“You’re Melting” [MF]

He was a lot older than me. It was someone from online, and the context of said meeting is maybe not for this forum; you just need to know it was the middle of the day on a Wednesday, that his wife wasn’t around, was maybe not living there anymore, was maybe out of town. This was before, when we could go wherever we wanted, when the idea of social distancing was something that you did to get away, not a way of life.

I was 26 then. I’m 26 now.

I had been to this area before, I had friends in high school who lived near him, but never in this context. Before it was a place we went to trick or treat, because the people who lived in this area had the money for the good candy, because the streets were bright. If he was living there not ten years ago he’d have given me a full sized Snickers, me dressed as whatever the fuck costume I wore that year, a cat or a cheerleader or a zombie. My friend Heather lived nearby, her parents probably still in the same house I slept over at. I drove past it on the way to see him.

This was not a romantic visit. This wasn’t about some shared mutual affection, it was about need. It was about two lonely people, lonely for whatever reasons they were lonely, thinking that they could solve their problems with an afternoon of oblivion. He wanted me to be younger, I’m sure; even at 26, I’m not the age that men fantasize about. I’m not 18, not 21, but I was available and willing and I’d do. I have no idea how old he was but if I found out he was double my age I wouldn’t have been surprised. He answered the door in a t-shirt and a pair of jeans so faded they were almost white. He was bald with a white beard and one could have been forgiven for mistaking him for a slightly more put together Santa Claus. I knew the name he gave me and I knew the name of the person who owned the house and knew that those names were different but that they were both him. I understood; he didn’t know my real name, either.

The meeting, the at the door moment, is always awkward. He hugged me like he’d met me before. I like to touch the edges of control, to see that moment where I’m not in charge of what happens slowly recede from my grasp, and so this was not my first time. He was nothing to me; the person I wanted wasn’t around, the people I’d hurt weren’t there. This wasn’t a relationship. This was two needy and lonely people.

There were pleasantries. Greetings. But the reason I was here was plain, we weren’t here to compare notes, to talk about holiday shopping; we were here for sex. He touched my arm, my neck, my face, my ass, his hands wandering, his heart presumably racing, the predator in him slowly coming out. I was never really a person to him, I was a commodity, a means to an end; he saw a package he liked and he wanted to open his presents.

We went to a back bedroom. Not the master suite, but this was the kind of house where every bedroom was better than any bedroom I’d ever slept in. He took off his shirt, his stomach solid, portly. I took off mine. My tits still too small and my stomach always too large for my liking no matter how much I’d been assured it wasn’t that way. He kissed me and I reluctantly kissed back, he deftly unhooked my bra, he put my hands over his jeans. I felt the bulge there, I felt the weight of him under the denim. We engaged in the awkward dance of foreplay, one I knew my steps for very well; I knew to get on my knees. I knew to open his fly. I knew to open my mouth.

He was bigger than I had expected, not massive but large, girthy in a way that was surprising. He was handsy; he had my hair in one hand and his palm on the back of my head. I wasn’t Brooke, I wasn’t a person, I was a mouth, disembodied, drooling on him. That’s what he wanted me to be and that’s what I was. I knew how to be nothing for him. I knew how to ignore the tastes and the smells, the faint whiff of mouthwash and the salty stickiness of his precum. I knew how to use my hands, to jerk him off and suck him off all at once. I knew how to relax my throat. I knew what to do.

It’s blurry, all of it, when you’re not focused. I was on the bed soon. On my back. Head over the side. Sometimes the angle works and sometimes it’s all wrong but this time it worked. This time I felt his hands between my legs, his fingers in me. His cock in my mouth. I paused so I could take off my glasses and I realized I’d given them to him, I didn’t know where they were. I felt another finger in me. I felt myself getting wetter. I heard myself moan.

He pulled out of my mouth and I saw the blurry form of him putting on a condom. He told me to turn around. I was on the side of the bed. My ass against him. He played with me more, my tits, my clit. Yes I wanted his big dick in me. Please put it in me. Yes I need it. Please. Fuck me, mister. Fuck me. His hand still holding my hair.

I felt him in me. I felt his finger on my ass, I felt him slide in, I was ashamed at my wetness, at the ease he could push between my legs. I was ashamed at how it felt good to me, too, at how those familiar feelings of usefulness surfaced. At how much I wanted him to enjoy my body. At how much I needed for this stranger to take pleasure in me. I wanted him to cum. I wanted him to be so overcome with the pleasure my cunt gave him that he couldn’t hold back.

He was aggressive. He kept thrusting. Thrusting. He had stamina and strength and I wasn’t expecting that. I felt my toes curl, I felt my body go limp. It went on. Ten minutes is a long time to be in that position, to be filled, to be thrust into and out of, for your most sensitive parts to be receiving the piston thrust of a a cock. I came, I didn’t mean to cum, I was lost in it, lost as his hand manipulated my clit, as he filled me, as he called me a slut. I felt the lube, pulled off the side table, cold against my ass, and if I hadn’t been so worn I’d have objected but there wasn’t time. I moaned as he pulled out and as he slid into me, pushing into me. As he told me he knew he was going to fuck my ass from the moment I walked in. Yes mister I like it. Yes please fuck my ass. I need it. And in that moment I wasn’t even saying it to placate him. It wasn’t something I’d done a lot of, wasn’t something I liked. But I liked this, liked how I was being useful to him, how he felt.

Yes please breed my ass. I felt the condom come off. I knew it was risky, I knew it was dangerous, and I knew it didn’t matter. He wanted it and I did it. He was one of only a few people ever who I’d let do that and he wasn’t special but his cock was. I asked him to cum. Please cum. Please cum in me. Please breed my ass mister. Five more minutes. Ten more. I felt his weight punish my hips, my ass. Felt his fingers inside me. In my pussy. In my mouth. Tasting me. Hooking my cheek. My hair in his hands or on my shoulders. Yes please. I’ve been good. I need it.

When he finally came he collapsed on me. Over me. I felt him pull out. Felt the stickiness running down my legs, the lube and his cum and my wetness. The aftermath of sex is always a crime scene of fluids, of sweat and cum and spit and drool, and my body was the chief repository for all of the evidence of our afternoon. I felt my legs twitch. I felt draped over the bed, used up, exhausted, spent, empty in some places and full in others. I felt like a clock in a Dali painting, no bones or structure to me, nothing to give me form, like when he pulled his cock out I deflated, a spent balloon against the bed.

“You know how I know that was hot? You’re melting,” he said. And I felt that way, felt like I was melting. There were tears I didn’t realize were there, a vague bruise on my right ass cheek from where he grabbed me too hard. I showered on my own, wrapping myself in a towel I knew he’d hide and wash separately later. I dressed. I left. He hugged me on the way out and we talked a bit and even as I went to the car I couldn’t for sure tell you which one of us had used the other.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/g1bgto/youre_melting_mf