The Soul of the Matter: Or, that time I was face-fucked in a Bloomsbury basement. [FM]

So I was sitting at a table in my favourite restaurant, eating lunch—a certain place a stone’s throw from the British museum, with writing all over the walls. I was in my own little world, my privacy bubble, in the middle of the afternoon with the place mostly empty, and I barely noticed when a guy sat down across from me.

‘You’re very pretty,’ he said.

I had my hair in a messy bun; I was wearing no makeup; it was a cold day in early winter and I had on my most shapeless and colourless jumper. I was also holding a book up to my face with one hand, and enthusiastically eating bibimbap with the other. I was not very pretty.

I looked up, ready to tell the guy to leave me alone, and it was Daniel.

Daniel is my ex. He is rather handsome, and he dresses like a man considerably richer than he is. He is not an especially nice man, nor a particularly unpleasant one. He used to have what I felt was an odd proclivity for pissing in my mouth. Quite possibly he still would, given half a chance.

The last time I saw Daniel was months ago, and it had been a shameless booty call, down to the finest of details. I had gone over to his place somewhere close to the middle of the night. He had poured me a glass of wine. He had, calmly and at considerable length, fucked me in the ass, leaving my cunt untouched by all but the rhythmic impact of his balls. The last of the condensation was still drying on my wine glass when I pulled up my knickers and limped home, sitting on the Tube in a pool of cum, lube and my own sticky, barely-fulfilled desire.

‘What do you want?’ I asked him, as though there was any doubt in the matter. I wondered if I could convincingly play myself off as nonchalant when a quick run-through of my memories of our time together had me soaking through to my chair.

I don’t remember much more of what we said. We talked, with a veneer of fake politeness, for a minute or two, and Daniel excused himself to go to the bathroom. I prodded at a few stray grains of rice in the bottom of my bowl, waited around two minutes, and followed him.

If you know this place, you might recall that the bathroom is downstairs, in the basement, which is also a mini-labyrinth of storage rooms, with big catering-size sacks of rice and things, blocking the lines of sight from one to the next.

Daniel was emerging from the bathroom, and he asked what had taken me so long. I wandered casually into a dark and dusty corner and waited for him to follow me.

I’ve posted here a couple of times before, and as I might have implied, I like slow build-up and teasing, languorous kisses, all that kind of thing. Daniel is not fond of any of this. Daniel stroked my hair for a moment or two and then encouraged me, with a firm hand on my shoulder, to my knees. Casting my mind back again to our last time together, I anticipated a repeat performance. My clothes were not going to come off. I was not going to get any satisfaction of my own. I quietly hated my future self who would, I knew then, be ferociously masturbating to memories of this by the evening.

Daniel manoeuvred me one-handed because, in an act of great coordination, he was pulling his cock out with the other. It was well on its way to being hard already.

I looked up at him with what I hoped was an imploring tenderness. I held and began gingerly stroking his cock, then brought it to my mouth and began gently to part my lips over it, getting him thoroughly wet with my tongue, drawing the head of his cock into my mouth with a soft and careful suction. I diligently licked the soft, slightly salty underside of the tip.

In recompense for my careful and loving efforts, Daniel grasped a fistful of my hair and pushed his hardening cock into the back of my throat. I choked slightly, and made a little whimpering noise somewhere way in the back of my mouth. My mouth still filled with his cock, Daniel tilted my chin upward with his fingers, and put the index finger of his other hand to his lips.

‘Shh,’ he said, and I remembered where we were. I pulled Daniel a little closer to me, further out of sight, and was rewarded with another thrust into my mouth, his cock now fully hard.

Hoping, still, that we wouldn’t get caught, hearing the footsteps echoing on the floorboards upstairs, I acquiesced further, hoping that Daniel wouldn’t take too long. I tried to relax my mouth, my jaw, my throat, my neck. I told my gag reflex to behave, and the hollow sounds coming from the back of my throat were replaced with the gentle, liquid sound of cock against lips and tongue, lubricated with plenty of saliva. Daniel closed his eyes and thrust, slowly, carefully but forcefully into my mouth. I breathed through my nose, I felt the spit pooling in my mouth and rolling stickily down my chin, I listened as Daniel’s breathing grew deeper above me.

My heart was pounding, both with the ever-present fear of getting caught, and with the sensations of having my mouth used as though it were my cunt. My nipples were hard under my jumper, and I felt sure my jeans were beginning to show a wet patch.

Eventually, Daniel pulled his cock out of my mouth, letting out a tiny grunt of pleasure as he began stroking it. I suspected he wanted to cum on my face, but, adding my hand now to his, I took the tip of his cock back into my mouth, and moments later he filled it, a series of warm jets of salty, thick cum hitting the roof of my mouth, my tongue, the back of my throat. I swallowed, deeply, and then had to swallow again.

Daniel was already zipping himself up again by the time I had taken a few deep breaths, looked around for some paper towels, and wiped the spit from my face and neck, and a few tears from my eyes.

He said something smart about doing this again sometime. As gentlemanly as ever, he took the steps two at a time, and was out the door of the place before I could get up off my knees.

Back upstairs, I drained my glass of water and tipped double. It was, I felt, going to be another uncomfortable Tube journey.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/hlmqfv/the_soul_of_the_matter_or_that_time_i_was