stilettos I was wearing black lace hipster panties, the kind that let the cheeks of one’s derrière hang out of the bottom, comme ça:
(Ce n'est pas moi, mais c'est très belle, non?)
“Oh my God,” he said. “Well?” I answered in my most velvety come-fuck-me voice, “what about the Grand Marnier?”
He yanked my skirt down and I stepped out of it, then slid my hands down my legs to grip my ankles, ass in the air, lace-covered pussy in his face. He licked it through the fabric, breathing in its scent and telling me it tasted deliciously sweet. With a quiver in his voice he asked if I could leave my panties on. “Of course, darling. They stretch though…want to see?” I pulled them to the side, baring myself to him. He forgot about the Grand Marnier and dove in eagerly, making me come doubled over in the kitchen.
I hustled him back to the bedroom and demanded that he fill me with his cock, giving him just the tiniest taste of a blow job. He eagerly bent me over again at the side of the bed and tore off the panties, then pushed me down, marveling over the sight of my feet still encased in the glittering peep-toe heels. I arched my back and wiggled my ass in invitation. In a moment I was overtaken by his body and he was pumping me from behind harder and harder until my shoes flew off. Just before he shot a load into the condom he whispered in my ear “I usually have two or three in me…”
And wow, he did. He kept me at it for three hours, got my pussy so wet I that my cum soaked his nice clean sheets and by the end of it had my whole body shaking uncontrollably. Ce n’est pas mal. Pas de tout.
