Greedily, you gasp for air, lungs raw and on the edge of burning. That time was almost too much. Salt tears stream down your cheeks and mix with the thick spittle coating your face. A deep, warm ache ebbs in your thighs as you struggle to stay sat on your feet despite the steel hook neatly nestled in your tight arsehole insisting that you stand and relieve the pressure. You give your head a quick wobble to shake the bright spots from your blurred vision and refocus on the task in front of you.

Their cock hangs inches from your lips, heavy and pulsing, swinging chains of saliva from its angry veins to your chin, joining the river of spit that runs between your breasts and down beyond. Pooling between your thighs and mixing with the slow drip of your sodden cunt. You look up at them and smile, doe-eyed and eager to please, ready to welcome their thickness back into your mouth. Happy to feel the ridge of their cock head push past your wet lips and against your soft palate. Wanting the girth to fill you. Needing to envelop every inch of their hardness with your warmth. Craving the scent of their pubic hair as you bury your nose in it, pushing that length as far down your throat as you can. Living for that feeling of nearly drowning in dick.

…

You had matched with them that morning, after a late night of cheap wine and mostly swiping left. Groggily logging in, you found their message waiting, asking how you were and what you were looking for. ‘Hungover is how I am’, you thought, ‘coffee and bacon is what I’m looking for…’, and you closed your phone and dragged yourself out of bed. Warm sunlight poured through your windows and you figured it was too hot for anything but an oversized tee, so you opened up your closet and plunged a hand into the space reserved for ‘shit your exes have left behind’, pulling out a soft cotton white raglan with burgundy sleeves. You brought it to your nose and were consumed by memories of deep kisses, sweet bourbon on their lips and tongue, and a stiff, eager cock. Yes, you remembered that one well, and as you felt the fabric run across your heightened nipples your body blushed.

Coffee in hand and breakfast consumed, you sat on the sofa bed of your apartment and wondered what the weekend would bring. Your friends were all parenting. Both fuck-buddies were out of town. You’d pretty much completed Netflix (and Chill) by yourself over the past couple of months of singledom. Your thumb casually tapped against your phone screen, as if subconsciously alerting you to the message you ignored, libido half awake and in need of sustenance. Your face automatically unlocked your phone and you logged into the app.

‘Hi. Glad we matched. How are you? If it’s not too forward, may I ask what it is you’re looking for on here tonight?’

You hovered over the keyboard. It was a little forward, but that excited you a touch. Your blood stirred at the thought of some uncomplicated fun, even if it was just some casual sexting. Your thumbs caressed the screen in reply.

‘Hi yourself! Yeah, that is pretty forward but I’ll allow it…! I’m good, thanks. You? I’m after some company, maybe a drink, maybe a little more.’

Giddy with anticipation you locked your phone and skittered it across the sofa bed, quickly looking away as if to not give the butterflies in your stomach any more nectar to flutter around.

The urge to check the app kept tapping you on the shoulder as you tried to get on with your day. You could feel the pull of your phone from the other room as you brushed your teeth. The lyrics from the songs on the radio were gibberish because your mind was constantly picturing what the reply might be. Even your daily shower wank hung on the possibility of this new connection forming and you quickly but gently came, your fingers massaging your hood as you imagined the words this person might write back.

Naked, damp, and languishing in your post-orgasm glow, you flopped yourself on the bed and couldn’t help checking if you had a reply. The notification vibrated, almost as if your own anticipated trembling was being mocked by the phone. You bit your lip as you touched the screen and opened the message.

‘A little more? We’ll have to see just how little or how much that actually is. I’ll be at the underground bar on 7th from 9 pm. Booth 4. I look forward to meeting you.’

Fuck. That’s it? No more flirting, no more game? Just, “I’m here, come get me…”?! You locked your phone and slid it out of reach in disappointment then buried your face in the duvet, forcing a low groan into the soft covers. The moisture on your bare back and legs cooled as your annoyance turned to mild anger. A shiver ran across your skin and reminded you to get dressed and head out to work, hoping the commute would clear the furious fog clouding your thoughts.

All through the afternoon’s chores, the audacity and expectation of that message burned in your chest. Who the fuck did they think they were?! Could they not see you were a catch and were worth a little back and forth, at the least? With every passing hour, your incredulity grew to the point of choosing an outfit, the one you felt most confident and comfortable in. A strong, sexy ensemble that would show them what they were missing. High boots. Enough thigh to make them look and then check their gaze. The same goes for the slightly sheer top that makes men double-take whether they have just seen a nipple when the light hits right… A confident smile crept across your face. They were going to see exactly what they could have won.

The bar was bathed in neon blue and purple hues, soundtracked with the bustle of people laughing, arguing, flirting, and singing along to the jukebox. As you crossed the dance floor you felt every pair of eyes follow you as you silently acknowledged the power of those boots and your thighs.

You stopped at the edge of the table and furrowed your brow with attitude, clearing your throat to announce your arrival. As they looked up to greet you, your attitude melted away. Their eyes glistened in the neon lights. Their smile was warm, genuine, and inviting. Their mouth was sensual and full. Your gaze drifted across their jawline and up towards their ear, trying to find clues as to their gender, their persuasion, and ultimately, their goal. Your intrigue shoved your annoyance out of the way and took up full residence at the front of your mind as you accepted their invitation to take the seat across from them.

‘I’m very glad you came’, they said. ‘I think you and I share a need, and I’d like to show you something to illustrate that, if I may. It is graphic and it is shocking, and by the end of it you will either leave or join me.’

As they reached into their jacket pocket your mind raced. You had never met anyone from the hook-up app who was so mysterious, so direct, and so utterly compelling. Your skin flushed with anticipation and excitement. You’d wanted something out of the ordinary to happen, and this was most certainly it.

They placed a phone in front of you and as the screen lit up your face from underneath, you took a deep breath and looked them straight in the eye.

‘Show me.’

…

Convulsing, your body fights against the blockage in your airway. Your throat squeezes and flexes to rid itself of the foreign object being held deep inside. They gasp in pleasure at every balk and gag you make, as they hold your head in place and their cock inside you. Tears flow from your eyes and spit runs from the corners of your mouth and you silently beg them to let you breathe again, the rough ropes burning at your wrists tied behind your back - every twitch reminding you of the perfectly placed anal hook sending shock waves through to your sodden, leaking pussy - the carpet now uncomfortably wet beneath your red knees, the knot in your stomach screaming at you to fight and flee, to sink your teeth into their dick and relish in the sweet air as they tumble away in their own forced pain.

You feel movement, and in that movement salvation and respite as your lungs slowly fill. A faint pop sounds as they pull their cock past your uvula and the much-needed oxygen rushes in. Loud gasps and cries of elation escape your lips, your brain floods with endorphins and your vision blurs with brightly coloured spots. You feel that ‘first cigarette of the day’ buzz and almost fall to the floor with blissful dizziness.

They stand in front of you, all sinew and veins, tight abs and lithe thighs, their majestic dick in their hand, greased with your spit, massaging it intently, lost in the build-up. They move toward you once more and you willingly open up for them. This time it’s more gentle. They place the head of their dick on your tongue and rock it back and forth. You can taste the thin pre-cum leaking from their tip. Curling your tongue you began to tickle the taut line under their cock head, garnering gasps and moans and sharp intakes of breath. Their legs began to tremble and you feel their balls rise against your chin. You have earned this. You have worked hard. You have given yourself to them and this is your reward. Wrapping your lips around their thickness and pressing your tongue hard against the tight bridle of their cock, you suck, working the tip with your lips and keeping the pressure on and willing them to explode.

They don’t disappoint. Their whole body tightens and they yelp as a thick stream of spunk bursts from their dick and coats the inside of your mouth. You release them and relish in long chains of jizz that erupt from their pulsing cock and crisscross your face. It seems endless. Spurt after spurt of hot come launches from them to you and over your delirious grin, your forehead, your hair, and your spit-soaked face. It hangs and drips off your chin and joins the deluge that runs over your body. You did this. This is your power now. You watch as they sink to their knees, panting and spent, gasping for their own breath just as you had begged for yours.