And for my first, I'll tell you my favorite how-we-met stories. Probably too long. (F/M) | 2016

Honestly, the first time I saw him, walking down the hallway - and truth be told, he didn't walk anywhere; he sauntered, or strolled, with such a perfect relaxed air to his hips, a sway to his body - I was smitten. There was something about that walk that said he was hot shit, and he knew it. I had never had such a primal and lusty reaction to a complete stranger before, and felt heat rising to my cheeks in a way I was unfamiliar with. And when I think about it, I remember that walk, the way his legs moved beneath the fabric of his pants, that first alighted me, more than the slender curves of his jaw and handsome lines of his chest and abdomen.

He was interviewing for the job. I was interviewing him. I tried really hard to remind myself of this, over and over. You are a professional, I told myself. You will not mess this new responsibility up. I diverted my eyes and offered him my hand, my brows furrowed in a fierce and determined resolution to assert my professionalism.

"Hello, welcome. I’m Ellen Smith. You’re here for the interview?” (Names changed, of course).

“Yes, I am! Nice to meet you. I’m Kurt Blake. Should I take a seat and wait over here?” he gestured to the chairs in the hallway leading into the offices.

“No,” I said. “I’m the one conducting the interview. You can follow me.” I learned that most people assume their interviewers are male.

He smoothed his hands over the thighs of his trousers, flattening the middle fold indicative of a brand new pair of pants. “Ahhh…” he breathed, flashing me an abashed smile. “My apologies.”

Though my blood was pounding from the force of his grin, I kept my face grim. “Well, why don’t we get started,” I suggested. I realize now I had been trying so hard not to flirt, that I surely came across stiff and cross. I do that a lot. Should I get flustered or embarrassed, I revert to try to compensate. But he didn’t seem to mind, and nodded.

I showed him to our conference room. There, he perched himself in a seat across the table. I proceeded to conduct the interview, throwing him all my best hardball questions, hoping they’d make him squirm under the pressure. Instead, he demonstrated a confident, self-assured young man, even turning some of my questions back on me. A few conversations diverged into witty banter before I abruptly redirected the tangents. It took all I had not to throw myself across that conference table. I could literally feel the force of my will holding me in place, my muscles intent and purposed in every movement.

When we had spoken long enough, I stood up, thanked him, and showed him to the lobby. When I turned around, I could have sworn his eyes had had to readjust upwards – had he just been staring at my ass? But he smiled politely and shook my hand again, placing his above it. I thought I’d imagined the way his caramel colored thumb caressed my pale knuckles gently, so I let him leave. I wish I could say I didn’t watch him leave, but I totally did.

I headed back inside and let myself collapse against the hallway wall, my pulse caught in my throat like a fluttering thing. I closed my eyes, feeling silly, knowing I needed to shake this feeling. But as I heard the sound of the door opening, the swoosh of the outside air against the thick glass windows, my eyes shot open. He was back, panting, a thin line of sweat above his brow.

He sauntered over to me, those hips cutting the air so delicately and handsomely. “Let me buy you a drink,” he said.

“No.” I caught myself smoothing down my A-line skirt, readjusting the hem of my button-up, and stopped myself. He blinked at me, genuinely surprised. “After work I meant.”

“Still no. It’s pretty unprofessional to ask,” I pointed out.

He smirked at me, stepping closer. He towered over me, with my back still against the wall. “Then don’t hire me. But let me take you to a bar.” The look on his face was precious, delicious.

I balanced a hand against his shoulder as I bent towards his ear. So close, his scent, his cologne, was intoxicating. “No, thank you,” I said perfectly, and sweetly against his lips before ducking around him and heading back into my office. I spared one last glance to see his slightly frustrated expression, caramel honey lips pursed in an annoyed line from my mixed messages. I hadn’t been able to pass up the opportunity to tease that sweet face, even if I wasn’t willing to risk my job.

Two years later, I’m celebrating a friend’s engagement at one of our favorite bars. We live in a city, so no designated driver is needed as we can all make it home by cab. But I’ve always been the type of girl that holds back regardless, wanting to be sure at the very least that no rash decisions are made. However, the new fiancé’s best friend has just ordered a fourth round of shots for the table, and everyone’s cheeks are looking a little pink, but the laughter is unabashed and everyone’s bopping and swaying to the music. I feel a hand on my back and lean against it gently, expecting it to be the friend of mine that’s been trying to flirt my pants off for years. Instead, I hear a less familiar voice say, “Oh, hello.”

I almost fell off my bar stool. He chuckled, caught my elbow and slid me back on. “How’s that for professional?” My friends were too busy having a million other tiny conversations and screwing with the bartender to even notice this encounter.

“Kurt?!” I exclaim. I immediately bite my lip, wondering if I should have pretended that I didn’t remember his name. Wouldn't that have been more coy? But he was so confident, and didn't miss a beat. "What the hell are you doing here? Did I - did I interview you once?" I probably asked a slew of other silly, irrelevant questions, and he watched me with those to-die-for greenish eyes.

“I’m going to buy you that drink now, Ellen. Just letting you know.” He informed me.

I giggled. “Okay.” What else was there to say?

I introduced him to my friends, and he in fact bought all of us drinks. He called over two of his buddies that had made the bar trip with him, and everyone seemed to be getting along splendidly. The conversation danced around a variety of topics, and he carefully did not speak directly or solely to me, though he stood close enough to let his hand rest on my thigh. I found myself trying not to writhe in my seat. I twirled the straw of my rum and coke in one hand, slipping my other beneath the table. Starting at his knee, I traced delicate, intentional, painfully slow circles along his knee, inching higher up his thigh. Every time I snuck an inch of jean-covered flesh closer, I began back at his knee, moving slower every time. The closer I got to his zipper, the more I can sense him freeze in place, his hand on my inner thigh tightening and squeezing the soft inner muscle tight. He flexed his fingers over that soft pliable muscle, kneading his hands into it, as he talked about sports with my friends, and I talked about books with his. I carefully, intentionally do not make it close enough to actually caress his member, though I feel how the denim is growing taut and stiff beneath my fingertips. I’m very thankful for the darkness of the bar.

After a few hours of this teasing, our friends are all finally drunk enough to start making their way home. I stand up and sway to the side, not having realized how many drinks I’d let them pour into me. He straightens me out, but then removes his hand from my arm. At some point during the conversation, we’d discussed cab routes and discovered that he lived a few miles further than me, and thus we could share a cab. Everyone wishes we got home safe as we load into cabs.

The second the doors close, he’s shoved me up against the taxi door. He pinned both my hands against the car door, pinned my head against the window with his kisses. His lips push eagerly against mine, a little forceful, a little messy in our drunken passion. I was surprised by how much I liked it. He eased up for a few seconds and breathed against my cheek. “Tell him where you live, baby.”

“Oh,” I gasped, blushing and giving the poor cab driver my address and detailed directions. I gently extracted myself from Kurt’s grasp and apologized to the driver, who grunted a noncommittal response. I tried to sit on the other side of the cab, but found myself inching closer. My short little strapless dress had been hiked up in the process, the leather car seats sticking to the back of my thighs. He interrupts the contact with a hand, sliding beneath my thigh and throwing it over his leg. My body twisted to keep my legs from spreading too wide, lest I flash the poor driver, and I’m all of a sudden half in his lap. He looks down at me, his sultry dark green eyes making me gasp. With a glance that could kill, he surveyed my entire body, from my thighs to the curve of my shoulders and down. My cleavage was peaking from the top of the dress, my tight large breasts pressed close together. The sight of him surveying me, the dark look behind his eyes, had me purring.

“I’ve wanted you since I first laid eyes on you,” I spat out.

“I’ve wanted you longer,” he insisted. I opened my mouth to correct him, but he said, “I’ve dreamed about you before I ever met you.”

“Oh,” I gasped, reaching up to cup a hand against his strong jaw. “What pretty lies.”

He chuckled and rubbed his cheek against my hand, the soft just-sprouting stubble massaging my finger tips. I ran a hand along the line his jaw left, tracing behind his ear and down the side of his neck.

We arrived too quickly at my apartment, and he looked at me as he got his wallet out to pay. “Am I allowed to come inside?” he asked gingerly.

I blinked at him. “Did you have other plans?” He smiled and paid the driver as we exited the car and made it up the steps to my apartment. I’m fumbling with the keys, and he’s hugging me from behind, pulling my hair to the side to kiss the dip where my neck meets my shoulders. I push the door open and we slide in. Our limbs immediately entangle as he pushes me again up against the wall, hiking my thighs up around his waist. I laugh and cup his head in my hands, rubbing my fingers through his short hair, point him towards my room, tell him to shh lest we wake my roommate, downstairs. He carries me inside and tosses me softly on the bed.

I grabbed his wrist before he turns around and asked him about STD’s, but he assured me he was clean. I questioned when he was last tested, and how often he had sex. “Not since my last girlfriend,” he told me. “When was that?” I asked.

“Two years ago,” he says. I stare at him, amazed that this handsome man hasn’t had sex in two years. He looked off to the side, avoiding my gaze. “I don’t do this a lot,” he admitted.

“Me neither,” I assured him. He seemed sincere enough, and I was confident in how much he blushed when I asked about his ex-girlfriend. Equally pleased, he kissed my forehead.

I smiled up at him and tumbled over to turn my lamp on as he went to my door, pushing it closed. He’s fiddling with the lock when I hop off the bed and walk up behind him, showing him how it works. My mounds of breasts are pressed against his back, my hips against his rear side. My breath against his neck, and I kiss that soft stretch of exposed flesh, letting my tongue part my lips and trace a line against his skin. He leans against me and moans softly as my hands trace his chest, along his abdomen to the tops of his pants. I untuck his shirt from his jeans, slowly massaging the flesh of his abdomen as I move.

He turns around and grins at me, slyly. He gently grabs my hips and inches me back towards the bed. My ass plops onto the sheets, and I grab a fistful of his shirt, pulling him down with me. He bends forward, enveloping me with his broad shoulders and arms, one catching my back as his kiss pushes me down. Gently, he rests me against the pillows, and places a hand on either side of me, hovering a few inches above me. What he said then surprised me. “You have beautiful hair.”

I blinked at him. “My hair? That’s what’s beautiful?”

He chuckled. “You’re all made of beauty, a nice ass and great tits. But something about the wave of your hair…” he trailed off as he tucked a lock behind my ear, his lips following the delicate touch of his fingertips. He gently sucks on my earlobe as his fingertips lightly tuck the hair cascading over my chest behind my shoulder, his lips following the movement in soft graceful kisses. I’m purring now as I unbutton his shirt, my eager hands searching out the muscles of his chest and abdomen, kneading the warm flesh beneath my hands.

Finally, I let my hands reach his jeans and slide between his legs. The bulge beneath his jeans was even larger than I’d hoped, and impossibly thick. I gasped and blushed in surprise and felt him grin against my chest, his kisses tracing down the top of my dress. He was fucking huge.

He tugged the fabric down, and my breasts tumbled from the top. He pushed my bra aside and slipped his palm against my breast, the hand expertly pressing firmly enough to tickle my nipple. I felt them tightening, the flesh tightening beneath his hand as he kneaded my breast between his finger. I had to let go of him to push myself enough off the bed for him to unbutton and remove my bra entirely, my breasts bouncing at the freedom as I drop back onto the sheet. He slides down enough to kiss along the edges of my breast, circling the nipple with his tongue, the other hand cupping it gingerly. His thumb flicked back and forth against my erect nipple as his tongue caught the edge of the other one and the sensation had my gasping, spreading my thighs wider so to reach him better.

My hands had unbuttoned his jeans to release his erect member. It was so large I couldn’t help but gasp as my hand wrapped around it, my fingers just barely able to reach. I saw then that he had a very handsome dick, a larger than normal head, a slight curve pointing up towards his stomach. I cupped his ball with one hand, let the other teasingly wrap lightly around his shaft, my thumb massaging the base of his head back and forth. We were moaning into each other’s bodies, and I felt myself growing wetter against him.

All of a sudden, he pulled back from me and grabbed my wrists. I gasped in surprise, though I really wasn’t upset by it. “I want to taste you.”

I smirked. “Sure, you can if you want. Most guys don’t know what they’re doing there,” I pointed out.

“I will take that as a challenge,” he shot back before pinning my hips with his hands and inching down between my thighs. He used his elbows to widen my thighs, hiking my dress up to my belly and sliding my panties carefully aside. I almost immediately knew I had been wrong in challenging him, because he started off just right, rubbing his thumbs along my lower lips in confident small circles. I could feel the heat coming from my own pussy, knew that it had been wet since we’d gotten in the cab. He massaged the stretch of my ass, his tongue kissing and sucking the soft skin of my inner thighs.

My hands played encouragingly in his hair as I watched him make his slow careful way to my lips. His tongue lapped one long lick from the base of my lips to the tip of my clit, and I purred. “Damn. Are you always this wet?” he asked, his eyes looking up at me from the length of my body.

“No,” I admitted. Drunk Ellen had no shame. “You’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Charmer,” he accused me, with a smirk and glisten in his eyes. But I wasn’t even. The sight of his tan hands pressing my pink pale thighs down had me melting, even before his lips kissed and sucked along the edges of my pussy. He found my clit and softly nibbled the skin, his tongue circling it with gentle, delicate circles. One of his hands cupped my ass, his fingers along the edge of my mound. As he massaged my thighs in rhythm with his tongue, his fingertips brushed back and forth against my opening and I moaned at how good it felt.

His lips suckled at the base of my clit, and I shuddered when his tongue flicked against the tip. His fingers inched further and further against my opening, rubbing my own lips together until I couldn’t handle it any longer. “Please,” I begged him. “Finger me, please!”

He looked up at me, and watching his dark expression made it impossible for me to keep my hips from grinding up against that sexy mouth. He slowly teased two fingers against my wet hole, and I literally heard the sloppy wet sound of my lips parting. He increased the circumference of his licking so that he would start at the base of my clit and lick around to the top of my hole, where his fingers rubbed, and back again. I was slowly grinding my hips against these movements, purring happily. As my hips gyrated faster, he slid the two fingers an inch or two into my pussy. I moaned, pressing my hips up to accept more of his fingers, until both were sheathed deep inside me. He remarked on how tight I was and nodded. “Just for you, baby.”

He began slowly circling those fingers inside me in a pattern mirroring the way his tongue traced my clit and I moaned and groaned against him. His other hand pulled my lips back, holding them apart, exposing the length of my clit to his mouth. It was moments before I was bucking and gasping and moaning against his mouth and hands, whispering, “Oh, God, yes,” the walls of my pussy tightening around him. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore, and I reached down to pull his head back. “Fuck me,” I ordered. “Right now.”

He wiggled out of his pants and boxers as I removed my panties and tossed them carelessly across the room before he crawled back above me. “Do you have a –“

“I’m on birth control,” I told him quickly, eager to feel him inside me. “You can even cum inside me.”

This eased his worries and he grinned sheepishly. He pressed his hips against me, his length pressed between my mound and belly, so long and stiff and hard. He rubbed the length of his cock against my edges, just teasing my lips, and I moaned and purred happily, but stopped him.

“I want you to do me from behind. Doggy-style. Please?” I asked.

He looked at me. “Are you serious?” he laughed, a cheerful sound that turned purring and dark at the end. “Not a problem, at all. That’s one of my favorites, too.”

He leaned back and I flipped over, offering my ass up to him as I inched back at him. He grabbed my hips and positioned me at an angle he liked, pressing my back down so that I was tipped perfectly towards him. “Oh, God,” he gasped as I dropped down to my elbows, my neck craned so I could see the expression on his face as he watched how wet he’d gotten me, my lips soaking and dripping already.

He coated his cock in my juices, slowly moving my hips up and down his length as he drew himself around my edges. I purred, anticipating the way he would feel, but even as wet as I was, I wasn’t ready for his huge length. I’ve always been tight, and he had to fight for every inch, leaving us both gasping and moaning. Finally, after he had sheathed his entire length inside my tight wet walls, he began slowly to pull himself out, leaving just the head inside, moving in slow circles, stretching my tiny pussy. I moaned and moaned and pressed my hips against him eagerly, pushing my hips in a frantic pattern.

“Slower, baby,” he told me through groans.

“I want to feel you cum,” I objected, increasing in speed

“You will. Just trust me. Slow it down.” He grabbed my hips and held them in place, and my walls twitched around his cock, milking him. He gasped at it, and continued pumping my length, filling every inch of me slowly, teasingly slow, excruciatingly slow. Orgasmically slow.

I caught myself collapsing deeper against him as he kept up those slow, forceful, powerful thrusts into me. They were slow, but they went so deep, and my toes were curling. Every warm inch of his swollen, hard cock was driving me absolutely mad. My muscles tightened, enveloping that cock, as I heard myself begging for more and groaning his name.

I tried to watch him over my shoulder, but the sight of him was too much, and I closed my eyes and just enjoyed feeling his muscle tighten and flex and open me, until a warmth washed over me. My orgasms always hit like a tidal wave, and leave me shuddering, hips bucking and fighting and grinding. I came like I hadn’t in a while, my walls tightening, milking, and my pussy leaking and squirting. Actually squirting. Both of us gasped at that, and I felt his speed increase as he finally lost control and began pounding me, hard, deep, and fast. My juices dripped down my thighs, down his cock, and I cried out again and again at the fleshy sound of his body slapping against me. He spanked me then, one hard purposed slap, and I loved it, pumping my pussy up and down the length of him in absolute pleasure.

When I finally felt his cock spasm and twitch inside me, shooting deep into my pussy, I cried out and dug my hands into the pillows, grabbing the sheets for dear life as our bodies strained against each other. I heard him grunt, that amazing wonderful sound a man makes as he finally releases that load, felt his body collapse on top of me, his cock still sheathed inside me as it emptied every last drop. My waves of pleasure continued as he gasped against my back, until they finally slowed and I calmed again, able to breath. I slowly lowered us together down as he slid to my side. We laid there for a long while, recovering, catching our breath, sweating on each other, his hand finding mine in the sheets and clenching it tight.

I grinned and purred. “How will I ever thank you?”

(amidointhisrite?)