The night after the club

 

So, after the emotional chaos of the Pole (yes, that one, if you know, you know), you might be wondering what else happened that night.

Truthfully? Not much.

There wasn’t anyone else who made me tingle with excitement. But there were two young-ish men who weren’t completely awful. One in particular, Stocky Guy, caught my eye. Shorter, broader, not bad-looking. He first saw me bent over in the dungeon while Mr was spanking me. Not a bad intro, right?

Later, we crossed paths at the bar. He tried to strike up a conversation just as I picked up drinks for Mr and me. I said I'd come back - fully intending to! - but then I handed over the drinks, got distracted mid-convo, and... promptly forgot about him.

Apparently, that knocked his confidence a bit.

He was also part of the group in the dark room, but didn’t put in a huge effort to talk with me. Overall, he just gave off this lukewarm energy which was neither particularly bold nor off-putting. We left the club soon after the I don’t fuck married women debacle and I thought that was it.

Except it wasn’t.

Stocky Guy had already messaged us before we arrived on Fab in response to our club post. And after the night, he followed up. We exchanged a few messages during the day, which unexpectedly turned into planning a hotel meet that night.

A first for me.
Hotel meet. With Mr.

I had very mixed feelings. Still don’t quite know why. Maybe because it lacked the buildup, the spark, or just didn’t hit any fantasy I’d had. But we’d said yes, so we went.

To be honest, Stocky Guy isn’t the kind of man I fantasise about. I’ve been very lucky to play with some jaw-droppingly hot men. By comparison, he wasn’t one I’d daydream about but he was polite, easy to chat with, and seemed genuinely keen.

He didn’t make the first move, though.
Not a kiss, not a touch.

Maybe the night before had dented his confidence more than I thought. I felt slightly responsible so, instead of waiting, I excused myself, slipped into lingerie, a garter belt, and seamed stockings, and returned to the room.

That finally got his attention.

He made a move to kiss me. And then, without much warning, he was naked, cock out, nudging toward my face. Now, don’t get me wrong. I love sucking cock. Anyone who reads this blog knows I adore it for the intimacy, the control, the sheer power play.

But it needs to be my choice.

And this felt more... expected. As if I'd signed up for it. And that rubbed me the wrong way - no pun intended.

Still, I did it. Of course I did. His cock was actually thicker and better than I expected from his photos. And he very clearly enjoyed what I was doing.

He told me to sit on his face. I couldn’t bring myself to.
Eventually, he said he wanted to taste me and I agreed.

It was awful.
Genuinely one of the worst oral experiences I’ve ever had. Like a cat licking a cheese grater. Sharp, dry, confused. I wanted out.

So I gently took charge.

I told him to lie back. I climbed on top as my trusted route to climax. And to his credit, he felt good. His cock had a nice thickness. But... the slightly bigger belly made things clunky. I have my own belly that needs space, and we weren’t exactly slotting together like Lego.

Still, I came. Eventually.

He fucked me doggy and missionary before finishing with a cumshot over my face and boobs.

And you know what? He actually fucked well.
Technically, it was fine.

But nothing about it lit me up. It didn’t scratch any fantasy. It didn’t feel fun or playful. And the hotel vibe? It left me feeling... dirty. But not in the good way.

It felt transactional.
Like he’d paid to fuck me - even though he hadn’t.
And that, more than anything, took all the joy out of it.

Lesson learned:

Just because something is available, doesn’t mean it’s right.

And if the spark’s not there no amount of thick cock or decent technique can fake it.