This was purely about hooking up; from the first dating-app message, that was obvious. We’d started exchanging nudes within five minutes, kinks within 10, videos within 15. The general vibe was that, under the right circumstances and with the right lubrication, anything goes. We met at a pub just around the corner from her flat, and got through a couple of bottles of red wine within a few hours. She wore her lipstick, mascara, heels, fishnet stockings, only just concealed under a short dress, a butt plug and brought cocaine. She was more nervous and more shy than her internet correspondence had suggested, but the wine, and later drugs, helped. She became more flirty, more like she was online. She leant in, kissed me, rested her hand on my cock and confessed her ass was stuffed.
After that, we headed to hers, gave nervous nods to her grinning housemates getting stoned in the living room, and got to it. She left on her heels and fishnets, a hole already ripped around her ass and cunt. She was dripping wet. In a few hours, we did it all: she rode my cock, I fucked her from behind, replaced her plug with my tongue, then my cock. She ate my ass, and I took her to the bathroom and pissed on her chest; she licked the last drips from my quickly hardening cock.