The Closing Hour
I had watched him for weeks. He was a regular presence in the neighborhood, always wearing tight jeans that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Every time he walked past the restaurant, my eyes were drawn to the heavy, impressive bulge he carried. I wondered if the reality lived up to the visual promise, and tonight, as I prepared to lock up for the evening, I finally got my answer.
He entered just as the last of the staff were leaving. He didn’t order a meal; instead, he requested a bottle of red wine. I attended to him personally, the air between us thick with an unspoken, electric tension. He drank straight from the bottle, his eyes locked on mine with a predatory intensity. Without preamble, he told me he knew exactly what I craved, that a mutual friend had whispered my secrets in his ear. I tried to hide my nerves, but my racing heart betrayed me.
With a slow, deliberate motion, he pushed back his chair and stretched his legs. The sound of his zipper opening was like a starting gun. When he revealed himself, I gasped. It was a magnificent, dark member, thick as the wine bottle on the table and mapped with prominent, pulsing veins. It was a specimen of raw masculinity that seemed almost too large to be real.
I sank to my knees without a word, mesmerized by the sight. I began to prepare him, my tongue swirling around the broad, blunt head and my hands gripping the heavy weight of his balls. He was hard as stone, leaking a sweet, salty musk that I drank greedily. I whispered my desperation, begging him to take me, and rushed to grab the lubricant.
When I returned, he was waiting for me, stripped bare on the lounge sofa. I shed my own clothes quickly, coating myself and his massive length in slick oil. I positioned myself on my back, arching my hips toward him. He gripped my waist with powerful hands, guiding the broad head of his cock to my entrance. As I lowered myself down, I felt my body stretch to its absolute limit. The sensation was an overwhelming mix of pressure and pure, unadulterated pleasure.
He didn’t hold back. With a firm thrust, he drove himself deep inside me. I let out a sharp cry, my fingers digging into his arms as my walls clamped tightly around him. The thickness was incredible, filling every millimeter of my being. He began to pump with a rhythmic, punishing force, hitting my prostate with every stroke. I was lost in a haze of friction and heat, experiencing wave after wave of intense orgasms.
As he reached his peak, he gripped my buttocks and delivered one final, deep plunge. I felt the hot, thick flood of his seed erupting deep inside my gut, filling me to the brim. He pulled away quickly, ordering me to my knees. I opened my mouth wide, receiving a second torrent of white, creamy semen that splashed across my cheeks and filled my throat. I swallowed every drop, savoring the taste of his victory.
He dressed in silence, leaving me breathless and trembling on the sofa, my body still humming from the encounter and leaking his warmth. With a final, knowing kiss, he disappeared into the night, leaving me completely satisfied.