“Some days, you need a drink after work,” said the handsome dark haired man on the barstool to the left of me. He was wearing a pale blue button up shirt, open at the collar, and charcoal slacks. His suit jacket was on the stool on his other side. He looked mussed, but not destroyed, as he lifted a shot glass of whiskey.
“Some days, you need a fuck,” I said, because my day had been brutal, too, and I had lost my ability to hold my tongue.
The stranger turned to look at me with piqued interest. “What constitutes a fucking day?” he asked, as if only out of pure curiosity.
“The type of day I had,” I told him, toying with the stem of my wineglass. “The type where you bring the wrong notes to the first meeting, no notes to the second, and the first meeting’s notes to the third. Where you forget one client’s name, and replace the next with your favorite aunt’s. Where you have to work through lunch, are too tied up in knots for a snack, and sneak out a few minutes before five, only to be spotted by your boss at the elevator.”
“Sounds like a fucking day, all right,” the man said, and he hesitated, and I realized this was a place for introductions. I’d already come clean about my hideous day in more detail than I might give a good friend. Why not share my name?
“I’m Joanne,” I said.
“Edward,” he replied, shaking my hand.
“Charmed. This is the most civil conversation I’ve had since dawn.”
“So on these fucking days,” he continued, “how do you generally proceed?”
I shifted on my stool so I was facing him. Then I put one hand on his hand. “Well,” I said, slowly, “I haven’t ever actually acted on one of my fantasies. But what I always thought would help to drive away the demons is to meet some sexy stranger, take him home, and let him fuck the daylights out of me.”
Edward had set his glass down, empty, and was staring at me with frank desire. I licked my lips and continued, “It’s an experiment I’ve always wanted to put to the test,” I continued. “Just to see if the results would confirm my hypothesis.”
“Which is,” he prompted.
“That sex can soothe the troubled soul.”
He nodded, “I think you’re right about that.”
“But it’s only thinking,” I said. “That’s different from proving.”
He looked at me. I could tell he was wondering whether this proposition was for real. I slid off my stool, slipped some bills under my glass, and grabbed my jacket. I glanced at him. “Do you want to find out for real?”
He moved quickly, paying his tab, and walking ahead of me to hold open the bar door. “Where to?”
“I live around the corner.”
We walked together in the cool night air, and as we got closer to my apartment, I could feel how wet my pussy was. All day long, I’d fantasized about someone fucking the stress away. I’d thought I was going to have to return home to my trusty vibrator. Now I had a real, live dick and a handsome man attached to it to take that toy’s place.
Inside, we hardly spoke. I took off my dress. He unbuttoned his shirt. We stood in the foyer, and he said, “Leave on the rest for a moment,” and my pussy clenched. I had on stockings, a bra, panties, and my heels. He pushed me up against the wall and started kissing my lips. I moaned and pressed against him, loving the feel of his strong, muscular chest. “Sometimes you do just want to fuck, don’t you?” he whispered into my skin.
“Like this,” he said, sliding his hand into my panties and playing with my clit. “Like animals, rutting.”
“God, yes,” I whimpered as he pinched my clit hard.
“Turn around, Joanne.”
I faced the wall, palms flat, and I waited. He didn’t take off my panties, and he didn’t take down his slacks. I heard him working his belt and opening his fly. I felt him slipping my panties aside, exposing my wet, aching sex. Was he going to slam into me right from the start, give me the cock I’d been craving all day? No, it was even better than that. He went on his knees and pressed his face to me from behind, licking and sucking at my aroused pussy, as if to make sure I was wet and ready. I was, and as soon as he’d established this for himself, he stood once more.
“Take off your panties,” he said.
I slid them down and kicked them away.
He stroked my ass, and then lined himself up against me. When he bucked forward this time, I felt his naked cock against my skin. He teased me with the head once, slipping in my juices, and then he thrust inside me.
I stared at the wall and groaned. I couldn’t believe this was actually happening. With every forward thrust of his hips, I felt as if more of my stress was melting away. This was a magic fuck, a fairy tale fuck the kind of fuck I have fantasized about my entire life. He gripped my waist and began to move me with him in a powerful rhythm. I felt the muscles of my pussy tightening against him, and that made him sigh.
When he let his hands slip down further in front of me, I couldn’t stop myself. I said, “Touch my clit. Please. Hold my pussy lips open with your fingers and stroke my clit.” I usually have a difficult time asking for what I want with a partner. I never want to appear too forward. But I had started this evening by being forward, and he didn’t seem to mind at all. He did exactly what I asked, pulling open my nether lips and strumming his fingers along my slit. I felt almost as if I might black out from the pleasure. My body began to tremble all over. He pinched my clit, and I grit my teeth and my breath became one, long hiss.
“God, you’re so tight and wet,” he murmured to me. “Your juices have spread all the way to my balls.”
I leaned back against him, and he seemed to understand precisely what I wanted. He bit my neck as he ground his hips against my ass.
“I’m going to come,” I told him. “If you keep doing that, I’m going to come.”
“Then I’m going to keep doing that,” he told me, and he did, grinding, biting, and strumming until the orgasm broke inside me. I couldn’t keep silent. I made a series of small moaning noises as the pleasure filled me, and he extended the sensation by refusing to stop touching my sensitive clit, even after I had climaxed.
I felt as if he were pulling on my pleasure, stretching it out like taffy, and then I realized he was simply joining me with his own. He came in a series of rapid jerks, filling me up with his seed, panting as he reached his own limit.
“So that’s the way to end a fucking day,” I sighed as I pulled off his cock and turned to face him.
He kissed me and then smiled. “Yes,” he said, “with a long fucking night,” and I grabbed his hand and led him to my bedroom.
Ms. Joanne P., Jackson, Mississippi