After a day of sheer joy and personal satisfaction, I thought it necessary to top it all off with some male attention. The proximity of testosterone can do wonders for ones spirits, trust me ladies. That's why I have so many male friends; they're the yin to my yang. And so I invited one of my favourites over, under the guise of technical assistance. After allowing the darned computer one last opportunity to prove its disloyalty we decided to end our visit and resume the following day (well later that day rather as the time by then had already escalated to and surpassed midnight.) As we made our way to his vehicle, he gently brushed the impression of his organ against my thigh and aroused the sensations I had been fighting to conceal earlier. [Having already experienced his manliness less than 48 hours before I didn't want to force the issue at the risk of appearing overzealous.]
He seemed to have the same idea as our eyes connected and he took my hand, leading me eagerly towards our secret place.
As I climbed the stairs to the roof I wondered how I managed to find myself in this situation, a situation I had dreamt of many times before but never actually manifested. Had I finally met my match? A man with a sexual drive that dared to rival mine own? It was preposterous, but as he jerked me back to reality, I knew that the stars had finally aligned and were now pointing a direct arrow towards my lonely soul.
He took it out, flaccid at first, taking perfect shape within my grasp. It pulsed and bucked like a wild horse waiting to be tamed. I knew that this ride would be a rough one. So said so done, he backed out the boots and proceeded to put on the saddle. I giggled and asked him if he was sure he could handle it. He simply grinned and said, "Bend over."
Now, I love it when a man gives me orders, it's instant lubrication, but this time I decided to role-play the conservative girl, worrying about being caught, literally pants down, by some unsuspecting stranger. He clearly saw through my mediocre performance and grabbed me firmly by the waist drawing my pants around my ankles. Running his finger lightly on my inner thigh he tested the waters before he dove in. I moaned and twisted as he shifted me into position.
The first furlong was a bit shaky, we were yet to catch the grove but by the third we were riding like lifelong partners, meeting each stroke with vigilance. It was not until the seventh furlong that I realised that this race wasn't a sprint but quite possibly a decathlon. He didn't realise until the fifth furlong of the second round.
(I never decline a good ride even if it's just around the hill and never over)
We rode it out for as long as we could, but running out of time and creative positions we decided to put the horse back in the stable and reschedule the race.
A great experience regardless. I'm never opposed to sitting, gliding, riding or anything else on a good dick.
I'm done now, so i'm off to bed.
