Alex the Swede

So it's just after dinner time and the first chance I've had since last night to sit down and write a note. yesterday, while I was alone during the day, with my husband having been gone for over a week on a work trip, I had the illogical pissed off angry feeling of being abandoned to fend for myself at home while my husband is off somewhere else. Yes, I know he's working for the family, and my benefit, and that if he could choose he would stay home more often, but the rational brain is not the one that rules the senses or emotions, and sometimes rationalizing the empty feeling of being alone in the house is just too much work to go along with all of the other work you have to do just to keep the house in order. And I've never been one that could keep my feelings in check too long, especially some of those feelings that itch in hard to scratch places.

So I was checking on email, and thought I would check on an older AFF account that we hadn't used for awhile, and lo and behold, serendipity, one of the men who I had gone on one "date" with had sent me a message. He'd been a young stud, living up the valley in a place called Pitt Meadows, about an hour drive away. We had exchanged messages for a month or two with him, mostly my husband doing the messaging, and finally arranged drinks and maybe more if there was a connection for a week night when he had to come to the city during the day for work reasons. We met at a classy hotel bar downtown and spent about an hour chatting.

He's blond, of Swedish ancestry, about 190cm (6"3 for you americans!), and very sexy. He looks a lot like a Swedish hockey player named Alexander Edler, so I'll call him "Alex" for convenience. I love blond men--they're at the pinnacle of my fetish for white men--and so as we talked I really did feel a physical attraction to him but also got the sense that he was a gentle soul as well. Somehow, some signals got crossed, and neither of us made a move toward broaching the subject of having sex that night--I was expecting him to not-so-subtly suggest that we go get a room upstairs, or something obvious, and maybe he was waiting for a sign from me. But even though I'm pretty straightforward and open, especially when I'm on email or texting, when I'm with a man for the first time somehow I revert to schoolgirl tendencies to wait for the male to be the aggressor and make the first move.

So somehow, mixed messages being what they are, we promised to get together again and gave each other European cheek kisses and that was that. Huge disappointment, but chalked up to a lack of communication/clarity/chemistry.

So I was pleasantly surprised to see the message yesterday morning that he was going to be in town again, and wondering if I could get together. I was surprised that I had happened to check the very day that he was sending the message (the inbox was full with over 50 messages since the last time we had checked the account...). I replied right away that I was horny and wanted to fuck, but it had to be in the afternoon and I needed to be done by 4pm. I gave him phone number to text message me if he wanted to get together. Like I said, I am much more aggressive when I'm writing than in person when with a stranger (unless I'm drunk, of course, which I wasn't at 10am on a Friday morning...!).

Two hours later I got a text message from an unknown number just saying "YES!!!! YES!!!! YES!!!!" and so we arranged to meet at 1pm at a downtown boutique hotel. I like it as a place to get together for a fuck-date with a stranger because there are suites with a living room (always nice to have to have the option of fucking or giving a blowjob on a couch) and a kitchen so you can rest and rehydrate easily.

I thought about texting my husband to let him know what I was doing, but it was the middle of the night where he was, and so I decided instead to send an email with the details of who I was meeting, and where and when (just to be safe). It was thrilling to be doing this in a clandestine way, without permission from my husband, although I knew that he would have granted it in an instant. I brought along some pepper spray in my purse, just in case, although it was more a mental assurance to have it rather than a real practical weapon if things went bad.

I knew from our first meeting that Alex could easily overpower me physically. I'm only 157cm (5'2 so over a foot shorter than him) and he had the muscular body of an athlete. He probably weighed at least twice as much as I did (I'm 45kg—98 lbs), so if he turned out to be a rough lover (not so bad) or violent/crazy/psychopathic (bad) I knew there wasn't much I could do about it.

I brought a change of clothes, normal housewife picking up the kids wear, so that I could take a shower at the hotel and go straight back without a hitch to my motherly duties afterward. But for the hotel hookup I put on a sexy black cocktail dress with Bracli pearl strand panties and black mesh thigh high stockings underneath. The dress is designed to be worn without a bra, and for warmth--it's cold weather right now—I wore a long black wool overcoat.

Alex was booking the hotel room (the gentleman should pay for the room if a hotwife is going to meet him for sex!), and we decided to meet in a bar down the street because the hotel didn't have it's own bar. I didn't really want to waste any time having drinks and conversation, but I thought that a good stiff drink would help me relax and enjoy the afternoon more. He was there waiting for me at a table in the bar. I ordered a tequila margarita on the rocks and downed it quickly, chasing it with a shot of expensive tequila--only the good stuff for this hotwife! :lol:

We took a few selfies at the bar with my iPhone, for posterity sake (and to send to my husband later), and after a short 10 minutes of catching up—I basically told him I was surprised that we didn't have sex last time, and he apologized profusely, saying that he misunderstood my not mentioning sex as an indication that I didn't want to have sex with him. I told him that I had been incredibly horny, and was horny again now, flashing my pearl crotch panties discretely to him. He immediately paid the bill and we headed to the hotel.

He had booked an executive suite on one of the highest floors--a "classy move" that wasn't lost on me. As soon as we stepped inside the door we were kissing and groping and he picked me up off the ground so that I was straddling him with my legs around his waist. I was shocked at how tall he was. We were kissing face to face and I was being held by him as if I was a small child. His hands were under my ass carrying me, and mine were around his neck. I could feel the rippling hard muscles of his shoulders and neck, and I ran my fingers through his light blond hair, so different than my husband's dark hair. His hands were now under my dress, kneading my ass muscles and his long thick fingers began to stroke my very wet pussy, pushing the strand of pearls aside.

He had carried me over to the living room couch and laid me down with my legs open wide, kneeling on the floor so that he could lick my pussy. Just before leaving the house, I had shaved and waxed before showering, so I was sensitive, but he was gentle and then rougher and rougher with his lips and tongue and fingers as he got more excited. He murmured that he had never tasted such a sweet pussy, and I played with his light blond hair as he licked me to my first orgasm. He knew what he was doing, using his warm wet lips to keep pressure on my sensitive clit as the orgasm wore down.

Picking me up again and pulling my dress and panties off, he lifted me into the bedroom and sat me on the end of the bed. I unzipped his pants and...saw the biggest cock I have ever seen.

In our message exchanges, he had said that he was "big" but he hadn't said how big, or shown any pictures. I'm glad he didn't because I would have thought that he was faking them if he had sent a photo. His cock was thick, much thicker than any cock I had ever seen before, like a Coke can, and I was surprised to see that he was uncircumcised. I had never seen a cock like his before. The foreskin was thick and still covered the head, which was bullet shaped rather than the flaring mushroom shape I was used to with so many men. His cock had big thick veins, and my first thought was that his penis looked like the pictures of dogs when they were erect. His balls were the size of eggs, and hung low and loose. I was stunned and didn't know what to do, just staring in awe and saying "ohmygod" again and again.

He laughed and asked if I was scared of it hurting. I honestly said "yes," but then got to work on his cock, even if I wasn't sure what to do. I stroked it with both hands--my fingers didn't even reach all the way around he was so thick. And then began licking his head, pushing his foreskin back with my lips. His foreskin was tighter than I anticipated, and kept sliding back over the head as my lips slipped up and down his swollen glans. I knew that I would need lubrication to take this monster, even though I was dripping wet from his licking me and my coming. So I slobbered and spit as much as I could on his shaft, spreading my saliva all over the shaft but getting as much lubrication on the first 5-10cm as I could.

He began leaking pre-cum as I licked and stroked him, a thick clear liquid that I spread over his cock using my fingers, mixing it in with my saliva. His shaft was much heavier than I thought a cock could be--like a huge hunk of sausage. He was incredibly light skinned, and the veins on his cock looked almost blue in contrast to his pale white skin.

I still wasn't sure if I was going to like the first few minutes of having this monster inside me, but I knew I wanted to try. And soon!

I told him I wanted to ride his "big cock" and he got onto the bed and laid on his back, propping the pillows behind him so that he could look at me. I felt tiny on top of him, as if I was climbing all over a Swedish giant. Holding his massive piece of meat and pushing his foreskin down, I slowly lowered myself onto him, squatting over his cock as if I was hovering over one of the Japanese squat toilets that still used to be around some older bathrooms in Tokyo when I was a child.

The first moment of the tip of his head pushing into me wasn't so different than the feeling of other cocks that had entered me. But it was after the first few inches when his thickness really began to stretch me. I could hear the sound of my own uncontrolled groaning filling my ears, and random "fuck" and "ohmygod" interjections in my voice but somehow coming from some other part of my brain that was now disconnected from my conscious control. I slid back up a few centimetres, to help get used to his thickness, and began gently pumping up and down his shaft, sliding down a little bit more each time.

I had never, ever, felt this sense of fullness before. Not with the one night stand with a man years ago who had the thickest cock I had ever experienced—that man had been short, not much taller than me, and had a thick Coke can shaped cock which looked even bigger because he was short. That had been the thickest cock I had ever felt inside me, but Alex's cock, which looked huge even on his tall muscular body, was much much bigger. I felt such gratitude that just when I needed this XXXL fucking, and just because of a whim in checking our Adult Friend Finder website account that morning, I was now so lucky to be in bed fucking this gorgeous Swedish giant. I am truly a blessed woman. I really did have these thoughts in my head, even as most of my conscious brain was being overwhelmed by the animal lust and desire that was now driving me to pump up and down faster and harder.

I could hear my own voice screaming now, as if the sound was coming from someone else, and Alex was grunting and thrusting his hips up to meet my strokes downward. From that moment on, the sex was a blur. Details fleeting yet searingly clear in my memory now a day later. Being carried, his cock fully inside me all the way to the hilt, and his hands lifting me up and down his meaty sword as he walked to the kitchen. Sitting on the kitchen counter as he fucked me, his hips pumping so hard that the wet slapping sounds of his low hanging balls hitting my ass made me imagine that it was the loud clapping of an audience watching us. I remember at one moment, when I was kneeling on the black leather couch and he was fucking me doggy style from behind, that I thought I was going to die from his cock ripping apart my internal organs.

Alex had an increasingly obvious rough streak that had not been even hinted at when we were chatting in the bar. He liked to manhandle my tiny body, moving it around while still impaled on his cock, shifting it this way or that way as if I was just a rag doll in his hands. I loved the feeling of being completely in his physical control. When he slapped my ass I begged for more, and he continued to spank me as he fucked me like a dog.

I remember standing in front of the balcony, my hands on the cold window, my legs spread out as he fucked me from behind. He was so tall that each of his thrusts lifted my feet up off the rug, and I was afraid that my hands were going to go through the glass as he began thrusting harder and harder. Eventually, he was just holding me in the air, my legs dangling and only my hands on the window stopping me from going through as he slid my petite body back and forth along the length of his shaft. I had never felt so physically dominated by a man, so helplessly in his control. It was even more of a submissive feeling than when I have been tied up. Even though I wasn't in any kind of bonds, I still felt utterly in his hands, my body's every movement at his whim.

The first time he came, it was while he was fucking me on the floor of the living room, my legs spread wide as I lay on my back and he pounded me hard from above. It felt like he was drilling me into the rug with his cock as a weapon. As excited and mindless in lust that I was, I could still feel clearly the pain that his hard cock was inflicting inside me. There was a dull ache now that was growing, like the cramps I feel every month during my period. As I came for what I now think was the fourth or fifth time that afternoon, he pulled out and stroked long strands of warm cum onto my stomach, with the first spurt shooting all the way over my face onto the carpet above my head. His second spurt hit the bottom of my jaw, slowly crawling down my throat as it cooled. The rest pooled on my belly as it dripped from his cock. I stroked the last bits out with both my hands, squeezing his meaty shaft with my fingers like you do trying to get the last bits of toothpaste out of the tube.

We caught our breath sitting on the leather couch. I told him that I was in love with his cock and body, and that I had never been fucked like that before in my life. He seemed to appreciate my candor, and took it as a compliment. I looked at my phone and saw that it was 2:30pm. Still over an hour left to play before I had to leave, so I got onto my knees in front of him and began sucking on his limp dick. He tasted tangy, all of my dried pussy juices coating his shrunken flesh. It took quite a while to fill his shaft with blood, and by the time he was hard again my jaw was sore from sucking. It was the gagging and choking noises from my throat when I was trying to swallow his half hard shaft that actually seemed to cause the blood surge into his cock. The harder he got, the more I choked and gagged, which made him even harder.

Somehow, because I was able to swallow all of him when he was semi-hard, and I kept going down the full length even as he grew larger and thicker and longer in my throat, I was able to deep throat his whole monstrous sized cock even as he became fully hard. I was so proud, marveling that I was able to do this despite his humongous size. I felt, of course, like I was suffocating, and that the moment when he was all the way down my throat, that he would somehow get stuck and I would choke to death (how to explain the married mother strangled on another man's cock in a hotel room while her husband was away on a business trip...)

Once he was fully hard again, I climbed on top of his lap and slowly and gently rode him, being careful as I slid up and down his shaft because of the soreness I felt inside. After we had begun resting after his orgasm, I had become increasingly more aware of just how sore I was, and the dull aching cramping that I had felt during sex was now impossible to ignore. But as I grew hornier slowly riding his shaft, I could hear myself getting wetter, the sloshing smacking sounds growing louder and more liquid as we fucked. It was his turn to mutter "fuck" and "oh god" and to tell me how "tight" my pussy was, and how "warm" and "hot" I felt inside. He seemed to sense that the time for acrobatics was over, and so we stayed in that position as we fucked and fucked until I came.

This orgasm was the biggest of the afternoon, a mind-blowing, darkness veiling my eyes, blacking out kind that merits the petit mort (little death) description that's used in French. It felt truly like death through impalement by his massive sword, and as my hyperventilating and panting slowed down, I came back to consciousness collapsed onto his muscular chest, his cock still filling me all the way inside. I was paralyzed, my muscles still gently twitching after the seizure like convulsions that had wracked my body. I couldn't speak, could only breathe ever more slowly. I uttered a grateful "wow" when the capacity for speech returned, and as I shifted my weight ever so slightly, my muscles contracting must have gently squeezed his engorged cock still inside me.

He let out a gasp of pleasure and asked me to "Do that again." so I contracted my stomach and thigh muscles in a gentle squeezing rhythm, as if I was pushing out my morning turd, and he said that "It feels like heaven."

We lay like that, him absolutely motionless, and me collapsed on top of him, barely able to move except for the ever so slight squeezing of my core muscles, until he let out a low long grunt and I could feel the rhythmic spasms of his cock as it swelled and shot sperm deep inside me again and again. As the last spurt transferred from him to me, I continued to gently massage him inside me using my pelvic muscles, otherwise lying still as the minutes slowly ticked by in exhaustion.

When we finally moved, prompted by seeing 4:00pm on the living room clock, I was sore and barely able to climb off. His cock had remained inside me, semi-hard, and plopped out with a loud, wet gurgle. I slid down his body, sitting on the floor, his cum leaking of my sore pussy onto the carpet. I licked his cock and balls clean, savoring the mix of sweaty, tangy, musky flavors and aroma. I told him that he had a "beautiful cock" and that I wanted to take it home with me. He laughed, and said that anytime I wanted more, I could just text him, or I could come out to the valley and he would give me a good "farm boy fucking."

Last night I could barely sleep because of the cramps that his fucking had triggered. They still haven't totally subsided, but I didn't go to the hospital because they lessened in severity and frequency to the point that they are only a dull ache again. I have to admit, it was up there at the top of the best sex I have ever had in my life. Even now, a day later, I feel a tingle and a glow through my body, with the soreness inside a constant reminder.