Fantasia Ain’t A Disney Movie

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I’d just left gentlemen’s club I was working at and was headed home. Walking even the short four blocks in clear acrylic heels is never fun but I was happy to be on my way home. I’d had pretty mild clients that night, and they’d certainly been generous with the money so I was pretty happy. Still, my feet were killing me and all I wanted was to return to my “real” life.

I was almost home when he came out of the shadows of a darkened doorway a few feet from my own apartment’s entrance. I lived over a gag gift store, which isn’t relevant but I think is an interesting tidbit.

He was tall and of fairly average build but he had a charming air about him. I’d seen him in the club once, with his military buddies.

He just said a slow, southern drawl infused hello and I felt myself melting. I have to admit, most strippers say that for them it’s not sexual, but for me, I always left the club a little bit wet. It did me good to be admired all night long, especially on a night like this, when the crowd is admiring but mellow. The nights when men went over the line were harder to feel good about, but tonight I was nice and wet, relaxed, and happy.

I said hello back and drew my key out of my pocket. I looked toward my door, and then back to him, a question in my eyes. I wasn’t concerned with being seen as a whore… men had their own ideas of strippers and I wasn’t about to get all political and ruin my chances of going home and finishing off what the admiring glances had started.

He raised an eyebrow at me and started walking beside me, his big hand on the small of my back. I unlocked the downstairs door and he followed me up to my small apartment. It wasn’t much, but at least I had a proper bed and no roommates.

As soon as the door shut behind me he backed me up against it, kissing me with a tenderness that belied the aggressive action.

I sunk into him, my leg unconsciously wrapping around his waist to bring me into closer contact with the hardness forming fast under his gaziantep escortları jeans.

“You got me so hot when you were dancing up there.” He whispered, moving his lips down my neck as he said it. He found my spot effortlessly, and I moaned and writhed against him. I couldn’t help it, when a man used tongue and teeth against the sensitive skin under my ear I always just about lost control.

“Thank you, Babies.” I whispered back, my slight British accent bringing another raised eyebrow from him.

He laughed softly, a deep man’s laugh that had me gushing into my panties once more.

“Like that accent.” He drawled.

“I like yours too.” I smiled as I said it and brought him back to me for a kiss.

His hands were roaming all over me. I’d decided to forgo dressing in street clothes after work since I lived so close so I was only wearing a pearl g-string, some pasties under a bikini top, and a trench style coat over the top. By now those big calloused hands of his had migrated straight under the coat. I’d guess, from the calluses alone, that he was a mechanic. My favorite kind of man, one who wasn’t afraid to work with his hands. If there was one thing that turned me off in a man it was soft, womanly hands. Well, that and a high voice. And this man had both of my top-priority requirements in his deep drawl and calloused palms.

I moved against him again, trying to push him toward the bed and away from the door.

I’d never had sex standing up (and yes, I know you would think I’d tried everything what with being a stripper and all) and I was not really thinking tonight was a night to start.

Mr. Calloused Hands had other ideas, though, and he pushed back against me, moving this writhing little game of ours into a whole new dimension of aggressiveness.

His mouth came against mine with a new fervor and he pressed his hardness between my thighs.

He had opened my coat completely now and let his mouth work it’s way back down my neck to my shoulders. I gave up the fight to do this on a bed and wrapped both my legs around his waist night and tight. His five o’clock shadow left tantalizing trails of sensation against my neck and shoulders while he kissed his way down my body. He found his way to the top of my bikini and divested me quickly of that garment.

He looked surprised at my pasties and quirked that eyebrow at me one more time.

I shrugged. “Hazards of the job. It takes baby oil to get them off.”

He looked intrigued at that but apparently decided it was a chore that could wait for later. He found my mouth again with fervor and I decided it was high time I joined this game a bit more actively myself. I reached down and undid his belt buckle, sliding my hand into his boxer briefs at the same time. I let my long nails scrape lightly down his abdomen before I reached his throbbing cock. I have to say, as a woman, there is nothing more empowering than having a throbbing, vein-y, monstrous cock in one’s hand. And this one was definitely all of those things.

His quiet nature wouldn’t have given me any clue as to the way he would actually take me. He was power and strength, although I felt as if I was holding my own, and as if I could call a halt at any time and have him respect it.

I gyrated against his hips, moving back just enough to give my hand room to work on his harness. His pants now at his ankles, I had only his underwear to contend with for access.

I looked at him questioningly and he pushed them down as well, ever the accommodating Southern gentleman.

His cock was more than adequate and I was more than ready for it so I looked him in the eye, slid the pearls of my g-string aside and grabbed his cock like I meant it.

I rubbed the head once, then twice around my clit, giving myself a bit of fun and also teasing him just a bit. Finally fed up, he bit my earlobe and I moved him back and allowed him that first hard slide up inside me.

Still against the hard door of my apartment, my head rubbing uncomfortably on the peep-hole, I couldn’t even feel the pain, only revel in the feeling of that first full thrust. That first full, hard, upward thrust was always my favorite. Out of all the sensations and all the situations in the world, that initial thrust was probably my favorite ever. I let myself loose one long moan, my body responded on its own, clenching around him and throbbing all of its own accord.

I brought his face to mine and kissed him hard, our teeth meeting and lips bruised as his big mechanic’s hand caressed my side, making my nipples stand on end even under their pasties. I rubbed my chest against his as he started that second long hard thrust.

I cried out again as he began a rhythmic thrusting, slamming my head against the door and holding my hips down to meet his. I’d been taken more brutally, taken by more determined men, but I’d never been taken so successfully.

He thrust up into me over and over, making me lose any thread of thought I might have started.

I clung to him, my nails in his back, my hands running down his arms and his sides, feeling every bit of him, trying to imprint the form and shape of him onto my memory for later.

He thrust into me again and again, and my mind drifted farther from my body with each sensation, until I was just drifting in the ether.

I didn’t even have the strength to keep my own legs wrapped around his muscled hips any longer. He held my thighs in place as he finished, thrusting one last time inside of me. As I felt the hot rush of him coming into me I had one thought:

“I don’t even know his name.”

But by then it didn’t matter, because just as he finished, I felt myself gush and come as well, all thought fleeing in the rush of my own completion.

I slid down and off of his cock with a wet noise that would’ve been embarrassing had I the sense just then to care. Instead, I stumbled to my bed, already feeling the soreness between my thighs, and fell asleep soundly and quickly.

When I awoke my apartment was my own again, but that soreness assured me, this was no fantasy.

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