The upper hand
Being a tease never felt this good
It had been almost three months since I started chatting with Paolo, when we matched on Tinder. He was always insistent about meeting up, grabbing coffee, and then “hanging out” after. He was the aggressive flirty type— you know, the guys who knew they were handsome. But I was always busy and never in the mood; so I found excuses not to go.
But one night after work, I was feeling particularly energetic, and a little bit horny. I searched through my Tinder and found our exchange. He was handsome, pale with a chiseled face. I wanted to meet him, finally. So I messaged him.
“You up?” I asked casually, playing it cool. He responded right away, asking where I was. When I told him, he said he would drive over.
Paolo arrived at the bar in a T-shirt, loose shorts and sneakers; and his eye had an evil twinkle that only meant bad news. After introducing ourselves, he sat beside me and we flirted for the rest of the night.
“What took you so long to come see me?” he asked, smile effervescent. He had broad shoulders, and would lick his lips mid-sentence, which I thought was sexy. I locked eyes with him, and he responded just as I wanted him to when he placed his hand on my thigh. I felt a tingle in my stomach.
Later, three beers down, his hand slid to my back, as he began to lean into me every once in a while to whisper compliments. And soon, when he couldn’t stop the urge, he said, “I want you now.” He moved his hand around my waist and pulled me closer to him. His eyes darted down toward my cleavage, which was exposed through my top. “I want to suck your tits,” he said with a serious tone. “You’re so hot. Let’s get out of here.”
He took my hand and we darted outside, hopping into a taxi to take us to his apartment. In the backseat of the car, he placed his hand up my skirt, slowly inching it higher until he brushed against my underwear, trying to hide what he was doing from the view of the driver. I didn’t move when he slid it higher, pretending nothing was happening, but my breath was getting heavier and heavier. “You’re wet,” he whispered in my ear. I placed my hand on his thigh, and moved it across his crotch. Underneath his pants, I could feel him hard and hot.
When we got to his place, he flung the door open. He pushed me against the wall, impatient to kiss me while moving his hands down to unbutton my shirt.
“Show me your body,” he commanded. He wanted me to strip for him. So I unbuttoned my top first, teasing him. He groaned in approval. “Remove your skirt,” he commanded again. So I reached to the back of my skirt, and slowly slid the zipper down, making my skirt drop to the floor. He moved his finger to his lips, nodding with approval. “Come here,” he said, grabbing my hand, and then pushing me down to my knees. “I want you to lick me clean,” he said as he unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his pants, and pulled them down to his knees.
He was well-endowed and hard as a rock. He gathered my hair in his hands as I knelt in front of him, and he moved his cock toward my face. I started kissing his balls, pecking them lightly. A friend had told me this was a weak spot for many men, and sure enough, his knees weakened as I breathed into his scrotum. First I took one in, sucking it slowly and slathering it with my saliva. His eyes rolled to the back of his head with euphoria. And then I licked the other one—taking it in, cupping it with my lips, and then slowly letting it go, in and out of my mouth, rolling my tongue over the sensitive skin. He moaned even louder this time, grabbing my hair tighter in his hands. I moved my mouth up now through his shaft, licking every inch of him and taking his entire member inside my mouth, down to the back of my throat, deep inside me, moving my head up and down. I heard him scream and grunt, unable to deny his pleasure, as my pace quickened.
Before long, he let out a loud grunt, and then he came inside my mouth, the hot liquid pouring as I swallowed everything, licking him clean, as he wanted. When it was over, I smiled at him from below, before standing up to put on my clothes. “You’re amazing babe,” he said, satisfied and tired.
After I was dressed, I turned to him. He sat on the couch and said with disbelief, “No one has ever made me come that fast.”
I smiled. “Nice to meet you,” I said and kissed him on the cheek. And I walked out the door without another word.
“You’re leaving already?” he asked, surprised. But I closed the door behind me without leaving an answer. The next day, he couldn’t stop calling me, sending me messages. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he said, begging to meet up again. Maybe next week when I’m in the mood, I thought.