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Dina (MF, romance)

Sweetums · 112

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Offline Sweetums

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on: July 26, 2021, 10:11:57 PM
She came out and called me in from the front area. I didn't catch her name. I suppose I could have read her little badge, but my eyesight is too bad, even with my glasses on, to read a moving target like that, jiggling on huge yummy breasts. “Thanks for getting me out of that waiting room,” I said. She was a lively, I believe, Latina, or perhaps Filipina. She couldn’t have topped farther than the nipples on my chest, but I’m 6’4”, so maybe 4”5’, 4’6”? Her figure could best be described as roly-poly. Taken as a whole, she was completely delightful. Suddenly, my starvation morning had become iridescent.

“Yeah, but do you have coffee?” she asked, even though she could see that I didn’t.

“Sorry,” I said.

“Crap, struck out again. Have you had coffee?” she asked.

“I think this is a fasting thing,” I said.

“Non-fasting,” she said. Then she looked at the piece of paper. “Oh right, fasting. Ha, well it’s on the bar codes.”

“What were you going to do, drain it out of me?” I joked.

“Well, I have all the tools,” she looked up at me mischievously. I could imagine her smile under the mask.

“Should I run away now?” I asked.

“Come into my lair,” she said. “Just there to the left.” She followed me in.

Even sitting down, I towered over her. “I have to warn you that I can be hard to get blood from,” I said. “They usually have to poke me twice.”

“Not a problem for me if it’s not a problem for you,” she joked. “I can go all day,” she said more suggestively.

“My veins are… deceptive,” I said.

“Deceptive,” she repeated, savoring the word. Her eyes danced.

“Worse yet, I’ve been working out,” I said.

“I can see that,” she said, her tiny hand resting on my bicep. “Now make a fist.” The little rubber constriction band she’d tied around my arm popped off and went flying. She fretted for only a moment and then pulled out another one.

I had to see her face. “Look, I’ve been vaccinated, and I bet you’ve been vaccinated, so can we drop the masks?”

“You want to see under my mask, eh?” she said.

“Pretty please.” I whipped my vaccination card out of my wallet to show her.

“You’re right, I’ve been vaccinated,” she said. We took our masks off. I immediately felt the urge to kiss her. Passionately. And I’m married and sixty years old. And she was perhaps mid-twenties? She looked like one of those professionals that didn’t have the time to date. Maybe in medical school. And then there was Covid. We matched smiles and she brightened further. It looked like she wanted to be kissed. I guess she liked my kind smile and cleft chin. The moment passed.

“So do you have a card for… ha ha,” she raised her eyebrows and then turned away quickly. She was worried, perhaps, she’d crossed the line, even though in good fun.

“Frankly, I never thought I’d get as lucky as I feel in this moment,” I said.

She turned back around and looked at me skeptically, then smiled slightly when she saw I was earnest and not just joking. She looked determined then, like she was going to make it happen.

“I can see what you mean about your veins being deceptive,” she said. “Let’s try your other arm and the mosquito needle.”

“Knock yourself out,” I said.

“Well, I’m having fun,” she smiled.

“Me, too, actually,” I said. “I hope you keep missing so I can stay.”

“You’re going to give me bad luck,” she said, looking up at me fixedly, kinda provocatively.

“We can’t have that,” I breathed.

She jammed in the needle. “See the splash?” she said. There was blood in the little plastic entrance to the needle. “With these, I can tell whether I hit the vein.” She started to fill her vials. “It’s a lot slower, though.”

“So I get to be here longer with you,” I said contentedly. She turned away a little uncomfortably then locked eyes with me again.

She pulled out the needle and asked, “Do you want a band-aid?”

“Please no,” I said. “The adhesive is the worst part.” Keeping my finger on the tiny wound, I raised my arm above my head.

“That’s how I know I’ve got a veteran blood donor,” she said. “Raising the arm above the head.”

The bleeding had stopped on the other one, too. I tore the bandage off it, and bent way over to throw it in her trash. “Look,” I said. Our faces were close. Her eyes closed. That was a yes. I kissed her gently, then more firmly. Then we got a little sloppy. I didn’t care, it felt liberating. Her little mouth, tasting faintly of toothpaste, electrified me. She broke the kiss and furtively looked towards the hallway. I was reminded we were in the middle of a busy medical clinic. In an alcove, surely, but still. There was no door on the alcove.

I found I must have idly picked up a container from her work table. It looked like one of those little containers for a side of coleslaw or potato salad. Sometimes I fidget with things without even noticing. “I’m sorry,” I said, “I touched this.” I put it back down.

“I gave that to you,” she said.

“You did? Well… thank you,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

“It’s a urine sample container,” she said.

“Oh no,” I said. “The reason I’m such a good programmer is that I can sit still for twelve hours. I feel this is a dubious endeavor.”

“Don’t worry,” she said. “Everything will be fine.” We stepped into the hallway. “Sit here, and when that door opens, there’s the bathroom.”

“Okay, I’ll try,” I said.

She went to talk to her coworker, a tall dark black woman with beautiful dreadlocks. “I’m going on break,” the black lady said down the hall. A man stepped out of the bathroom and walked off down the hall. I stood to go towards the available bathroom.

I stopped and watched my roly-poly testing lady shut and lock the hallway door. “I’ll help you,” she said. She took my hand, walked me into the quite spacious bathroom, and shut and locked the door. Everything was very clean. Now there were two doors and a long hallway between us and everyone else in the clinic.

She pulled off her pants and panties quickly. I didn’t know quite what was happening, so I followed suit. I put the seat down on the very clean toilet and sat her down on it, got on my haunches. Luckily, being a lifelong martial artist, even at sixty, I’m pretty stretchy. A good thing, because given I weigh 250, my knees directly on linoleum over concrete is not a happy thing. But I got comfortable enough for a long stay. She didn’t really need it. I wanted it badly. She was sloppy and fragrant. Had I been responsible for all this? Well, why not? I didn't want to overthink. She grabbed my hair as I dove in.

Fifteen minutes later, she pulled me back by the hair. She’d been moaning with pleasure and orgasming some, but hadn’t yet had a big one as far as I could tell. Her eyes were fierce, though. “Get up. My turn,” she said.

I stood up. Creak. Okay, okay. “I don’t need it,” I said. Unusual, but untouched, I was hard with desperate lust for her just from being with her, smelling and tasting her.

“Me neither,” she said, and choked down my cock delightedly. It felt like an act of real love and enjoyment, too, like my cunnilingus undoubtedly had. Of worship.

“Are you willing to?” I stammered. Reading my mind, she produced a condom. Swiftly and gently, it was on. It felt good, too. Not too tight. High quality. She met my eyes with an electric gaze and stood up. We kind of danced for a moment, trying to figure out how this was all going to work.

She ended up kneeling on the counter and straddling the bathroom sink. This turned out to be fortuitous, or perhaps planned, because she was a wet one. She held onto the faucet and had one cheek against the mirror. With her knees far apart, her tiny cunny was at just the right height.

Her ass was truly massive. I pushed into her easily. She was snappy tight, but so wet and gooey. Her fat ass held me off, tantalizingly. I wanted in more. Desperately in. I’m very strong. Holding her ass cheeks apart firmly with my hands, I began to slam into her. Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! With force, I was getting fully into her.

I stopped for a breath. “This isn’t too hard, is it?”

“Nuh-huh-uh,” she muttered back to me. It sounded like she was lost in bliss. Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! It was very gratifying, but I felt like I was going to cum too quickly. I slowed down and firmly thrust into her, for a while, really feeling her. I couldn’t get in as far, but it was good. “Fuck me,” she moaned, so it was back to Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

It was faster than I like, but she was so electric to be with. So perfect, out of the blue. Once I was truly in her, she was tauter than I'd had in many years and wetter than anyone I'd ever had. She was slippery, slidey, gripping, and I was going to finish. Her fat thighs and pudenda were stroking me on the way out. Her tight tiny hole was clenching me wetly on the way in. She was wet, practically splashing.

It had been longer than a sprint, but shorter than a marathon. It was going to be, like, a 1320. I was breathing hard, putting my life into it. Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

She made a moaning sound, like "Huh-uuuh." I couldn't tell if it was an orgasm because I was fucking her so hard. Or maybe it was the condom. “Okay,” I surrendered.

“Okay?” she repeated, confused. “Uh-huh...”

SMACK! That made her grunt. I locked into her tightly, and for the second time, I think, in my whole life, I ejaculated into a condom. Having been almost entirely in monogamous relationships since the age of fifteen, condoms are a rare hassle. Most are way too tight, and the big ones are a bit baggy. This one was good, though. I was fixed, so she wouldn’t have gotten pregnant. But I got it. The negatives of STDs are a little much to risk for a testing clinic quickie. Plus, she was a medical professional. Being safe about such things was integral to her character.

“Oh God, oh Jesus,” she said. It felt so good just to have my hands on her. Her expression, resting against the mirror, was cryptic. I was getting soft, and I was worried the condom would fall off. I slid out of her with a splash of her juices. The condom hadn't broken. I grabbed the rim with my fingers. She was literally dripping her juice into the sink.

“Did you have fun?” I ventured.

“Yes, okay,” she still seemed a bit disoriented.

I caught myself wondering how frequent an occurrence this was for her, then put it out of my mind. Way to cheapen the moment, self.

She paused. “I’ll just go into the sink, okay?”

I didn’t know quite what she was talking about, but, “Okay.”

A trickle, then a strong stream, then a hiss of urine that could tear the paint off the side of a house splashed into the sink. It was some young, fresh-smelling pee that reminded me of how young she was, albeit a few too many Doritos. She climbed off the counter. “Now it’s your turn,” she said.

I stammered, “I don’t think I can...”

“Nonsense,” she said, “Everybody can pee after sex. It’s natural.” She gripped my limp penis gently but  firmly and led me over to the toilet. She opened it. Her gentle but firm grip was electric, and I was getting hard again. About halfway hard, she said, “Do it.”

It was especially difficult with her holding it like that. I’d never done anything like it. But I did want to do it for her. A validation of her delightful nature and hard work, perhaps. Suddenly, I felt it. There was a trickle. Then a stream. She magically produced the cup and held it into the stream for a moment. It splashed a little. I finished my stream into the toilet. She let me go and sealed the container. I was harder now.

Like she read my mind, she said, “You're pretty feisty for...” she stopped there. She would never call me on old man just like I’d never call her a fat girl. What did those attributes mean about anything except perhaps make things a little more interesting, a little more challenging?

We washed hands, got dressed, and came back out into the hallway. I leaned way down and we kissed slowly, deeply, longingly. “I have to unlock now,” she said. That was goodbye.

“Can I call you?” I asked.

“You’re sweet,” she said, “and married.” She said it with finality. “And I never get out of this place anyway.” She was trying to be nice about it. Don’t bug me, old man.

“Well, you have my number if you change your mind,” I said. It was right there on my intake form. She unlocked the gate, and I didn’t look back.

(The end?)
« Last Edit: July 31, 2021, 06:45:00 AM by Sweetums »

Offline Sweetums

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Reply #1 on: July 26, 2021, 11:20:40 PM
A week later, I put the receipts from my wallet into my receipt box. I noticed a phone number on the back of something. It was in small curly writing. It was an information card from the clinic where I’d gotten my blood drawn. My fluids drawn. It was probably just an information number or something. I called it immediately.

“I was wondering when you’d call,” she said softly, excitedly. It sounded like she was at work.

“Oh my God this is a dream come true,” I said, practically hyperventilating.

She chuckled, almost a giggle. “Didn’t you see I’d slipped you my number? I gave you that card right after we kissed. Then at the end, you asked if you could call. I thought you were making fun of me for giving you my number so easily. Well, Holy Christ. I need to draw great wide lines on this runway, don’t I! Flashing lights for you! You almost made me call you. I almost called you just to be sure. You broke my will.”

“I am abject,” I said. “Can I take you to dinner tonight?”

“What about your wife?” she asked.

“You want to have my wife for dinner?” I asked.

“Ha ha, you’re a sick man,” she said. “You know what I mean.”

“She never goes out,” I said.

“Well...” she said, “okay then.”

“When and where?” I asked.

“The clinic closes at nine,” she said. “Meet me there. I’m not ready to give you my home address.”

“I don’t think we should go back to my place,” I said.

“Who says we’re going back anywhere?” she said defiantly.

“Do you really want to squeeze me into the back seat of my Prius?” I asked.

“Ha ha, sounds like a good Instagram post,” she said.

“Please, no,” I giggled. Then my wife came into the room. “Okay, nine it is,” I said soberly.

My clinic sweetheart probably thought it was a work thing. It was the middle of the day. “See you at nine,” she said.

I hung up. I said to my wife, “I’m going out around eight thirty. I’ll text you if I’m going to be late.”

“Whatever,” she said.


At 9 PM exactly, I texted my clinic sweetheart, “I’m out in the parking lot.”

She texted back, “I’ll be right down.” It bothered me that I still didn’t know her name.

My attention wanders. I was startled when she knocked on my window. I unlocked the car. She climbed in on the passenger side. “Do you have A.D.D. or something?” She wasn’t teasing. It was concern or curiosity, more like it.

“I was thinking deep thoughts,” I said half-jokingly. I had actually been thinking about a computing problem, so it wasn’t entirely a joke.

“Yeah... right. About what?” Now she was mocking me.

“About the way you looked at me when we both started thinking something should happen. About the feel of your mouth. About the feel of you… mmmm… in my hands.” In truth, I had been completely distracted by thoughts of her since our conversation that afternoon. I hadn’t gotten much work done. Luckily my tasks these days were job-based, so I had about 15 minutes to daydream about her between results, all afternoon.

“About the feel of my mouth where?” she chortled, crouching down in the seat, climbing over towards my lap. I tried to remember if a woman had ever tried to give me a driver-side blowjob. I didn’t think so.

“If you’re really doing this, I am not killing us both by taking my car out of park,” I said.

She halted her progress. “Well in that case, I’d rather not have my coworkers say, ‘Look, isn’t that Dina blowing some guy?’ when they walk to their car,” she said.

“Good idea, Dina,” I said. “Good i-Dina.”

“Well, now you’re for sure not getting a blowjob,” Dina said. “That’s like a joke my… from a different generation.”

“I know, dad humor,” I said. “I have three kids. Two of them are older than you. I’m not uncomfortable about that if you aren’t. I’m ecstatic. You’re what, twenty-five?”

“Twenty-eight,” corrected Dina.

“A twenty-eight year old in my car looking to blow me-”

“Not any more.”

“...Be that as it may, and teasing me for being old. I feel so fucking young right now.”

“And irresponsible too, I hope,” Dina said.

“Responsible enough to pay for dinner, and irresponsible enough to pay too much for it,” I said. I zipped my Prius out of the lot. It was a plugin, so I had miles before it made any noise.

The same could not be said for Dina and me. “You’re going to shatter my spine,” she said. “I feel like I’m in the W.W.E.”

“Softer? Different angle?”

“Mmmm, no, just like that,” she said quietly.

We’d had to cancel the steakhouse. We parked at a park, where it was very dark and empty. We were just going to talk and kiss for a while, but we ended up in the tiny backseat, with her underneath me.

Panties and everything flew everywhere. I plowed straight down into her while she gushed onto my seat. No condom. It was the best thing ever, but quick. She shrieked once during, near the end. That finished me off. I wanted to let go in her that first time so badly.

She was relieved to find out that she didn’t have to buy a morning after pill. She was Catholic. A somewhat heretical one, but even so. I sucked on her delicious fat titties for some time. I hadn’t met them earlier. She loved it that I went crazy over them.

She was hungry, we were hungry, so we went to an all-night diner. It was clean. The food was okay. “Next time, we’ll make it to the fancy restaurant,” I said.

“What makes you so sure there’ll be a next time?” said Dina.

“You’re right, I’m assuming,” I said. “I want to assume a lot with you, but it’s up to you, of course.”

“Relax, I was just teasing you,” she said. “You’re so literal-minded.”

“It's just it’s early,” I said. “Things are fragile. It matters to me. You matter to me.”

“I’m going to lay off these chili fries,” said Dina. “If I find myself… pressurized...”

“Under me?” I said softly, smiling.

“I don’t want to pop a sprocket,” she said.

“Now that you’ve been lavishly fed,” I said, “how may I please you?”

“You see, I have three roommates,” Dina said.

“Problematic roommates?” I asked.

“Women roommates,” she said.

“So no boyfriend, since we’re on the subject?” I asked.

“You’re number three,” she said. I liked the sound of that! Boyfriend! Amen!

She continued, “The first was just a one time thing. That scared me away for a long time. Then I fell in with this guy in college who was a real sweetheart. But he smoked too much cannabis. So it was either him or graduate. I graduated. Nothing since.”

“I’m surprised, based on your skills,” I said.

“Well thank you,” Dina said. She did the bodybuilder gesture.

“So the roommate problem is?” I asked.

“I haven’t discussed it with them,” she said. “We haven’t had boys there. It hasn’t come up.”

“What’s with your generation?” I said.

“Lay off, boomer,” she grinned.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

“Don’t call me ma’am,” she said, “I don’t have...” She examined me. “Ear hair.”

“Yes mistress,” I said.

“Ha ha,” she said. “Just Dina.”

“Dina-Dina,” I said. “Dina-Dina-Dina.” She hit me on the shoulder.

“So can I buy us a hotel room?” I asked.

“What about your wife?” Dina asked.

“She does not need a hotel room,” I said.

Dina fretted. “I’m serious.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I will call her and tell her I’m staying at a hotel tonight.”

“Do you do that often?” Dina asked, suddenly a little freaked out.

“I never have before,” I said.

“Won’t she call the police or something?” Dina asked.

“And tell them what, her husband is staying at some hotel in town?” I said.

“Won’t you hurt her?” she asked.

“We’ve discussed things like this in general terms. Because she’s not interested in doing it anymore,” I said.

“What’s really going on?” Dina asked.

“I don’t know. She says she doesn’t feel anything anymore. She seems happy that we don’t do it anymore,” I said.

“Well, that’s sad,” she said.

“It’s not happy,” I said.

“Why don’t you break up with her?” Dina asked.

“I’m like you with boyfriends, I suppose,” I said. “I’m busy. I’m lazy, to be frank. Divorcing someone is a bitch and a half. I would have to sell my house.”

“You sound experienced,” she said.

“This is wife number three,” I said.

“Jeez,” she said.

“Does that frighten you?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “You seemed… worldly… to me. I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. So… how many women have you been with?”

“Twenty-three,” I answered, “including you.”

“That’s a pretty exact number,” she said.

I said, “For me, it’s the kind of thing you remember pretty exactly. Anyway, you’ve been changing the subject. If you don’t want to get a hotel room, we can go slower, it’s okay.”

“I didn’t say that,” Dina said. “You’re just distracting.”

“Really?” I said. “I seem boring to myself.”

“You remind me of that guy um-Benedict Cumberbatch plays,” she said.

“Doctor Strange?” I asked.

“No the… English… guy,” she said. “With the other guy.”

“Well, he is English,” I said.

“You know, Watson and...” she said.

“Sherlock?” I said incredulously. Then in my best English accent, which is bad, I said, “We must uncover the mystery of… DINA. First we must search every… PORE... with... KISSES.”

“Is that a very good search technique?” Dina asked.

“You can let me know afterwards,” I said.

And so we spent the night together. We slept a little. I did not break my record of nine times in a row. But I did learn or remember that mostly the woman sets the pace. I suppose I did help set the pace by continuing to tap in. A twenty-eight year old highly motivated partner, even a fairly out-of-shape one, was like to kill me. I don’t think I ever had a night packed with so much fun.

At first, she enjoyed that I popped off quickly, that she made me cum. She wanted to see it shoot out. Then, of course, I got slower and slower.

Recovering just so I could have another erection, I spent a long time worshiping between her legs. I enjoyed it, I was learning what drove her wild. Licking under the clitoris so that I just touched the clitoris while stroking her g-spot with a finger inserted in her anus really did it for her reliably well.

Then, doing it, I would last forever, and she wanted it hard. Hard, hard. Like choke me, hold me by the hair, slap my tits hard. She didn't even know how hard until I tried that stuff on her and she said, "Yeah, that." And her ass was so red. Every fuck stroke she liked was like spanking her as hard as possible with my hips. It moved her. I could do it for four or five minutes, then I had to rest for thirty seconds or a minute. I could just rub it between her slippery thighs to stay hard. Then I was back to just wailing on her for another four or five minutes, with all my weight behind it. These fucks would last a long time, like ten or twelve rounds of that, before I always came harder than ever before. It was like turning inside out. I would think to myself, fuck, I'm dying, I'm dead, I'm so happy. And she would still be all over me, a dynamo of energy, rubbing me and kissing me while I groaned and tried to turn myself right way out again. Way more pleasure than I'd ever endured.

When Dina and I weren’t making love with desperate energy, I was laughing so hard I about died. I fell off the bed twice, and it was a king size. The bed did actually seem slightly structurally ruined in the morning. I’ve broken beds before, but never a hotel bed.

(The end?)
« Last Edit: July 31, 2021, 06:39:55 AM by Sweetums »