White Russian

He was beautiful. A giant of a man. Thin, but rather muscular I discovered when I touched his chest. He spoke with the faintest accent, although he swore it wasn’t there. It was masculine and alluring at once.

He invited me to his home, as though it was the entire point of our meeting. Perhaps it was. Either way, I was fascinated by him. His strong confidence bordered on arrogant, but he wasn’t an ass. He was quite the gentleman actually.

He poured us each a glass of wine. I smiled and sipped politely, my lips slightly puckering at the pungent taste. He chatted idly, covering a wide variety of topics. Somewhere in the conversation I might have landed in his lap. He caressed my face, kissed me softly, touching me ever so gently. He commented that my features were flawless. I squelched a very dramatic eye roll, and focused instead on his handsome frame. He really was a beautiful man.

The alcohol undressed us, leaving us with no other option than to live in the moment. We enjoyed each other, coming together passionately and as easily as if we were old lovers. He bent me over the arm of the couch, fucking me hard, hitting the exact spots every time.

His cock was long and very hard. When I rode him, I felt every inch of him inside me. I straddled him on the couch, my breasts bouncing in his face. He gripped my ass, voicing his pleasure. I heard his breath change, and could feel him getting close. He stopped and asked me to turn round to give him a better rear view. I obliged, clutching the back of the couch, knees planted wide as he took me the way I had so anxiously hoped he would. My orgasm was strong, turning my vision to blackness and weakening my entire body. I grasped the couch tighter and waited for my sight to return, not wanting him to stop.

When he climaxed, he let his cum spill all over me. I scooped it up with my fingers, tasting him and loving his pleasantly surprised expression. His speech drifted off into Russian and he pulled me back onto his lap. He held me and spoke softly to me, his accent growing thicker as the night took its toll. The comfort I felt in his arms was frightening. For a moment I closed me eyes and wondered what it’d be like to feel this on a regular basis… But I knew better than to dream. With a final kiss, I left him there, taking only the memories.


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