Hi there, so if you’re reading this – you’re reading the exploits of a tourist in Sydney. I was there on holiday with the family, got cabin fever and ended up resorting to Reddit to look for people to hang out. Purely platonic stuff, but I didn’t think it would end up like this.
My partner in crime for this story, whom I’m very sure is reading this, is a born and raised Sydney boy, who decided that he wanted to take a chance on some r4r post and took me out. We’ve gone on a grand total of three dates before I had to leave and he went off to party it up on the coast – so, two more than most people get.
This was supposed to be a deleted excerpt from the book I’m writing, but hey – let’s see how it goes. Classic modern romance: a pair of twenty-somethings who meet on the Internet and have a whirlwind weekend.
/
I know what's going to happen.
I know it when he walks towards me, tugs my hand in the direction of the stairs. He picks me up, catching me in a bruising kiss as he clutches me to his body. His hands are moving down my back, gripping my ass and thighs. This is not a fairytale romance, but this is the start of new things.
He carries me to the stairs, one two three, I can hear the rhythmic thump of his footsteps, my body pressed up against him as we go upstairs. My heart is pounding in my ears. I don’t do this normally, I really don’t – I’m terrible at one night stands.
He deposits me over the safety gate, leading me to the bedroom. It's dark. He made it known that he wanted me yesterday, but I'm a good girl, unwilling to do anything in a car where anyone could see us. This is his neighbour’s house, he's house sitting and there's a mirror opposite the bed.
“I don't really want to know what my neighbour is getting up to,” he says, eyeing the bottle of lotion and tissue box on the nightstand as he turns on the lights. I laugh. We've been making cracks at each other all night.
He pushes me down to the bed, body over mine. He's 6’4 in contrast to my 5’2, a matter of opposites. He's far more reserved than I am. It's not that way here. There's alcohol in our systems, but neither of us is drunk. He's running his hands down my body, fingers nimbly unhooking my bra and throwing it off to the side. His mouth is everywhere – I can feel teeth, tongue on my neck, lips moving lower and lower.
I don’t remember much at this point – it’s a blur of details: teasing remarks, grinning at him as I pull the rest of my clothes off – he makes a face when I take off my shoes, a detail I never got to revisit after that. He’s grasping at me, hands gripping my waist so hard that I’m sure he left marks. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of my thong, dragging it down past my thighs. I remember when he pulls his shirt off, my eyes slowly trace over the muscles of his back in the mirror behind him.
I want to dig my nails into his back – don’t remember if I do. I remember the feeling of his fingers inside me – foreign, different, I want more.
I want to say I could focus on his face, but the only thing I’m thinking about right now is how he roughly pulls my legs apart, sly grin on his face. He pushes his face between my thighs, tongue flickering out against my clit. My hands are tangled in the sheets, biting my lip to stifle the moans. He’s telling me how good I taste, his tongue alternating between long, broad strokes and smaller, faster circles. He pulls away, asking for a 69 with a smirk. It doesn’t feel like a question.
I dutifully get on my knees, flip around and begin with a kiss. I take the head into my mouth, enjoying the feel of his cock in my mouth, in my throat. Every muffled groan he makes reverberates through my entire body. My body is sensitive, electric jolts every time he licks my clit, when he grabs at my thighs.
I want him now.
My voice comes out begging, broken. There’s a glint in his eyes, he likes the idea of me submitting to him. I’m grabbing at him; nails biting into his arm. He leans over, rummaging through the clothes on the floor and I’m staring at the ceiling, trying to catch my breath.
He pushes in, it’s not gentle, and my eyes roll back in my head. I can feel him all the way to my cervix – whether that says more about him or me, I’m not sure. His faster thrusts lead to me gripping his shoulders in a death grip, moaning against his shoulder. I come, and my head is spinning, bright lights flashing in my field of vision.
He pulls out, lies back, coaxes me to come ride him. “I’m not going to break if you fuck me too hard,” I tell him in an undertone, crawling up the bed towards him. “You can fuck me harder. I like it rough,” His eyes light up.
He calls me a good girl, cups my face in his hand, and it’s like a switch flipped. I want to submit, want to be his, want to please him intensely. It’s almost a compulsion and I slowly slide myself down on his waiting cock. He groans, I ask him to look over my shoulder at the mirror. Whatever he sees makes him thrust deeper, tearing a gasp from my throat. He nips at my shoulder, and I almost collapse on him, riding him faster and faster until I come, his name forming the majority of a broken litany from my lips.
I need him, want him, and I turn around, riding him with my back to his chest, ask him to hold my waist and move me. He’s telling me he likes what he sees, and I preen, proud. He pulls me down into a kiss. His kisses are insistent, I push my tongue past his lips and taste the faintest remnant of myself. He bites my lip, the shock of pain mingling with pleasure.
He pulls me off him, tells me he wants to try something different. He pushes me down to my knees again, hands holding on to the edge of the bed. He looks in the mirror, pushes his entire length in me in one solid thrust. I swear I feel it up to my throat, I stop breathing for a moment. And then he’s moving again; harder, faster, deeper, something about the movement and the knowledge that he’s watching himself fucking me gets me to come instantly.
I push back on him, grinding back and enjoy the way his grip tightens about my hips. He presses fingers down hard, harsh breaths escaping his lips. He tangles one hand in my hair, tugging lightly, experimentally. I wish he’d pull harder. I lean down, pushing one hand between my thighs to touch my aching clit, I’m soaking wet, tasting myself on my fingertips, panting out his name. I come again, screaming his name.
He flips me on my back, moves me until my fingers can stretch out and touch the headboard. He kisses me, hands moving down from my face to my collarbone, fingers ghosting my breasts and waist. He nips and bites down my neck, laps at one nipple and the other; before moving back and sliding back into me.
His thrusts are harder, faster, urgent. He pulls my legs up around his hips, against his chest, experimenting angles. Every angle makes me want to come with varying intensity. He finally leans back down, weight pressed against me, snaps his hips to mine. I want him to keep going. I tell him to keep going. He tells me he’s going to come.
He comes with a shudder, holding me tight.
That was the first round.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/40cmel/a_modern_romance_mf
hot