Coffee: hot, strong and coming down my throat [FM]

I always tease men that I like my coffee like I like my dates; hot, strong and coming down my throat. In this case, the metaphor played out literally.

I met Aaron in a coffee house near campus on a cold January day, one year ago. He was a grad student studying music at one of the local universities. Tall, handsome, bearded, fit, 26. He had never been out with an older woman before. (I was 44 at the time.)

He shows up with a charming smile and sparkling blue eyes, and what I think are sexy tight white jeans. He smells delicious, when I lean in for a hug and press up against him.

We grab our drinks and head upstairs in this old house, repurposed as a coffee shop, and sit near the bay window on the second floor, while snowflakes flit around outside.

I treat my dates like interviews, because after all, they are applying for a job; a blow job, perhaps, but perhaps more. While we talk and he answers my barrage of questions about his life and future aspirations, I find myself melting into his voice and expressions, watching his lips move and imagining what it would be like to kiss him. Smile. Nod. “Yes, absolutely,” I say, paying little attention to his words at this point, and wondering if my dirty thoughts are blaring across my forehead like an electronic billboard in Times Square.

Soon enough, an hour flies by, my limit on conversation. I announce it’s time for me to get going. We put our mugs away and head towards the staircase when I realize there is a smaller room just off the main hallway. Inside is a single table and a few chairs and, to my surprise, a door that locks with a bolt. “Hey come in here for a second,” I call to him. He steps inside as I close the door behind him and flip the lock.

He leans against the wall and looks at me, equally eager and nervous. “The door locks, how about that?” I say. He nods. “Can I kiss you?” I ask. Now he smiles, “Yes,” grabs me and pulls me in close.

The thing about (some) musicians is that they train for years on how to use their mouth. I encourage you to find one whenever possible. His kisses are perfect, vacillating between powerful and gentle, sucking on my lower lip, and squeezing my ass in the process.

Although the house is mostly empty, I know someone could knock on the door at any moment, a thought which both terrifies and exhilarates me. I rehearse my line in my mind, “Oh, just conducting an interview in here!” for when someone tries the door handle.

The more we kiss, the more out of my mind I get. Leaning into him, I feel his erection pressing into my thigh. He had alluded to having a significant cock during our online conversations, but hadn’t sent me a picture, so my curiosity began to get the better of me.

I bring my hand over his protruding fly and feel his bulge. Once you see how hard a man is for you, how can you not take care of that?? I begin unbuttoning his jeans, and look up at him. “Can I take this out?” He closes his eyes and leans his head back into the wall. I take that as a yes.

He helps me unleash his thick cock from his shorts, and there it is, a beautiful big dick exposed in the middle of the coffee shop all for me. I kiss him some more and stroke it with my hand, while he tries not to moan too loudly.

I glance behind me at the exposed window, and he says, “guess someone might get a show.” Without thinking further, I pop a squat and finally get to taste him. He is already dripping. I roll my tongue around the head and look up at him, squirming with excitement. I try to keep my balance and not fall on my ass. I am nothing if not sexy and awkward af at the same time.

As I suck the head into my mouth, he grabs ahold of my hair and puts a fist to his mouth to keep quiet. I realize the further down I go on the shaft, how fucking wide this guy is, which has me, for a brief insane moment, wishing I was dropping my own jeans and getting bent over the table. But instead I concentrate on the task at hand.

**SIDEBAR: When you’re someone’s first cougar, it is your literal job to ruin head for that man for the rest of his life. You give head like your life fucking depends on it, like you’re dying from a snake bite and his cum is the god damn antidote. When you leave him, totally stunned, your goal is to guarantee he never gets head again without wishing it was from you.

Sorry cheerleaders. You’ll get there someday. Practice makes perfect.**

I have to admit I was struggling with his size, working to keep as much of him in my mouth as possible. I am gagging, and trying to be quiet, but the slurping and sucking sound is just bouncing off the walls in this little room. I am using my hands now and keeping him slick with my spit.

I am not quitting. Minutes go by and it feels like an hour, but he’s just so hot. I love the smell and taste of him, looking up and watching him writhe in pleasure. I feel his cock tightening in my hands now, and move faster.

He tells me he’s about to cum, like a warning. I love when men do that because they’re used to women who don’t want cum in their mouth.

“Do it,” I encourage him, then suck harder. He puts his hands on my shoulders and thrusts forward, dumping his load down my throat.

I am relieved that my knees haven’t given out during this squat. I stand up and nearly fall over, as my ankles are asleep. I wipe my mouth on my sleeve and grin.

He buttons up his jeans and shakes his head. “Wow, I was not expecting that,” he says. “Neither was I,” I say innocently (liar), “but I’m glad we got coffee.”

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/esv0aq/coffee_hot_strong_and_coming_down_my_throat_fm