[MF] Booty call from an older man.

It’s a weeknight, fall in Oregon, a little chilly but not so as you’d complain. I’m naked beneath the covers in the dark, alternating between emails and reddit. My phone vibrates in my hand, a text from a number I don’t recognize.

*Hi, it’s Jason. Okay for me to text you here?*

There are no Jasons in my personal life. The only one I can think of is a potential client that wound up being a dead end. I conjure up his last name, text it back as a question.

*Yes. Is it okay?*

*Of course. What’s up?*

*You were on my mind. How’s your night?*

Pleasant butterflies in my stomach. It was a good meeting we had. Nothing came of it, but he was certainly memorable. Probably twenty years my senior, he heads a project to create a green sector in the city, buildings that meet exacting environmental standards, appropriate retailers, bike access and parking, that kind of thing. He was handsome, a kind face with humor and stress lines, hair and beard cropped close and groomed, halfway grey and leaning into it. Fitted suit, no tie. The drive and passion practically radiated off him. His looks got my attention, sure, but it was the pitch that reeled me in. He was magnetic.

*Fine*, I sent back. *Nothing much happening. I’m in bed.* I thought for a second, then added, *I was on your mind?*

*I was just wondering about you. Where you were, what you were doing. We met so briefly, but I enjoyed it.*

*So did I. So…not business?*

*Not business. If that’s not okay, I hope you’re comfortable telling me. I don’t want to bother you.*

I smiled at the stiff formality of his texts.

*What are you up to? Why are you texting strange women at this time of night?*

*Are you strange?*

*I am to you. Strange as in you don’t know me.*

*I’d like to.*

His responses are too quick for him to have anything else going on.

*That could be taken more than one way.*

*How would you like to take it?*

*So could that.*

*I can’t tell if you’re flirting or avoiding the question.*

*A little of both. I’m figuring this out.*

*What do you need to figure out?*

*Motive.*

*Interesting. Expand.*

*What you want out of this.*

*I’m getting what I want. You’re very attractive, and I like the way your mind works. Not to patronize, but you’re sharp and I enjoy you.*

*So the plan is to spar and then go to bed unsatisfied?*

*What would you like to do?*

*I’m indecisive. Prefer a man that takes charge.*

*Come over then.*

The next text is an address downtown.

My face is warm, my heart racing. Even as I run all the possible outcomes through my head, I know I’m going to do it.

*Would you prefer dressed up or ASAP?* I sent.

*ASAP.*

Fuck.

I take a quick shower, brush my teeth, touch up my make-up, then throw on a pair of jeans and a hoodie. I tend towards the tomboyish when I’m not working, anyway, so heading over like this doesn’t bother me.

At this time of night, downtown is less than ten minutes away. There’s even parking. The address is a luxury apartment block that’s more like a hotel. I walk into a gorgeous lobby that’s empty aside from the security guard behind the desk. He smiles and says my name.

“I feel all important,” I say.

“He called down here specially and everything,” he says, as he walks around and swipes a card through a panel on the elevator. “On the right when the doors open.”

“Thanks.”

The elevator looks like they literally just finished building it, and it flies up to the 9th floor at stomach-dropping speed. When the doors open, I exit and turn right. There’s only one door.

“Alright,” I mutter to myself, and knock.

I don’t know what I expected. In my head, I saw him the way I’d met him, so I had this picture of him opening the door in his suit, maybe holding a glass of wine or something. Instead, he’s wearing sweats and a t-shirt that fits his torso snugly. Nobody expects abs on a fifty-something, but he looks like he’s in really good shape. Like me, he’s freshly showered, and his hair looks soft and inviting. He’s still handsome, but far less intimidating.

“Come in,” he says.

I expect him to turn and walk into the apartment, but instead he takes several steps backward, just enough for me to cross the threshold, and then pushes the door closed.

“You like a man that takes charge?” he asks. His voice is soft, but I can hear excitement.

I nod.

He touches the zipper of my hoodie. “Take this off.”

I do as I’m told. I’m wearing nothing underneath, my small breasts bare, nipples standing erect, and he just stands there, looking at my body with undisguised lust.

“I wondered what kind of girl you were,” he says. “When we met. I wondered how you’d be if I had you like this.”

“I’m a slut,” I say, dropping the word like it’s nothing, amazed I sound so confident when my heart’s pounding like this.

He steps towards me and presses me back against the door. One hand caresses my jaw and he slides his thumb between my lips. I suck it, tease it with my tongue. His skin is harder than I expect.

“I want you on your knees,” he says.

Again, I do as he says. Even through my pants, the floor is cool and hard. He crosses his arms over his front and peels off his t-shirt. His torso is slim and tan, a sprinkling of dark hair on his chest and a trail running down over his stomach and into his sweats. He pulls the front of them down and his cock springs free, already fully erect and curved upward, the hair around its base as neatly groomed as elsewhere.

“Raise your arms.”

He steps into me, pulls my wrists together and holds them above my head and against the door with one hand, the other gripping his cock, guiding it to my lips. It’s not a blowjob, it’s him fucking my mouth. He’s firm but not aggressive – I can’t move my arms, but he’s not hurting me, and though he’s dictating how deep I take him, he pulls back when I gag. Still, it’s rough and messy and – even if accidentally – pushing every one of my fetish buttons. I am soaking wet.

His heat and hardness and scent are everything. My eyes are watering. My mouth fills with saliva every time he nudges my gag reflex, and his cock sliding back and forth between my lips sends it spilling over my chin, where it drips on my chest and my pants and the floor.

Jason is groaning, obviously close, and I can taste come, but then he abruptly pulls out, holding himself, breathing hard for a few moments before he pulls me to my feet and leads/drags me down a short hallway and into an open plan living room/kitchen/dining room about twice the size of my apartment. There’s no time to take it in because he pulls me to him, lifts me off my feet, sits me on the table, then pushes me back and pulls off each of my sneakers, tossing them aside and reaching up for my sweats, pulling them easily down and off, leaving me naked.

When he spreads my legs, I fully expect him to fuck me. Instead, he slides two fingers into me, then lays his other hand flat on my crotch, his thumb rubbing my clit. He knows exactly what he’s doing, the fingers inside me curling back in a beckoning gesture, pressing and probing, seeking out my g-spot, smiling when he finds it and I swear out loud.

He gets me off in less than a minute, the only sounds in the room my gasps and moans and the liquid percussion of his teasing and fingering, my thighs and abs twitching as I writhe on the table, curling my toes, prickly heat spreading across my face and chest.

I come hard, arching my back, a sound that’s almost a whimper escaping my lips at the trembling peak of it, muscles tensed to the point of cramping until the air goes out of me in a rush and I fall back gasping.

That’s when he grabs my hips and enters me, my slick flesh accepting his cock as easily as his fingers. It’s clear that he got me off first because he wanted me like this, selfishly, his eyes drinking me in as he fucks me so hard that his body meets mine with a slap each time he drives into me. He watches my face, the way my tits move, his cock as it pistons back and forth.

Breathing hard, sweat shining on his brow, he manages to gasp, “Can I come in you?”

I barely have time to shake my head. He pulls out and I can literally see his cock pulsing as he comes on my crotch and belly, several thick streaks and then drops I can feel dripping down over my pussy.

“Christ,” he murmurs, still breathing hard.

I pull myself up and wrap my arms around his neck, kiss him on the mouth for the first time. “That was pretty great,” I say.

“You have plans in the morning? You’re more than welcome to stick around.”

There’s something in the idea of just getting dressed and leaving that appeals to the slut I’m playing, but my curiosity is stronger.

“I can stay. Can I take a quick shower?”

He nods, grabs my ass and lifts me off the table, carries me into the darkness of what I guess is his bedroom, then sets me down. When he turns the light on, I’m sitting on the counter of a beautiful bathroom large enough for a circular tub and a separate shower.

“Do you own or rent?” I ask, watching him switch the shower on and test the water with his hand, waiting.

“Rent. I’ll probably be here another eighteen months or so, then move on.”

“No family?”

“Water’s warm,” he says. “I was married once, I have a son. He’s grown, though. Lives in California. You?”

“I’m from California. Never been married, no kids, nobody out here.”

I get in the shower with him and he turns me around so I’m facing the spray. He soaps my shoulders and my back and my ass, squeezing and rubbing. Every so often, I feel his cock touch me and I realize he’s hard again already. He turns me back to face him and takes his time over my breasts, kneading them, pinching my nipples, his fingers slipping over their erect tips.

I reach out and take hold of his cock, stroke him gently, teasing, occasionally moving all the way down to feel his balls, squeezing lightly. He kisses me slowly and thoroughly, and it’s not long before I’m on my knees for him a second time, pulling my lips to his warm skin, my tongue dancing over him.

We’re in there long enough that the water starts to cool, and he pulls me up to my feet and kisses me again, reaching around to turn off the shower. He hands me a towel.

“Go dry off and lay down on the bed.”

The light from the bathroom illuminates the bedroom enough that I can dry myself and then drape the towel over a chair. When I lay down, I realize he’s been watching me from the doorway. He switches off the light and we’re in darkness.

“On your front,” he says, and I see his shape moving across the room and then feel his weight on the bed. “Lift that ass up.”

I like this, the anticipation and the change in his tone and language.

“After you left my office, I thought about fucking you. That skirt you were were wearing. I wanted to bend you over my desk. What did you have on underneath?”

His fingers slide between my thighs from behind. They’re slick and warm with lube or oil.

“Tights and panties. Black, I think. I wanted to fuck you. I mean, you could have.”

“I could have hiked up your skirt and pulled down your tights and panties.”

“Yes.”

“Fucked you hard right there in my office.”

The tips of his fingers move upward until he’s lightly rubbing my asshole and then pressing a little more firmly, testing my reaction.

“Is that what you want?” I ask, and my voice is light, breathless.

He doesn’t respond, but his fingers push harder, breaking the natural resistance of muscle, penetrating me.

“Fuck.” Barely a whisper that breaks into a moan.

I can’t see him, but I can tell he’s stroking himself with his other hand as he pleasures/prepares me, and his breathing is ragged, excited.

“Do you want to fuck me in the ass?” I hear myself say.

“Do you want it?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me.”

“I want your cock in my ass.”

“Hard?”

“Please.”

“Tell me,” he says.

“I want you to fuck me hard.”

His fingers withdraw. I feel the head of his cock rubbing against me, teasing.

“Tell me all of it,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice.

I laugh a little, the shakiness of it surprising me. “You’ve got me all figured out.”

“So tell me.”

“I want you in me. I want you to fuck me so fucking hard. Please.”

“What are you?”

“I’m a dirty fucking slut.”

“Whose?”

“Yours. I’m your slut. You can do whatever you want to me…”

He pushes his cock into me in one slow, fluid motion. It feels huge and there’s a little pain, the good kind of hurt. He grabs a thick handful of my still damp hair and pulls me up onto all-fours, the other squeezing my ass hard as he begins to fuck me slow and deep. It feels like he’s pushing the breath from my lungs each time, and my moans are so loud that it’s weirdly humiliating; I can’t stop.

My whole body jolts when he lifts his hand and smacks my ass, and I yelp in surprise and pain, my skin left with a sting that quickly fades to a tingling heat. His grip on my hair tightens, pulling my head back. His rhythm quickens.

“I’m so close,” he groans.

“Come in me. Come in my ass.”

“Oh my fucking god.” He lets go of my hair, both hands grabbing my ass hard, driving into me, pushing me down into the mattress. “Oh, fuck fuck *fuck*.”

I feel him come, his cock buried inside me, pulsing steadily. He falls on me, keeping his hands braced so I don’t take his full weight. He kisses my neck and my ear, his breath hot and unsteady.

Finally, he rolls off me. I turn over onto my back. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness.

“Seemed like you enjoyed that,” I say.

He laughs. “You could say that. I think you did, too. Did you come?”

“I don’t. I mean, I don’t think I can. From anal. I get close, like I can feel it. But only to a certain point. It’s hard to explain.”

He props himself up on one elbow. “Can I watch you?”

“Watch me what?”

“Watch you come. Just…like this.”

“You made me come in the kitchen.”

“I want to watch you now.”

I close my eyes, just breathe for a few moments. My pussy aches with how horny I’ve been, but it feels like the pleasant post-sex sensation rather than the urgent throbbing that demands touch. I feel hot and wet down there, with lube and my own arousal.

I touch myself, run my fingertips between my labia, feeling how slippery my skin is, remembering how easily I’d taken his cock. I lightly press at my clit, nudging its fleshy hood, feeling my hips give a little involuntary shiver. I’m thinking back to that first meeting, to what he said about fucking me, but it’s rougher in my head, a little less consensual. He hikes my skirt up over my hips, tears my tights and my panties, reaches around to rip my blouse open, buttons pinging off his desk.

I pleasure myself for him, one hand on my breast, pinching and twisting my nipple far harder than he dared, the other between my thighs, middle free fingers working in rough circles over my clit. It takes a little while, but he doesn’t speak or move, and towards the end, moaning softly, moving my hips in time, I almost forget he’s there at all.

“I’m gonna come,” I murmur.

“Come for me,” he says.

I do. Without the intensity of fucking, it’s easier, slower, a measured ascent to the peak instead of the tense-release-repeat of sex. I’m breathing hard and then I’m not breathing at all and my body is shaking and my hand covers my pussy like I’m protecting it and my skin is so, so hot.

Afterwards, silence save for my trembling breaths until he asks, “Can I get you anything?”

“No. I’m okay. I’m good.”

“Do you want to stay?”

“Sure.”

He puts his arm over me and I roll onto my side, my back against his chest and stomach. His cock is hard, but there’s no intent.

Not until morning, anyway.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/aq8eun/mf_booty_call_from_an_older_man