Cascading ecstasy sexy custom lingerie

Tell me what’s your flavour!!!

Oh, sir…” I whispered — I couldn’t help myself. That’s what we’d agreed I call him, an appropriate title given the circumstances, but also the only name I knew him by. “Oh, sir…I’m so wet for you…”

I was tingling with excitement as I stood facing him.

He sat on the edge of the large bed, draped only in a towel, looking at me with dark, brooding eyes.

I smoothed down the frills of my skirt, and adjusted the corset, the swell of my breasts pinned behind the rigidity.

Slowly, he climbed to his feet.

It was surreal to realize in that moment, that I knew hardly anything about him.

The few exchanges we’d had consisted of brief phone conversations, including a ten-minute face-to-face chat just a couple of days ago to establish the ground rules and address any concerns. I’d been delighted to discover he was as handsome as his profile: sharp cheekbones, a clipped beard, dark hair with gray at the temples. And while I was much younger than he, I was hardly unworldly. That’s what had brought me here: a need for more; a need for something intense, deeper, dirtier.

Even so, I was a little nervous.

Despite being sick and tired of all the inept, vanilla fumblings from so many perfectly-tanned, humorless gym bros who promised so much but were incapable between the sheets, I’d hesitated before contacting the agency.

What was I letting myself in for?

But then, the more I photographed my ample wares to advertise on the site, and turned over in my mind the promise of what might happen, the more eager I became.

And by the time I found myself at his well-appointed apartment with the impressive skyline, dressed in a French maid’s outfit as per his request, I was already wet.

A seam of dampness had been leaking into my black panties almost as soon as I’d changed into my costume. The feel of it had been a thrilling secret as I’d travelled to his apartment in a taxi, almost dripping out of me in the elevator, and by now my nipples were stiff and aching as I stood waiting for my instruction.

We’d not even exchanged a greeting. As I’d tentatively walked into the bedroom, he’d simply arrived from the bathroom, still damp from his shower.

“Turn around,” he said then, his voice as sinuous as smoke.

I breathed in. I rotated and faced the wall.

I knew that the skirt barely covered the heft of my ass cheeks. I’d adjusted the dress to make sure of that. He would’ve certainly had a good view of my stockings, my creamy thighs trapped in the fishnets, tapering to the black, shiny platform shoes.

But I wondered if he could see my panties. I wondered if he had a clue as to my arousal.

A few seconds went by.

I swallowed dryly.

Then I heard a rustle and I was aware of movement behind me.

“Eyes front,” he ordered.

I clenched my jaw. I was desperate to turn as I saw a shadow against the wall. I felt his proximity as he approached; his warmth suddenly at my back. I straightened. I inhaled.

Then he put a hand on my waist and a small electric jolt flickered down my spine.

The contact was firm. He leaned closer.

He smelt clean but with a hint of cigar smoke, and I could feel his breath on my nape — easily accessible as my hair was pinned up.

I kept my hands at my sides, but I longed to reach around. Was he still wearing the towel? Had he discarded it?

His mouth was at my ear.

I felt his fingers on my neck — his first touch against my skin — and my body thrilled.

His hand snaked about my throat. Strong, lean fingers clutched me. They squeezed and I let out a small gasp, naturally tilting my head.

Then his lips were on my collar bone, and suddenly he was kissing me roughly, the soft bristles of his beard prickling against my skin.

His other hand abruptly moved from my waist, skimmed down through the layers of my skirts, and dragged them up.

I arched.

He found my ass and squeezed.

Then he gave me a slap: a startling and firm, open-palmed strike that forced a small cry from my lips.

“Quiet,” he growled, his fingers tightening around my neck. He slapped again, enough to make my ass tremble, and I pressed my lips together, stifling a peep.

My eyes were beginning to water. His grip was tempered but hard around my throat, while his other hand was on the move again, creeping to the back of my panties, digging into the elastic, and suddenly he was forcing his way down, into the cleft of my cheeks.

When his fingers found my pussy, it was drenched with aching need.

The anticipation of the evening had opened the floodgates, but now — sensing that my choice of partner for the evening had been a good one — I was sopping.

I found myself opening my stance to allow access. His middle finger was already inching into my opening.

“Oh, sir…” I whispered — I couldn’t help myself. That’s what we’d agreed I call him, an appropriate title given the circumstances, but also the only name I knew him by. “Oh, sir…I’m so wet for you…”

He didn’t admonish me this time.

Instead, he forced his finger deeper, plying me open, probing me until he was knuckle deep, then dragging himself free before doubling his efforts with two fingers.

In this way he began to explore my pussy, his chin on my shoulder, his hot breath on my cheek, increasing his tempo.

I shivered. I started to make pleading noises. My mascara ran down my cheeks.

“You like my fingers inside you, huh?” he murmured, close to my ear. “You like getting finger fucked by your master?”

I managed to bob my head, even though his grip was firm.

And I wasn’t lying. He was easily bringing me to my first orgasm, as his palm began to make soft, wet slapping sounds inside my panties.

My legs began to clench. My stomach bunched.

My pussy, leaking furiously into my underwear and onto his fingers, tightened.

“Oh fuck…” I puckered my eyes. “Of fuck, sir…That’s going to make me cum…”

He grunted. He jammed his fingers harder. I arched. I cried out. I felt the slippery, explosive release, and I was suddenly at the mercy of my pleasure, shuddering as if touched by a live wire.

When it was over, I was already a hot mess.

My cheeks were glowing, my body raw with arousal, my legs weak.

He pulled his fingers out of me then, and my breath caught at the absence.

But no sooner was he free, than I was aware of those same fingers, laced with my cream, invading my mouth.

I made a sound of muffled surprise. But it was also incredibly hot to taste my own sex: so recently redolent with my powerful climax, sweet with my juices, pungent with the smell of my pussy.

And soon I was closing my eyes and thirstily cleaning his offering, lapping it up, licking his fingers clean, before they left my lips and he was abruptly gripping my arm to turn me around.

I had no idea what to expect.

My stomach flipped with anticipation. And when I rotated to face him, it was as I’d hoped — he’d discarded his towel.

Even so, when I sneaked a glance down at his erection — I took a second to steady myself.

It was like being confronted by some kind of ancient phallic statue. His cock was perfect, but big: naturally curving into a state of iron-hard, swollen arousal, busy but not ugly with veins, lightly tanned, with tight, shaved balls beneath.

There was a bubble of translucent precum at the tip.

I swallowed. He said, “Get on your knees.”

And I did as he demanded, sinking to the floor, my dress rustling as it nestled around me, my damp ass resting on the back of my heels.

He stood over me and waited.

I reached up and took his thick length between delicate fingers, and eased myself forward, dropping my jaw.

My heart was galloping. My mouth was watering.

I wasn’t sure how much of this beast I could take, but I was willing to try my best, as I levered it down toward my opening mouth and planted my lips on the tip.

Sucking down the pearl of precum (a faint taste of saltiness sliding onto my tongue), I soon pulled him by the hilt deeper, using my other hand to gently grasp for his balls.

I inhaled through my nose. I took a few tentative sucks, my lips stretching, my pussy leaking again, but no sooner had I started to work my neck, than I felt fingers insinuate themselves into my hair.

His grip instantly tightened. I winced. He had a handful of my locks, and was abruptly driving himself deeper into my throat.

I took my hand off his balls and slapped a palm on his thigh to steady myself. I made a surprised gagging noise. But no sooner was he starting to work his hips, his other hand cupping my chin as he face-fucked me, than I could feel my body stiffening with excitement.

He was rough, sure, but that’s what I’d wanted: to be used; to be dominated. Gentleness and intimacy were all very well, but more often than not I craved to choke on a cock like I was in that moment, heaving up spit onto a swollen shaft, gasping when he hauled it free.

“You like that?” he took his length in his hand and slapped it against the side of my mouth.

“Yes sir…” I managed, flinching, then looking up at him yearningly, bubbles of saliva cascading down my chin.

“You want some more?”

“Please, sir! Please!”

He thrust his dick back between my lips again.

I sucked and choked and gagged on his cock in this way until my jaw ached.

He was unrelenting, but never crossed the line where I became uncertain or uncomfortable.

In turn, I matched his thrusts hungrily, tears trembling in my eyes as they lifted up at him, clinging onto his thighs, until he was out of my mouth and pulling me to my feet.

“With me…” he instructed.

I tottered on my platforms to the bedroom wall where I splayed my hands.

My heart was racing. I was alive with expectation.

Then he reached around me and hauled down the top of my corset so that my tits fell loose (large globes of firm pale flesh) and pulled up my skirts again.

I cried out. He responded by yanking down my panties where they became trapped around my knees.

I knew what was coming next and I braced myself against the wall as his cock was pressed up against my sopping pussy and he was soon feeding himself into me.

I yelped. My body tensed. He was so fucking big and hard.

But he drove himself deeper, my pussy expanding to take him, and soon he had slung his hand around my throat again and he began to fuck me.

I’d never been pounded so hard and well as I was in that room.

With his fingers tightening under my chin, his cock plowed into me with deep, even strokes, his body punching against mine, my ass jolting with each thrust.

It wasn’t a surprise that I was soon climaxing again.

Every inch of my pussy was filled, right to its limit, and I couldn’t help but begin to make sobbing cries as he jammed up against me.

Tears ran down my face. My tits jounced and my ass trembled.

I pleaded for him not to stop — to never stop — as I was overwhelmed with pleasure.

But he was also not entirely impervious to the grip of my tightening pussy, for — after a while — I could feel him spasming inside me.

“You…going…to…cum, sir?” My voice came out as a breathless staccato as he fucked me from behind.

“Shit…” he growled.

“I…need your…cum, sir…”

His cock was twitching.

“Please… Please, let me…taste you…”

He cursed again, but I knew he wouldn’t be able to last much longer.

Even though he tried to hold back, the fingers that had reached around me to grasp at my breasts, suddenly squeezed one of them harder, and I knew he was at the brink.

So it proved.

For in the next instant, he was out of me and I was twisting around and falling to my knees again.

When he unleashed, I barely had my mouth open, but there was such a jet of cum it flew into my hair first and spattered my bare shoulder.

Whether he had been saving himself for this moment, it was impossible to tell, but it seemed like a torrent that slapped me in the face before sliding into my open mouth.

I gagged and drank it as best I could.

It was a healthy load, silky and creamy, and only vaguely salty.

I did my best to swallow.

Then he was gripping my hair again, and tilting my face up so that he could paste me with even more: enough to drip down my chin and onto my boobs and splayed, black skirt.

I let him have his way. I let him do what he wanted.

And when he was finally done, he stood back, filmed with sweat and panting.

I was plastered in his cream, still thrilling with what I’d allowed him to do to me.

His cock had softened, but was still draining semen as he waxed its greasy length.

I longed to have it back inside me again, to feel every inch; to have him breathing hard in my ear as he fucked me.

But I abstained from asking for more.

That wasn’t my place.

At least, not today.

Not here.

So, instead, through cum-caked lips, I said, “Will that be all, sir?”

And awaited my next instruction.

“For now,” he replied, still looking me up and down. “You did well.”