Ted and Zack's Blind Date

What in the hell was all that added sexy stuff for? It had made me hard and dripping.

"Don't turn back, sweetheart," Zack said—clearly and directly to me. "Come on over into my booth—beside me, not across from me—and I'll stand you a drink and jack off your cock. Ever been done in a busy restaurant before?"

He had me at "come over into my booth" even though I considered the part about jacking me off in the restaurant as bravado. "But Ted—the other guy?"

"He left after the 'would he fuck on the first date?' question. I've been talkin' to you since then, not him. I knew it wasn't to be as soon as he told me he was a Holy-Roller Baptist. I recognize you. I've seen you at some gymnastic events at U. Penn. I know you can do splits, and I know that you stuck to your booth there to listen to us talk. I'm also friends with Niles, on your gymnastics team. He says you're a great lay. I didn't think I'd ever manage to get rid of that loser I'd been hooked up with. Come on over. No, slide in here beside me."

As I slid into the booth, he had one arm snaking around my shoulder and the other hand went straight to my crotch.

"Hmm, I can tell you already want me. I don't have to ask you if you take cock on the first date, do I?"

He proved me wrong about not jacking me off right there in the restaurant, making good use of one of the restaurant's extra paper napkins.

* * * *

Showing me the strength he had, I was draped on Zack's front, my legs hooked on his slightly crouched thighs to counterbalance my back being arched back, his arms embracing me around my waist, his teeth chewing lightly on my nipples, and my channel being bounced up and down on his cock when I shot my fifth load.

"Five!" he called out. "Moving right along."

When I had ejaculated up his belly, he turned and frog marched me over to the parallel bars that I had been nervously eyeing for the hour and a half so far of this fascinating, invigorating fuck.

"Do the splits on the higher, nearer bar," he commanded, "and arch back to the lower bar, neck on that towel wrapped around the bar and arms at a stretch. Open to me totally."

I did as he directed, He pulled out of me long enough to lash my ankles in the splits to the higher bar and then returned and thrust his sheathed cock inside my channel and glided his hands down my inclined and stretched torso and latching onto my nipples with pinching fingers.

"I like my men in the splits on the first date when I fuck them," he said, which I'd already heard him say more than once, "but on subsequent dates I like to get more athletic. They have to give me everything."

I shuddered at the thought—at the scary thought—at the divine thought. I was getting exactly what I had been pining for that my relationship with Josh wasn't giving me.

Five times. He'd exploded me over the moon five times. I'd walk on fire for a man who could give me five orgasms in one fuck session—even though it was sucking everything out of me and making my balls ache.

He nailed my ass again strongly and immediately began to pump. We were long past me needing time to open to him. He did me so well that I knew I'd open right up for him in the future just seeing him swagger toward me. The PA in his cock was caressing my walls, setting my muscles undulating, and driving me crazy for the fuck. He pumped on for some twenty minutes—I think he had an internal clock with the time set—periodically leaning over me to kiss and nibble at my nipples and to bring my head up for a kiss.

At the finish, he brought my torso up into a close embrace, covered me with kisses, stuck his tongue down my throat and gave me several long, deep strokes.

Wham! I came again. He released my mouth and muttered, "Six for you," and then Bang! He tensed, jerked, cried out an "Oh, shit, Yes!" and filled the bulb of his third condom.

"And three for me in the ass!"

We remained like that for a few minutes, him embracing me, my legs still in bound splits on the higher rail.

"Do you do overnights and repeated fucks on the first date?" he whispered in my ear.

"Yes," I replied.

"You're a great first date. Niles was right. You're a great lay, up for anything I want to take out of you. You won't get all clutchy on me now, will you? It's just a fuck session. I'll call you to come to regularly, but you're not moving in with me."

I trembled at the "call you to come" to me statement. Master and slave. He could have me any time he wanted me.

"No." All I wanted was that eight-inch cock of his with the ring in the bulb churning inside me from time to time and, Wham-Bang, six jack-offs in a session. I didn't want to marry him.

"What will you let me do to you on a second date?"

"You bury that black cock in me to the hilt and give me multiple orgasms and you can do anything you want to me," I answered.

Considering he proceeded to give me a seventh orgasm—and one of those balls aching rolling on and on dry orgasms—before we slept, I must have given him the right answer.