BSC09 the Fall and Rise of Jared ReznikChapter 14 Jared s Kind Offer
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Little Red Dress free porn video
My hubby made the arrangements. Another Xhamster couple messaged us out of the blue. We exchanged a few flirty, increasingly provocative messages; the last one included a picture of the woman wearing a red mini-dress, except upon closer inspection, it wasn’t fabric, it was literally painted on!!! My hubby couldn’t take his eyes off the image. He playfully suggested that we should get together for paint party.
I was really nervous as I prepared for our blind double date, so much so, that I unwittingly downed a couple of very strong Gin and tonics, mostly G with only a splash of T. My hubby cautioned me to slow down since we meeting at bar to get acquainted first; we would be drinking more, a lot more, once there. I protested that I was simply taming my nervous jitters, but even I could hear my speech beginning to slur as my tongue swelled with intoxication. In fairness to me, we hadn’t seen any face pictures or spoken to our mystery dates, just exchanged some racy messages, so I had a right to my nervousness.
My hubby assured me that we would have a good time. If they actually showed-up which was questionable, we would either click with them, or not, and then decide what happens next. I inhaled and exhaled a deep cleansing breathe and asked him to zip me up. I wore a sexy little midi dress that hugged my curves and pushed up my boobs into a little shelf of breast delight, a veritable appetizer for the eyes.
As we parked the car, I asked the obvious questions, and all I received back was a blank stare. How exactly, were we supposed to rendezvous with our mystery couple in a crowded bar during happy hour when we didn’t know what they looked like and my genius planner hubby didn’t get their cell number to text them? He winked at me and slyly stated she would be wearing a red dress. Clever. Not.
Aaarrggghhh! Dumbass, I was wearing a red dress too. Red was the twin sister of the “little black dress.” How many could there be? Too many. We decided to divide and conquer. We each ordered a drink from the bar and then mixed and mingled, asking leading questions that would hopefully reveal our mystery dates from the wannabes.
I ruled out singles and couples that were already chatting with others and zeroed in on a couple standing together alone at the end of the bar, nearest the door. My hubby made bee-line for another couple in the opposite direction.
I was short on time so I decided that the truth (mostly) would be the most expedient strategy; so I walked up directly and introduced myself to the couple and explained that my hubby and I were meeting some new friends but all we knew about them was that the woman would be wearing a red dress.
As the words crossed my lips and my eyes recognized the disbelief on their faces, I realized the truth was wrong strategy. The man seemed very happy to make my acquaintance, taking an uncomfortably long glance at my cleavage, heaving with nervousness; his companion was definitely not interested in hearing anymore of my story. I felt judgment in her glare. Instantly, I felt defensive, almost compelled to denounce the unspoken accusation that I was a working girl.
No time to waste; I smiled weakly and excused myself; off to the next couple. My hubby was nowhere to be seen but the place was jammed and lively. Strike two.
I was really feeling the effects of three cocktails on an empty stomach but my successive failed attempts to identify our dates and the subsequent discomfort of being judged for being something I’m not, demanded another cocktail to bolster my courage. As I stood at the bar, reflecting on my last two conversations, I could see how someone could misunderstand me and think I was soliciting but I shook off the thought.
The bartender refused to serve me. Was I really that drunk? Then I felt a large strong hand clenching down on my bicep. Was it the bouncer? He almost lifted me out of my shoes as he hauled me away to the back door. I tried to explain but the more I talked the less believable I sounded. I wasn’t really a prostitute; I was just trying to hook-up with an anonymous couple for sex, no charge. Really.
He didn’t care when I told him my husband was in the bar and he had my cell phone and ID. I begged him to release me.
Just before he was about to throw me out the back door into the alley, I grabbed his collar with both hands. I was floating in front of him; held in place as he gripped each of my biceps. He looked down at my hands clutching his shirt; he was not pleased. He looked up and glared at me, and then lowered his gaze to my clenched fists, and then lower still to my heaving breasts, now exposed since my arms were pinned to my sides, they were being pushed upward and out of my low cut dress.
Our eyes met again but his chiseled face had softened. He was inclined to offer me a deal. He lowered me to floor, my toes touching first and then my heels.
He pushed down on my shoulders and I began to squat. My dress was too tight around my knees to part them on either side of his legs, so I hiked it up around my waist as he continued to push me downward. I wasn’t wearing any underwear, not even a thong, since the lines would have shown through my dress, vanity is a curse.
He guided my hand up to his zipper. His offer made, it was my decision to accept it or be tossed into the alley. I reached up and fished out his hardening cock and began stroking it, pumping it to full size. He was big.
Just as I was about to take him into my mouth, he tugged at my shoulder straps, pulling down my top, exposing my breasts, topped with rock hard nipples. I was quite a sight: my red dress was now nothing more than a red tube covering only my belly. My tits and ass exposed, I was determined to finish him off quickly before someone noticed us in the short hallway leading to the alley door.
I sucked him in deeply, tickling the underside of his shaft with tongue as I deep-throated his pulsing shaft. My teeth raked his bulbous cock head as he pulled it from my mouth before plunging back down my throat. His balls were full and heavy in my grasping hands.
He was getting close. A few more strokes and I would be free to have another cock-tail. Unexpectedly, with a burst of speed and agility, with his cock still buried in my throat, he spun me around so my head was pressed up against the wall, literally pinning between a cock and a hard place. With no room to retreat, he began vigorously thrusting his hips into my face, fucking my throat.
I needed to breath but his cock never fully withdrew from my throat. I pounded on his rippled abdomen with my fists, my silent plea for air. Unaffected, his pace quickened and he continued fucking my face. u*********sness began creeping in and my vision started narrowing to a pin hole.
Then he pinched my nipples hard, twisting them as he pulled my breasts outward by their delicate tips. The pain snapped me back to awareness for an instant and then I began circling the drain of u*********sness again. Just as I was about to pass out, his final instinctive a****listic thrusts jammed my head into the wall, pumping my belly full of his goo. He popped out of my throat with an audible sucking sound. Air rushed into my starving lungs and my body crumpled to the floor in a heap of exposed flesh and red satin.
As he turned away from me, packing away his spent cock and zipping up, he said that I could return to the bar but I’d better be quick about it because my deal was with him; if someone else discovered me, I may have to negotiate a new deal.
Scrambling to my feet, pulling my dress down and pulling my straps up, I straightened myself as best that I could. My lipstick was smeared across my face and my mascara ran in streaks down my cheeks. I couldn’t go back into the bar looking like this.
I found the ladies room around the corner, down another hallway and slipped in unnoticed. I did my best to freshen up and after washing away my makeup, I noticed a healthy glow flushing my cheeks. Laughing to myself, I unlocked the door and as I opened it inward, a woman pushed forward and we collided in the doorway, our breasts bumping. She was wearing a red dress.
She looked me up and down with a knowing look. “Looks like someone got some,” she said. Instantly ashamed, I realized the stupidity and futility of trying to wash away my escapade in the hallway.
She smiled. “My husband speaks highly of you. As I hope your husband will speak of me.”
I was really nervous as I prepared for our blind double date, so much so, that I unwittingly downed a couple of very strong Gin and tonics, mostly G with only a splash of T. My hubby cautioned me to slow down since we meeting at bar to get acquainted first; we would be drinking more, a lot more, once there. I protested that I was simply taming my nervous jitters, but even I could hear my speech beginning to slur as my tongue swelled with intoxication. In fairness to me, we hadn’t seen any face pictures or spoken to our mystery dates, just exchanged some racy messages, so I had a right to my nervousness.
My hubby assured me that we would have a good time. If they actually showed-up which was questionable, we would either click with them, or not, and then decide what happens next. I inhaled and exhaled a deep cleansing breathe and asked him to zip me up. I wore a sexy little midi dress that hugged my curves and pushed up my boobs into a little shelf of breast delight, a veritable appetizer for the eyes.
As we parked the car, I asked the obvious questions, and all I received back was a blank stare. How exactly, were we supposed to rendezvous with our mystery couple in a crowded bar during happy hour when we didn’t know what they looked like and my genius planner hubby didn’t get their cell number to text them? He winked at me and slyly stated she would be wearing a red dress. Clever. Not.
Aaarrggghhh! Dumbass, I was wearing a red dress too. Red was the twin sister of the “little black dress.” How many could there be? Too many. We decided to divide and conquer. We each ordered a drink from the bar and then mixed and mingled, asking leading questions that would hopefully reveal our mystery dates from the wannabes.
I ruled out singles and couples that were already chatting with others and zeroed in on a couple standing together alone at the end of the bar, nearest the door. My hubby made bee-line for another couple in the opposite direction.
I was short on time so I decided that the truth (mostly) would be the most expedient strategy; so I walked up directly and introduced myself to the couple and explained that my hubby and I were meeting some new friends but all we knew about them was that the woman would be wearing a red dress.
As the words crossed my lips and my eyes recognized the disbelief on their faces, I realized the truth was wrong strategy. The man seemed very happy to make my acquaintance, taking an uncomfortably long glance at my cleavage, heaving with nervousness; his companion was definitely not interested in hearing anymore of my story. I felt judgment in her glare. Instantly, I felt defensive, almost compelled to denounce the unspoken accusation that I was a working girl.
No time to waste; I smiled weakly and excused myself; off to the next couple. My hubby was nowhere to be seen but the place was jammed and lively. Strike two.
I was really feeling the effects of three cocktails on an empty stomach but my successive failed attempts to identify our dates and the subsequent discomfort of being judged for being something I’m not, demanded another cocktail to bolster my courage. As I stood at the bar, reflecting on my last two conversations, I could see how someone could misunderstand me and think I was soliciting but I shook off the thought.
The bartender refused to serve me. Was I really that drunk? Then I felt a large strong hand clenching down on my bicep. Was it the bouncer? He almost lifted me out of my shoes as he hauled me away to the back door. I tried to explain but the more I talked the less believable I sounded. I wasn’t really a prostitute; I was just trying to hook-up with an anonymous couple for sex, no charge. Really.
He didn’t care when I told him my husband was in the bar and he had my cell phone and ID. I begged him to release me.
Just before he was about to throw me out the back door into the alley, I grabbed his collar with both hands. I was floating in front of him; held in place as he gripped each of my biceps. He looked down at my hands clutching his shirt; he was not pleased. He looked up and glared at me, and then lowered his gaze to my clenched fists, and then lower still to my heaving breasts, now exposed since my arms were pinned to my sides, they were being pushed upward and out of my low cut dress.
Our eyes met again but his chiseled face had softened. He was inclined to offer me a deal. He lowered me to floor, my toes touching first and then my heels.
He pushed down on my shoulders and I began to squat. My dress was too tight around my knees to part them on either side of his legs, so I hiked it up around my waist as he continued to push me downward. I wasn’t wearing any underwear, not even a thong, since the lines would have shown through my dress, vanity is a curse.
He guided my hand up to his zipper. His offer made, it was my decision to accept it or be tossed into the alley. I reached up and fished out his hardening cock and began stroking it, pumping it to full size. He was big.
Just as I was about to take him into my mouth, he tugged at my shoulder straps, pulling down my top, exposing my breasts, topped with rock hard nipples. I was quite a sight: my red dress was now nothing more than a red tube covering only my belly. My tits and ass exposed, I was determined to finish him off quickly before someone noticed us in the short hallway leading to the alley door.
I sucked him in deeply, tickling the underside of his shaft with tongue as I deep-throated his pulsing shaft. My teeth raked his bulbous cock head as he pulled it from my mouth before plunging back down my throat. His balls were full and heavy in my grasping hands.
He was getting close. A few more strokes and I would be free to have another cock-tail. Unexpectedly, with a burst of speed and agility, with his cock still buried in my throat, he spun me around so my head was pressed up against the wall, literally pinning between a cock and a hard place. With no room to retreat, he began vigorously thrusting his hips into my face, fucking my throat.
I needed to breath but his cock never fully withdrew from my throat. I pounded on his rippled abdomen with my fists, my silent plea for air. Unaffected, his pace quickened and he continued fucking my face. u*********sness began creeping in and my vision started narrowing to a pin hole.
Then he pinched my nipples hard, twisting them as he pulled my breasts outward by their delicate tips. The pain snapped me back to awareness for an instant and then I began circling the drain of u*********sness again. Just as I was about to pass out, his final instinctive a****listic thrusts jammed my head into the wall, pumping my belly full of his goo. He popped out of my throat with an audible sucking sound. Air rushed into my starving lungs and my body crumpled to the floor in a heap of exposed flesh and red satin.
As he turned away from me, packing away his spent cock and zipping up, he said that I could return to the bar but I’d better be quick about it because my deal was with him; if someone else discovered me, I may have to negotiate a new deal.
Scrambling to my feet, pulling my dress down and pulling my straps up, I straightened myself as best that I could. My lipstick was smeared across my face and my mascara ran in streaks down my cheeks. I couldn’t go back into the bar looking like this.
I found the ladies room around the corner, down another hallway and slipped in unnoticed. I did my best to freshen up and after washing away my makeup, I noticed a healthy glow flushing my cheeks. Laughing to myself, I unlocked the door and as I opened it inward, a woman pushed forward and we collided in the doorway, our breasts bumping. She was wearing a red dress.
She looked me up and down with a knowing look. “Looks like someone got some,” she said. Instantly ashamed, I realized the stupidity and futility of trying to wash away my escapade in the hallway.
She smiled. “My husband speaks highly of you. As I hope your husband will speak of me.”
Cathalina
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