You’re on a hot streak. 3 guys in 5 days. You’re scrolling Tinder just for fun now. No huge push to pull in anything else since you like the rotation you’ve got going. Then you see Jose. Dark hair, dark eyes, muscular. He reminds you of Tim. Tim was hot and that’s still probably the best sex you’ve ever had. He helped you discover so many things. Fucking narcisstic asshole.
You message Jose first and tell him he’s hot. He says you’re gorgeous. You exchange some pleasantries and then he asks you if you’d like a loving, adoring man to take care of you while you’re still able to go out and fuck young, hot, hung studs. You tell him that sounds like a dream. He asks for your number and you give it to him.
You’re dripping wet while you text him. He asks you if you’re real. You say he should Facetime you to find out. He does and he’s even fucking hotter on camera. You read him some of the sexts from the others. He tells you you’re wild and it’s so hot. You say you know. Conceited bitch.
He tells you he wants to be cuckolded. You tell him you could be into that. Brendon might be down you say. He asks you who else you’re fucking. You tell him about the rest of the rotation, in detail. His eyes roll back. He tells you that’s so hot. He loves that you love big cock. You love that he loves hearing about it. You’ve never been able to be so open with someone. You think you might be in trouble again.
He texts you the next 2 days straight. He tells you he wants to go out and buy your groceries while you fuck other guys. He says he’ll come over and cook dinner for all of your friends while The Bachelorette is on. He wants you to bitch him around and order him to refill everyone’s wine glasses. You tell him he’s so fucking pathetic and you love it and you can’t believe he’s real. He asks if you’d feel bad being a bitch to him? You tell him you wouldn’t for a second, you’d love every minute of it. He says you’re so brutal, he can’t take it.
Finally he gets to your house late on Friday.
“Hi,” you breathe out on the usual let-the-guy-in greeting you do with Tinder hookups.
“Hi,” he comes up with your favorite wine in one hand and grabs you with the other and kisses you on the mouth.
“Wow we’re going to that right away?!” you say, surprised. You like how bold he’s being.
“Yeah, I mean with all of the things you’re texting me, I didn’t think you’d mind. Damn, you’re cute in person, girl,” he grabs your ass and you blush.
“Stop, I’m freaking out. I feel so nervous. What are you doing to me already? You’re so hot. Help.”
“Why are you nervous? Things are going great already.”
“Are you going to murder me? Please don’t, I’m defenseless.”
“I swear I won’t,” he laughs, “I’m a good guy, I promise.”
He tells you he just wants to worship you. You wonder what that exactly entails. You get on the couch and start talking and it’s magic again. You feel like your full, full self around him. He asks you if he can rub your feet. You say he doesn’t even need to ask. He tells you women like you deserve to be worshipped. He sucks on your toes and you giggle. You make him feed you your wine and call him a bitch. He tells you you’re such a little boss and he loves it. He loves strong, independent goddesses like you. You can’t stop smiling and giggling and staring into his dark eyes. You tell him you know he’s gonna slit your throat soon. He rolls his eyes and says if he was going to kill you he would have already done it. You tell him he’d probably fuck you first. He laughs and pulls up his Instagram.
“See? Definitely not a murderer…” he turns the phone towards you and you see endless pictures of a toddler. His daughter, Maya.
“Okay, that’s pretty sweet,” you say, “she’s adorable.”
“Yup, that’s my baby girl. I’d do anything for her.”
You keep talking and delve into all of your favorite topics. Threesomes, your recent hook-ups, strip clubs (he tells you a story of how he fucked a stripper once), mental illnesses (his ex was bipolar too). You agree on everything. And he’s just as absolutely filthy and open as you.
He tells you how hard he is. You feel his cock with your foot. You keep rubbing it and he gets harder somehow. He tells you he’s sorry his cock isn’t as big as the rest of the guys you’re fucking. You tell him you still want to fuck him. He unbuttons your pants, slips them off, and snaps open your bodysuit. He goes down on you and it feels so good. You feel like you might cum even though you’re kinda numb from those 3 glasses of wine you had.
You go upstairs and he wraps his hands around your throat while he slides in and out of you. He asks you to tell him how small his dick is. You tell him it’s fucking tiny in comparison to Brendon. He cums hard.
You lay there talking more. You love talking to him. You feel so comfortable for the first time since Jesse. You end up fucking two more times before he finally gets the willpower to leave around 3am. He has his daughter to get back to. You think that’s sweet even though you definitely don’t want to be a stepmom.
You tell him you’d cancel plans with Henry for him the next day. He comes over again that night and Mac Miller plays in the background while you keep talking and teasing him.
Yeah, I been readin’ them signs
I been losin’ my, I been losin’ my, I been losin’ my mind
“I wrote this song for you,” you say.
You tell him you’re writing a book. He asks what it’s about. You say sex and love and ghosts and mental illnessess and your slutty life. He said it sounds amazing and he can’t wait to buy a copy. He grabs your ass and tells you he thinks you’re the sexiest woman he’s ever met and he doesn’t know what to do with you. You tell him you don’t know where he came from and you can’t wait to write when he leaves. He’s inspiring you. He asks you if you’ll write about him. You say you already started to, but that he shouldn’t worry because you changed his name. He says that’s amazing. You ask him what he wants his name to be.
“Jose,” he says.
You talk all night about everything. You ask him if he’s heard the new Machine Gun Kelly album. He says that’s some sad boi music. You tell him to shut the fuck up and get you more wine.
You tell him you’ll make him a chore list for next time he comes over. He can do your laundry, make you dinner, and clean your kitchen. You make him feed you Chardonnay from your glass. He says you’re driving him wild. He needs to fuck you. You tell him to fuck off and do what you say. He hasn’t earned shit. “Yes, Princess,” he says.
You’ll keep texting him non-stop. He’ll send you a dick pic and you’ll say, “Hahahhahahah Aw. So small. Literally the saddest dick pic I’ve ever received and I’ve seen a lot.”
He’ll say For real? You’ll say you actually love his dick, it’s perfect, he has boyfriend dick. He says, “Thanks, Princess.” He’s so perfect. It’s like you finally met someone of your species for the first time.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/klwcqs/i_tell_him_his_dick_is_tiny_and_he_cums_hard_mf
I would like a continuation of this saga please