Hi everyone, I’m Author (name changed), 6’1”, dark brown, originally from Kolkata. I lived in Pune for a few years, rushed back the moment COVID loosened its claws. This is the story of my first proper fuck — a savage, heart-pounding quickie — after the 2020 lockdown finally cracked open.
It all began on Facebook. Sent a random friend request to Martina (name changed). Zero mutuals, pure gamble. She accepted within minutes. From the very first “hi”, sparks flew.
Flirting came naturally, late-night chats stretched till sunrise, voice notes dripping with sleep and desire. She rode bikes. I didn’t even know how to balance one back then. She called herself conservative. I’m the walking opposite, but the chemistry was off-the-charts insane.
Texts never went fully sexual outright, yet every line throbbed. “I miss human touch so much.” “I wish someone would just hold me so tight I forget how to breathe.” You know the type.
Lockdown hit hard, I shifted back to Kolkata, turns out she was already here. November 2020: restrictions easing, Diwali fireworks still echoing, cafés gingerly pulling up shutters again. We decided it was now or never.
First, we met at City Centre Salt Lake, then quickly shifted to this café, which I already knew had dim corners perfect for PDA. That night, it was almost empty — just one table with two guys and a girl who looked bored. Perfect.
Martina stepped in, and my brain short-circuited. Short, dark, skin glowing like melted chocolate under the yellow lights, slim waist, small but insanely firm boobs, and an average ass that still looked squeezable. Red skirt hugging her thighs, black stockings, beige jacket.
The moment I saw that outfit, my cock started swelling inside my jeans, pushing painfully against the zipper. She teased, “Guess my age.” I said 28. I was 26. She threw her head back and laughed, “34, baby.” Looked twenty-five on a bad day, I swear on my life.
We ordered beers — Kingfisher Strong, winter cold, making the bottles sweat. I told her, “Jacket off.” She pretended to be shy, bit her lip. I stood, walked behind her chair, slowly dragged the zipper down, letting my thumb trace her neck, graze her lips, and flick her earlobe. Hung the jacket on the chair.
Underneath: paper-thin black top, nipples already poking like they were begging for teeth. I was diamond-hard.
Beers hit quickly. She stepped out for a smoke. I followed like a shadow. While she inhaled, I slid behind her, arms snaking around her waist, pressed my aching bulge against her crack of buttocks through denim and skirt.
No one on the street. I bent my knees a little and rubbed myself exactly between her butt cheeks. She exhaled smoke with a moan, pushed back greedily. Back inside, hands became reckless.
Small cautious kisses because people, but under the table, my fingers crawled between her thighs — burning hot, already damp. She slipped off one heel and rubbed my cock with her stockinged toes over the jeans until I almost groaned out loud.
We were feral. The other table was finally left. Washrooms were upstairs. I grabbed her wrist, kept cash on the table, and basically dragged her up the stairs. The moment we hit the landing, she jumped on me. Her legs around my waist, mouth attacking mine like animals finally freed.
I carried her into the gents’ toilet and locked the door with trembling fingers. I lifted her, planted her ass on the wide marble countertop. Red skirt rode up instantly — black stockings, soaked black lace panties clinging to her pussy lips.
I crashed my mouth into hers — deep, messy, saliva everywhere. She clawed my ass. I shoved my hand inside the skirt, yanked the panty aside, sank two fingers into her dripping heat and squeezed her mound hard. She screamed into my mouth, back arching.
I ripped the panties down to her ankles, dropped to my knees, and buried my tongue inside her. Tangy, salty, pure thirst. Thirty seconds of licking, and her thighs started quivering like an earthquake.
“Sid… this is sin… oh God… don’t… just fuck me please, just fuck me!”
I stood, fished the condom from my wallet, and tore the packet with my teeth. Jeans and boxer down in one motion — cock jumped out throbbing, veins pulsing. Rolled the rubber on while she watched with starving eyes, legs still spread like an invitation.
I hooked her knees over the counter edges, lined up, and slammed balls-deep in one brutal stroke.
She screamed. Loud. Echoed off every tile.
I grabbed her tiny waist and started pounding — hard, deliberate, punishing strokes. Her small tits bounced wildly under the thin top. I forced my tongue back into her mouth to muffle her, but she broke away, head falling back, moaning with every thrust.
“Sid… harder… chodo na… maaa go! chod amaye!” (Fuck me, Sid, fuck me harder.)
Four minutes of pure animal rutting — counter rattling, wet slapping sounds, her juices running down my balls, dripping on the marble.
Then — BANG BANG BANG on the door.
Waiter (shouting in Bengali): “Ke okhane? Ki korchen apni? Darja khulun jaldi!” (Who is there? What are you doing? Open the doors)!
Martina’s eyes snapped open in panic. But her pussy clenched even tighter around my cock — fear made her fucking wilder. I slapped my palm over her mouth and fucked her faster, sweat pouring down my back in November chill.
Forty-five seconds later, she detonated — entire body convulsed, nails carving into my arms, muffled screams vibrating against my hand. I felt every spasm milk me. Door banging became frantic. I was on the edge. One more minute of savage thrusting and I exploded inside the condom, vision going white.
Total penetration time: five-and-a-half minutes of pure madness. She completely forgot her panties. She just yanked her skirt down and bolted. She told the waiter breathlessly, “Bag bhule gechilam, Uber waiting!” (Forgot the bag, Uber is waiting outside!) and vanished down the stairs.
I stuffed her soaked black lace trophy into my pocket, zipped up, and stepped out cool as ice.
Waiter glared murder: “Sir ki korchen apnara? Alada washroom ache, camera ache!” (What are you doing? Cameras are here; we have separate washrooms.)
Me: “Hoe geche dada, COVID-er por etodin dhore… bujhtei toh paren.” (It’s been so long because of COVID-19, hope you understand.)
Didn’t wait for an answer, just strode out.
Outside, we laughed like lunatics, adrenaline crackling. Winter night, empty Kolkata streets shimmering. I kissed her hard, squeezed that ass one last time, and booked her Uber. She kept whispering, “Couldn’t have enough of you, criminal.”
Later on, chat:
Martina: “I forgot my panties because of you, criminal!”
I sent her a photo of her soaked lace in my fist.
Martina: “You’re dead!”
Video called, laughed till stomach hurt, promised each other a full night very soon.
Loved it? Hated it? Women — ever had sex in public and almost got caught? Guys — would you lose your mind if waiters were banging the door while you’re in this position?
Hit me up, tell me everything: [email protected].
What did you think of this story??
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