Quick Draw

“Will you please stop that? Premature ejaculation is no laughing matter, you arsehole.”

I glowered at Steve over the rim of my pint, aware that I was blushing furiously as he rocked back in his chair, a huge grin on his face. Still, it was good to get it off my chest. There are some things you can only tell your best mate – or your doctor, I guess, though I didn’t think this particular situation quite merited medical intervention. Not yet, anyway.

“I mean what’s wrong with me? I’m 32 years old, for fuck’s sake, not some trigger-happy 18-year-old. This has never happened before – even when I actually was a teenager.”

And it was true. Bar the odd mishap here and there – usually my first time with someone new, which everyone knows is a freebie anyway – I’ve always been proud of my staying power. I’m not one of those guys who just pounds away for hours on end, but I have enough self-control to hold back till I know we’ve both had a good time, and that’s served me well over the years.

Until I met Zoe.

Zoe, with her cute, chubby curves and casual strut, as if she was in complete command of every situation she encountered. Zoe, whose deadpan wit and supremely filthy mouth had me shifting uncomfortably in my seat within five minutes of the introductory handshake she thrust my way at a bullshit networking event in town one evening.

“Hi, I’m Zoe,” she said. “Please tell me you’re not as dull as the last fucker I talked to.”

Three hours later, we fell through the front door of her poky little ground floor flat and onto the only small patch of sofa not covered by clothes, books, or legal notepads. She had my suit trousers down around my ankles before I could bend over to take off my shoes, and I realised then that my best option was to sit back and see where she wanted to take things.

“I’ve been desperate for this all day. Wait here while I go upstairs and get a condom – unless you’ve got some with…ahhh, good.”

I reached into my jacket pocket and tossed two shiny foil packets towards her. I wasn’t planning to get laid that night, but you never know what opportunities life is going to put in front of you, so it’s always best to cover your bases. Besides, I’m picky when it comes to condoms – some people just go for whatever’s on offer that week in Boots, and life’s way too short, y’know.

Zoe rolled the first condom halfway down my dick, then stood up and hiked her skirt around her waist. Before I’d finished pushing the rubber seal all the way to the base, her knees were planted either side of me and I felt the soft brush of her cunt as she lined it up over the tip.

“I hope you’re ready,” she said. “Because I really want your cock inside me.”

I swallowed hard and nodded. Yes, yes I was ready. Too ready, as it turned out. At the time, I put it down to her words, and the way they trailed off the moment she flicked her hips forward and braced herself against my shoulders. Either way, I felt it building almost immediately, accompanied by a sudden jolt of panic.

“No…no, wait,” I muttered, and slid my hands under her arse, trying to prevent her from sinking any further onto my cock. It was already too late though. Zoe’s smirk made it very clear that she’d seen the horror spread across my face as I tried to hold back; her response was to clench hard, and swallow any further protest with a messy smush of her lips on mine.

Less than a minute after her cunt first settled over my cock, I felt it jerk inside her: once, twice, and then that familiar series of shorter, softer twitches, each one filling the tip of the condom with spunk. As my thighs slowly relaxed, she let one hand fall to my chest and fixed her eyes on mine.

“Ok then! That was quick. Someone clearly hadn’t had sex for a while.”

My mumbled response was directed somewhere over her left shoulder. The truth was that I’d hooked up with an old flame the previous afternoon, for a couple of lazy, itch-scratching shags, so whatever else was going on, I certainly couldn’t chalk it up to being undersexed.

Zoe curled her thumb and forefinger round the base of my dick and gave it an experimental squeeze. To my surprise, I was still hard, so reached for the second condom packet and waved it in front of her with what I hoped was a convincing approximation of nonchalance.

Pausing only to run the flat of her tongue up the underside of the shaft (“mm…spunky”), Zoe switched the used condom for a new one and pulled me to my feet. Ducking under my arm, she knelt in the same patch of sofa I’d just occupied, and looked back at me over her shoulder.

I didn’t need any further encouragement. Fanning my hand out across one arse cheek, I tilted her body till I could see her cunt glistening up at me, slick and ready. It was so inviting that I pumped two fingers inside her, back and forth, pulling out only when they were coated with wetness.

“I think that’s more thrusts than you managed with your cock last time.” Zoe’s voice was muffled by the sofa cushions, but I could hear the smile on her face. Stuck for a response that would claw back any of my lost dignity, I nudged her thighs further apart and shivered at her small gasp of anticipation.

Even before I watched the full length of my cock disappear inside her, I knew that gasp would bring nothing but trouble. Few things in life are more arousing than having someone you fancy offer unequivocal evidence that they really want you – that their enthusiasm for what you’re about to do is impossible to contain – and so it proved on that occasion.

“Fuuuuuck, that’s good,” I half-whispered as my pubic mound pressed snug to her arse. “Just let me get used to…”

Zoe clutched the back of the sofa and pulled herself forward, then rocked back onto me with an exaggerated roll of her hips. Like a belly dancer warming up before a big routine, each lift and shimmy seemed to come a little quicker than the last, and my sharp warning tap on her arse was completely ignored. I tried to pull away, but her low, shaky “don’t you fucking dare” was hissed out with such startling force that my legs almost gave way under me.

I don’t know whether she felt my dick spurt for a second time through the condom, but there was no way to hide or disguise the noise I made when I couldn’t hold back any longer. Zoe’s hand immediately dipped between her legs, and her nails brushed the base of my cock as she worked her clit. 30 seconds later, and with fresh mortification colouring my cheeks, she gripped my fading erection one last time and shuddered against me.

“You ok back there, Quick Draw?”, she murmured, after a full minute of silence. I patted her arse in response, not trusting myself to speak just yet, and unsure whether the warmth in my chest and neck was a result of humiliation or fresh arousal. I was ok, absolutely, but I was also confused, uncertain, and more than a little embarrassed.

That embarrassment stayed with me during my bus ride home, and hadn’t yet faded when Zoe called me a week later. I hadn’t expected to hear from her again – our encounter had the feel of a one-night thing, even before its rapid-fire conclusion – but she brushed past my startled greeting and got straight to the point.

“Hey Quick Draw – you busy tonight? I could use some company if you’re up for it.”

At eight o’clock that evening – and on three further occasions over the next fortnight – I rang Zoe’s doorbell and weaved through the clutter to her surprisingly tidy bedroom. Each time I showed up confident that things would be different, and each time I left at a loss to explain what had just happened.

It didn’t matter whether we left penetration till the very end, or tried to take the edge off with a quick, up-front shag – the result was the same either way. Not that Zoe seemed too bothered by it. I suppose it helped that I was always keen to make up for any shortcomings in one department by really going to town in others. Much of our time was spent stretched out across her king-size mattress, Zoe propped up on two elbows and a stack of pillows, while I got comfortable between her legs; occasionally I’d peer up through the hair of her generous bush at her half-closed eyes and strangely distant smile, but for the most part I focused on exploring every square centimetre of her cunt as her soft belly fluttered up and down in time to her breathing.

We also had a lot of fun making our way through the contents of her well-stocked toybox. I noticed immediately that she favoured large, well-made dildos that bore only a passing resemblance to an actual penis – not least because they came in a variety of cheerful colours and patterns. Used in tandem with my mouth or hands, they coaxed from her orgasm after orgasm, each one punctuated by the same soft, staccato sounds as her fingers gripped and pulled at my hair.

Invariably though, a point would come when Zoe wanted a different kind of penetration – something she was never shy about demanding in terms that brooked no argument. She had a clear preference for positions that forced my cock deep inside her, which she typically followed by clamping her legs tight around me, locking us close together and giving me limited control over how quickly (or slowly) we fucked.

That first evening I went back there, I think I managed to grit my teeth through four or five minutes of almost painfully exquisite PIV sex before the cliff edge crumbled under my feet. After that, I was lucky if I made it to two. My cock just seemed unable to resist the combination of her fresh, cut-grass scent, her gentle, rolling curves, and the eager insistence with which her cunt stroked it, again and again, till I buried my face in her neck and moaned into the pillow of hair that fell around it.

Each time, Zoe followed my long exhalation with a small, unreadable sigh of her own. I spent many hours trying to work out its base ingredients and their respective quantities: was it impatience or relaxation? Pity or pride? Frustration or satisfaction at a job well done? There was never any malice in the low chuckle that always cut through any apologies I tried to offer, but her eyes glittered constantly with amusement and something that looked suspiciously like mischief. Whatever else went through her head during those sweaty, post-coital moments of silence, I think she was well aware of the power she held over me.

For my part, it’s not like I didn’t try to break the pattern. The last time we hooked up, I even masturbated before I left home – which might have helped, if I hadn’t made the mistake of telling Zoe about it once I got there.

“Mm, interesting,” was her only response, until we’d been fooling around for an hour or so and I finally pushed the head of my cock inside her. I bit down hard on my lip, just about holding in a grunt of arousal at the way her plump, supple cunt pulled me in deeper.

“Quick Draw,” she said, a serious look on her face. “If you can last three minutes without coming this time, I’ll let you fuck my arse later.”

The timer on her phone said 41 seconds when the first shot of jizz coated the inside of yet another condom. She patted my cheek afterwards with such teasing, triumphant insouciance that I nearly came again right away.

Of course I didn’t tell Steve about that bit. Nor did I mention the way it made me feel when I bumped into Zoe outside the supermarket earlier that week, laughing and chatting with two other women; how they both turned to her with raised eyebrows when I introduced myself, and the way her eyes never left mine as she nodded smugly in response. Women talk, that look said, and I scuttled into Tesco with a red face and an achingly hard cock.

No, there are some things you can’t even tell your best mate. For sure, premature ejaculation was no laughing matter, and I was embarrassed enough that talking it out over a few beers felt very much like a problem halved – I just wasn’t altogether sure it was a problem I wanted to solve. By the time Steve pulled himself together and started offering what passed for helpful advice, my thoughts had already drifted back to Zoe’s bedroom, and it took me a few seconds to realise that he’d interrupted his monologue to ask a question.

“Sorry, what did you say?”

“Dickhead. I asked whether you’re going to see her again.”

My phone buzzed against the table next to me, and the ‘new message’ light began to flash.

“Oh. Um, yeah, I don’t know. Maybe.”

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