This is a story from a couple of years ago, back when I was still living in central London and swiping on Hinge as a way to pass the time.
I matched with this girl, Riley, and she was funny from the very first message. Not in the generic “haha you like dogs too” way, but actually sharp, teasing, like she was trying to wind me up from the start. It didn’t take long for her to mention (half as a joke, half not) that she had “a bit of an oral fixation.”
Now, I’ve been on Hinge enough to know people say weird shit on dating apps. But with her, it was different. She kept slipping it into conversation in this playful way, like she wanted me to know she wasn’t kidding.
Her photos made it obvious that her body was in great shape. Some of the best tits I've seen in tight fitting shirts and a bubble butt that looked like a perfect handful. I had no reason not to arrange a date and we agreed to meet up one evening after work. Nothing dramatic. Just a drink at a bar near my office.
And yeah, she looked even better in person. Short skirt, blouse that was fighting to contain her tits, hair tossed like she’d styled it in a rush and accidentally nailed it. She sat down across from me with this grin that said *I know exactly how distracting I look right now.*
The date itself? Easy. We talked, laughed, traded stories. But the whole time, she was doing these little things that made it impossible to focus. Chewing on her straw. Running her tongue across her lip mid-sentence. Letting her heel brush against my leg under the table and pretending it wasn’t deliberate. She clearly didn't want "just one drink" like we said over text.
And the fixation? Yeah, she brought it up again. Smiling into her glass as she said she “just really liked having something in her mouth.”
Not even 2 drinks in, she leaned in and said, “Do you want to just head back to yours?” No hesitation. Here was a woman that seemed to know what she was after.
So we did.
The second the door shut behind us, she kissed me like she’d been holding it in for weeks. Hands on my chest, tongue in my mouth, all heat and hunger. Then she pushed me back onto the couch, dropped to her knees between my legs, and looked up at me with those big eyes like this was what she’d been waiting for since the first swipe.
“Do you have any idea,” she said, already tugging at my belt, “how badly I need this?”
I didn’t get a chance to answer before my cock was in her mouth.
And holy fuck, when she said fixation, she meant it. She started slow, licking the tip, kissing down the shaft, moaning like the taste alone turned her on. Then she took me deeper, spit dripping down her chin, her throat flexing as she gagged softly. Instead of pulling back, she pushed forward, swallowing more. She wanted it messy. She wanted it rough.
I held her hair, guided her pace, but she barely needed it. She was already bobbing faster, eyes watering, moaning around me like she couldn’t get enough.
It didn’t take long before I was right there, hips tensing, cock throbbing in her throat. But instead of letting me finish, I pulled her off. She gasped, spit stringing from her lips, her mascara smudged, looking ruined already.
She whined. “Why’d you stop?”
“Because you don’t get to make me cum that easy,” I told her. “You teased me all night. You’re going to work for it.”
Her eyes lit up like that was exactly what she wanted.
So I made her start again. Three times, I let her get me to the edge, cock pulsing, groaning that I was about to cum, and three times I yanked her off, watching her pant and drool and beg. By the last one, she was clawing at my thighs, desperate, moaning around me like she was losing her mind.
When I finally gave in, I held her head down and came hard down her throat. Hot, thick, pulse after pulse, and she swallowed every drop, choking and moaning at the same time, never breaking eye contact.
Afterwards, she sat back on her heels, wiped her chin with the back of her hand, and gave me this smug little grin like she’d just won. I was still catching my breath when she leaned forward, kissed the head of my cock like it was some kind of victory stamp, then got up and curled onto the couch beside me like nothing had happened.
“You weren’t kidding about the fixation,” I muttered, half-laughing, still trying to process what the hell just happened in my living room.
She smirked and stole one of my pillows. “Told you.”
For a few minutes we just sat there, her tucked under my arm, both of us flushed and a little out of it. It wasn’t awkward, which surprised me. Normally something like that, especially on a first date, could’ve been painfully weird afterwards. But with her, it just felt… natural. Like she’d slotted herself into my space and wasn’t planning to move any time soon.
And then she shifted, kissed my neck, and whispered, “Your turn.”
Now, I’m not exactly the kind of guy to turn down a woman asking for that, but with her it was more than just “return the favor.” She was already soaked, skirt riding up her thighs, practically shaking when I pushed her back against the couch cushions. And I absolutely adore going down on a woman that's desperate for it.
I slid down between her legs, hooked her thighs over my shoulders, and started slow. Soft licks, teasing, building her up the way I like to. She had her hands in my hair instantly, tugging me closer, already moaning like she’d been edged for hours instead of minutes.
The thing that struck me most was how *loud* she was. Not obnoxious porn-style loud, but these desperate, breathless whimpers that got sharper every time my tongue flicked her clit. If it wasn’t late and my neighbors weren’t used to noise, I’d have been worried someone might knock on the door to check if everything was okay.
I edged her the same way she’d teased me all night. Pulling back just as her hips lifted. Letting her pant, beg, claw at me. Telling her she didn’t get to cum until I said so. And every time I denied her, she got wetter, messier, hungrier.
By the time I finally gave in and sucked her clit properly, she broke. Hard. Her thighs locked around my head, her back arched, and she came so intensely she gasped my name like she couldn’t breathe without it. I didn’t stop until her whole body went slack against the cushions.
When she finally sat up, her hair was a mess, her blouse was half-undone, and she had that dazed, blissed-out look that makes you want to ruin someone all over again just to see it twice. She blinked at me, laughed breathlessly, and said, “Okay. Dinner can wait.”
That’s what she said, grinning through her ruined hair and half-buttoned blouse. And yeah, dinner absolutely waited.
Because the second she caught her breath she yanked me back down on top of her, kissed me hard, and whispered against my lips, “I can taste myself.” Not embarrassed. Not shy. Just proud.
I had her skirt up around her waist before she could say another word. She was still dripping from me eating her out, and the second I slid inside she gasped like she’d been holding it in all night. Arms tight around my neck, tits pressed to my chest, moaning into my mouth.
I started slow. Long, deep strokes. Just letting her feel the stretch, feel me filling her up. She clawed at my back immediately, nails digging in, whispering, “Deeper… harder… please.” It didn’t take long before I gave her exactly what she wanted.
Once I picked up the pace, she lost it. Her moans went from breathy to outright shameless. That fixation she’d been teasing me about all night carried straight over. Every thrust had her biting my shoulder, dragging her tongue across my throat, begging me not to stop.
I pulled out just far enough to flip her over, pressed her face into the cushions, and fucked her from behind. Watching her arch her back, that blouse slipping off her shoulders, skirt bunched uselessly at her waist, ass bouncing against my hips, it was perfect. Wet slaps filling the room, her moans muffled into the pillow before she lifted her head and screamed anyway.
The neighbors 100% heard. No way they didn’t. Old building, thin walls, and she was loud. The kind of loud where every time I bottomed out she cried out like she’d been shocked.
I grabbed her hair, pulled her head back so I could hear it properly. She looked back at me with mascara running, cheeks flushed, mouth open, and moaned, “Don’t you dare pull out.”
That was it. I drove into her harder, hips snapping against her, one hand on her throat, the other on her hip, fucking her like I wanted to break the couch. Sweat dripping, her tits bouncing with every thrust, spit dripping down from her open mouth. She begged the entire time. For more, for harder, for me to cum inside her.
And when she came, she came violently. Her whole body convulsed, pussy clenching around me so tight I groaned her name and spilled into her, grinding deep as she shook and sobbed through it.
We collapsed in a heap, tangled and sweaty, her hair a wreck across my chest. She laughed breathlessly, still trembling, and whispered, “Okay… now dinner really has to wait. Because I can’t move.”
And she wasn’t kidding. We ended up ordering takeout hours later, eating it cold straight from the boxes while she sat there in just her blouse, legs sprawled across my lap like she owned the place.
One night. Just one. But holy fuck, what a night.