We’d been talking on SwingingHeaven for two weeks — teasing messages, playful photo exchanges, and chats that left just enough to the imagination. She had a way of making me crave things I hadn’t even named yet.

When she finally invited me over, it sounded casual — “Just come for a glass of wine and we’ll see how we feel.” But the moment she opened the door, everything shifted.

She was breathtaking — soft curves, a confident smile, and eyes that said she had already decided how the night would unfold. She kissed my cheek, pulled me inside, and closed the door with a slow, deliberate click.

Small talk was fleeting. Knees brushed. Her hand slid along my thigh like a test. Then she smirked, slow and knowing:

“Take your clothes off. I want to see you properly.”

I obeyed. No hesitation. No thought. Just instinct and the magnetic pull she already had over me. Slowly peeling off my clothes, I slipped out of my briefs, revealing myself fully. Her gaze dropped immediately, lips curling in that wicked smile.

“Mmm. A grower… not a shower.”

Teasing. Precise. She reached out, lightly brushing my soft cock, tracing the loose drape of my foreskin.

“Let me watch you wake for me.”

Her fingers barely touched me, and my pulse leapt. I thickened under her gaze, swelling until she whispered:

“There you are… thick. I like that.”

By the time I was fully hard, her tone had shifted. She unclipped her bra, letting her breasts fall free, soft and warm.

“On your knees,” she commanded.

I sank immediately. She pressed a thigh to my cheek, tangling her fingers in my hair.

“Show me how much you’ve been thinking about this.”

I kissed her inner thighs, slow and deliberate. Her sighs told me I was doing it right. She guided me to the couch edge, pressing me between her legs, hands on my head, hips grinding lightly.

She leaned back slightly and whispered:

“Use your mouth. Taste me. Don’t stop until I tell you.”

I licked, sucked, and explored. My tongue traced her folds, teasing her clit, circling, pressing, sliding into her depths. I alternated gentle flicks with deeper strokes, savoring her reactions. My beard soaked in her wetness as she arched, moaned, and tugged my hair to guide me. She rode my face, grinding until she trembled and whispered, “Again… harder.”

When she finally let me rise, she guided me onto the bed. Her legs spread wide, eyes dark and commanding. I slid inside her, inch by inch, feeling her warmth close around me, my bare helmet now lightly clenched by her pussy. She gasped, then a low moan of satisfaction.

“Fuck… you feel full,” she murmured, pressing her hands against my chest, savoring the stretch and weight.

We moved together, swapping positions to tease and deepen the intensity:

She leaned back, hips raised, as I thrust slowly, savoring the closeness

Rolled to her side, pulling me in tight for long, deep strokes

Then, her lips brushing my ear, she whispered:

“When you’re close… you’re going to tell me. And you’re going to cum inside me,” a promise and a command.

We switched again —

This time she straddled me, guiding me with hands on my chest and shoulders, riding slow, controlled, deliberate circles

Her hands gripped me, legs tightening around my waist, taking every inch of me exactly how she wanted

Each shift brought me closer. My chest heaving, heart pounding. I tried to slow myself, but it was impossible.

“I… I can’t… hold… much longer…” I growled, surrendering to her control.

“Then fill me,” she commanded.

And I did — deep, pulsing inside her, my cock sliding in slow, stretching strokes. Her body clenched and rippled around me, tightening with each pulse, guiding me through the pleasure and intensity. For a moment we stayed there, bodies pressed together, breathing hard, her legs still wrapped around me. I felt her soften beneath me, a low satisfied hum slipping from her lips. That was the moment I realized just how much I wanted to please her — how natural it felt to give in to her pace, her rhythm, her control.

Only then did she loosen her grip, her fingers sliding down my back in a slow, possessive stroke that felt less like release and more like claiming. With a gentle but unmistakable pressure of her hand, she guided me downward, wordlessly directing me — still dominant, even in her afterglow.

I lowered my mouth to her, licking her clean, savoring the taste of us mixed together — warm, intimate, grounding. Her hips twitched against my tongue, not from urgency now, but from sensitivity and a quiet satisfaction. She kept one hand in my hair, lightly holding me there, reminding me that even in tenderness, she led.

When I finally lifted my head, she didn’t speak. She just pulled me up into a slow, warm kiss — the kind that melts everything else away. I wrapped my arms around her, drawing her against my chest, feeling her soften into me. I kissed her shoulder, her neck, the curve of her collarbone, each touch slow and deliberate. She sighed, content, her fingers tracing lazy lines across my stomach. We lay there tangled together, her head resting on my chest, my hand stroking the length of her back. Our bodies were still humming from the first round — skin warm, breath soft, hearts steadying. I kissed the top of her head, then her temple, then her lips again, this time tender and lingering.

She pressed even closer, her thigh slipping over mine, her warmth brushing my still-sensitive cock. I felt it twitch against her, and she paused… smiled… then lifted her eyes to meet mine.

“Mmm… I love how you react to me,” she whispered.

Her fingers trailed down my chest again, slower this time, teasing, exploring. I slid my hand to her hip, pulling her in tighter, kissing her deep enough to make her breath hitch. We lingered there in that warm, messy, delicious closeness — the kind where intimacy and afterglow blend into new desire.

When her hand wrapped around me, stroking me gently, I was already hardening again under her touch. She watched that happen with a soft, hungry smirk.

“Still not done, are you?” she murmured, brushing her lips across mine.

I exhaled against her mouth, voice low.

“Not even close.”

She shifted her body against me, guiding my cock between her thighs, rubbing herself along my length — slow, slick, deliberate. She wasn’t rushing; she was savoring.

“Good,” she breathed, her lips grazing my ear.

“Because I want to feel you again… a different way.”

She didn’t straddle me this time the way she had before.

Instead, she guided me onto my side, lifting her leg over my hip, pulling me flush against her back — spooning her, my chest against her spine, my cock hard and pressed between her thighs.

She reached back, sliding me into her with a soft moan as I kissed the nape of her neck.

“Ohhh… yes… just like that,” she whispered, arching slightly.

Warm. Tight. Slick from the first round.

I slid in slowly, kissing her shoulder as we moved together, intimate and primal all at once — her small gasps, my breath against her neck, her fingers gripping my thigh.

“Round two,” she whispered, voice low and satisfied,

“Now I want you deeper… slower… right here.”

And the second session began — just as hungry as the first, but more intimate, more connected, more deliberate.