How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love (er…Tolerate) Rimming [FM]

About me, because you want a mental image I’m sure: I’m Brooke, I’m 24, 5’3″, 135 lbs. I’m all ass, no tit, and I look vaguely Lebanese but am actually Cuban.

So as I discussed in the last thread I made, I went through a bit of a period between the time I was 18 until I was about 20. I was doing risky things with people I didn’t know on a semi-regular basis, probably once a month or so. It was like I was in heat; the combination of attention and the ability to finally fulfill certain fantasies or cravings combined together to make me do things that, in retrospect, were not really very well thought out.

I had started by meeting men in hotels. Strangers. I’d troll Craigslist and find guys looking for women who either had pictures I like or a way about them (you can get a sense of how someone is from how they write, usually). I tried mostly to stick to men who were in town for work, but it wasn’t like I was background checking them or anything, I just assumed if they said they were they were and went with it.

The first meeting I detailed in my first post. I did this about seven or eight times. The second and third ones were basically repeats of the first time with different men. Slightly different, sex with different people is always different, but the gist is the same.

The fourth guy was different.

I would usually e-mail back and forth for awhile with the man I was planning on meeting. This helped me get a sense of him. I didn’t want a guy who wanted to spoil me; this was about me serving him. I’m very submissive; I didn’t quite have a language for that then, but I see now that this was my way of exploring those feelings.

My type, generally: Older, decent shape, educated, and with some stated interest or kink in their post. A guy who just wants to fuck you is a guy who is probably boring to fuck; a guy with ideas is much more interesting. So I would look for guys with fetishes or agendas and mold myself to their wants. I wanted to be their dream girl, if only for that night.

This guy wanted to be rimmed. I had never done that and it intrigued me a little. It also scared me and the idea that I would do that was incredibly humiliating. My internal dialog was basically “I am the kind of girl that would consider licking a stranger’s ass.”

But as we talked it didn’t come up, so I agreed to meet him. He wanted me to just come straight to the room, which usually I didn’t do, but in this case I did. Because, I don’t know…he seemed nice.

I put on a dress, heels, no panties, no bra (my tits are 32a, I can get away with no bra without it really being an issue). I went to his room. It was a nice hotel; I wasn’t slumming it at some Red Roof Inn, that was part of my criteria. I wanted guys who had money, not to glom onto them, but because they’d have a lot more to lose by exposing me. It felt safer somehow. Which maybe was stupid but it seemed to work.

He opened the door wearing a robe. He was freshly showered, you could tell by the smell of him, that crisp, freshly washed smell. Cologne. He let me in, offered me a drink…I declined, sat down on the bed. It’s incredibly nerve wracking, fucking a stranger. Not the act, that’s different…the sitting down and knowing what’s about to happen. The anticipation.

In my mind, when I went into this situation, anything could happen and I’d allow for pretty much anything. I kept myself safe by knowing what the person wanted before I got there, but anything COULD have happened, and there’s this low feeling I get where I find it hard to say no. So when he came over and stood in front of me and told me to open his robe, I did. Looking at his face the whole time, like some innocent little kitten who didn’t know what he wanted. Because I wanted him to tell me. Part of me NEEDED him to tell me.

He told me to touch him. I did. His cock was average sized, nicely shaped, maybe a little thick. Soft, but he was in his forties and I like it when starting off the cock was softer…I like feeling it grow and stiffen in my mouth, knowing I’m making it harder. Tasting precum. All of that pushing me lower.

He unzipped my dress while I sat there and it was half off when he laid down on the bed. Told me to get on my knees and keep going. And I did. I was getting into this, too. I liked his smells and his tastes, a minty musky scent that made me explore more with my tongue than I usually did, licking his balls, rubbing him on my face. I knew what he wanted me to be.

And then he rolled backwards, and I knew what he wanted. It was in his post and we hadn’t talked about it…but there was his clean, shaved asshole in front of me.

And then I was licking him. Aggressively. I’d been with a girl before and I applied the same technique, my tongue circling and pushing in, just enough pressure. I’m not sure if I was good, but he liked it. Or seemed to. I jerked him off while I did it. He didn’t talk or say anything…just pushed against my mouth in subtle ways you could only be aware of if your tongue was right on his ass. but that’s where my tongue was, so I noticed.

I savored the moans, the little sounds he made. I was probably only down there for five, MAYBE ten minutes. I lost track of time, truthfully.

At some point I stopped and went back to sucking him. By this point I’d worked myself out of my dress and was touching myself. Masturbating while you’re doing something humiliating is intense and I was very low by this point.

He pulled me into the bed with him and put me on my back…at which point he proceeded to sit over my face, pinning my arms with his knees, so his ass was right on my mouth. I was a good girl and licked more. I couldn’t move my hands or my arms, I was nothing but a tongue to lick him. I couldn’t even jerk him off, I could feel him doing that, could feel his hands between my legs, rubbing me roughly with calloused hands.

He let me up and reversed himself. He was much harder now…I could tell he was close to cumming, and he started fucking my mouth. Through this whole thing he’d barely spoken to me, I felt like an object, a toy, a shell of a girl that existed just for him to use me.

He came without saying so, but I could tell, could taste him in my mouth, felt that creamy saltiness on my tongue. My spit was all over his cock as he pulled it out of my face…I was panting and unsated but it was over now. I felt like I’d accomplished something, that I’d proven to myself I could do this and that I was worth something. I always feel worth so much more valuable after I’ve made a man cum.

Unlike the other visits, he didn’t want me to spend the night. And there’s something about being ushered out of the door, worked up, a belly full of cum you’ve earned, a messy face, wondering if strangers in the elevator know what you just did, that makes it more degrading and (in my fucked up mind) better. Smiling at the old woman on the way through the lobby, knowing that if she really knew what I just did she’d have recoiled in disgust, I made my way to my car and went home to gargle and masturbate.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/9mgy22/how_i_learned_to_stop_worrying_and_love