Aesthetics. Pleasure. Power.

He had a great cock.  Potentially one of the best dicks I'd ever had the pleasure to know.

Thick. Almost 8" long. A droop from the base and a slight curve upward when you got close to the head.  This pic does not do it justice.

It didn't hurt that it was attached to a man who was fucking gorgeous.

A great face, bearded, dark hair on his head, great glasses. Standing 6'5" and clearly someone who takes physical activity seriously.  And married.

I had answered his CL ad. He got back to me right away, but we played email tag for weeks. Literally.

I'm not saying he was a flake or even a tease, but time management wasn't great. I would go out of my way to make myself available only to get a cancellation. But he was always engaged. I'm not sure how he wrote his ad, but there were no images, nor did I ask for any. But I was intrigued to say the least.

We finally nailed down a time as he texted me where he was in his approach. He seemed invested.

He even drove up the drive with determination. Nothing timid about him.

As he walked up to the door he was grabbing his own crotch, aggressively, through his well tailored suit.  He was ready. I was too.

He just stood there, waiting. I was happy to help him out.  I rubbed his cock through his suit pants, feeling them fill out even more.  A man in a suit is so extraordinarily hot to me, I can't really accurately describe it.

But I think his aggressive nature, his suits, even how he drove spoke a lot about him. Aesthetics is important to him. Pleasure is important to him. Power is important to him.  And he needs to see those things.

Me on my knees, unzipping his fly brings all those into alignment. My mouth enveloping his fucking rock hard cock does too.

He was verbal too. More compliments than dirty talk, but it was our first time. I could totally see (or at least wish) that he'd get down and dirty in his verbal skills. I know he has it in him.

I loved feeling his hand on the back of my head, guiding me. I feel I need no assistance, but I love when a guy is in control.  I loved feeling his pubes on my lips, knowing, even with the curve, I took him to the root.  I liked hear him telling me to 'deepthroat me'.  And of course, I did.

During the blowjob, he kept reiterating how he'd be back - how he wanted more.

Men of power, aesthetics and pleasure are that way.  They know what they want, and go after it. When they get it, they keep control of it until they find better.

We discussed before he arrived what he was looking for. He asked where I wanted the load, and even though I wanted it in my mouth, I am smart enough not to say that to a man like this.

"That is not my decision" was my reply.  "It's wherever you want it".

I'm not being flip or smug - it's the fucking truth. When you are the one to go to your knees (or on your back) for a dominant guy, he calls the shots, including what he does with his load.

"Near the end, I want you to stroke my cock so I can shoot on your face".

It's about power.  It's about control. It's about the pleasure of him seeing his manhood shoot the seed of life - his seed.  He gets the pleasure of feeling the orgasm. He gets the pleasure of seeing the control he has over me - me doing what he requests.  He gets to see the power - his actual babymakers, as they coat my face.

The first jet was powerful. His moan was too. It went up my left cheek.

A few weaker shots hit my tongue, my beard and between my lip and nose.

Unexpectedly at that point, the most powerful jet shot out. Over my nose, up my right cheek and even into my eye.  I knew that eye part was eventually going to hurt (and it did).

But afterwards, he let me worship that cock. He let me clean it off.  He let me take it and roll it in his own cum on my face - both sides - and then let me stick it back in my mouth. I wasted barely a drop.

Then he had me clean him up so he could leave.  He'd gotten what he came for.

I have no doubt I will see him again.