Casanova Falling

CHAPTER 1

Thursday night, 10 p.m. and Megan Flaherty is at my door. She’s been here many times before. Megan’s tall and willowy, with raven-black hair, freckles around the eyes, and a thousand-megawatt smile. She’s a good catholic girl. Says her prayers. Attends mass on Sundays. But she’s strayed pretty far down the path to temptation. Put simply, she likes to fuck — a lot. Let’s just say that ten Hail Marys and ten Our Fathers isn’t going to get it done at this point.

At first glance, she appears prim and proper, dressed for the office in a pressed skirt, tidy blouse and respectable shoes. But a closer look reveals that the skirt is rather short, displaying her taut, inviting thighs. Her blouse remains unbuttoned low enough to afford a healthy glimpse of her cleavage.

Megan looks at me hungrily as I open the door. Before I can speak, her lips are locked onto mine and her hand grasps at the crotch of my pants. She’s so determined that I fear she will just tear off my clothes right here in the hallway. I have to wrestle her back into my apartment in order to close the door.

I meet a lot of girls like Megan. I’m confident, well-groomed and I keep myself in great shape. Also, frankly, I’ve got a big dick. Larger than most. You might think, okay — so this guy’s born on third base and thinks he hit a home run. But I’ve put a lot of time, money, and effort into becoming the complete package – the kind of guy that gets girls hot and bothered. You might call it my life’s work.

At age 23, I know that there’s a world of girls out there whose needs are not getting met. Some never get fucked properly. Others have no idea what good sex is, or they’re too inhibited to really enjoy it. I want to meet these girls. I want to rock their worlds. Think of me as a missionary, changing lives as I spread the good word far and wide.

My friend Jim says it’s impressive how I’ve been able to justify wanting to get laid constantly. He tells me I should set up a foundation, maybe apply for tax exempt status. Jim’s my boy but he’s a wise-ass who doesn’t know anything about girls. They appreciate when a man has a higher purpose.

Inside my apartment, Megan sheds her clothes effortlessly, like she’s shrugging her shoulders. Her body is pale and graceful, like a ballet dancer. Lean but pleasantly curved. Long shapely legs, slim hips, and a taut belly, beneath which a thin, well-trimmed patch of dark hair marks the path down to the Holiest of Holies. I feel my pants tightening in the crotch. This does not escape Megan, who loosens my belt and slides my trousers down to my ankles. Reaching into my briefs, she pulls out my long, semi-erect cock.

She stares, enraptured, as it grows, smooth and uniformly thick, curved slightly upward with a wide knob at the end, like a battering ram. It looks massive in her small, exquisitely manicured hands. Megan looks up at me earnestly from under thick eyelashes.

“I just sat through a three-hour meeting,” she says, in her low, husky voice, “and this was all I could think about the entire time.” She knows this kind of talk gets me hard as iron. Dropping to her knees, she begins to stroke my length gently with her soft hands.

“I’m serious,” she says, still looking at me, “it’s starting to affect my job performance.” She yanks my briefs down to my ankles so that my cock stands, proud and stiff, just inches from her face. “I mean, how am I supposed to get anything done?”

I shrug. Megan’s job performance is the furthest thing from my mind right now. She seems to ponder her own question for a few moments.

“Am I turning into some crazy slut?”

“Of course not,” I tell her. “You just appreciate the finer things in life.”

“That’s my whole problem,” she says, then spits noisily on my cock, an impressive slick glob of saliva that she slathers from the tip down to the base until her hands are sliding effortlessly up and down my length. Megan is all business, and I love her for it. She takes my knob into her mouth, lapping it with her tongue before wrapping her lips tightly around it.

Her head bobs slowly as her lips slide down the shaft, and back up again. She begins to move faster now. The only sounds in the apartment are the hum of my refrigerator and the rhythmic wet smacking of her lips working my cock, now thoroughly bathed in her saliva. Her hands move like a blur, stroking the exposed length all the way to the base and up again with firm, gentle fingers.

Megan Flaherty. Truly an angel sent from heaven.

I stand there stupidly with my mouth hanging open and eyes half-lidded, while the tempo increases and a crescendo slowly builds. Megan’s a virtuoso, her mouth and hands working together in perfect harmony. What turns me on most is the sheer effort that she’s putting in. It’s a committed performance. A lot of girls just want to skip straight to the main event.

She stops and moves her hand down between her thighs. “So wet,” she announces, and looks up at me imploringly. I lift her into my almanbahis arms, stepping clear of my now useless pants and underwear crumpled on the floor. Her breathing is shallow, and I can feel her trembling ever so slightly as I carry her into the bedroom.

When I lay her down on my bed, she spreads her legs wide and reaches for my cock. As I slide my hand between her legs, I’m astonished at the sheer amount of heat she’s radiating, like a dripping furnace between those smooth, cool thighs.

Megan stares, glassy-eyed with lust, as I pull off my shirt. All the hours in the gym and the soul-destroying dieting is worth it when I see that look on a girl’s face. Eyes crawling over the well-defined muscles in my chest, shoulders and abdominals. Hands reaching out to touch them in disbelief. Most girls have never experienced this kind of strength and virility before. They instinctively want to be overwhelmed by it. To be taken, thoroughly and completely.

I rest my cock against Megan’s lower belly, then I begin to drag the length slowly, forwards and back across her clit and soaked, swollen labia. She gasps and whimpers, grinding her ass into the mattress, her body thrumming like a downed power line. She begs me to put it in her. I keep this up until she’s just a quivering ball of need and desire, and I’m not far behind.

As I slip inside, her eyes go wide and her mouth falls slack. “Oh yesss” she gasps, her voice trembling. Megan’s eager but she’s tight as fuck and she’s getting stretched wide. My cock pushes inside her, claiming territory, until she’s taken nearly my entirely length. Her eyes are squeezed shut and her jaw clenched, fingers grasping the backs of my thighs so tightly that I’m sure to find bruises there tomorrow.

I begin to fill her with long, slow strokes. Her pussy quickly abandons any resistance and just gratefully swallows my cock. Gradually her grip loosens and her body relaxes. I’m really opening her up now, filling her as deeply as she can accommodate. She throws her head back and stares straight up at the ceiling with a dazed smile on her face, moaning and laughing at the same time.

Before Megan came along, I’d never seen a girl laugh while getting fucked. At first it kind of alarmed me, but I realized it’s not crazy laughter — it’s joyous laughter. I know very little about Megan outside the bedroom, but she’s told me she lives with her parents, real hardcore conservative catholics – the kind who are still pissed off that the church stopped saying the mass in Latin.

What amazes me is that Megan can enjoy sex so much when she undoubtably spends every other moment of her life being made to feel massively guilty about it.

I thrust faster, angling my cock upwards to knock on that sweet spot at the roof of her love canal. I’ve got her full attention now. She stops laughing, raises her head up off the pillow and stares through me, eyes half-lidded and unfocused. With great effort, she forces her eyes to focus on me.

“Don’t stop,” she whispers, “please… please don’t stop.” I shake my head in the negative and she gives a blissful little smile as her eyes drop out of focus again. I move my hand between her legs to where her neglected clit now stands upright, engorged and desperate for attention. As I brush across it with the pad of my thumb, she makes a sound like air being slowly released from a balloon. I begin to apply very gentle pressure with my thumb, just teasing and coaxing. Her eyes roll up and she gasps, arches her back and falls heavily back onto the bed.

I apply more direct pressure with my thumb. My cock keeps pummeling that sweet spot inside her. She gasps and shudders. Her jaw hangs slack and her eyes roll in her head like a boat tossed in a storm. She’s mine now. Megan is going to come on my cock just as assuredly as night follows day. Her body tenses up and she starts to quiver, toes curled and stiff. I’m getting even more turned on thinking about the sheer amount of sexual energy bottled up inside her right now; energy that I’m about to release, suddenly and forcefully.

Megan gasps and her body goes completely rigid for a long, excruciating moment. Then her eyes fly open and she cries out as she convulses on my cock. I pull out and watch as she twitches and spasms on the bed beneath me, entirely consumed by her release. When it’s finished coursing through her body, she lies stunned for a moment and then slowly sits up, clutching her pussy and laughing, the thinnest streamer of drool running down her chin.

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god” she chants, her eyes like saucers. I want to applaud. Truly a four-star performance.

I used to go out nearly every night of the week but I had to stop because I was drinking too much. As a personal trainer and for many other reasons, it’s crucial that I keep my body fat low and I was consuming way too many calories in the form of vodka, beer and whiskey. I tried switching to seltzer and lime, but being the only sober one turned out to be a drag. almanbahis yeni giriş So I stopped going out on weekdays, staying at home but allowing myself a glass or two of wine when the occasion calls for it.

Just because I’m home doesn’t mean I can’t have any fun. I keep a special list of ladies who have made it clear that they are down for whatever, on short notice, no strings attached. Megan Flaherty is one such lady. There are many others. They visit me because they want to get fucked, thoroughly and properly. I can oblige. I have no illusions that they’ve chosen to spend time with me for any other reason. I certainly don’t aspire to be boyfriend material — many of these girls have men to whom they will return. I’m just here to give them something they can’t get elsewhere.

I lie down on the bed and Megan climbs on top of me and thrusts herself onto my cock. I lie back and let her work herself into a frenzy. She moans and squeals and rolls her hips in tight spirals, churning my cock inside herself from every angle; hitting secret places with practiced skill. Her back is arched and her hands are clasped behind her head. Backlit by the track lighting on my ceiling, she looks like some kind of sex goddess rising over me. Her small breasts rise and fall, nipples stiff and swollen, and her shiny black hair cascades hypnotically down her shoulders.

I fall into a sort of trance state where everything else falls away, and the only thing that exists is this goddess’s celestial pussy wrapped around my cock.

After minutes or hours or days I become aware that I’ve lost track of time entirely. Then I realize with some urgency that I still have a job to do and I can’t allow myself to get distracted. I grab Megan’s waist and begin to buck my hips, thrusting straight up into her from underneath. She lets out a little shriek and slumps forward, clutching my pecs to support herself. I’m thrusting into her as deep and fast as I can manage and she’s wailing in ecstasy, which makes me fuck her even harder, which makes her wail even louder, so that we’re caught in a cycle with only one possible way out.

I know she’s coming again when she goes quiet and her thighs suddenly squeeze me like a vice. She lets out a high-pitched squeak and collapses forward onto my chest.

“I want you to come inside me,” she says, her face inches from mine, cheeks flushed with half-lidded eyes. “Just fill me up.” Megan is on the pill. She won’t let me wear a condom — instead, she sends me her STD and HIV test results. She gets tested constantly, so I am constantly receiving the results — not just an “all clear” email, but the actual test results, straight from the lab. Of course, then I feel like I have to reciprocate. Honestly, I wouldn’t mind just putting on a condom. But whether it’s some strange kink or twisted religious obligation, Megan cannot be fully satisfied until my balls have emptied inside her.

Occasionally I catch myself fantasizing about knocking Megan up, marrying her and moving to a house in the ‘burbs. It would balance Megan’s ledger pretty quickly. No more fornication, a kid on the way. But then I think, once the fruit is no longer forbidden, would the sex even be good anymore? And if we’re not fucking, what the hell would we talk about all day?

Right now, the sex is good. Better than good. Megan is on all fours with her pale, firm little ass in the air and her head on my pillow. I’m kneeling behind her, grasping her slim hips tightly as my cock buries itself in her molten, insatiable pussy.

“Hard,” she gasps. “Give it to me hard.” Taking my cue, I ratchet up my assault, pounding into her with a flurry of deep, efficient thrusts. I won’t be able to keep this up for long. Time to go out in a blaze of glory.

Megan’s clutching my bedspread now, face pressed into the pillow, gasping and sobbing with pleasure.

“Harder,” she moans, and bites down on the pillow.

This is what all these girls want from me. They want to be filled up, pounded, overwhelmed and pleasured so intensely that they can’t even think straight. In these moments, I feel hyper masculine and so alive in a way that I can’t even describe, almost like a religious experience. You’re probably thinking sure, everyone loves to get their nut off, let’s not bring religion into it. But this moment makes everything else worth it — all the time and effort I’ve wasted flirting and texting and dating and dieting and working out and cleaning my apartment and everything else. It’s pure and primal. If I’d lived ten thousand years ago, I’d be doing exactly the same thing in the same way, just in a cave somewhere instead of my climate-controlled apartment. Human instinct at its most basic.

I’m just rutting like an animal now, my entire being focused on the brain-melting sensation of my cock thoroughly pummeling Megan’s snug, slippery little pussy. She’s letting out tiny shrieks, muffled by the pillow clenched between her teeth, and it’s a good thing she’s a sex goddess almanbahis giriş because I’m really giving it to her now.

I’m so close now that I couldn’t stop if I tried, but I slow down to draw out the moment as much as I can. Megan takes the signal, raises herself up on her elbows and thrusts herself back onto me, bucking her hips to milk it out of me. “C’mon,” she coaxes me in a stage whisper, “I want it. Fill me up. Pump it in me.” Her encouragement pushes me over the edge almost immediately.

The release is glorious, a loud choir of angels singing in my head as my balls empty and my cock spurts deep inside her, over and over, for what feels like eons. Somewhere far in the distance Megan is laughing again.

Megan lies beside me with her head on my shoulder and her hand across my chest. I spend a few silent minutes basking in the warm afterglow of a well-earned sexual release. I know what happens next. In about five minutes, she’ll get up, turn on a scalding hot shower and clean herself thoroughly. She’ll brush her teeth, gargle with my mouthwash, and spit loudly into the sink several times. All traces of our encounter washed down the drain. Then she’ll put her clothes back on. Carefully button up her blouse. A kiss on the cheek and she’s gone.

Sometimes I wonder what would happen if she stayed. Would we talk all night? Does she snore? What does she eat for breakfast? I’ll never know the answers to these questions. And I get it. Having to spend time with me face-to-face only makes the guilt worse. Far easier to just to sneak back to the house before her parents wake up.

After she’s gone, I realize my lower body is all sticky with her juices. I could get up and take a shower, but I’d rather just lie here sticky in bed. Megan’s juices are just alright with me.

CHAPTER 2

I’m home on a dull Tuesday night watching the Red Sox get blown out and scrolling through my special list of ladies. Really, it’s just a contact list on my phone, but it occasionally needs to be updated and weeded out. There are several names that catch my eye.

Lucy Gervais. A big-breasted veterinary assistant from Somerville who I picked up at some club on Lansdowne Street. What has become of Lucy? I check my history and confirm that I haven’t heard from her in three months. When first we met, she told me she was engaged. I’m guessing that she finally tied the knot and decided it wasn’t so cool to be fucking around anymore. I’m about to take her off the list but it occurs to me that, once the honeymoon’s over, all bets are off.

Sara-Beth. Last name unknown. We met last weekend at a party and ended up making out in the back most of the evening. I didn’t take her home because her friends dragged her away when my back was turned. I’m 90% sure that she’s down for whatever, but for now she’s a prospect, with strong potential to be brought up from the minors later in the season.

Megan Flaherty. Just yesterday Megan texted me with her latest test results. Negative on gonorrhea and chlamydia. Praise Jesus. I’m starting to think Megan sends me all these test results just to force me to keep paying attention to her. But I can’t imagine benching Megan, she’s a key part of the lineup and a fixture at the top of the order.

Veronica “don’t call me Ronnie” Meadows. Ronnie’s an all-star, a truly beautiful and desirable girl, the anchor of the lineup. But she plays her own game. That is to say, I bat in her lineup just like she bats in mine. Our relationship is best described as cobra and mongoose. There’s no dispute that she’s the cobra. Mesmerizing, elegant and deadly. That makes me the mongoose. Scruffy and tenacious. Ronnie will remain on this list for as long as I remain on hers.

Jessa Bennett. Jessa is a sick little twist who wanted me to fuck her so hard that she’d have an out-of-body experience, or something like that. I mean, really? I gave this freak an all-star pounding, but she didn’t have her transcendental moment, or whatever she was hoping for. So then she got all pissy about it, telling me I didn’t know what I was doing and had no idea what girls wanted. She’s going to tell me my business? Me? Once she gets over herself, she’ll be back. They always come back for more.

Did I mention she’s in high school? I nearly had a heart attack when I learned this — and only after we had screwed. She told me she’s 18, which I later verified through a mutual friend. Still — proceed with caution!

Taryn Westbrook. This is a surprise. Taryn shouldn’t be on the list, and I’m not even sure how she ended up on it. We slept together once, not too long ago. By definition, the ladies on my list are down for whatever, no strings attached. Taryn was not down for whatever, and it seemed like there were definite strings attached. I still don’t really understand what the hell happened that night. Maybe it’s best just tell the story from the beginning.

CHAPTER 3

I met Taryn when I was working as a personal trainer at Allston FitZone. The definition of a shitty job. I was supposed to sell personalized training sessions, but the clientele were mostly 20-somethings who had barely scraped together enough cash to afford the basic gym membership and were decidedly not in the market for expensive training sessions.