The Night Before Christmas Eve...Dirty Talk with a Dear Friend

"Feel better now?"

 

Marty didn't immediately answer, he was still catching his breath.  I stroked his sweaty chest hairs, matted to his flesh. That look of bliss that came over his face after he popped his seed, his body slick and drips running down from his forehead toward his ears. The way he'd grunted out, "fuck ... Dolly... so ....good...oh...fuck ... cumming...."

 

"I'll take your silence as a yes, Marty. I love helping you relax.  How long can you stay?"

 

I knew the answer was, "Not as long as I wish."  I looked out the hotel window.  There were a few flurries.  T'was the season for flurries, I supposed.  My last visit with Marty for the calendar year.  It had been a very good year for me and Marty.

 

Marty Doyle was the reason I visited his city.  He had a voice as smooth as the best aged Scotch you can name.  I met him when he did voice-over work on a promotional video we produced for my family's business that we use in trade shows and presentations.  He had rugged good looks, more gray than brown  in his hair, usually had two days of stubble which on him looked desirable instead of unkempt, and was within maybe a dozen pounds of an ideal weight, which is pretty good for a man of fifty three.

 

We first fucked after drinks following the delivery of the finished video.  A classic evening of dinner, and when the other dinner participants one by one called it a night, Marty and I had a night cap in the hotel bar, and then I asked if we might have one more round from the mini bar upstairs.  After I accompanied him to his hotel room, I placed a hand on his thigh when we sat close on the love seat to drink the wine from the little bottles in his mini-bar. I raked his thigh with my nails, leaned toward him, closed my eyes, tilted my lips.  I'd like to tell you it was spectacular sex, but what I can say is that it was verry nice, and the embrace and feeling of gratitude that I felt from him was what I always love with a new sex partner.  I love the thrill, when the excitement boils over (in Marty's case, the boil-over kinda literally happened.  Oh don't worry, he got it wrapped and in me, but it was a quick visit).   A fast first one is actually flattering.  We've gotten better over time, though it’s never a marathon.  Not that a busy man has time for marathons.

 

He was married when we first had sex, that time with the mini bar drinks.  He's married now.  He isn't going to get a divorce. Too loyal to his Catholic culture, if not all of the details of being a "good Catholic".  He's a good person.  His wife, he tells me, is many more pounds over what would be ideal weight for her than he is above his ideal weight, and they only have sex two or three times a year.  Not surprisingly, he tells me that the sex isn't good on those rare occasions.  But she raised his children, cleaned his home, and never gave him crap about his career not hitting the heights he once dreamed of.  They're "comfortable" he says, and the truth is, I think that's sweet and I'm not into Dolly dates to find my next husband. 

 

Not that Marty knew about my Dolly dates that first time. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

 

But as a man with four daughters and bills for Catholic school, Marty was usually really stressed out.  Lots of financial worries, hustling for gigs, promotional work, appearances, and the breaks into bigger markets or television that never materialized.

 

He lived up north, where unlike my home area in South Florida, golf is not an available stress reliever for most all of the year, but just a few summer months.  He wasn't a hunter.  He didn't go to the gym. He needed to find another outlet.

 

So I was his stress relief.  Fucking Dolly.  Hammering me, truth to tell.

 

And talking dirty.  Slow dirty talk.  God, his voice was seductive.  I'd log in to listen on-line to his radio show from his city during the couple days before my trips.

 

They labeled their show "guy talk".  A certain classic 80's porn star was a frequent pop culture reference and had twice been a guest.

 

"Oh Ginger, to have you here in studio, looking like you've been in suspended animation, sexy as ever, I feel like I'm in one of your movies, Ginger.  We're up against a commercial break, Ginger, can you stay for the next segment?  That's when I'm going to risk my marriage, ex-communication by the Church and probably my station's FCC license by propositioning you with specific fantasies I've had for years that involve you....."

 

Giggle and laughter.  And I just didn't know whether to believe his account of what took place during that commercial break.

 

Until he played the tape for me.  And heard his voice when they came out of the commercial.  The stunted, gasps for air.  "Back...now....with....Ginger ....Lynn ... porn star....former ... girlfriend ....of... Charlie ....Sheen...."

 

I know what Marty sounds like when he's winded from fucking.  And that was what Marty sounded like after he'd cum.  So hot that he'd gotten off, one way or another, with his favorite porn star during a commercial break.

 

Just a few minutes of commercials.

 

When Marty's all worked up, he can get himself winded pretty quickly.  He admits he's not the longest lasting man around.  I don't mind.  But even after I heard the tape, Marty just said, "Think what you want, Dolly, she was great to talk to and meet. It was radio, all an act."  He winked.  I smiled.

 

And then not long after he had her back for a second guest appearance.  And they sounded so chummy. Like a man and a woman with intimate knowledge of one another. 

 

Yes, he and the porn star sounded intimate.  Like it sounds when he and I talk.  Because now he and I are fuck buddies. And he amuses me.  And I bring him bliss.  When he asked one time about my dating life, and how our fuck dates fit into the larger picture, I just felt the time was right to tell him about my Dolly dates and I pulled my website up on my tablet.  Took a while to load, lousy hotel wi-fi and all.

 

He just smiled, and whispered, "That explains a lot."

 

"Explains what? No, Marty, I like you, I like the fun we have, don't take it the wrong way."

 

"No, no, Dolly, I just mean, well, let's be honest, you're waaaaay out of my league and waaaaaaay too cool about the sex with no strings attached.  I guess I'm trying to say, 'you're too good to be true.'  Oh, and the other thing I'm saying is that I've been with escorts, and some of them have been pretty close to as sexy as you are, and some of them have been close to as good in bed as you are or as skilled giving head or whatever.  Sometimes I wondered how much men would pay to be with you, the private time with you is so good that it reminded me of my best time with an escort, only better.  But I thought it was just a kinky fantasy of mine, that you would ever be an escort as a second job.  But now you share this all with me...and so it makes sense that here you are, an entire class of escort that really is at another level above anything I've ever signed up for.  At least I know you're not passing up what economically was surely a great opportunity."

 

I blushed.  "I think you've complimented me.  But would you purr your romantic sweet nothings in my ear and make love to me again, I love my time with you."

 

So that's how Marty found out that I'm "Dolly", and he being an honorable man, he didn't want to take advantage, he said, and insisted on bringing me a gift envelope from then on.  I tried to give it back, and he told me that he was going to cut out all the other ladies if I'd start seeing men in his city on tours, so that I'd be around often enough that he didn't need to see the others any more.  It works for us.

 

But to continue about the time he didn't immediately answer when I asked if he was feeling better, at the start of this blog, I want to share his brand of dirty talk on that occasion.  It varies.  He has themes.  In this one I was his personal assistant:

 

"Miss Jewel, I know its later and we're the only ones left in the office, so if you'd like, you can take off your jacket, and maybe those sexy stilettos you wear that make your legs look so sexy."

 

"Thank you Mr. Doyle, but please, we've been working together for nearly a month, I wish you'd call me Dolly.  And I'm so glad you like how these shoes make my legs look, I wear them for you."

 

"You wear slutty, fuck-me shoes for me, Dolly?  With your hot tight MILF body, your blouse open enough to show the great cleavage of your luscious breasts but closed enough to make me want to see more.  I can't even see any panty line, I wonder if you wear any."

 

"Mr. Doyle, I love when you call me a MILF.  Is that how you feel, that I'm a Mom you'd Like to Fuck?"

 

"I hired you because I wanted to fuck you, Dolly.  Then you showed up looking professional and you're great at your job.  But I can't take it anymore, I need to fuck you. Now."

 

I licked my lips.  I removed my jacket, slowly, and unbuttoned two more buttons, which was one button past decent, then I walked up to him, slowly, running my hands down my body, over my curvy yet trim hips after starting out by cupping my 36D cup tits.  With five inch heels and being 5'7", I was eye to eye with Marty Doyle.  "You sure you want me to take these heels off, or have you been fantasizing about fucking me with them on, Mr. Doyle?  Because one of the many fantasies I have about you Mr. Doyle is for you to take me, mark me as yours, so hot that you're my boss, fucking me hard, deep with your steel-hard powerful married cock, stretching my slutty MILFy pussy while these heels curl around your ass and pull you into me."  I bit my bottom lip.  I'd get so wet doing the seduction role plays with Marty. 

 

I kissed him as he kissed me.  Passionate?  Who knows?  Fuck bitch in heat and horny man wanting to fuck Dolly until she walks funny so the kissing was desperate and frenzied?  Definitely.

 

"Once I fuck you Dolly there's no going back.  We'll be fucking all the time, whenever I want, whenever I see you.  You'll be mine, your hot body, your tight pussy, your dick sucking lips, your nipples that were made for a man to suck, your ass, all of you. My fuck slut.  I'll make your body my personal play-land."

 

I grabbed his cock through his pants.  Hard, ready to penetrate.  I licked his lips, nipped at his ear, then his neck.

 

"I don't want to go back, I want you to fuck me Mr. Doyle.  Here, now. Hard. Ramming me.  Take me.  Use me.  Put your seed where it belongs, inside my body, fill my womb, mate with me, breed me, ruin me for anyone else. Make me scream from the pleasure of riding your cock. I wanna be your slut, Mr, Doyle."

 

***Okay, about that last part again, this was a script, okay fellas?  No cause for alarm.  Like I said, there were many parts of being Catholic that Marty Doyle didn't follow, and the ban on contraception was definitely something he skipped.  To be clear, he skipped the ban, not the contraception.  The last thing Marty Doyle wanted was to risk any more children.  He has always always worn a condom with me.  But he likes the impregnation role play and dirty talk to mention bareback so I play along with the dialogue.  Capiche?

 

So where was I?  Oh, yes, Marty's dirty talking role play.  I've mentioned elsewhere, I'm generally not inclined toward role play, and as more than one Dolly date has commented, "why does a guy need a fantasy when he's with you in the flesh, right there in reality land?"  I smiled, blushed, sucked him off when he said that to me.  I chose not to respond with the first thought that entered my mind when he finished that comment, which was "We were in Las Vegas, lover, nobody ever called Las Vegas 'reality land' before."

 

But back to Marty. Or, during role play, "Mr. Doyle."  My boss, using me as his slut.

 

"You're already mine Dolly, don't you know that?  Fucking me in my office, in my home, in your home, in your bed, in my hotel at conferences, in a hideaway place when we're at the same party, your body is already mine.  You crave my cum, my tongue on your clit, my cock in your throat, my hands all over your amazing body. Enough talking, Dolly, ride me, now, whatever you want to wear or not wear doesn't matter, the only thing that matters is what you do to me"

 

Most of our fucks were missionary, but a growing portion had me on top, though Marty's dick wasn't frankly long enough or attached at a good angle when he was hard for reverse cowgirl to be very practical or enjoyable. 

 

Another time with him, again the secretary fantasy that was his favorite:

 

"Tell me again Dolly why you submit to me when you know you shouldn't because I'm your boss; tell me why you can't help yourself and keep wanting me to fuck you."

 

'Mr. Doyle, don't make me say it, just fuck me, isn't that enough, you have my body, I can't stay away, I need your cock inside me, controlling me, don't make me say those things like a dirty girl."

 

"Say it.  Let me hear you be a bad girl, Dolly."

 

"Oh God, Mr. Doyle, I've never been so sexually compatible with anyone.  No one's ever touched me like you do.  Nothing's ever felt so good as your cock in me.  I was built to be fucked by you.  No one else has ever been close.  Not my husband, not the first man to take my cherry, not any old boyfriends, and not the man I had my first affair with, right in my marital bed that was still warm from sleeping with my husband.  The way you know how I want it, how you control your cock, how your body and your cum taste, how you touch me, how you know what makes me wet, and then what makes me even more wet.  I never wanted to give my ass to a man before you, though several took it anyway. Anal was just something I endured with them.  With you, I want to be impaled on your cock, up my ass, I need you everywhere inside me.  I'm thinking of you when I'm showering, fingering myself, driving alone in my car, or having sex with another man.  I see beautiful women and wonder if there's a chance I can bring them to you as a sex-offering for a threesome, and I want to watch you fuck them, see them cum on your cock, swallow your seed, see your cum leak from their bodies, even though I know I'll be jealous."

 

Yes, Marty had a little "my secretary is a cheating wife, a slutty MILF secretary, a fantasy in which that slutty milf secretary makes her husband a cuckold.  It was fun, I loved making it all come together for him through our role play

 

And that dreamy voice. Honey in my ears, making me drip my sex-honey from my body.

 

********************

 

It was time for Marty to leave, and I had been working him with my mouth for a quarter of any hour, trying to get him aroused just one more time.  He was enjoying my attempt, but he alas confessed, "Dolly, darling, your mouth is a treasure, but I'd need to book a much longer time with you, like a full weekend perhaps, to get a third round.  You've done so much for me, but I have to take my shamelessly not-erect dick and go home now before I get in trouble."

 

"Can I wash you in the shower, Mr. Doyle?"  I asked him, calling him Mr. Doyle to let him know I was still playful in case he was.  I used my baby-doll voice.  He smiled.

 

He kissed me, more softly than when he was in role play mode.  "I love our time together, baby. The world stays outside the door, and you make me feel like a king, like I didn't know I could feel anymore until I met you.  You're the dream affair I always wished I had the looks, money, and balls to go for."

 

I was stroking his shaft.

 

"But another go-found is not going to happen for me, and as a result, not for us, not again tonight.  Thank you, Dolly, but I'll be able to shower quicker without your fitness model body making me kid myself into thinking I've got another one in me tonight. I kissed him, then dropped to my knees to try to lick him to attention.  I hate taking no for an answer.

 

But sometimes it’s a reality.  And as he finally said as at last to get me to willingly stop trying to seduce him without having to push me away, "oh, please, come on Dolly, it’s the last work day before Christmas Eve, December 23rd, I've got to get home, it is practically dark, I'm never at work this late on the last day before Christmas Eve...."

 

As he closed the shower door behind him, my body still nude and hungry for cock, which at that moment meant his cock, I said, "I can't get fucked again because its the last day before Christmas Eve? Bah, humbug."  That got a laugh out of him.

 

He was my last appointment of that evening, and I had an early flight out the next morning, Christmas Eve Morning. Decembber 24th is a busy travel day, but if you fly at maybe 6:00 a.m., and get to the airport at about 4:30, it's not bad.

 

But on the 23rd, after Marty left, I wasn't hungry, and a nice hot shower by myself (sigh) relaxed me so I could get some sleep before my very early wake up and car to the airport.. 

 

As I was dozing off to sleep, I mumbled out loud, "oh yes, Mr. Doyle, nobody ever touched me like you touch me, no, don't stop, I’ll still respect you, I'll respect you even more....I'm so glad I walked under your mistletoe, Mr. Doyle."

 

To all my Mr. Doyles, or anyone reading who found any similarity between himself and the Mr. Doyle I described, I hope you had a very safe, happy, healthy holiday season.  I thank you all for the intimate secret fun we share, and I hope to continue our private time soon, soon, in the New Year.  Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all, and to all, a good and sexy night.

 

THE END

Purely fictional fantasy for your reading pleasure!

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