FBI-Guy Gives Dolly His All

What did I expect? Of course he was going to fuck me hard.

He told me he was former FBI, in corporate and individual security.  The sort of guy who gets hired by billionaires to protect them like the secret service protects presidents.  I asked him if he had previously been employed by Donald Trump, since he was the only billionaire I could think of who had become president.

Andrew (that was FBI-guy, as I came to think of him) replied to my Trump question with: “All client relationships, past, present or potential, are strictly confidential.”

And he said it in a way that was at once frightening for how impenetrable and intimidating it was, yet a hell of a turn on.   I loved that he meant part of my takeaway to be “just like the two of us will be strictly confidential at a level the same as national security”.  He was showing me his strength and dedication.

My internal whisper told my brain, “so damned focused, God, I just know he’ll make me cum with his mouth as a matter of dedication.”

What, you don’t associate a secret agent talking tough with great cunnilingus?

Spoiler alert – My internal whisper was right.  Oh, God, was it right. My forehead was totally slick with perspiration from what he did to my body orally.  In a calm, cool, almost seemed detached manner.  Sex with Andrew was pure challenge: could I crack his emotionless exterior, get him to gasp, writhe, moan, ache and cry out like he did to me?

Now, to get back to my first question, “What did I expect?” I ask that not just because he fucked me really hard (take the hint, gentleman, Dolly likes it like that, oh sure, slow gentle and romantic is nice too, but at least once a week, okay, maybe once a day is more like it, I just really want to be fucked with everything a man has to offer!), but also because when I was passing through the hotel lobby, a couple hours ahead of my FBI-guy date I noticed a man who looked out of place in the very crowded, active lobby.  Two conferences, tourists, fashionable shops, a Starbucks, an overpriced lunch place, and a kiosk to book local tours and excursions.  Like my nickname for him, FBI-guy? That’s how I had it in my mind, I was excited, yet looking back, I realize I didn’t know the half of it.  I pray there’ll be a next time.  A lady always needs reassurance, and knowing that FBI-guy paid generously for private time with me, oh wow, that completely makes me feel great about myself.  And pretty sure that FBI-guy was there hours early, watching for me. 

Because mixed in with the tourists was a guy pretending to glance at a New York Times.  Short hair, barely longer than military, not gray yet, still a very dark brown.  Aviators that hid his eyes.  Indoors, mind you.  Polo shirt with a light jacket over it, the type of thing that keeps a sidearm out of sight so as to not freak out the public.  Gray slacks, rubber soled shoes that some people get away with wearing for business but he would still be able to run in them if a perp tried to get away. From what I could see, he was in shape.  Great shape.

Two hours early, maybe a bit more than that, in fact. Was he spying?  Trying to see me in advance?

But instead of being freaked out, which I later told him would have been a logical reaction from me so he needed to drop the surveillance bullshit. Finally got a laugh out of him on that one.  My fingers were tracing the veins on his re-awakening cock when I said that to him, and I’d just finished a kiss in which he sucked my bottom lip, as if he wanted to just suck me in entirely.

“It wasn’t surveillance.  I was just… in the neighborhood and eager.”

“Eager for me, or to get laid?”

“How was I to know I’d get laid?  My appointment was for your time and companionship only.  How was I to know we’d hit it off?” he said, deadpan, not even a smirk… until he took my nipple in his lips and laughed again.

“But you let me see you, you were so obvious?”

“Only to you.  You knew a man from the FBI was coming to see you.  So I portrayed that image in my appearance.  Anyone else saw nothing of note, not a brand marking on my clothes, no hat, no eyes, no jewelry, non-descript clothing.”

“So you wanted me to see you?”

“Only if you were looking.  I had no way of knowing you’d be in the lobby.  You might have been up here in this nice suite, by the way, nice upgrade they gave you, stay here much?”

So now I was confused and turned on.  And relieved that he’d laughed twice and was playing mind games with me.  He was such an intense lover, it was nice to see him slightly more human.  Though even in his automaton form earlier, I just wanted to be fucked by him, hard, for a long time, relentlessly.  Knew just how to hold me firmly, so that I was in his control, but never hurt me or leave a mark.  He told me he’d learned early in his days “at the Bureau” after bruising a few apprehended folks he’d cuffed and taken into custody during their ‘perp walks. But why did he want me to see him if I was out there, looking, just in case, as he said.

Andrew rolled me onto my back.  He’d already had me on my back, the first time he sexed my lucky body not much earlier (nice short recovery period, FBI-guy!). He straddled me, and his balls and cock, now more than half-way toward hard again, were on my chest, and I was glad I’d brought the wash cloth to clean up the splooge that had coated his wondrous dick inside the condom. He leaned down, my wrists immobilized in his power (again, having him control me like that made me wet and trembling with desire) and he kissed me, slowly, then he slid my right arm over my head until my right hand met up with my left hand and he held both in his right hand.

His left hand started on my hip, and moved deliberately toward my pussy, already inflamed with pulsing inside and wetness seeping outside.

He moistened his fingers in me, then flitted my clit.  He tried a few directions, back and forth, up and down, some intermediate variations, circling, and with whimpers I let him know which felt best to me.  No, I’m not telling, let’s have fun when you touch me and explore to find out what feels best to me.

“I’ve had a vasectomy, you know, I’m clean, Dolly.”

“Not happening, Andrew, it’s there on the nightstand.”

“Don’t you want me, raw, nothing between us?”

Luckily I let my brain answer.  Because my pussy was hollering at me, “Oh God Dolly, raw meat, hot flesh, please oh please oh please!!”  My inner whisper joined in, “Could you imagine this rock hard muscle man, fuck master extraordinaire breeding you?  Six pack, no body fat, a butt like some Olympic Gymnast or Speed skater or something, which ever has the best butt in the Olympics. Arms, God, how much had I enjoyed holding his arms, holding on for dear life, when he’d fucked me hard in missionary position earlier?  Wow, I could have that spread its seed in me?”

Like I said, luckily, my brain shut down all that silly horny fantasy chatter in my head.

“No, I want you safe, me safe, and we’re going to play safe or not play.”

When I said that, my pussy yelled, “You Bitch!” at the rest of me.

He went still, looking at me, sizing me up.  It felt so good up against my skin…. But my brain was right.

I barely realized he’d released my hands to suit up.

Then he circled the entrance to my most intimate space and slid just the firm head into me.

His hands grasped my shoulders, his knees worked independently to spread my legs open and I lifted my legs up over his hips, up toward his shoulders, presenting my body to him.

Again.

The first fuck had been exciting.

When he knocked, after I sent him a text and a room number, I started to say my “well hello” regular charming greeting as soon as the door shut, but he cut that off with a kiss.  My arms went up, my fingers clasping behind his neck, and I felt how hard and solid his body was.  It felt like he might fuck me up against the wall but I’d gotten my lips off his long enough to say, “perhaps you’d like to freshen up, its right over there,” with a nod of my head toward the generously sized bathroom, double sink and separate walk-in shower among the finishing touches.

He immediately said, “Of course” and reached inside his jacket.  A moment of trepidation – was he going to pull a gun on me?  But I saw a greeting card in an envelope in his hand.  I later found it to be generous and then some.  When later on I thanked him for his generosity, without being specific but he knew what I meant, he smiled and told me the private sector paid much better than the Bureau and that time with me was a great investment.

Which made my coochie twitch with excitement.

So that second time he took me, where was I?  Oh yes, legs on shoulders.

He then sank the rest of the way, slowly, like he was measuring my depth with his dipstick.  Okay, dip-log.  Uh huh, it was a big one.  Top quartile, for sure.

And again, he was working me without speaking.  Or blinking, or showing emotion.

I’d already done that with him, my pussy, inner whisper and brain all agreed.

“Fuck me doggy style, Andrew, then let me ride you, please?”

And then a slow, slow smile formed.  “Well, since you said please and all…..”

Now he loosened up but just a bit, a couple, “Mmmm, oh, yeah, mmm, yeah, push back just like that Dolly, fuck me back, keep going….” And similar words of encouragement and direction.

I had my head buried in the pillow, ass up, grasping the sheets to try to steady my body since he had me at the foot of the bed and was standing on the floor while delivering a pounding to my body.  In between my gasps and grunts I verbalized a few “Oh my Gods” and “God, yes, fuck me, don’t stop, oh fuck!”  Oh when the human body delivers that much pleasure to me, I most assuredly believe in a higher being and yes, I mention that almighty creator as I revel in the pleasure designed into the physical act of intimacy. Oh God, could that man fuck!

He finished in doggy, and I moaned, exhausted.  And only after he withdrew and removed his condom, and headed to the bathroom, saying, “my turn to get the wash cloths this time”, did I remember, “Hey, I didn’t get to ride that ride!”

Bless his perfectly designed body, he had a third in him.  I can often fuck a man into surrender.  Now I know how those men feel, I guess.  Even with me on top, theoretically in control, his upward thrusts and the thrill ride of that strong powerful body beneath my legs, his hands on my breasts, then to my ass to hold me still for an interlude of rapid fire thrusts up into my totally wet sex hole, then up to my shoulders to pull me down and fully impale me on his pole… damn, and how lucky was I that he’d booked four hours?

Now I’d knelt in front of him to take him in my mouth before our first sex, and I gagged and tried and got close to getting him fully into my throat but he backed off and told me, “You must love cock, you suck it like it’s delicious, I better get a condom on now so I don’t just lose it in your mouth.  I want to feel you from the inside of your sex Dolly.”

I pouted in disappointment.  Then got a really great sexing from a master.

Small talk was not his strength.  Unlike the lawyers, the journalists, the elected officials, or people in radio or television I get to meet, Andrew was not in a spoken-word profession.  That was okay, he had a nice strong touch, and once I’d experienced how hot it was to get “Andrewed” (yes, he was good enough to get a verb named after him;  But then, I Dollified him, too, right?  *Wink!) I just focused on his physical presence.  It was his time, if he wanted me to talk, all he had to do was either talk to me, or command me, (“Talk!” would have done the trick) and I’d have engaged him.  I think the peacefulness, the fulfillment that he’d provided me and which I’m quite was obvious, was enough for him.

“So how did you know it was me, before, in the lobby, I was in workout clothes unlike anything on my website, a coverup tied around my waist to cover my ass from leering perverts, my hair under a ballcap….”

Your triceps, the way your shoulders and posture, everything about you said sexual fitness super model.  It was you.

I laid my head on his chest, his shaven chest, after that one.  Sexual fitness super model?  Wow, I’m not going to argue with the man.

I ran my fingers all over his body.

And then the time had about run out.  Three rounds of amazing Andrewing, I wished he could stay all night.  Which wasn’t going to happen, since I had another friend for a one hour visit later, and I would never cancel that, he was a loyal friend who always saw me in that city.  Though I confess I wore that loyal friend’s ass out but good, almost like payback for how thoroughly Andrew had fucked me all throughout the late afternoon and into the dinner hour before our date ended.

When I saw FBI-guy to the door, I wore yoga pants and a t-shirt.  His embrace was not as tight as I’d expected (or hoped), he had his hands in the small lower part of my back, and he spoke with his lips close to mine but not touching.

“I really want to see you again. Sometimes I have to travel, and sometimes without much notice.  So I guess I’ll just have to check your calendar and maybe we’ll have fun again in this town, maybe somewhere else, is that okay?”

Uh, hello!  Yah!

And then he spanked me (Hard!) and the ass as he went to the door and said, “Okay then, see ya, Dolly!”

So let that be a lesson to you gents.  Give me all you’ve got.  It’s always good, anyway, I love all types, shapes, sizes of lovers.  And I hope you all know I’m giving you my all.  I love when guys don’t think I’ll break and give it to me right back like Andrew did.

THE END

Purely fictional fantsay for your reading pleasure!

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