Past Tense

Author's Note: Literotica is a fabulous site. Quite unlike most in this genre. It is affordable- free!- and stimulating. But please consider donations to keep it running!

This little tale is one of discovery and pleasure- it is copyrighted in 2021 to the Author- me!- and may be used only with the permission of Literotica or the author. In the meantime, enjoy if adult situations in which intimacy between all sorts of people is permitted. No one depicted is under the age of 18.

- Vicky

*

I talked to my editor about this issue, since it is central to the whole story. We were on the second drink and warming to the idea of a third. It was our usual place, just a couple blocks between our offices on the right side of the River. She had read the manuscript once and rolled her eyes when I asked her what she thought. She has a nice touch with them, nicely outlined and merged in a sort of brilliant blue and moist grey that highlights the mesmerizing blue of her eyes. I think she was surprised when I told her I had some material that wasn't about business stuff that I peddle for a modest income. I think she was momentarily disconcerted, since I still present myself as the old me, fit, athletic, clean shaven and credibly dressed. But though she may have been surprised by what she read she was interested, which is one of the reasons we got on so well.

She pursed her lips and said: "Well, there are two approaches to that. One is to have a nice gentle beginning, win over the reader, and then invite them into something simple and powerful. What high impact event can you switch around to really set the tone for the piece?" She pursed her gorgeous full crimson lips, rich enough to lose yourself if you like that stuff. Which I do, but in the usual bifurcated appreciation I have for our sisters. Which is both the desire to share their touch and feel, and to be envious that she can, without fear, be herself. She is also a little bossy, which I enjoy. I have even thought about her that way in ways that make me sigh. So, I sighed.

"Well, there was that incident in the cable truck. It defined a lot of stuff, sort of a pivot point in all the events that make a story." She nodded and laughed.

"I can just see that. Why don't you try this: put the blurb about the defining sense of what you are trying to say up front. Then people will know whether to waste the time following the rest of it."

I nodded., since that is the way I approached stories on the Literotica site on the web. "OK. I can give it a try. I will show you when I get it together." Then we went back to drinking, me and the big beautiful lady with the wondrous pendulous breasts, slight belly and positively heroic thighs under her proper business skirt. She could express naturally what I wished I could. So, later that night, home and drunk enough not to care, and with a certain light-hearted fantasy about my editor pal, I wondered if she would ever consider using a strap-on and make love to me, which had a certain appeal. Then I looked up my notes and started out the story this way:

"This is the short version of how things started to go in different directions. It was after the divorce had started and I was in a little efficiency apartment close in to the city. I was unsupervised in the evening fooling around with new directions now that I was unsupervised. There were a couple clubs in the city that were fun. Kind of butch bars with a full bar and a lot of interplay that I thought was fun. I happened to be drinking next to one of those working guys. He had the hard-hat and the whole routine. I had worked the industrial side of things in the service and briefly held a UAW card, so it was not uncomfortable, and sort of refreshing to talk about shit the way it really was. We had a couple beers and the subject of sex came up. I was too new to really understand how things worked in a butch bar, and in one of the strings of discussion, tinged with tasty white chardonnay, the subject of blowjobs came up. I had achieved a certain talent for it, according to Richard, anyway, and it occurred to me I could give this rugged guy a quick thrill if he wanted one. The chardonnay helped my bravado.

He took the offer with aplomb, and agreed it would be nice, but all he had was his truck and didn't want to spend money for a room. I nodded in agreement and suggested that I could get him off in the truck. We settled up the tab with the tall and very cute Black guy behind the bar. I liked him. We got up and left by the front door, me following his lead and turned right. He led me down the block to where his truck was parked at the curb.

As we approached, I noticed there was a logo on the side that belonged to the cable company. He unlocked the passenger side door and waved me in as he walked around to get behind the wheel. Seated next to each other on the bench seat, he reached down and unbuttoned the button to his denim pants. I looked him in the eye and saw a sort of cold desire that was really startling. It put me in a place of vulnerability and it was exciting. I didn't do anything with my jeans. I just leaned over and lowered the zipper on his pants and let them on each side. Then I had to fish around a bit, but produced his hardening cock through the Y on his jockeys. Then I bent lower and licked slowly a few times before taking him into my mouth. As you know, this is sort of an amazing feeling giving pleasure to someone, and I liked him. His smell was male and his last shower was several hours away. It was intoxicating. I didn't do anything particularly fancy. With Richard, I had learned some fun motion with my head, him above me, hard dick arcing across my face. For this guy- I am not sure I ever got the first name- I just bent down across the center console and bobbed happily up and down. He had a cock that looked a lot like mine- seven or so inches, thick but not overwhelming.

I smiled around his manhood as I sucked. He must have had this in mind when he started talking to me at the bar, and it had about zero on anything enticing. He was just a guy who wanted a blowjob and I was the one who agreed it was a good idea. He wasn't taking his time either. He began to rock his hips in time with the motion of my mouth and tongue and things went quickly. I could feel him starting to tense up and he brought his hands to cover my ears and pushed me down so I had his whole length back to my tonsil scar. Then he thrust into me, held captive under his hands and matter-of-factly began his ejaculation in warm rich spurts of semen. He did not let me pull back in the slightest, so he was literally shooting down my throat with his gooey load. I was nearly choking with the volume, trying hard not to dribble it on his underwear. His hands relaxed and he was done with me. He pushed me away, not gently, and pushed the button on his pants together. And zipped up. He pointed at the door handle, and I knew I was dismissed. He didn't say thanks, didn't say anything. I wiped my mouth and reached for the doorhandle, pulled it, and pushed the door open. Then I stepped down on the street as the truck started and I stepped up on the sidewalk and turned to look at the man I had just done.

He backed up without looking at me and turned the wheels to pull out of the parking space. No further acknowledgement of my existence. The truck pulled out, accelerated briskly and he was gone. I stood there on the sidewalk, his semen still in my mouth, following the truck with my eyes until traffic and distance obscured it. I discovered this callous disregard was almost as satisfying as anything. If I had been a cocksucker before in generally pleasant mutual encounters, I was something else now. I turned it over in my mind as I turned, uncertain about whether to go back to the bar or just go home and beat off knowing something new. I enjoyed being a fucking tramp. A human who got pleasure from taking a man's warm acrid seed and swallowing it, making his seed become my need.

So there is a bunch of stuff that happened in an easy set of interludes coming up to my engagement to Robert. It was fun. I have mentioned the delight I feel in going down on men and abasing myself to the magic of their manhood, exulting in the power I had to make them hard and take them in such an interesting way. And consume their ejaculations, savoring the different tastes and looking up in the exaltation of seeing real satisfaction and relief, and knowing that what coated my mouth was the essence of intimacy. But there was the other thing I really liked and with two of my lovers it was the best thing, since when they came to climax in me, the reward was not in my gullet, it was shot directly into me. It would linger deep inside me and penetrate the linings of my bowels and through my cells to dance with the blood that flowed through me, becoming me, absorbing his blood into my own coursing wildly through every fiber of my being.

I have no idea if women get that sort of emotional feeling, but I assume that the power inherent in taking a man's rigid cock and deciding to take his seed in a way that completely upends everything in life must be pretty powerful.

I had that idea early, reading about lusty men having their way with the English ladies. I decided to see what it was like, having something long and hard inserted in me. I had to do it myself, of course, and a candle was the best substitute I could find. But it opened up all sorts of possibilities for further exploration, and even jerking off with something lodged deep inside me seemed to raise the orgasm to a higher and more purposeful manner. It became something I enjoyed adding to manual manipulation if I was alone, and part of my varied sexual routine. Once I was a free man again, I shopped for something more lifelike, and kept it next to my bed, thinking the pleasure it gave me was something remotely like what a woman could feel.

At least I could get a glimpse of it. One afternoon, I was at Robert's condo on the other side of the River, nice place. I had discovered that he didn't mind me dipping my head to kiss or lick his manhood, which was a nice package. Thick, not overlong but respectable. He was a pleasant piece to work regardless of how I took him inside me. It became apparent that he was mostly a top, and he got his satisfaction normally by initiating intimacy with some gentle touches and some demonstrable kissing. He also liked me to "keep it neat," and encouraged me to get a monthly visit to the spa for a clean-up, and partly in gest encouraged me to shave my legs and keep my crotch smooth and hairless. It was more work on the shower routine, but it was worth it to feel his skin against mine, his manly with firm bristles of hair and mine soft and smooth.

He was comfortable in his king-sized bed. Nice sheets, a bazillion thread-count, luxurious pillows. The view out the window was also nice, framing another modest tower across a little green park and a sliver of the river down to the side. I knew I was far from the first man to share it with him, and it had been a couples bed for a few years, so it was special.

From the balcony outside you could see more, but what he wanted from me he couldn't get leaning on the thick metal railings that erupted from the concrete. What he wanted was to enter me as soon as I could get him firm and assertive. He had obviously been considering fucking me from behind while leaning me up against a balcony rail. But his go-to position was to kneel between my spread legs as he took a swipe of lubricant, run it down my crack and tease my rosebud and then lean forward, one arm next to mine while the other guided his tumescence to my opening. He took his time, normally, but in a regular relationship it became just a little discomfort as he pressed his firm helmet to me and entered with that decisive penetration that made me feel he was splitting my world and driving himself home in me.

This time the lube helped, and he was gentle until he felt he was firmly seated deep within me. And then he would start to fuck me in firm decisive strokes. Precise ones. Once he had me good and loose, I could rock back at him as he thrust, taking his whole shaft deep with his hips driving in on mine, the sexy sound of flesh slapping together. His lovemaking was varied in tempo and urgency. Sometimes he took delight in slow relentless thrusts that reminded me with each that I was his, I was to be used as he wished, and his eventual eruption inside me was a reward for submitting to his power. Other times he had an eagerness that could be joyful and sometimes just firm and urgent need. I liked that last kind particularly, and we got pretty good at those, him driving into me with a whack against my buttocks with his balls flying and me thrusting up against him as hard as I could. If he got me going just right I would beg for him to come inside me, give me his seed, make his blood my own and own me through the labor of it.

One afternoon, late sun still flooding the room I must have dozed after whimpering in satisfaction. I don't know if I came that time, since our love was not founded on mutual pleasure. I was satisfied if I could make him cum, orally or nether. I blinked into awareness to see I was alone, and got up to go urinate. As I walked, I felt him bubbling out of me, leaving a trail down the inside of my leg. I stopped right there in the hall and sighed with quiet joy. My man had nailed me with vigor. I had moaned in pleasure and demanded his hot seed be planted in me. Begging in need. And he had done it: driven hard, cum hard, and then left his subjugated prize in a tangle of sheets. I don't know about other people our age- he had a couple years on me, but we both seemed to be comfortable with something intimate every day we were together. That could be any of several things, but it was important to keep us connected.

Did he ever ask me to fuck him? No. It wasn't that way and I never considered it. I was his to take when he wished it. If he didn't have time or inclination, I could always just wait.