I met him online, somewhere deep in the world of discreet affairs. His post was thoughtful and sexy. I liked his vibe. We started chatting, and within a few messages, the chemistry was undeniable. From there, it escalated fast—texts, voice notes, video calls, and eventually… video sex.

One time, he came while standing inside the house he was building for his family. His cum hit the floor as I came on the other end, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how I helped him christen that home with my moans. It was dirty and intimate and addictive.

We talked every day. We fell for each other—maybe it was lust, maybe it was more, but it felt deep and real. He was only a couple hours away, so we decided to meet halfway and see if that in-person spark would match the fire we’d been stoking for weeks.

We chose a public park—neutral ground. No pressure. But the second I saw him step out of his car, I felt it. That charge. That throb between my legs.

Let me back up and give you the visual.

He’s 5'11", lean but muscular, the kind of body you get from real work—he does construction, eats clean, takes care of himself. Broad shoulders, strong arms, brown hair, and a perfectly groomed goatee that I’d already imagined brushing between my thighs. His eyes lit up when he smiled. Just standing there, he radiated quiet confidence and strength. Not a gym body—something more natural. Real. Fuckable.

I’m 5’4", athletic but soft in all the right places. Curvy hips, toned thighs, dark tan skin, thick curly hair that always seems a little wild, and dark brown eyes that give everything away. My tits are perfect handfuls—natural C-cups with darker nipples that beg to be sucked. I was wearing a tight-fitting tank top and yoga pants that clung to my curves.

We hugged, and I think I surprised him by going in fast. He pulled back, a little shy, so we took a walk to ease into it. But the tension? Oh, it was there. Tangible. Magnetic.

Eventually, the wind picked up, and we moved to my car. That’s when the casual touches started. Hands brushing. Eyes locking. My breath was catching, my pussy already wet.

We made the call—fuck it. I booked a hotel room using points and requested early check-in.

The second we got into the room, we started to undress each other. Slowly. Eager but reverent.

I couldn’t stop touching him. His chest, his arms, his abs—god, he was beautiful. I felt so small in his presence, so safe. He made me want to surrender. He made me need to be used.

We kissed, lingering and soft. I felt his cock harden against me, and I dropped to my knees without a word.

His dick was thick. I’d seen it on camera. We’d swapped so many videos. I thought I knew what I was getting, but in person? He was so much more. Long, heavy, perfect. The kind of cock made for deepthroating, and I was starving for it.

I ran my tongue along his shaft, tasted his skin, flicked the sensitive underside of his head before taking him into my mouth. I loved feeling him pulse on my tongue. He groaned and put a hand in my hair, guiding me, gently at first—then harder, deeper. I could feel his restraint unraveling.

He pulled me to my feet and laid me back on the bed, spreading my legs wide and lowering himself between them.

When his mouth touched my pussy, I nearly cried.

His tongue was warm and slow and thorough. I bucked my hips against his face, fingers tangled in his hair, urging him deeper. He licked me until I came, loud and raw, soaking his face.

Then he lined up his cock with my dripping pussy and slid inside me, slow and steady, kissing me as he filled me completely.

That first thrust? Heaven.

We fucked like we’d done it a hundred times already. Long, deep strokes. My legs wrapped around him, his hands everywhere—my tits, my hips, my throat. He was gentle at first, savoring every inch. But I whispered, “Fuck me harder,” and he did. Oh god, he did.

His body tensed, his rhythm changed, and I felt him swell inside me. He thrust deep, moaning into my mouth as he came inside me. Thick, hot, perfect.

But he wasn’t done.

He flipped me over, pulled my ass up, and fucked me from behind. No hesitation. No softness. He owned my pussy. He slapped my ass, pulled my hair, slipped a finger into my tight asshole—and I took all of it like the cock-drunk slut I was. My moans were pure filth.

He came a second time, groaning and gripping my hips as he emptied himself deep again.

We lay there, panting, kissing, laughing. It was perfect. But we were hungry for more.

After lunch, we went back to grab our things—but the second we walked in, he was undressing me again. Pushing me onto the bed. Head down. Ass up.

He took me. Fucked me hard, fast, desperate. My pussy was already so used, but he didn’t care—and I didn’t want him to. I loved being used. I loved that he couldn’t resist me.

He came in me a third time. Every drop claimed me. I was wrecked.

We showered, dressed, and kissed goodbye. I slipped my soaked panties into my purse and drove home with my pussy still dripping.

The entire drive, I kept sliding my fingers between my legs, scooping up his cum and licking it from my fingers. I was obsessed. Addicted. I could still taste him. Still feel him.

I kept those panties. I still take them out sometimes, press them to my nose, and remember the way he looked at me as he filled me again and again.

It was the best fucking I’ve ever had.