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Wednesday Night Fever

His profile name is Tony, he speaks Italian, is a pizza chef and has the whole swarthy, chest hair and gold jewellery look going on – all very Tony Manero from Saturday Night Fever.

Despite the awkward ending to our first meeting, we arrange for me to visit his flat the following week for pizza, wine, and rampant sex. The contact isn’t very regular in the intermediate time, but he’s particularly enthusiastic with protestations about how gorgeous I am, how he can’t wait to kiss my body all over, and how I am his perfect woman. It’s all a bit overboard and I honestly can’t work out if he’s spinning me all these lines for my benefit or for his.

By the time that our date comes around, the degree of cheesiness and soppiness is starting to make me doubt my decision. While he is talking about kissing ‘his gorgeous lady’, I’m checking up on practicalities, asking him to get condoms and telling him where to meet me. Sharing the doubts with The Husband, we’re both agreed that the whole affectionate scenario is worth a try, especially with a man with such a spectacular looking penis.

I message him when I reach his apartment block and he comes down to meet me. It’s in a pretty skanky but convenient part of town. But his flat is clean and tidy and even though it’s still daylight outside, he’s put candles everywhere in a cute romantic gesture. I put my bag down and he hands me a drink. We’re still both holding our glasses as we kiss, passionately and hungrily. I come up for air and suggest that we sit down, but it doesn’t take long before we’re at it again. Overall, we probably manage a total of 5 minutes polite conversation in between snogging each other’s faces off.

He deftly removes my knickers while we’re sitting on the sofa, and he quickly buries his face between my legs. I’m not even sure that anyone has eaten my pussy more ravenously ever. And his raw enthusiasm is proving quite effective. It’s more confident, skilled and eager than the desperate soft cock I was worried about. In fact, I’m enjoying myself so much that I haven’t even got my hands on it yet.

We head to the bedroom pulling our clothes off. I sit on the side of the bed while he stands over me and I help him out of his trousers and take his cock in my mouth.  He lies down and tries to push my head down to take it deeper down my throat, but it’s not even possible. My eyes are watering.

We snog and roll about some more, grabbing each other’s bits with increasing urgency. I ask him to get a condom, and sit impatiently while he completes the tricky task of fitting it on. I’m on my back when he enters me the first time. We start softly but it doesn’t take long until we’re thrashing around, my arms behind my head pushing back against the headboard, his hands grabbing at my hair. He is incredibly energetic, kneeling up to get a better angle and fucking me hard and deep. It’s breathtaking.

Before I know it, I’m on my hands and knees at the end of the bed and he’s standing up fucking me from behind with his fingers in my arse. Without notice, he grabs a vibrator from nowhere and starts fucking both my holes – I’m not complaining.

It’s rough and intense and I soon need a break, getting up to go to the bathroom. And probably less surprising this time around, there’s bleeding again. I’m a mess of blood and sweat and need a minute to sort myself out. But he’s right there at the doorway, undeterred and keen to keep going. He bends me over the washbasin to fuck me from behind. I can see my face in the mirror, smeared with mascara, framed with sweaty, ravaged hair. We’re watching each other’s faces in the mirror and it’s spectacularly hot. I’m pretty much howling by this time and he’s about to cum: “have you had enough yet? I can tell you haven’t… I can see it in your face”.

By the time he explodes and pulls out of me, I’m a weakened mess and collapse onto the toilet to catch my breath. I’m dizzy with the intensity and physicality of it all. And next thing I know, I wake up on the floor of a virtual stranger’s flat, naked, covered in blood and spunk. While this has been up there with the most exciting sexual experiences of my life, this is definitely not my proudest moment. I’m embarrassed and scared in equal measures, ashamed for putting myself in such a ridiculously unsafe position.

He however, is lovely. I’ve passed out for a couple of minutes, and he’s gently waking me, asking me if I’m alright. He’s calm in a reassuring way, not a creepy, ‘this was his plan all along’ way. And he takes me into the air-conditioned room, gets me a drink of water, checks if I’ve eaten. I’m shaken, disorientated and feeling vulnerable, quickly grabbing my clothes. I’ve never passed out sober before and just want my husband and my home.

We still had a couple of hours to go until The Husband was going to pick me up on his way home from work, but I just want to order a cab and head home to my own bath and bed. The guy tries to persuade me to stay so he can make sure I’m ok, but walks me to the cab with instructions to let him know how I am later on.

I still feel dizzy and weak by the time I get home, but think that’s the shock rather than the sudden drop in blood pressure that caused me to pass out in the first place. The Husband is suitably concerned and attentive but can’t contain his enormous excitement, spending an inordinate amount of time kissing my battered arse and cunt better as I relax with a gin and tonic. It was definitely yet another surprising episode in a series of unique adventures.

2 replies on “Wednesday Night Fever”

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