The Paramedic - how does his cock get so hard!?

Blocked after a booking… fucking men!

Sunday night was meant to be simple. I had lined up a hot young guy earlier in the week, all chatty and confirmed, but by the morning of, poof - ghosted and blocked. At this point, it doesn’t even sting. He hadn’t met me, so I know it’s not about me. Shrug, delete, move on.

Vanilla friends came over instead. Dinner, kids running wild, games. I was happy enough with this pivot to wholesome chaos, but Mr clearly had other plans. While I was buried under the wreckage of the playroom trying to bring order back to my house once the kids were in bed, he went ahead and booked me a thumbs up social with the Paramedic we’ve been talking to for months. This basically means if I like the guy, he gets the golden ticket to come back that same night. No hanging about for a second date.

Cue me with less than twenty minutes to get ready. I had to prioritise - shower, shave down there, speed-brush my hair that desperately needed washing and hide it under a big bow, a dab of makeup and throw on some clothes. Casual dress, oversized shirt, no bra. Done.

Propositioning the locals

At the pub, a local offered me a spot at the bar while I waited for the Paramedic and commented “you smell delicious.” My reply: “I taste it too.” (Maybe I’d already had one too many to be driving, but hey.) With both of us flushed with embarrassment I took my drink and was glad that the Paramedic walked in. Tall, neat, easy smile. Within half an hour he was following me home.

Let’s get ready to rumble!

He had a quick drink with Mr while I changed, then we perched on the sofa for chat. It was quarter to ten on a Sunday, both of us facing brutal 5am starts, so efficiency was key.

At the pub he’d asked what I liked, and I’d said it straight: pleasure. Predictably though, he was the one getting the pleasure first. When I take a back seat, they get their cock out. He did repay the favour but within seconds of going down on me he was back up again. That imbalance has been pissing me off lately. If a man can’t be bothered to return the pleasure, why should I keep giving?

So, I made the executive decision. Condom on, I straddled him. His cock was average in size but rock hard, the sort that points skyward like it has ambitions for CEO. I have to admit to loving this level of hard. I like the feeling that he is really enjoying me in some form. And, he joined in. He didn’t lay back to think of England while I did all the work. His hands firmly gripped my hips, pulling me closer into him, moving with me.

I touched my clit, rode him, and came hard enough to feel satisfied. Not fireworks, but good. He told me I was a good girl and urged me to cum again. That wasn’t happening, but I kept riding until he came too, those repeated spasms that shook through him.

How do I rate him?

By the time he dressed, it was nearly eleven. He had an hour long drive home and I had Mr waiting for his turn. Fireworks? No. Disappointment? Not really.

I need a second round to form an opinion....but will he ask to see me again?

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