No Kisses, No Foreplay, No Romance

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I had my books, my coffee. I was set for a Sunday in the library, cramming for finals, when Daddy-4 texted: “Please call.”

I didn’t call. I needed to learn biochemistry. But my focus was off, my mind on my bank balance. I had just enough dollars to carry me through finals, if I ate the beans, rice, and canned veggies in my cupboard, only bought coffee, and rode the bus to the airport. I’d already paid for my plane ticket home.

Then, winter break, I’d have to sit around my parents’, getting fed and sheltered, but begging for spending money. And I’d come bearing no gifts for my nieces. I’d already skimped on their birthdays. My reputation was in danger of turning Scroogey.

Business had been slow. Daddy-2, my most generous daddy, had been in the hospital. Daddy-1, I feared, was losing interest; we’d barely spoken in weeks. Daddy-3, my poorest but favorite daddy, had never been a regular. And I’d been slack in pursuing new daddies. Which left me reliant, mostly, on Daddy-4.

Daddy-4 was my sweater-clad, practical daddy. He didn’t buy me jewelry or fancy clothes; he helped with tuition Gaziantep Escort Reklamları and rent. He didn’t corrupt me with cocktails or cocaine; he guided me in choosing my curriculum, had promised to land me a summer internship, and generally encouraged me in my studenthood.

However, he also thwarted my studies by refusing to set a predictable schedule, by insisting on seeing me at wildly inconvenient times, and, if I declined, threatening to quit me.

He needed us to be spontaneous, he always said. He needed to see himself as a romantic. He needed so badly to please. He’d go down on me for hours. Sometimes, he wouldn’t even undress. I think he was ashamed of his body. Also, sometimes, I think he couldn’t get hard. His oral abilities, though, were legitimate—and, sometimes, so were my orgasms.

Hoping to avoid trysting without too much sulking or histrionics, I texted him, expounding my great need for study. After finals, I could spend a day and two nights with him.

He’d already booked our hotel. He wouldn’t let the room go to waste, he implied. A study-break would refresh my brain. Daddy-4 wouldn’t accept my no.

I returned to my dorm to make up, don my little green dress, and doff my panties.

Coming back downstairs, I encountered Neil Twomey coming up with a pizza.

“That’s a mighty big pizza, Neil. All for you?”

“It is. But you can have some.”

Neil lived a floor below mine. I didn’t know him well, but we’d spoken. He didn’t speak much, though most of what he said was funny and nice. He was nerdish, introverted, but handsome and well-proportioned. He’d probably played sports at some small-town high school—not football, probably cross-country or soccer.

“Thanks,” I said. “But I can’t eat gluten.” I was struck, then, by a wicked thought. I requested Neil’s assistance upstairs. “It’ll only take a minute. Your pizza won’t even get cold.”

He followed me to my room.

“Neil, could I ask a blunt question?”

“How blunt?”

“Are you straight?”

“I’m not gay.”

“Do you find me attractive?”

“I do.”

“I want you to fuck me. Would you do that? Fucking only. No kisses, no foreplay, no romance. A purely technical situation. Understand?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Neverthless, undress.”

While Neil unzipped, I lifted my dress and bent over my mattress, wiggling my milky ass, circling my labia with a finger. “Right here.”

“D’you have a condom?”


Over my shoulder, I spied Neil’s cock. I’d been expecting a small cock, but it was large. It was girthy and curved like a bull’s horn.

“I’d best make you slippery.”

I knelt. I couldn’t fit him all head-on, so I slithered my mouth lengthwise along his shaft, shining him with spittle. Then I resumed my position, ass up, palms on mattress.

He moved behind me. I pushed back into him. It was a struggle, a little painful, to accommodate him, but by now, my cunt was making lube of its own, so that helped.

Once inside, he came almost instantly, accompanied by a series of startling owl-hoots. He came gobs. I could feel it dribbling out of me.

“You’re a virgin?”

“Was,” he said, ashamedly.

“First time, most guys cum fast. It’s normal.”

“I can go again.”

“Actually, that was perfect. I need to be somewhere.”

And, with that, I spent my last dollars on a taxi to see Daddy-4.

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