Men I’ve Loved Fucking

The Other MILFs — Bob

Spread ’em, slut!

Tori regales her therapist with selected highlights of her sexual history. This is part 2 of a 26 part episodic series; each chapter is a stand-alone story and will be published here on Tantalizing Tales each Wednesday. You can find them all here…

When I walk in, Doctor Bonner is writing something in his notebook.

He looks up as I sit down. “So, Tori, thank you for trusting me with your time again. Last week, I asked you to write about any encounter with a man which you’ve particularly enjoyed: what happened, why you enjoyed it, and any problems caused by the two of you getting together. Did you manage that?”

I’ve got my own notebook this time; I wave it at him triumphantly. “I did it, Doc! Except it didn’t seem fair to single one guy out, so I wrote about twenty-four men I’ve loved fucking. It’s alphabetical, because I started with Anthony last time.”

“The alphabet has twenty-six letters. I assume you haven’t, um, ‘met’ a man whose name begins with X?”

“Oh no, Xander’s in here; I couldn’t leave him out. It’s Q’s I’m short of.”

He raises an eyebrow at that. “This is your time, Tori, but I must ask: is it important to you to tell me about all of them?”

“Yeah. They’re all different, and I want you to get the full picture.”

“Then I’ll listen.”

It was a Monday morning, and I couldn’t shower because the water wouldn’t drain, so I threw a bathrobe on and called my dad who recommended his mate Bob. I called Bob, then called work to tell them I’d be late. My boss was okay with that if I worked late to make up the time, so I had to message Ollie on Tinder to rearrange my play date with him. All in all, I was in a shitty mood before I’d even had breakfast.

I cheered up as soon as the plumber arrived. I expected an obese, middle-aged man whose whole ass wouldn’t fit in his trousers, but I got a stud in his late twenties whose pecs were busting out of his t-shirt. He said his dad was busy, and he was called Bob too.

I watched him ram the shower drain with his long rod, just for the joy of seeing his glutes flex. Then he stood, ran the shower, and we both watched the water drain away.

“There you go, love. It was probably hair. It builds up.”

“That’ll be my fault. I shave everything.”

“I meant from your head,” he said, as his eyes darted to my crotch. “You might want to invest in a cover. They’re cheap.”

This time his eyes darted to the gap that had opened up in my bathrobe. I looked down to see I was practically flashing him my boobs. I thought about pulling my robe closed, but I’d ogled him while he was working, and turnabout was fair play.

“Thanks, Bob Two. Do you want something hot before you go? Tea or coffee, I mean. Or something else.”

His eyes said ‘something else’, but he said, “A cuppa would be grand, thanks.”

I sat him down at the kitchen table and furtively loosened my belt while I put the kettle on. By the time I turned back with a mug in each hand, the top of my robe was gaping wider and one boob was hanging out.

He was polite enough to look away and say, “Sorry, miss, but one of your breasts is exposed.”

That was the last bit of politeness I got from him.

I pointed out my hands were full, and asked if he could pop my boob back in for me.

He stood, walked toward me, and kept coming until I was backed up against the counter. Then he took the mugs, set them down, and ran one hand through my hair while he cupped my breast.

He said, “You’re a dirty bitch, ain’t ya?”

I couldn’t argue with that, because it’s true and because the hand in my hair took a grip, forcing my head back so he could lean down to kiss me.

While his tongue invaded my mouth, his other hand abandoned my boob to undo my belt completely, then slide down my stomach to my slit.

He broke off the kiss to growl, “Spread ’em, slut!”

I shuffled my feet apart a little so he could cup my pussy. His middle finger pressed between my slick folds, his thumb brushed over my clit, and my feet decided he needed more room.

“Fuck, you’re wet already! And here’s me with a dry dick. On your knees, bitch! Blow me!”

I overruled my feet and closed my legs, squeezing his hand between them. “This bitch has two rules. One: let go of my hair, right now, and don’t touch my head while I’m down there. Two: you wear a condom. There’s plenty in the top drawer.”

“For a fucking blowjob?”

“Condom! Now! And pick a flavoured one.”

He harrumphed, but looked in the drawer. “Will bubblegum do?”

I like my plumbers competent and — ideally — hot; I don’t need them smart enough to know I only buy flavours I like. “That’s fine, Bob.”

He dropped his jeans and his boxers, and made me reconsider my choices. His rock-hard cock was pretty short — maybe four inches — but about the fattest one I’d ever seen, and made even thicker by pronounced veins.

He rolled the condom on with practiced ease. I knelt down and squared up to the beast. Even with my jaw wide open, the corners of my mouth were aching when I finally got my lips around his knob. That was all I took in: normally, I’d show off my deepthroating skills, but I couldn’t swallow this cock. He’d have to settle for me sucking hard while I tried to clumsily lick around a head that practically filled my mouth.

His groans said he enjoyed my efforts, but after a couple of minutes he wasn’t settling for that anymore. When he bucked his hips and I choked on his cock, I pulled back.

“Hey! None of that! If you want to fuck something, buddy, you can fuck my cunt.”

He didn’t complain, so I stood up, lifted my robe, and bent over the sink.

He slapped my ass, called me a ‘dirty little slut’, and ploughed his full length into me with no warning. Now, I’ve got some girthy toys, so I knew I could handle his cock, but I work up to a big dildo; I take them slowly. The pain of being suddenly stretched like that was intense, and glorious, especially when he pulled out agonisingly slowly, then slammed into me again.

I squeaked out, “Fuck! That hurts! Harder!”

He ignored me, keeping up the same fast-slow rhythm. Every thrust spiked my delicious discomfort; every slow withdrawal sent ripples of pleasure through my core. I felt the pressure of an orgasm building, so I surrendered to it: my head in the sink, my arms limp on the counter, and my cunt his to use.

Another jolt of sublime pain shot through me, tipping me over the edge. As my cunt spasmed around his cock, he pulled out.

While I stood there, my head swimming, my knees trembling, and my empty cunt twitching with relief, he must have taken his condom off. I heard him grunt, “Filthy whore!” as hot cum splashed on my ass. I’d rather have felt him pulsing inside me, but I needed a wash anyway so I wasn’t too bothered by the mess.

“Wow! Thanks, Bob, I needed that. Drink your tea while I shower, and I’ll settle up with you afterwards.”

“A fascinating tale, Tori. What did you particularly enjoy about that, um, incident?”

I don’t even need to check my notes. “He had a fantastic cock, so thick it was a challenge. I like a challenge. Plus the sex was a surprise: when I woke up I didn’t expect to be fucked until the evening, then I had that anticipation taken from me. So Bob was a little bonus action on a bad day. It really lifted my spirits, y’know?”

He hmms like he knows exactly how morning sex can influence the day’s mood. “But the way he degraded you: did you enjoy that?”

“I don’t mind. It’s only playing, and with the right guy it adds spice. But the bastard charged me full price! It was less insulting to call me a whore than to imply I wasn’t good enough to get paid.”

“And what problems did your morning escapade cause?”

“Well, my jaw ached all day, but otherwise… no, no problems.”

“So, is it fair to say you had spontaneous sex which wouldn’t have been out of place in a porn film, but you set boundaries, you enforced them, you had fun, and there were no unpleasant complications?”

“Yeah.”

“Shall we move on, then? Tell me about… Charlie? Conrad?”

“The Cyclist. I never got his name.”

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