How to Get a Messy Facial on your Kitchen Floor, in Three Easy Steps [FM]

The next time I saw Charlie his hair was still long and messy, but he had shaved, and on the whole he looked a lot more like I remembered him from our days in class together. We had met in a small, moody basement bar in Hoxton (let’s call it…I don’t know…Sadness Remembers?), and we were chatting with all the ease and tact of two people who are so certain that the evening will end with them fucking that, in making plans, in meeting and, thus far, in the evening itself, neither of them has felt the need to mention it. It was quite the feat, really, since virtually the last thing I remembered saying to Charlie was asking him to fuck me in the arse.

It was just one of those things that it’s best not to acknowledge; not out loud, anyway. Between me and Charlie there were a few things like this. I didn’t tell him, for example, that after [that first time with him](https://old.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/hvxrl3/a_rebel_from_the_waist_downwards_rebound_fucking/), I hadn’t gone home for a chaste evening in front of Netflix at all: I had thrown my clothes into a messy pile, fallen onto my bed and masturbated, fingering my asshole with the slick of lube he had left behind, holding a vibrator on my clit and soaking the sheets underneath me, my body still covered with the dry and cracking remnants of our fucking, the sheets going straight in the wash afterward because they smelled so much of sweat and pussy and cum. I thought this was best left unspoken if I was to maintain any mystique, just like how, when we sat opposite each other in the semicircle of our college discussions, I kept my contributions relevant to the conversation at hand, rather than telling everyone the truth, which was that I wished Charlie would cum all over my face.

So there I sat, drinking something with gin and a lot of grapefruit in it, allowing Charlie to talk animatedly about all of the books I spent my Master’s year pretending to have finished reading. Charlie has very expressive hands, gesticulating constantly with loose and sweeping gestures, his fingers often slightly clasped as though he’s holding a pencil or a paintbrush. It was quite mesmerising to watch, especially since I knew that once they were given the chance, those hands could just as easily grasp, penetrate and manipulate me in any direction they saw fit. I had a miniature vision of Charlie standing over me with his cock in his hand, and my stomach leapt a little.

‘Your students must be very fond of you,’ I remember telling him.

‘They think I’m a bit strict,’ he said, and I told him I didn’t doubt it for a second. I remember he didn’t say anything to this, just fixed me with a steady look until I giggled nervously and looked down at my drink. I had worn a top that showed some meagre cleavage—not such a common occurrence for me—and I kept noticing Charlie’s eyes being drawn there, which reminded me of him boldly slipping his hand into the cup of my bra the last time we met.

Our table was in the darkest corner of the already-dark bar, and I did wonder if I could make a grab for him then and there. But short of showing him a little more boob, I didn’t think I could get away with much. I decided to scope out the bathroom instead, but I had to wriggle between a few busy tables to get there: when I pulled my knickers down to pee and realised I could have filled a shot glass or two with the sticky, crystal-clear juice of my cunt, I decided it was about time we got an Uber.

—

‘Whenever you’re ready,’ Charlie said. The heavens had opened, and we were wet just from walking from the car to my front door. I couldn’t really blame Charlie for his impatience as I rooted around in the bottom of my bag for my keys. He was the one bearing the brunt of the rain and, besides, I suspected he wanted to get inside just as urgently as I did.

Judging by his actions once I finally managed to navigate my way around a couple of locks, my suspicions were correct. I left my shoes by the door, walked to the sink and turned on the tap; virtually the second the water hit the stainless steel, Charlie slipped his hands around my waist and started unbuttoning my trousers.

I laughed and said ‘would you like a glass of water?’, and by the time I finished speaking he’d pulled everything down to my lower thighs. I stubbornly tried to pretend not to notice what he was doing for a moment, filling a glass for myself from the tap, taking a long swallow and then abruptly having to put it down and grasp the edge of the sink as he slid his hand between the cheeks of my ass and stroked the lips of my pussy from behind.

It seemed that Charlie wanted only to satisfy himself that I was wet enough; having arrived at a thoroughly positive answer, he said ‘bend over’ and I heard him starting to unbuckle his belt. I had imagined that we might have time to take off our wet clothes, but I was hardly in the mood to disagree; cold fabric clung to me as I shuffled over to a spare section of counter. I threw a single look over my should to check that Charlie was putting on a condom, then braced my weight against my forearms, my tits pressed against the cold of my shirt, my innards fully expecting to be rearranged.

As I was rapidly coming to expect, Charlie did not disappoint, and nor did he linger. I felt a rush of sensation as the tip of his cock parted my lips, which slowly but steadily continued as I felt him filling me until I felt the buckle of his belt, cold and hard and digging into the left side of my ass. The cold of the metal was so sudden that it made me cry out and try to jerk away, but the firm grasp of Charlie’s hand on my hip had me stationary again.

He fucked me with firm strokes of his rather long, very thick cock, hard enough to rattle the glasses in the sink. I shifted my weight, raising myself onto my tiptoes a little until I knew the angle would make me come, but, already aware that my downstairs neighbours with be worried that something awful had happened, I bit more forearm hard and moaned into it. As I knew my orgasm was coming, I felt my feet and ankles weaken, and I dropped abruptly back onto Charlie’s cock, a single thrust hitting me so deeply that I would have howled if I didn’t have my mouth full.

‘Do you want to cum on my face?’ I asked him. He let out a little grunt which sounded to me like agreement, but he showed no sign at all of being done with my cunt. He fucked me with long, hard strokes; he puled his cock all the way out of me, probably just for the pleasure of pushing it back in again; he paused to spread my lips and play with the wetness that was constantly pooling there, then stuck two well-lubricated fingers in my ass.

I suspected that Charlie didn’t realise that I’d already had an orgasm, and he wasn’t the type to let me go without. He fucked me, hard, with that kind of almost-mechanical focus which men sometimes have, as though his cock was nothing but a tool to make me come.

I had no doubt that it would; in fact, it almost felt too good. I was beginning to feel a familiar, uh-oh-I-really-need-to-pee sensation, and while I wanted to warn Charlie that things might get messy, every attempt to open my mouth seemed to be timed to one of his thrusts, and all that came out of me was a gasp as I felt myself lurching closer to the edge. At any rate, things had soon passed the point of no return, and having allowed myself a split-second of reassurance that Charlie wasn’t the kind of man who would mind if I squirted all over him, I bit down hard on my hand, shook, and had another orgasm which took all of the strength out of my legs.

‘Jesus,’ somebody said, and I was dimly aware that it was Charlie behind me, but I suppose it might have been me. In my defence, I think most of it ended up running down my thighs, seeping into the already-sodden crotch of my clothes which were still bunched up somewhere around or just below my knees. I hoped, though, that Charlie’s jeans weren’t expensive.

‘Get on your knees,’ Charlie said.

‘Just give me a minute,’ I told him, my front half collapsed in a sweaty pile on the kitchen counter, my legs soaking wet and trussed together like some kind of extremely shameless mermaid.

‘No, now,’ he said, more with genuine urgency than with any tone of discipline in his voice. Still a little sluggish and undignified, I managed to get onto my knees without falling over, sitting back on my heels and into a puddle of my own making. My timing, though, couldn’t have been better: not one to be outdone, Charlie gasped with his hand wrapped around his cock. I closed my eyes, and not a second later I felt a jet of warm cum hit me, somewhere around the bridge of my nose. It seemed to go on forever; it felt as though he covered my forehead, my eyelids, my cheeks. He tasted hot, salty and starchy on my lips. I’m sure some of it even ran down my chest, into the cleavage that I chose my outfit to show: I had imagined letting Charlie take it off me later, but somehow I liked this better.

As Charlie’s breathing slowed, the last drops of him running down my chin and neck, I kept my eyes closed and opened my mouth a little. His cock filled it, briefly, tasting of latex and cum, and then withdrew as Charlie sighed deeply.

I groped for the first thing I could find that wasn’t covered with some fluid or another, wiping my eyes with a handful of paper towels, looking up at Charlie has he groaned and let his weight fall back onto the perpendicular kitchen counter, and down at the mess we had both made of my body and my kitchen floor.

‘I think I’d like that glass of water now,’ he said.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/hzfh0j/how_to_get_a_messy_facial_on_your_kitchen_floor