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The Hello Blowjob
By
oceanrunner & VirgoGo

The Hello Blowjob

Contributing Authors: VirgoGo 
Can she accept his dare, and suck a man she’s never even spoken to?

Dare me, and I'll do it. I'm predictable that way. That's how I wound up on AshleyMadison, flirting with married guys. A girlfriend had dared me to make a profile. Once on AM, I found Mike. It didn't take long for him to find that lever and use it against me too; it wasn’t rocket science. My profile teaser announced, “Just here on a dare.”

He dared me to blow him before I kissed him or even said a word to him in person. It went against every instinct about men and fucking -- the rules. And yet, how could I refuse?

I’d delayed answering his text challenge: No courting, no conversation, no kissing. Just a ‘hello blowjob.’

A few minutes later, when I still hadn’t answered, he went on, sounding regretful, It’s okay. I didn’t really expect you’d be able to do it.

So jump ahead one day, waiting for a complete stranger in a hotel room. I didn’t know him, hadn’t heard his voice, and I was supposed to have his dick in my mouth at most thirty seconds after he walked through the door.

For all I knew he was a psychopath. I’d picked a nice enough hotel for it to be obvious there were security cameras everywhere. A new slogan for Hilton: “Just safe enough for your most outrageous assignations.” Only an idiot would think he could get away with something violent and criminal here without getting caught. Or a psycho, I considered.

Jesus, what time was it? 2:57. It had been 2:55 about fifteen minutes ago. This was worse than SoulCycle time. His last text said he thought he’d arrive around 3:10.

I thought about leaving. If I left right now, I could be good and gone. He could barely pick me out of a police lineup, let alone a hotel lobby. I could simply disappear and our paths would never cross. Zero risk.

But as scared as I was, the excitement was stronger. When was the last time I’d done anything really crazy? I’d flashed my tits at parties in college. Once at a girlfriend’s bachelorette, I gave a stranger a fifteen-second lap dance. Even though we were both fully clothed, I could still feel his erection, insistent against my pussy while his fingers clutched my ass. But nothing significant in the years since then -- not until now. I was married, not dead. It was tawdry and clichéd, but I yearned for that frisson of excitement that comes from someone new.

I checked the mirror. Would he even want me when he saw me? I hadn’t sent him out-of-date pictures, but I’d chosen the best, most flattering ones, the ones where the ten pounds of baby weight wasn’t as obvious. Of course, the baby was in middle school now.

Red lipstick. Slutty red, he’d insisted. I want to see it smeared on my cock less than a minute after I walk through the door. I’d asked what else he wanted me to wear. Other than a thong and “fuck me” heels, he hadn’t cared.

My phone buzzed. Stopping for coffee. Want one?

What did that mean? Should I be insulted that he wasn’t too eager to skip a coffee run? Or was he nervous too and this was bravado?

I told him iced, with skim and two Equals.

There in five. Remember, on your knees waiting. And don’t say a fucking word.

I was about to hyperventilate. This was really going to happen. I’d left a card key at the front desk. He’d given me a name --undoubtedly fake-- but it would be one extra layer of safety. The concierge might remember him if anything bad happened. I got on my knees. Waited.

The afternoon felt very quiet; I heard the elevator stop on my floor. An eternity later, the door clicked open. I had only a few seconds to size him up; mere moments in which to decide whether to stay or run. He looked normal, like the attorney he claimed to be. His pictures weren’t out of date either -- he was fit, handsome, confident. A hard-to-read smile crinkled the lines at the corners of his eyes.

“Mike” pulled the door behind behind him. It was his turn to size me up and take in the scene. He kept the half-smile, half-smirk on his tanned face as stood there, immobile, in front of the door. The cardboard tray with two iced coffees in his hands looked incongruous, far too normal for what I was about to do.

My mind indexed back and forth between arousal and concern. It was against the rules, but I wanted him to say something to break the tension, but he said nothing at all. He just took a step toward me.

Ten feet.

He nodded as he ran his tongue over his lips. It occurred to me that he didn’t want to know anything about me, that he wouldn’t pretend to listen and care just to get in my pants later. No courting, no conversation, no kissing. I was an object. The empowered, modern woman who leaned in at work should have rebelled against the idea, but I felt myself delighting in the transgression. This was empowering in its own way, and I felt the adrenaline rise along with my arousal. Were my pupils dilating? Probably. I felt my nipples harden but fought the urge to see if they were visible through my raw silk blouse.

My cunt, at any rate, was dripping.

Eight feet.

He took his time making his way towards me. He was teasing us both. The room was filled with tension, but not so much that I felt spooked. Still, my chest felt tight, as if taking a deep breath would hurt. I looked up at him, needing to say hi, to say anything, but he put his index finger up to his lips, reminding me of our agreement. I arched my back a bit trying to make my tits look as perky as they had in my twenties. It was my turn to nod.

Six feet.

I lifted up off my toned haunches. As he got closer, he felt and looked bigger.  Was I bracing myself? Perhaps. But I also wanted to be prepared, for his cock, his hands, or whatever. It was hard to ignore how much bigger and stronger he was. Putting my safety in hallway security cameras and a concierge’s memory all of a sudden seemed laughable. And yet, he gave off no whiff of psychosis. My mind was jumping around, but I knew I’d be best served if I could somehow still myself.

Four feet.

He put the tray down on the desk as his eyes roamed over my body. With slow-motion calm, he placed his jacket on the back of the desk chair and kept narrowing the gap between us. I noticed a grace and ease as he loosened his spotted navy tie. I still had time to run for the door, but my eyes lingered on his hands and the way they clutched the silk fabric.

Two feet.

I looked up at him, curious if he’d remove his belt and unzip, or if that was my job. The only rule he’d given me was no speaking. Everything else was improvisational. I ran my fingers through my wavy brown hair as I looked him in the eyes. They were clear blue, conveying humor, not menace. I felt my pulse racing at my neck.

Zero feet.

He stepped into my space, still dressed. Through the fabric of his summer weight wool pants, I could see the outline of his cock, not completely hard, but far from soft.

He answered my unspoken question by reaching for his coffee and taking a sip. So it was going to be like this. Me… servicing him. My heart thudded in my chest even as my mind reeled. Part of me didn’t believe this could really be happening, that I was really doing this. It felt like a dream that I’d wake from when I got home, where I could pretend this hadn’t really happened.

I inhaled, waited for him to put the cup down, and reached for the button on the front of his pants. My pale fingers trembled against the gray fabric, and yet the button popped open with barely a touch; the pressure of his cock against the fabric encouraged the release.

I waited a few beats to see if he would take the lead, but he stood there, impassive. He still hadn’t put his coffee down. He looked at me and took another sip, his face indicating that he liked the sight of me on my knees with my lips painted scarlet. I recognized my role and unzipped him. I slid my hands into the waistband as I lowered his pants and a pair of pale blue boxers down his thighs; it seemed unnecessary and gratuitous to pull them down further. His cock was liberated.

I don’t know what I was expecting. Something huge and appropriately pornographic, to match the insanity of what I was doing, I supposed. But he was completely normal. We were both completely normal, whatever that meant under such abnormal circumstances.

My mouth was only a few inches from his organ. Time had slowed down.

It throbbed, hardening visibly as I got up the nerve to proceed. He smelled of soap and baby powder. For a moment, it filled my entire field of view, this stranger’s cock. A moment of panic rippled through me. I was out of my mind. I was a woman meeting a stranger in a hotel for sex. What did that make me? The word whore whispered through my brain as his cock got even harder. Was it the good kind of whore? I wasn’t sure.

I’d chosen Chanel’s Rouge Allure for my lipstick. It bridged the gap between slutty and elegant. Finally, opening wide, I took a deep breath and reached for his cock with my lips. That first contact was outrageous and delirious. Who was he? Who was I? This was so out of character. I imagined one of the prissy moms from Hazelton Middle School seeing me, and I almost giggled, hysteria bubbling to the surface along with amusement.

I swirled my tongue around his head, acutely aware of its newness. It had been so long since I’d sucked a different penis that even tiny differences were noticeable. A minute difference in curvature, a trivial discrepancy in size. Even when I closed my eyes I couldn’t forget what I was doing. I took him deeper.

I wanted more. The skin of his head was soft under my tongue. My mouth became as wet as my pussy. While things could always go sideways, with each inch of cock it seemed less and less likely. My confidence grew along with my arousal. Once my mouth was on him, I was on more familiar ground.

My focus centered on Mike’s cock. I was determined to give him a memorable “hello.” He filled my mouth as I ran my lips smoothly along his shaft, leaving a trail of Rouge Allure as I went. I then let my teeth graze against his head, to heighten his sensation and to remind him that both of us were coupling pleasure with risk.

A moment later, his knees trembled and he sat back onto the couch, hard. The power I felt in his loss of control was exquisite, sending a thrill of excitement through my whole body. Me: 1, him: 0. He laid his coffee aside and brought his hands to my head. When other guys tried that, I always moved their hands away, making it clear that I was in charge. But it felt right to allow Mike to control the action.

He wasn’t brutal, exactly, but his actions weren’t tender. He pushed my head down on his cock as far down as I could go, knowing how far was enough, pushing just enough to make me nervous before pulling me back up to the head. I panted and licked his head with my tongue, probing his opening, circling around the edge of his helmet for a few seconds before he pushed me down again.

He wasn’t skull-fucking me, but it wasn’t a loving blowjob either. Experimentally, I resisted a little, trying to linger on his head longer than he wanted on one of the upstrokes. Inexorably, he pushed me back down again, despite my best efforts. Incredibly, being used like that turned me on even more. I found my hand working its way under my skirt, en route to my pussy, but I stopped myself. I had an idea.

Instead, I cupped his balls, squeezing softly, but letting him know I could do more. I applied gentle pressure in time with the throbbing I felt between my legs, in time with the tempo of his increasingly urgent thrusts into my mouth.

Without warning, he groaned, then clamped down on the grunt almost as soon as it came out of this mouth. We hadn’t mentioned non-verbal sounds in the rules, but he clearly felt he had messed up. Me: 2, Mike: 0.

He got back at me by pulling grabbing two rough fistfuls of hair and pulling my face down hard, until my lips met the base of his cock. My eyes watered, but I took it with pride. My cunt felt overheated, hungry. I felt as if a single touch would set me off.

I redoubled my efforts as he continued to thrust his hips up at me and pull my face down. I massaged his balls and rubbed his taint, teasing him with a lacquered nail at his back door. His balls tightened in my hand. When I started to hum, he gasped. I had to stifle another smile. The score was now 3-0.

His cock began to twitch, and I knew what would happen next. Mike released into my mouth, the spurts jetting strong and forceful against my palate, some sliding down my throat. I savored the feeling and taste of his cum, thick and gooey against my tongue; an amuse bouche. I let my mouth linger, as my hands drifted upwards to his navy spotted tie.

As I sucked the last drop from his cock, I looped his tie around my left hand and gave it a little tug as I stood up.  I held my right index finger to my lips, using the same signal as he had only minutes earlier. “Shhhhh…”  

He looked me in the eye and grinned, as he realized it was his turn to remain silent. No courting, no conversation, no kissing. Without being led to his knees, he got down on the floor. Teetering on my black patent heels, I pushed aside the Starbucks cups, hiked up my skirt, and braced myself on the hard surface of the Hilton desk. In a quick move, my burgundy thong was replaced by a wet tongue. Mike liked a good dare too, and he definitely knew how to say “hello.”

 

 

 

 

 

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