Four Months Dry: Ravenous Fuck Reunion with My Hookup Christophe

Four months.

I’ve bolted up these stairs before, but never this frantic. Panting on the landing, heart slamming. My phone buzzes in my pocket—probably Gédenard checking in. Fuck that. Door flies open before I ring. Christophe hauls me inside, mouth crashing on mine. Finally.

The Approach

Four months.

Sent to Thailand for that shitty platform gig. Me on corrosion, Denis Gédenard on mechanics. Endless measurements, dive plans, lab reports bounced back eighty times. Begged for a mid-mission week home—denied. Costs, delays, and that bullshit: “Gédenard has a wife and kids, deals fine.” Fucked-up logic. Would I fight harder if I weren’t hiding my cravings?

His tongue invades, rough cheek scraping my lips. I claw his shirt, tasting his cologne—spicy, musky, the scent I’ve jerked to over blurry chats. Four months of sexts, dick pics, voice notes promising this. No more screens. Hands yank my top off, his breath hot on my tits. I grind against him, nipples peaking.

Four months.

Saturdays, platform boss dragged us out—Gédenard, me, clients. Hyped some local spot, same salty-sweet-spicy slop. Food? Who cares. Talk always swung to escorts. Sleek Thai girls in slit skirts, whispering bad English. Gédenard grilled ’em innocent, then crude jokes. I smiled, tipped mine at the bar, sent her off grinning. No pussy for me.

He pops my bra, palms my ass. Belt fights me—his hips buck, cock throbbing through pants. Got it. Stroke his bulge, hard as steel. He pulls back, smirks. Tall Latino twink, golden skin glowing dim. Eyes dare me.

“Want this cock?”

I nod slow, arms crossed. He’s naked fast. Love eyeing him—brow arch, shoulder curve. His dick juts pale, veiny. Knees hit floor. Bury nose in pubes, sour musk hits. Kiss balls slow. “Missed you so fucking much.” Swallow him deep.

The Explosion

Gédenard clocked my game late, backed off. Panic hit—homo vibes kill bro-vibes on all-male rigs. Faked a chick date once. Now I strike: “She good?” He bites. I purr, “Prefer ’em wet for it.” He paled. Monday, he cornered me: “Dude, your shit cramped my start.” Shame stung. Never paid for it. But a hot guy offered? I’d cave.

Suck greedy. Skin tautens, saliva slicks. Tongue flicks frenulum, sharp-tight. He groans, “Stop, fuck.” I rise, strip, lead to bed. He hugs back, nips neck, fingers ghost my pussy—teasing drips. Too light, torture. Smear his precum on my lips, kiss swap.

Gédenard offered ride home. “Marie-Thérèse grabs me.” Wanted to snap no. Hiding means costs. His wife? Busty blonde bomb, perfume choking. Dropped bag, raced here. Christophe’s two blocks away.

He lounges, smug smile sparking jealousy. Knows I’m hooked on that ass. Tongue his hole—bitter chocolate tang. He bucks, “Fuck, eat it.” Languish him. “Hurry, slut!”

Grab condom, lube slow. Calm my throb. He growls threats. Smear slick fingers down his crack. He arches wild. Position: legs spread, back bowed. Guide him in slow—pussy grips velvet heat. He slams back, balls slap. Rage-thrusts wreck me. Hold off.

Take control. Deep grinds, he gasps ragged. Speed up, lose it—slams brutal, body quakes. Cum shatters.

Pull off, flop sweaty. He laps my tits tender, soft kiss. Whispers, “Rest. Round two, you ride.”

Four months.

Catch breath, dress quick. Phone buzzes again—real life. Kiss cheek, slip out. Stranger again. Back to swipes, next thrill.