It has been a long, long time, since I had to walk into one of these ‘infamous’ hotel 81s, passing though the flat, muted walls that had doors seemingly hammered into them – all by myself. I have never met the man who invited me here, and every of my pitiful life experiences had warned me to never do something like that. And yet, I was filled with more excitement, adrenaline, about what he would do to me, than worrying about what would happen to me.
It was ten minutes past four in the afternoon, when I finally reached his doorstep. With a tiny shiver in my limbs, I knocked on the door, and the same, panda-shaped man opened the door, in smiles that melted my hesitations away. He took my hand, led me into the unattractive room, and helped put my bag down.
‘Do you want to wash your feet? Pee?’, he asked as if I was in his home, and I could only think of myself in disgust as I was on my period. I just hoped he remembered that. After a long minute calming myself in the toilet, I came out, and he held out a silk-satin type sash to me. ‘Put this over your eyes’, he said, without a hint of care or affectionate I remembered him for. ‘Take your clothes off, but leave your panties on’, his next phrase wasn’t impossible to do, but who is that man before me, right now?
‘Can you lie down on the bed? Is your pad.. Umm.. Long enough?’, when he asked that, I knew he remembered what I told him earlier, and I nodded for him to guide me into the bed, lying on the cold sheets with my boobs spilling sideways. I was mentally prepared to be mishandled, or even hurt, but all I felt was his hands, warm, and somehow a little oiled. He was obviously sitting by my side, but his hands didn’t appear so. He began with my neck, imitating a ‘strangling’ posture before sliding them over my breasts. It felt a little strange, but the lack of any pain or discomfort I imagined was already too much to ask for.
Although he didn’t spend much time on my boobs, he paid extra attention to my thighs. His focus on my inner thighs took quite a bit out of me, especially from the way he dragged his fingertips across them, in multiple directions, and finally pushes down with his palms like a masseur would. He took the ‘sex’ out of this unexpected gesture, and presented a very ‘humane’ touch to me.
‘Are you relaxed?’, he asked like a professional, and I had to say yes even though none of my muscles were less stiff. He disappeared for a moment, where I could hear some ruffling of clothes, before he returned to my side. The next thing he did, was climb over my waist, and put his hands around my neck again, this time squeezing his palms over my shoulders.
‘You can hold my legs’, he graciously invited me to do so and I wouldn’t miss a chance to touch him, even if it was just his legs. I moved my hands higher to where his underwear would be, but I felt nothing there. Without more ‘information’ from my fingers, I couldn’t form a complete image, of his dong, in my head.
Just as my hands found their way to the front of his hips, but still some distance away, he spoke again, ‘are you very sure? there is no turning back.’ I shifted both my hands simultaneously to his groin and felt his cock for the first time, along with a breath-taking sigh. He then gripped my shoulders tightly with his oily hands and slid them down my arms, moving all the way to my fingertips where he could share some of the massage oil.
At once, I knew what I could do with my hands and wasted no time to milk him, twisting and grasping him in numerous angles he didn’t know of. Although it was a plain ‘tug-and-jerk’, the randomness of his twitching and writhing made me ‘see’ an image of a cowboy on a wild bull, except that this ‘wild bull’ hasn’t moved anything but her hands.
After a few minutes in this position, I just had to get up, and put him in a more comfortable position. One that he could ‘watch’ from, remember fondly, and easier for me to ‘dominate’ him if I wanted to. So, on my knees this time, I executed my best moves, while absorbing of all his muscular reactions. That moment I slipped my mouth over his loin, his body went half-stiff. Toes curling at my ankles, inner thighs twitching non-stop, belly rising and collapsing like a balloon, that restrained grip on my hands, and lest not, the occasional ‘pat’ on my head that he held back from turning it into a ‘push’.
Under my bewitchment, he expressed all the textbook-mannerism a man would, right to the point till he came. His cum, by far the only ‘thing’ that had traded ‘hands’, had a consistent, creamy texture with a tad of saltiness. While it wasn’t ‘impressionable’, the ‘ease’ of swallowing him made it one of the memorable moments of that evening.
Once he was emptied, we just laid next to each other, with my hands constantly touching him until he was up again. This time, it is his turn to be blindfolded.