Vanilla with Matt Makes Me Cry

Matt and I engage in late night rendezvous. One of us will find the other online, and we’re both generally horny when that happens. Matt, being British, will behave properly and provide lovely, cordial small talk over instant message for as long as it takes me to hit on him:

Matt: How is the writing going?
Janie: Well.
Matt: Are you enjoying your new apartment?
Janie: Very much so.
Matt: How is work?
Janie: Matt, should I be getting in a cab?
Matt: I’ve been thinking about cumming all over your tits all day!

And so it goes. We generally go back and forth for a while saying that it’s a bit too late in the evening, we both have work tomorrow, God, I miss your cock, how wet are you right now, really? etc. etc. But eventually, we overwhelm one another with potent cyberlonging, and I pick up a RedBull and hail myself a gypsy cab.

Matt always answers the door smelling fresh and clean. Actually, he doesn’t usually even allow me to knock. He’s generally standing in the hallway outside his apartment by the stairs by the time I make it up to him. This enthusiasm gets my pussy singing her horny song immediately.

But Matt has this way of trying to hide his pleasure. Which doesn’t work at all, if you want to know the truth. His twitching smirk which is actually hiding an ecstatic grin is infinitely hotter than any hipster boy’s apathetic expression. And his British accent—okay, I know, it’s totally a cliché, but honestly, everything that is said in the sack in a British accent sounds about fifty times naughtier than it would sound spoken in a plain old American accent. Because despite Matt proving to me over and over again how naughty of a boy he really is, I never really get over him saying such things as:

“Your clit is amazing, it’s so big, God,” in a proper English accent.

You dig?

I reach Matt at the top of the stairs. Of course, he is standing outside his apartment. “Hi,” I say, my pussy racing like my heart after a brief flight of stairs taken too quickly when one is feeling very eager to get fucked.

“Hi,” he says. “Come in.” I put my bag down on his floor by the door.

I smile. “How are you?” I ask. Matt grabs my face and starts kissing me. His mouth is very soft. His tongue moves slowly, probing. His kiss is the gentle, but urgent kind.

“God, I’m so glad you’re here,” he says. His hands move quickly, to my tits. I had changed into a clean red silky bra before leaving my apartment. I do these sorts of things for Matt, even for this late night bootie call. I know he appreciates my femininity. He loves the bells and the whistles.

“I’m really glad I’m here, too,” I reply, my hands moving quickly over his bum. I think of his ass, what it looks like, bare. Perfect, small, round. Clearly a white boy’s ass. Clearly so grab-able.

“I should give you time to take off you coat, I’m sorry,” Matt takes my coat. He sneaks a peak at my red bra strap and bites his lower lip and makes a squealing sound. Honestly, who wouldn’t want to fuck this boy? This boy who squeals before my clothes are off at the sight of a bra strap?

“Can I get you a beer?”

“Absolutely,” I say.

He gets me a beer. I open it with the bottle opener. I take a swig. I feel Matt behind me, and he starts feeling me up, his cock hardening against me as he begins to grind into the small of my lower back. I keep drinking the beer, trying my best to ignore him. But my shudders give away my pleasure as he starts nibbling at my neck.

“Should I be taking off my clothes, now, do you think?” I ask him, ever so coyly.

“Oh, yes, I think that would be the right thing to do,” he replies.

I strip down. Red lacy thong, red silky bra.

“Nice color combination,” Matt remarks. I think, it’s only one color—red. Maybe he’s remarking about the red against my white creamy skin? Together, we are the two whitest kids on the block, vanilla and white and fine.

We kiss some more, I stroke his cock, a wet spot appearing through his jeans.

“I really want to eat your pussy, I’ve been craving it,” Matt inhales deeply and nudges his nose into my neck. As he does this, I think to myself, You are going to have a lot to eat, my friend. My cunt—she is dripping.

“I think that can be arranged,” I say and I head towards the couch. I slip my panties off and remove my bra and lie down to give him a view. I sit back up and I help him take off his shirt, his pants. His cock is so hard and pressing against his boxer briefs. The sight causes me to bite my lower lip.

Okay, Matt eats my pussy—okay. Like it is his job. Like it is going out of style. Like he’s just arrived at the pussy buffet and it’s all you can eat but he’s gotta leave in a few so he needs to really fill up his plate the first time around. Many girls have told Matt how well he eats pussy—he doesn’t just eat my pussy well. The man is a born pussy eater and the women of New York City and Great Britain love him for it. And Matt VOLUNTEERS to eat my pussy, which, I don’t care how many men will tell you how much they love eating pussy, so few volunteer to lick my girl before I suck them a bit. It’s number one on Matt’s list. It’s his favorite fucking thing to do to me. And it’s not like I need need need to have my pussy eaten every time, and honestly, it’s generally an appetizer before the main course known as a cock ramming my cunt, but when someone such as Matt loves sucking at my clit, biting at my lips, and shoving his tongue up my hole as much he does—I let him. I let him sip on Janie juice for as long as he wants.

And he makes my clit grow to remarkable size. I grow a little dick with Matt lapping at my cunt.

“God, you’re so wet, you’re so sweet,” he murmurs.

“Put a finger in me, please,” I whisper. “You naughty little fuck.”

He beams. A tad bit of dirty talk goes a long way with Matt. It’s so delightful to see him react.

He starts finger fucking me and sucking and biting at my clit, hard and fast. I see him look up, gritting his teeth. I cum hard. I make him kiss me. Which he loves. He loves that I love my pussy juice on my mouth. He loves that I love his cum on my tits. He loves the fluids we create and share.

Again, it’s the little things.

We kiss and I moan and whimper as I smell my cunt on his face. I constantly moan and whimper when I’m with Matt, like a little girl. Sweet sounds. Until he fucks me. Then the sounds get more—pronounced.

Matt was the first vanilla fuck that made me cry.

It was the third time we’d gotten together, I believe. We each continued to have 3+ orgasm dates (from evening to morning) and Matt was quickly becoming my new crush. A crush through fucking. I loved sucking his cock as he laid on his ultra-comfy bed, his toes curling, his pleasure so obvious. Hearing Matt whimper and squeal and whine, I knew how much he wanted to fuck me. He fucks like a champ. And when he cums—okay, we’ll get to that.

“I have to fuck you now, Janie, please!” he cries out, and I say, “Okay, baby!” He sits up and grabs a condom from the ether and slips it on over his curved cock. His cock is a pretty one. Not like that really matters. But it is curved and the ridge is very pronounced and its thickness is just so and there are not too many veins and his balls are always high and tight.

Matt pushes his cock into me.

“Uhhhhh,” we both sigh as the undeniable first penetration occurs. I am so tight already having just cum on his face. As he starts to fuck me in the missionary position, Matt says simple, lovely things like, “You’re so sexy. You’re very wet.” A girl singer is crooning from the speakers in the living room. It is all so very sweet.

The light from the street streams in through the curtains.

I can barely see his face.

Matt makes the simple adjustment of propping my ankles up by his ears.

He begins fucking me with short, hard thrusts. And then all of a sudden, I’m not sure what happens.

But I spring a leak. My eyes, my pussy. Endless tears, endless drip drip of my pussy.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” I murmur over and over again. This goes on for about three minutes, I think. Who knows? Three minutes, three hours. Time does funny things when the in and out of a stiff cock into a swollen pussy replaces the tick tock of the clock. I cry and I cry and I cry. There is nothing on my mind but this moment of fucking but there is so much exiting my body right now while so much is coming in.

Those short thrusts, my pussy clenched around his cock, his aim, so triumphant, so right on, so destined for glory, over and over again, hitting my gspot with such a fire, such determination, my pleasure number one in his book, my pussy number fucking one.

I cum at last, the tears all over my neck and tits, snot dripping out of my nose, my pussy a quivering mess of delight. And then Matt cums, and when he does—when Matt cums, Matt screams. Matt fucking screams and yells. His orgasms are among the greatest I have witnessed and heard. He holds nothing back. Matt can be so loud, he makes me blush. And then I fucking want to eat him for breakfast.

Did Matt cum on my tits the time I cried for his cock? He might have. The time he came on my tits, he licked much of it off. In this way, Matt was being a very naughty boy. He fed me the rest of his sweet cum, the thin and liquidy, the delicious little clumps, with his fingers, with the tip of his cock.

Gosh, how I love eating Matt’s cum. It’s the final little bit of him. The most precious bits, down my throat and into my belly, becoming mine…

But I suppose the cum eating is a rather kinky note to end a vanilla experience on.

You know, I’m not sure if it’s our anatomies fitting just so, or if it’s the way Matt looks at me as he’s fucking me and makes me feel—alright, I’ll say it, loved. For the moment, while he’s filling me up just so, my heart fills up just so, and we are just so. Matt has said that he has “relationship sex” not “fuck buddy sex” and it’s true—there is no wham bam thank you ma’am for him. There is me cumming over and over again, and Matt fucking me through my sobs, and afterwards, Matt says:

“I just had to keep fucking you. You were in ecstasy. Was that alright?” I was in ecstasy, Matt—and it was more than alright.

And then there is the kiss we share as we’re lying on our sides. We touch each other’s faces and brush the hair away from each other’s eyes. Sweetness fills the room and once again, I am glad I took the late night gypsy cab downtown.