Chapter One
I haven't done this before. You know this, and on the one hand you're simultaneously mindful and considerate of it. Going slow, being gentle. But on the other hand, you know this means you're in control. And this excites you beyond your own self-control.
You know that if I give even the slightest hesitation, you can grab my wrists and have your way with me. And you know that I'd probably enjoy that...eventually.
We meet for drinks at a restaurant bar nearby. It's the suburbs. It's a Wednesday night. It's quiet and while quiet might sometimes mean private, there are so few people around that this escapade feels like it's the only thing worth watching for everyone in this sleepy neighborhood.
You don't seem bothered though. At fifty-three, you've lived a lifetime and learned not to fret about what others think. In the divorce, your ex got the kids, but you got the house in this upper-middle class neighborhood.
And now you sit at this bar and leer at me, this shy little thirty something man who wants to be a boy. Or a girl. Or just your bitch. Really, I don't know what I want and you know this. You know I need someone like you to teach me what I want.
At 5'9 and 160 pounds, I'm not that little. But next to your thick 6'5 225lb stature I feel little. I feel defenseless and frightened.
Why does that feeling attract me to men like you? I often wonder what might be the evolutionary answer to my attraction to beefy men who could snap me in two and who are almost mean enough to do so. Almost.
It's possible I feel, somewhere deep down, if I can curry the sexual desire of such a man, then maybe he'd protect me. Take care of me. All for the satisfying pleasure of my body.
I'm thinking this as you put your hand on my back and throw down your third whiskey. You want to whisper in my ear, but instead of leaning over, you pull me toward you. I'd have fallen off the stool, but your hand grasps my opposite shoulder tight and suspends me in mid-lean.
You come close to whisper, but instead of words I just feel your whole hot wet tongue lather my ear and probe it roughly. You don't care that the bar tender is around, or that a nice nuclear family is celebrating a 5th birthday at the table behind us as you send shivers up and down my body and straight into my cock. You don't care at all, because when you grab my inner thigh, you don't even whisper the words "I can't wait to get you home baby."
I freeze. Under my business casual slacks, my cock is throbbing against a pair of red panties you ordered for me and insisted I wear. I normally wear boxers, so the restricting sensation is uncomfortable, yet a paradoxical feedback loop of arousal.
Impatient with the bartender, you slap down enough cash to more than cover our bill. You pull me up by my upper arm and then place a hand on my lower back. It seems like a gentlemanly gesture at first, but once we're in the parking lot you're practically pushing me toward your silver Lexus. I teased you about your old man car when I first saw it, but really it just made the old man persona I've lusted after since I was a teenager even more real.
When we get to the passenger side, you open the door for me like a gentleman, but then shove me in like a brute. Before I can get my bearings, you're already in the driver's seat, grabbing me by the back of the head, and suffocating me with your tongue down my throat.
I've never kissed a man before. Usually, it's me on the other end of this, though I'm remarkably more consensual.
But while the way you come at me scares me, the way you lust after me makes me feel special, worth protecting. Safe.
Your soft lips envelop my own as your mouth dominates my face. My beard is thicker and longer, but your grey stubble still feels more masculine to me.
I reach up to rest my hand on your cheek, but before I touch it, you grab my wrist and pull my hand toward your lap. Somewhere in the chaos, you've already pulled your cock out and now it's in my hands, before I could even see it under the flickering parking lot light.
We groan simultaneously when I feel the heat of your shaft hit my palm. I can't decide if I want to stroke it gently and explore, or if I want to grasp it and tug at it hard. So I take turns doing both and here you seem to afford me some liberty to choose. Perhaps you're distracted yourself as your hands slide through the buttons of my shirt and search for my nipples. I purr and melt into you further as you find one and flick it. I am completely under your spell.
You release my head and I finally see your cock. It's cut, thick and veiny, at least 6 inches long, though I can't quite see the end of the shaft through the cloth of your pants. You're adjusting yourself, perhaps getting ready to put it away and drive. But I feel my mouth watering and something comes over me. My head is suddenly darting toward your lap, my mouth open, dripping with drool from our mix of saliva. I try to open it as wide as I can. I want to take it all the way to the back of my throat in one go. I've never touched another man's cock let alone sucked one until this moment, so I'm probably being over ambitious, but I've fantasized about this for decades and can't help myself.
Just as my lips are about to reach the tip, I feel you grasp a handful of hair at the back of my head and throw me back onto the passenger door.
I look at you, eyes wide, somewhat in shock, but somewhat pleadingly.
You click your tongue at me. "Did daddy give you permission to taste his cock?"
I shake my head slowly and say "No sir."
You painfully slide your massive cock back into your pants and zip up. I almost cry. Like a child who's had their favorite toy taken as punishment.
"Looks like daddy needs to teach you some manners when we get home," you say as you start the car and reverse it out of the spot.
