We quickly (and excitedly) made our way to the dive bar Mr. Martini had in mind for the evening & took our seats towards the back. I anxiously waited & sipped on my Screwdriver while eye fucking the gorgeous waitress and complimenting her/her tattoos any chance I got. After 10 minutes inside with the music & drunken yelling, I realized I wasn’t tipsy enough to be exist in the dimly lit booze den so we made our way to the patio to finish our drinks and wait.
After sitting out in the sunshine for a few minutes, admiring the sheer amount of dogs people bring to this place we see Mr. Martini strolling up, looking fairly determined and confident. Quite the change from the puppy dog I saw in his car at the gas station parking lot a few evenings before.
He walked up, found us & got himself (and me) a drink from the bar. We sat as the sun sank down behind the shimmering, ugly buildings surrounding us, shooting the most casual of shit considering the intended outcome of the evening. W & Mr. Martini discussed work, I made dick jokes whenever the opportunity presented itself & went on a full spiel about how if Martini wants a dog & can afford a dog, why not get one.
Dusk drops around us as I suddenly put the night’s most important question on the table: are we getting a hotel room or can he host? Because I’m mostly certainly down to fuck.
Mr. Martini pipes up that he can host & his apartment is just down the street from where we were sitting. We gather ourselves together & head his way as he does the same.
We pull up to what I can only describe as something that looked like dozens of aluminum shipping crates stacked on top of each other to make a building with windows & sliding glass doors installed. We make our way through the lobby & up to his place, my eyes burning at the sudden and intense brightness with which everything inside this opulent abode is lit. A quick knock on the door & we’re inside being greeted with the perfect thing: an offer of a dirty martini (with delicious jalapeno olives) & the sound of quiet music.
I slip off my shoes and marvel my way to his living room, noticing YouTube music playing some John Popper (ew, but whatever) jam session video. I take my seat on the couch as W spies a big, single seat chair & plops down in it, taking it as his own.
Mr. Martini brings me my drink & sits down on the couch next to me with his own. W being the smart man he is realizes, not a lot is going to start with him in the room. Both of the people expected to fuck are pants shittingly nervous & while there’s no real tension in the room regarding his presence, I’ve been monogamous for well over a decade – I had no idea where to even start.
He excuses himself for a cigarette & the next thing I know, I’m kissing and groping on Mr. Martini, pulling his pants down/off. I don’t even hear W come back in, but after we take a quick breathing break from stripping down and sucking face I notice him sitting in that big, poofy chair, watching the night unfold & smiling ear-to-ear. I took this as a big, beautiful green light to proceed however I wanted to…and I did.
Most of what happened next has been lost in a blur of time, excitement & alcohol.
I remember hearing him (Mr. Martini) gasp as I took his dick in my mouth, sucking & licking it like the last popsicle of my favorite flavor from the freezer.
I remember riding him and trying not to laugh because he was very much trying to bring male porn star energy and very much had no clue how to do that.
I remember cumming at least twice. Both times from his awesomely attuned hands.
I remember taking a smoke break & having him play with my pussy as I looked out over the balcony railing to the two big, gawdy Catholic churches that faced his place. I laughed at the lovely coincidence of it all and pushed his hand deeper into my cunt.
I remember him licking my armpits & sucking on my toes. My first fetish fun in forever.
I remember him asking (very nicely) for a spit-covered handjob and realizing he’s found the ONE thing I’m not at all skilled at sex wise.
And I remember us both deciding mutual masturbation was the best way to end this night. I laid back on his couch as I cranked his cock, fingering and eventually fisting my pussy as I watched. Having done live cams for years on end, I always wondered how I’d feel if someone was to give me a show in real life and as it turns out, it makes me cum just as hard if not harder than being on cam.
Mr. Martini and I collapsed in a pile of sweat and cum, opposite each other on his fancy couch. I played with his feet & traced his birthmark that looked a bit like Orion Belt sans the belt as the music played in the background & I finished the last drink he’d made.
We said our goodbyes & made our way back to the car, W & I all too excited to get home and jump all over each other again. I got him home and immediately let him dive into my ass, bouncing up and down on his cock, trying not to scream-moan the whole house awake.
The first one’s always the hardest, but Mr. Martini made it pretty damn easy and fun.