Fake Toothache for a Dentist’s Cock: Raw Fuck After Dinner

Ding dong at his office door two days ago was just the spark. Now, Saturday night, same bistro terrace where I first spotted Mathieu. Place du marché buzzes with chatter, wine glasses clinking. My phone vibrates nonstop—texts from friends asking where I am. Ignore. Heart hammers. He’s there, sharp shirt hugging his chest, that three-day stubble screaming fuck me.

I slide into the seat opposite, legs crossed tight under my short skirt. No bullshit intros. “Remember the chair?” I whisper, biting my lip. His eyes lock on mine, that piercing dentist stare. Smells like clean soap and faint aftershave—finally uncaged from the sterile office. “You faked it good,” he grins, voice low. Hand brushes my knee under the table. Electric.

The Approach

We order wine. Red, bold. One sip and I’m wet. No time for games. “My place is five minutes,” I say, standing. He doesn’t hesitate. Pays fast, arm around my waist as we weave through the crowd. Phone buzzes again—fuck off. Urgency burns. Days of fantasizing his gloved hands, now bare on my skin. Adrenaline spikes. Streetlights blur.

His apartment door barely clicks shut. I shove him against it, mouth crashing. Tongues fight, hungry. Taste wine and him. Hands rip my blouse open—buttons ping. “You stalked me for this pussy?” I growl. “Fuck yes,” he groans, yanking my skirt up. Fingers dive in, no panties. Soaked. He laughs dark. “Slutty patient.”

I drop to knees. Zipper down. Cock springs out—thick, veined, perfect. Suck hard, gagging deep. Saliva drips. He fists my hair. “That’s it, take it like in my chair.” Thrusts fuck my throat. Eyes water. Love it. Raw.

The Explosion

He hauls me up, spins me. Bent over couch. Skirt hiked. “Beg.” “Fuck me raw, dentist. Stretch this cunt.” Slaps ass hard—sting blooms. Then slams in. No condom, pure heat. Fills me balls-deep. Gasp rips out. Pounds savage. Skin slaps loud. “Tight little liar,” he grunts. Nipples grind carpet. Clit throbs.

Flip me. Legs wide. He pins wrists, dives back in. Sweat slicks us. Breasts bounce. “Cum on my cock.” I shatter—waves crash, pussy clenches vise-tight. He roars, pumps hot seed deep. Floods me. Sticky mess.

Panting heaps. Minutes tick. Reality creeps. I slide off, grab clothes. No cuddles. “That was fire,” I murmur, wiping cum from thigh. He smirks, spent. Door clicks behind me. Street cool on flushed skin. Phone explodes—missed calls. Smile. Stranger again. Walk away buzzing, empty but alive. Next hunt tomorrow.