Putting on a Show [FM]

So this is the last of the stories I have about guys I met in hotels (there’s one guy I left off because it was basically just sex, and while the whole thing was slutty it’s not really that interesting a story).

This guy was from out of town and was setting something up for the weekend after, so there were a few days to plan. Usually I wouldn’t do things this way, I’d get horny and need to fuck someone that night (typically after a few hours of edging, which was always a good way to make my mind think bad ideas were good ones); planning in advance was different, and the few times I’d tried it I’d chickened out. There’s a difference between getting caught up in a moment and actually planning, consciously, to do these things; most of the things I’ve done have been a result of spur-of-the-moment bad choices, not from deliberate, long term planning.

But this guy was engaging. Or at least his e-mails were. And I knew for sure he was going to be getting in late, so I knew he was from out of town, which was my absolute favorite kind of anonymous hookup. The kind that leaves my city right after he’s done with me. So I spent the week talking to this guy.

He wanted “a little freak” who would be into all kinds of things, and I never asked what those things were specifically but I got the impression that HIS version of “freak” and MY version of “freak” were not the same. I ran into this sometimes; some guys thought pissing on you by surprise was freaky, other guys though doggy style was freaky. It depended on their age and their experiences and what they’d actually been exposed to or into. Which makes sense, really…I mean, did you KNOW you were into the stuff you’re into before you were exposed to it? Did you KNOW you liked facials or squirting or spanking or being a furry or whatever before you knew it was a thing?

So I was guessing that, for him, being a little freak was going to mean that I let him cum on me or something. I didn’t press, because I was an idiot and liked the thrill of not knowing exactly what I was getting into, but from the tone of our conversations I wasn’t going to end up collared and drinking piss from a dish or something. And because we talked via e-mail all week (no texting, I never gave out my number), I felt like I knew him a little, and based on that I agreed to just meet him in his room.

He was getting in at seven, and he wanted a few hours to change and shower and get ready, so I agreed to meet him at ten. It was gonna be an overnight thing; I usually preferred that, actually, because it was easier to say to my mom “I’m spending the night on campus” than it was to say “I’m gonna be out until I’m not sure when.” I didn’t need her calling me in the middle of fucking a stranger to see if I was coming home soon.

Anyways, around ten I go up to his room. Dressed nice, and dressed in something that’s easy to take off, because there’s no real pretense about what’s about to happen; I’m going to his room to fuck. I straightened my hair and did my makeup and looked pretty good, and I’d been anxious for this all day; it was always in the back of my mind that I could back out, that I SHOULD back out, that I COULD back out, right up until I was in the room. Overcoming that fear, telling myself I could do something even though I was scared of it, was a big part of why I did this.

He was only wearing a robe when I knocked, and he was obviously hastily putting it on; I could see that he was already hard under the robe. I actually like it when a guy is a little soft before I start to suck on him, there’s something about feeling how his body responds to me that really drives me forward, but that’s not a requirement and I was eager to get to work. Once I was alone with a guy, really…I didn’t want to talk. It’s not about me sharing my feelings, it’s about the sex. I don’t want to be divulging things about myself.

But he instead goes over to the couch, which is in front of a TV, and on the TV he’s watching porn. Not hotel shit, he’s got his laptop hooked up to it and is streaming one of those “Upper Floor” videos. Not the five minute version, the hour and a half versions. The ones where it’s a party of rich people and they’re just fucking the hell out of the servant girls. He sits down, opens his robe, and says “I was thinking we’d watch this before we started.”

I was imagining that he wanted me to suck him while he watched, or jerk him off, so I sit right next to him and start to do that…but he brushes me away and just wants to do it himself. “I’d like to watch you play with yourself, too,” he says.

This…was new. Honestly, this was never something I’d done. Not in person. I’d dabbled with masturbating on webcams before, but never in person, never in front of someone. I’m good at DOING, not so much at putting on a show, and he’d kind of unwittingly brought up a ton of body image issues. I don’t actually love being looked at. I usually try to distract men from what I look like with what I’m doing for them, and now he didn’t want that.

I lay back on the couch and hiked my skirt up. I hadn’t worn panties. And I started rubbing myself, two fingers on my clit, slow, deliberate circles, pretending he wasn’t there. The room was only dimly lit, but I could see that he was watching me more than the video, and it wasn’t long before he told me to take my dress off. He didn’t ask…he told. Just like he’d told me not to touch him, just like he’d told me to rub myself. I was taking orders without even thinking about it.

By the time the video ended I was soaked. I was just sitting there, watching these poor girls getting abused, watching them bound and fucked and manipulated and slapped, rubbing myself to it while he split time between me and the movie. My legs were wide open, I was leaning my head against the arm rest of the couch and had one foot on the floor, one on the top of the cushions…my open pussy was facing right at him. The whole session on the couch probably lasted forty five minutes, an hour. There’d been some comment from him (“I bet you’d look good tied up like that,” which I’d only moaned at affirmatively), but it was mostly just me putting on a show for him. Being his supplemental porn.

He edged himself throughout the evening, and he was thick and hard and there was something about watching him rub his cock to the show I was putting on that made me feel slutty and low and messy. I wanted more from him. I wanted that cock inside me, I wanted to show him I could do better than his hand could.

He fucked me raw, bent over the armrest of the couch, and it was one of the only times doing this that I came. He plowed me, I have no idea how he lasted as long as he did, because I’m fairly tight and he was fairly big and he’d been jacking off for at least the same amount of time I had. He pulled out and came on my back, after I’d already cum and was working on my second. His girth hurt, but it hurt in the best way.

We watched a movie next. He liked talking. I don’t even remember what movie it was, something we’d both seen. Something innocuous. We ordered pizza and talked, never dressing, never really stopping…and after the movie, we watched more porn, stuff I selected, stuff he selected. I blew him but he couldn’t cum again with my mouth, he ended up jerking off on my face. I came a few times, too, masturbating myself to completion while he watched, his hand occasionally reaching across the couch to manipulate me, never asking what I wanted or asking permission, touching me as if it was his right, as if he owned me. We never actually even made it to the bed until we were all done, and we slept in separate beds, passing out at about four in the morning.

He had a thing to do at nine the next day, so he woke me up and sent me on my way at seven thirty or so. The whole thing was so surreal; I’d basically been an object for him to watch, a supplement to the porn he was already invested in.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/9r1xvl/putting_on_a_show_fm