Wrong Kind of Girl

I could care less what I sounded like. I have never had much concern about reputation, propriety, or other such social norms. I’ve never been the type of girl that did things to seem ladylike. Now, as an adult woman, I don't give a fuck at all. Well.. you get my drift.

So when I saw him, that handsome face. A genuine smile that lured many unsuspecting church girls into thinking about forever. But most often the only things that came to my mind were: does he eat pussy? Does he fuck on the first date? Does he do it with the lights on or off? But the main thought on my mind was how big is that cock?

Now don’t get me wrong, you’ve seen it… He takes some pretty photos. And in-person, those big brown eyes and that handsome face do not disappoint. I like the way he talks and carries himself. I’ve always had a thing for black guys with dreads. Khary Payton (King Ezekiel from the walking dead), Lenny Kravits… emm, they could get it too. So the truth is I had been checking him out for months before I got locked out of my account.

Not that I was shy or anything like that. Sometimes life takes a toll, and you find yourself tied up in other engagements. I wasn't trying to be that ‘right-kind-of-girl’. But, I do find that when I am involved it’s simpler to color in the lines. I mean I would have not minded a little side piece interest, but at the time one was enough.

But when that fling got tired, boring, or whatever. When I discovered my social media 'account' needed some attention, I knew it was the perfect time to reach out.

I was a little disappointed that he didn’t at first remember who I was. I used the new profile as an opportunity to restart that conversation. A new me; a new time and place… I had a feeling that it was the spark I needed.

We talked and arranged to meet at my place so he could take me out to dinner. This new and exciting guy showed interest in me! Most exciting was the prospect of having some male attention after a several weak long dry spell. I was horny as fuck, and was not planning on wasting any time on niceties and pleasantries.

And, I mean he is the nicest guy! Genuine, legitimate, and altruistic he is the real deal. We had talked a few times, and I found that he spends a lot of time with his kids, and family. Sure, lots of guys do that, but it’s nice. He’s also smart. Like bookworm, nerdy smart. He reads and works as a programmer, so he’s into computers and math and shit. Again, not that special in that particular avenue either, but it’s nice. And then talent… He sings and plays instruments… guitar I know, and something else. I don't remember but I’m sure he does some kind of artwork, but he also writes novels and short stories! It would be easy to assume that all this shit makes for a pretty boring guy but -what- he writes…

He gave me something to read when we first met. My god, within the first few paragraphs I knew these words were gonna affect me. The words jumped off the page in simple language that could speak to anyone. It's didn't even -try- and pretend at being sweet or proper. It set my soul on fire from word one.

See, He writes erotica. Raunchy, and heady sex stories that kept me throbbing from word one, and left me soaked. By the time I finished I -had- to get myself off. His explicate descriptions of sensation. The touching, the tasting; the experiences, and the feelings involved! Not at all like reading about someone, he implants these memories into your mind! You experience everything he describes as though you were there when they happened.

So I knew I needed to see him. I wanted dinner and conversation, but the real plan... MY plan - was an innocuous-seeming pizza and the television. A clever ploy, meant to keep my cat’s company as he and I wrote a new erotic story.

So the initial plans were set and he would come to pick me up around 7. Of course, by that point, the need was near a month old so I told him that I'd rather grab something at my place. We could hang out, talk, watch television or something. In truth had no plans of leaving the house, and he seemed quite amiable to that idea.

At 6:30 he called and said he was a little on the early side. He seemed nervous as he asked if I needed anything to drink.

"Ply a girl with alcohol on the first date, huh?" I chuckled, "You might persuade me to sip a little whiskey... special occasions, and all."

"Whiskey it is…" he said in low sexy tones, “I’ll be there in about ten minutes "

In the twenty minutes, it took him to find the place I had changed outfits another three times. I had finally settled on a compromise between slutty and lazy and applied most of my face. I made sure that I smelled amazing and gave myself another look in the mirror. Then the doorbell rang, and I contemplated telling him to come on in. But then the crazy thoughts threatened to take over.

‘What if it’s a wrong address?’ How does that make sense? Who gets the wrong address these days.

‘What if he’s a kidnapper?’ For me? Yeah, a wrong address.

‘What if he’s a serial killer?’ A kinder Gentler Murder who politely rings the doorbell?

‘What if he’s’...’ I had to snap myself out of it and walk to the door.

When I pulled it open my heart began to thunder. That smile that painted itself on my lips threatened to jump off my face and run all over his face.

Cix isn’t tall.. around six foot one, and stocky, with massive hands. Hard to imagine those giant meathooks punching a keyboard all day. He was wearing black jeans and a black dinner jacket over a pristine white tee shirt. No jewelry adored his arms or neck, and if I had to say that there was one fashion mistake he made that day -that- was it. Some guys look good in jewelry, and other guys should drip. A simple necklace, some nice rings, or a watch.

His hair was in long, loose dreadlocks, that fell well past his shoulders, and almost touched his belt. His face was neither slender nor fat. It was somehow a perfect fit with the shape of his body and lent to that mysterious handsomeness. He held this delighted smirk, encased in a thin, well-trimmed goatee. His hair showed age that no other part of his body seemed to carry. He looked like he was in the late twenties to early thirties. Rather impressive when you realize that he was almost fifty.

“Whiskey…” In his hand, he held a large paper-bag-wrapped bottle, that he glanced at and spoke in his soft even way.

“You remembered…” I laughed and reached for the bottle.

“It’s almost like you said it…” he shook his head, feigning concentration, “Minutes ago…”

I took the bottle from him and in that expert feminine ninja way, slipped under his guard to wrap my arms around him. He was wearing a cologne that I had never smelled before, and it was intoxicating. I basked there for a moment, as his arm wrapped around me and squeezed me, and then he did that thing that I love when guys do. He placed his lips on the side of my head, as if to kiss it, but instead, breathed.

“You smell so good…” I whispered, and immediately dreaded that I was making things odd. He stood there holding me with that big arm and gave a satisfied hum in response. Relieved, I leaned back and looked up into his face. As I did I watched his chocolate yes creek open.

“Oh Alias, dear…” I said mustering my sweetest voice. He responded with another affirming noise. “You only hugged with one arm…”

“Yes…” He said with a knowing smile. “I know.”

“Oh Alias, dear…” I said again. “Why are you only hugging me with one arm?”

“Well, it seems that the other is otherwise occupied…”

He didn’t quite put an accent on the words, but the way he spoke them made it more of a character than a statement. I chuckled and tilted my head toward him. I stepped back, big kid-like the smile on my face.

“Whatcha got?” I chuckled.

He turned his head and watched his right arm slip from behind his back. In his fist, he held a single long stem rose, wrapped in plastic, and gripped by an odd-looking red and black teddy bear.

“So romantic…” I said, trying to keep the bit of dread that swelled within from my voice as I took it.

“Is it?” He said, and I looked from him to the gift. My eyes went wide, and the dread vanished. It’s not that I don’t like romance, or that I would balk or run from a true romantic. A romantic Alias Trybe sounds delicious. But in my experience, people try for that sort of thing in all the worst, most inorganic, and unoriginal ways. Flowers, cards, and candy. Yuck! Why bother with all that when all either party wants to do, in all honesty, is get down to the mind-blowing sex, am I right?

This gift that Cix gave me was well on the far side of romantic. The rose, as it turns out was a thong, folded into a clever shape. The red bear, upon closer inspection, had dressed itself all in black leather bondage gear. The plush patch on its ass read: “Make It Red”.

I looked up at him and bit my lip, letting the moment settle. He stood there, that cocksure smile on his face, daring me to eat him alive. I knew I had to oblige.

I put the bottle down on the key table in the foyer. Then, without ceremony, I stepped forward grabbing the front of his jacket. pulling him across the threshold into my apartment, and into me. I rose on tiptoe, as our lips met. He tried for the sweet kindly kiss thing, but I was having none of that. I pursed then opened my lips, slipping my tongue into his unsuspecting mouth. He received me with a pleasant moan, and then mirrored my passion and zeal.

I threw caution to the wind then, I needed him. I dropped the gift to the floor as both of my hands pushed his dinner jacket over his broad shoulders. He let it fall to the floor, and then wrapped arms around my waist. Pulling me closer to him, our bodies pressed together. Our lips and mouths expressed the passion of the moment and promised far greater heat in moments to come.

My hands moved up to touch his hair and his head. Arms wrapping around, touching his face, and neck. My nipples were already hardening beneath the press of his form, and one of his hands held me at the small of my back. His other gentle fingers danced along my spine as they pressed each vertebrate as it climbed.

I stumbled through free-fall that only he guided in reckless ignorance. I felt my ass butt up against the sofa and then felt it give three or four inches to our combined weight. I lift my legs and wrapped them around his waist. Only then did I let go with my arms and leaned back to look into the fire-stoked eyes.

“Oh my god…” I panted, “I want you so bad…”

“I -knew- it.” He smiled and shook his head, “It’s the whiskey, isn’t it?”

I laugh now thinking about it, but I don’t think I did at the time. I remember pulling that white teeshirt until he got the picture. With an admirable amount of earnest, he grabbed the hem and lifted it over his head. I then reached to repeat the trick on myself, slipping from my perch on the couch arm. His hands grabbed at the hem of my pants and dragged them down.

If I had been wet before, that just soaked me. In a second I was casting the last visages of clothing I wore down beside my pants. As he slipped down to the floor beside the sofa, trailing gentle, maddening kisses along my inner leg. From ankle to deep inner thighs, soft tender attention. My body jerked at each falling kiss, and every inch closer to my throbbing sex had me writing for more.

I could hear myself intonating each breath with a throaty sigh. As his cheek brushed against the ghost of my shaved pubis, I found myself about to let go. My body reacted, and my back arched and I heard the words ‘god’, ‘yes’, and ‘fuck’ stream from my lips like a perverted mantra.

Then he slid his tongue along the sensitive crease between thigh and lip, and I jumped, as I closed my eyes. I hadn’t had anyone take their time at this in years, and this man’s very -stories- had prepared me for this feast. I was anticipating oral skills and manipulation... I had been spoiling for it.

I felt his warm breath wash over my moistening valley, and then the wet, slip of his tongue again on the other side. This time I didn’t jump, but basked in the sensation, and sighed out a deep, belabored breath.

The hard, warm teeth found the flesh of the peach and pulled it in. So dangerously close to my throbbing sex, but a lifetime away. His tongue played there giving sensations that were not sensual by touch. Proximity alone drove me mad. He nibbled, and suck and I had to feel more. I reached down to twine my fingers into his hair and opened my eyes. I looked down over my magnificent tits, and his head hovering like some tantric moon over my mewing kitty.

I didn’t know how it was possible to be even more turned on but I was. My body was jerking, and screaming for more… for his touch, his feel. I could not get simple phrases or words out. I couldn’t even begin to tell you which words I tried to use to get him to do something, but I know that I wanted him to make me cum. If he translated the sounds I made into that all he did at that point was bask in that dark control he had taken.

He looked up at me and smiled at my trembling, writhing face.

“P.. Pleea… Please…” I managed to say, and then he opened his mouth, a slid his tong out, long and lulling. I was thinking ‘yes yes yes’ and until the moment that glorious tongue came in contact with my throbbing clit. “Oh god…”

I did not explode, or scream… I did not orgasm, or writhe under his expert machinations. I did not find release 5 minutes into his visit, but I had a wicked certainty that had he wanted me to I would have.

But he sat there, stock still, that tongue just touching me. Warm breath washing back and forth over my craving.

“Cix I…” I don’t know what was going to say, but I needed to say something. I needed to beg and plead, to bid him continue, but at the words, he lifted his tongue away. “Noooo…”

I almost cried, as my hips pushed up off the sofa as if my pussy itself was chasing the high his tongue’s reneged promised.

He gave 3 quick shushing breaths and bent over to kiss my pubic bone. This spent sparks all through my body while he was letting his weight push me down again to the sofa cushion. I was wild with panting and begging.

“Wh… whyyyy…” I whined and ran my fingers through his thick locks.

“You…” He looked up at me then and I felt his hand caressing the flesh above want, teasing in the moisture. “First have to promise me not to cum until I say so…”

I looked at him confused and mortified.

“I can’t cum?” I asked, knowing that he couldn’t mean that…

“Oh you -will- cum…” he sad this, and then quick as lightning, he slipped that magical tong across my clit. The move sent sparks of electric fire all through my body. His words pulled me back from the precipice. I felt the train about to leave the station, and I crimped down, trying to put the breaks on. “But only when I tell you to…”

As the squall resided I realized what he meant, and my mind screamed ‘Kinky Bastard’.

“I… I don’t…” I panted. “I don’t know if… I can… do that…”

I knew I had, but even that small exercise of will was like swimming through dry cement. This man knew what he was doing! This was a magnificent build-up, geared toward getting me ready to explode. This to me sounded like the plot of some Grisholm novel.

He then began again, licking my mount, my lips, everything but my clit. Never entering, never penetrating. The sensation was near as exquisite as the anticipation. I concentrated and tried to control my reactions. I knew that the moment he touched my clit again…

He rose again and looked at me.

“Penniy Lynn…” he said in a way that I wasn’t sure I liked. “Do we have a deal?”

He held a smile hovering there above me and I couldn’t remember responding to him.

His face was there again. His tongue pulling at the underside of my clit, then sucking it into his mouth to flick across the tip. I tried to be strong, to obey his command, and I might have lasted a second to a second and a half. Then there was no hiding it.

For me clitoral orgasm is uncontrollable, unassailable ecstasy. It’s loss of all motor function and exists only in a world of rampant, and unabiding pleasure. And this is how it felt in normal moments, with normal sex. I was there with him before he ever touched my clit.

And now… This night… this man… so much anticipation, so much teasing, and grooming. Even the idea of fighting the orgasm only intensified it, pushing me to near bursting.

“Oh, Fuck... “ came my rapid successive screams. I lay there bucking and writing, this man between my legs. His talented tongue abusing my lady garden. I’m sure I ripped braids, and kick faces, and a thousand under things that I could not hope to control while he did his work.

And that was just the first wave.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, I’m so sorry…” began as the tremors subsided and I began to regain my senses. He looked up at me and wiped the copious amount of juice from his face. My heart began to thunder though as I saw that the look on his face was not one of joy. “I tried no…”

“Turn over…” He said, and I blinked. I looked around, wondering for a moment if he were talking to someone else. Strong hands grabbed my legs at the knees and began to force me over onto my stomach. “TURN… OVER…”

“Hold up man…”, I said, about to protest when he slipped onto the couch beside me. He put one arm over my back and lifted me from my belly to my knees. “Umm…”

“I warned you…” He said, putting a big hand on my upturned-ass cheek. “We had a deal… No cumming unless I said so, remember?”

“Umm…” I couldn’t tell if he was really angry, or if this was some kind of sick perverted game. My heart was racing, I wanted to crawl away… to get away from him, but for some reason that I could not fathom… I didn’t... I couldn’t.”

“DO… YOU…” With the third word, he gave my ass a loud, resounding smack. The smack sent stinging shocks down both my legs and up my spine. It made all the hairs on my head tingle. My clit throbbed to life, again and in that instant I knew exactly why I hadn’t moved. ”REMEMBER!?!”

I know I moaned, and it surprised me. I had experienced spanking before. Some guys loved that kind of play, though I never understood. All I could fathom was that they got fulfillment of some kind of sick domination fantasy. This beautiful black man was caressing the red angry flesh that he had slapped. Even more than the exquisite initial swat, this tender affection was working magic. I sobbed and moaned under the gentleness.

“Yes…” I whispered in the smallest voice I could muster. It might have started as shame, but his kindness and gentleness pushed that all away. I knew at that moment what addicts chase after their whole lives.

“Yes, what?” He said staying his hand on the warm flesh, an unspoken threat for another swat.

“Yes… Yes, I remember…” I said, voice trembling. “I’m sorry…”

“Sorry for what?” he said and resumed his loving caress of my red ass. At that moment, I began to wonder about something strange and alien. This wasn’t exactly painful… I mean it hurt, but there was something paired with that pain. A sensation of life and power and energy that transferred through the body. I felt… alive now in this man’s skillful hands. I wondered how many more of those swats I could handle? And what the outside reaction would be. Could I cum from this?

The next swat came sudden, hard and unexpected. The punishing blow landed against the other cheek. I gasped and moaned feeling my sex begin to throb anew.

“Answer me!” He groused, and I attended.

“Yes… Yes… I did… I remembered… wait…” The distraction had cost me. I had forgotten his question, and my ass cheek paid for the misstep with another exquisite swat. “Oh…”

“What are you -sorry- for?” He said, again rubbing my red cheeks with uncanny tenderness.

“I’m sorry… that I came…” I said, feeling that somehow this wasn’t right. He simply leaned closer and placed his face against my warm ass cheek.

“No, sweetheart…” he said in the most beautiful, and gentle voice I’ve ever thought could come from a grown man. “You’re sorry that you didn’t control that part of you. You should be sorry that as strong as you are… you relinquished your power to me for just a second…”

I turned over then, and looked at him… a long, pregnant moment… and then I smiled.

“I want you to fuck me…” I said… and I kissed him. “And I’ll try not to but I may end up needing another spanking…”