Clove Hardwood

I’ve been chatting with someone online recently. Someone almost too good to be true. Our sexual wants, desires, needs, loves, passions, and obsessions seem incredibly in tune. She’s also incredible in ways that are irrelevant to the focus of this blog, beyond the fact that she’s making me happy right now.

The only flaw is she lives on the other side of the country. That’s killing me right now, because I’m beginning to want this girl like nothing else. But my frustration led me to write her the story I’m pasting below. It’s a little rough, but it was written in an email to her earlier this evening, and I thought others might appreciate it. Knowing her as well as I’m starting to, I feel confident she will. And since it’s all supposition and contains no details that identify her, I don’t feel I’m betraying her trust by sharing it. Anyway, please enjoy:

We sit in a nice restaurant with friends and acquaintances. As we converse, your hand starts drifting up my thigh, and not so subtly narrowing in on my crotch. I feel you begin to outline the length of my now-hard cock with your fingers, finding and caressing the head. You then move your hand to my zipper and begin to slowly, quietly undo it. I look to your face and see absolutely no sign on it of what’s going on under the table. You glance my way and smile politely without the slightest hint beyond that sly glimmer in your eye. Then again, you always seem to have that glimmer when you look at me. You reach into my pants and skillfully locate my cock within seconds and begin to casually pump.

At this point my hand goes to your knee and begins working its way up, being careful not to tickle and give anything away. As I get closer and closer to my intentions, I feel the furnace-like heat growing hotter and hotter before I’m shocked (please know this about me: the hottest thing a woman can ever do for me is to find a way to shock me) to find that the panties that I saw you put on before we left are nowhere to be found, and instead my fingers instantly locate the smooth skin of your hot, sopping-wet pussy. That moment’s the first time I see a reaction on your face, and it’s just a subtle look of triumph. At that look I immediately and fully penetrate you with my middle finger. You cover your involuntary reaction with a cough and fumble for a glass of water as I begin to work my fingers in and out of you as hard as I can without the motion being visible. Your hand around my cock adjusts its rhythm to keep pace. I finally switch my focus to your clit, working it in exactly the way I know will achieve exactly the result we have no place achieving in the middle of a restaurant. Your composure begins to slip, and I can see that the combination of my fingers working you like a puppet and the incredibly wrong environment in which to do it are doubling the intensity. Your hand pulls out of my pants and you begin to grip the table cloth with both. You look at me and I can see you pleading with your eyes. But you’re simultaneously begging me both “you’d better fucking stop soon before this whole restaurant hears me scream” and “I’m so fucking close that you’re going to be a dead man if you leave me hanging.” Of course I ignore the former and keep barreling you right toward the latter. And that’s the moment a waiter drops their tray and everyone at the table looks to see the chaos. Everyone but you as your head flies back, your napkin goes to your mouth, and your pussy nearly cuts off the circulation in my fingers.

I can still feel you shuddering and your pussy convulsing after you’ve managed to regain the appearance of composure and smile and nod absentmindedly at the banal comments about the poor person whose clothes were stained, or the poor waiter who’s probably going to get the costs taken out of their pay. Finally you excuse yourself to visit the restroom and shakily stand up, carefully readjusting your skirt as you go. As you exit the immediate view of the others at the table I see you peer back over your shoulder and give me the most sexy evil look you know and then continue toward the restroom. I count to five, then excuse myself as well.

In the hallway I find the doors for each gender across a narrow corridor from each other and hesitate. Then the door for the women’s room flies open, you grab me and pull me in, and shut it behind you. You proceed to force me backwards into the handicapped stall and against the wall before dropping to your knees and undoing my belt with the least patience humanly possible. Before I know it you’ve got my pants unbuttoned, and apparently I never remembered to zip back up because in one quick stroke you’ve got my pants and underwear around my knees. The look on your face as you see my cock looks almost like relief and within moments it’s fully engulfed between your lips. I watch you suck and pump and lick with wild abandon. You don’t even seem to notice me. There’s no eye contact, only a seemingly desperate focus on my cock. The effect is perfect, and in a quarter as long as it usually takes I can feel the orgasm pending. I start to tense up, which I know you noticed because you double your pace and begin to suck the head like a straw, moaning like I’M going down on YOU. And then I feel the sweet surge through my cock as I begin to shoot my load onto your tongue, filling your mouth faster than you can swallow with a little bit dripping out the side of your mouth as I watch you gulping eagerly, eyes closed, with another look of triumph.

Finally I finish cumming, and you finish milking me for the last drops. You lick your lips and chin clean, pull up my pants, redo my belt and without a word turn around, open the door, check to make sure it’s clear and shove me out into the hallway. I walk back to the table and sit down, hoping my flushed face and dazed expression doesn’t give anything away. You return a minute later, hair primped, makeup reapplied, looking like absolutely nothing happened. And as you sit down next to me I look over and see the not-yet-dry small splatter of my cum that apparently fell from your mouth in the stall and landed on your left breast and trickled down into your cleavage. I don’t know whether to hope nobody notices, or hope they do. I wonder which you hoped for when you clearly saw it in the mirror and chose not to clean it up.