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ConSensual
ConSensual

Episode 9 · 2 years ago

Sex, Brunch, and Rock & Roll

ABOUT THIS EPISODE

An embarrassing moment in bed leads to lots of new role playing opportunities.

Check out our GoFundMe and support season two, starring Cleo! https://www.gofundme.com/f/consensual-season-2

Hey consensual listeners, we hope you're loving ingrid and Noah's love story. We're officially halfway through season one and we need your help to bring Cleo's story to your ears. Next, click the link in our show notes or our instagram bio and check out our go fund me, featuring lots of perks at different donation levels, including stickers, season two sneak peaks and even an opportunity for Cleo to diss your ex in the second season. If you want more of Cleo and more of consensual, you can also help us out by leaving a five star review on Apple podcasts and subscribing wherever you listen. We can't wait for more Steamy Romance and laugh out loud moments with you in season two. Happy Listening. So who knew that Noah Bloom is good at secks, like really, really fucking good at sex. After resurfacing to the world, I prop myself up on my elbows to watch Noah's baby blue eyes meet mine from between my thighs. Where did you learn to do that? I rake at the wet hair plastered to my forehead. He smiles, placing soft man madness inducing kisses along my inner thighs, his stubble tickling the sensitive skin. You know, winners are like an Indiana. Not a whole lot to do except stay inside. We laugh and I pull his face up to mine, wrapping my legs around his waist. He cradles my face with one hand, the other taking a handful of my already tender breast. That kind of performance was the last thing I ever expected from this guy, and all that knowledge does is leave me hungry for more. Without breaking away, I reach over to my bedside table, sliding open the top drawer and rummaging around for a condom. Noah perks up at the familiar sound of crinkling plastic, pulling back to look me in the eye. Are you sure I want you inside? Me? Handing him the rubber, I crane my neck to kiss his chest. He doesn't hesitate, sliding it on and shifting to align his hips with mine. The moment our bodies come together, I swear to fucking God no one's ever fits so perfectly before. I gasp at the first thrust, digging my nails into his skin as he groans fuck, seemingly just as surprised and pleased as I am. We quickly work into a frantic, breathless rhythm, and it becomes harder and harder to contain the sounds coming out of me. It's been years since anything was ever this hot and passionate in the bedroom and honestly, if I had the capacity to think too hard about it, that very fact would probably scare the ever living shit out of me. But instead I'm lost in the moment, my fingers running through his hair, every nerve ending in my body lit up and wanting more. Out of instinct, I roll us over, climbing on top of him with my knees on either side of his hips, every place where his skin touches mine electric. I guide him inside me and rock my hips, bending over to nozzle into his neck. He takes a fistful of my hair, not quite pulling but holding it tightly enough to do the trick. A second orgasm takes hold of me, my body tensing around him, the MOANS coming out of me practically in human. He holds me as the shock waves course through my body, sending me to another plane of blissful existence. When I opened my eyes, I see he's...

...not quite finished and I take him in my hand, peeling the sticky latex away. I lower my face in line with his cock and toss my hair over my shoulder. Can I help you with this? H The sound he makes trails off into a growl as I run my tongue along the length of his shaft, massaging his balls with my free hand. It doesn't take long until he's panting and I watch his abdomen repeatedly tense and Untense with every movement of my mouth. Fuck that feels good. Placing a hand at the base of my neck, he guides my head, panting and cursing, until I can feel him getting close. His body tenses Fuck Ingrid. How about? His words trail off into a low guttural Moan as he unloads and I swallow every last drop. Jesus Christ, that was he breathes heavily, staring up at the beige ceiling and running his fingers through his hair. I only chuckle in response, giving his thigh a pat before climbing off the bed and heading to the bathroom to clean up. I don't care how good the sex is, no man is worth getting a fucking UTI. When I return from the bathroom, I'm surprised to find Noah still naked and lying in my bed. I Sigh, grabbing an oversized t shirt from my dresser and slipping it over my head. He rolls over onto his side, propping his head up on one arm, giving me a look that's honestly too mushy for comfort. At this point, I sit down next to him, folding one leg under me and keeping the other on the floor. I'm careful to keep my voice sweet and calm. Hey, bud, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but you gotta go. The look on his face crumbles into confusion, his brows knitting together as he quickly sits up and covers himself. Fuck, you must think I'm such a creep. He stands and steps into his underwear, scanning the room for the rest of his clothes. I jut my Chin to the corner where his shirt and pants lie in a haphazard heap. Nah, I'm just not a huge fan of sharing the bed, right me? Neither for sure. Noah almost loses his balance trying to get his pants on. Once dressed, he walks to the doorway and turns, a sheepish look on his face. Should I you can leave that door open. The front door will look automatically behind you. With that, I climb under the covers and adjust the pillows behind my head. Right, right, okay, good night, I guess. He looks like he wants to say something more, but ultimately decides against it, turning and walking down the short hallway to my door. I listen as his footsteps get farther and farther away, until the loud swish and click of the door lets me know that he's finally gone. I can't help the smile still lingering on my lips as I roll over and drift off into a deep postcoital sleep. When I wake up the next morning, I pull my hair into a messy ponytail, throw on my best comfy but acceptably at leisure clothes and hop into an uber to meet Cleo for Brunch. She's going to absolutely lose her shit when she hears how my night went. Once we're seated, CLEO raises her Mimosa high over the wicker table between US chairs. Bitch to another week surviving in the concrete jungle. We down our drinks before immediately refilling them. Listen, judge all you want, but the bottomless brunches in New York are strict and we've only got forty five more...

...minutes before this magical graph is taken away until next Sunday. WHO even calls it the concrete jungle anymore? I pat my chest, trying to avoid a massive champagne induced burp. If it's good enough for a Leisha Quy's, it's good enough for me. CLEO scans the menu, not that either of us will stray from our usuals. I'm sure. We've been coming to the same brunch spot in the West village for almost two years now and we solidified our regular orders pretty much after the first month. I'm a sucker for a good eggs benedict and Cleo always goes for their variation on chicken and waffles. Plus, if it's been a good week, will often split a side of Hash browns. Let's just say this has been a good week. We've been coming here so often this place feels almost like a home away from home, the kind of safe haven you death spirity need as a lifer in the city. Lord knows will never be able to afford some gorgeous brownstone with a secluded patio and state of the art kitchen. But returned to the same cute, rustic looking outdoor patio. Enough and it'll start to feel like your own. With wicker furniture, gauzy white curtains and or kids in every window sill. This restaurant is about as close as we'll ever get to our own personal heaven. So how's work going? Any callbacks yet? CLEO's been trying to make it as an actress for as long as I've known her, and while no one can deny that this superwoman works her ass off, it hasn't been easy out here for her. She's an outofstate transplant like me, who packed up her life one day and moved to the big city to follow her dreams. Unfortunately for her, that's pretty much everyone's story in New York. But she works her ass off and that's more than a lot of people can say. Plus, she's pretty fucking brilliant at what she does, and I'm not just saying that because I'm her best friend. She doesn't need me to she's just that good. In response to my question, Cleo groans and slumps her shoulders. Of You self tapes, but nothing big. I'm mostly living off Nan any money. Let's talk about something other than work. What's new with you? Did you meet up with that guy from high school? Oh, Jesus, okay, it's time. She was going to find out about it one way or an another. I yeah, I did, actually, it was nice. I shrug and take a sip of my drink. CLEO watches my face intently, her eyes growing wide and animated. Holy Shit, you didn't. The waiter arrives at Our table before I can answer, and we place our orders with straight, smiling faces, handing him our menus and asking for a refill on the graffe after he returns with our fresh round of Mimosas Cleo stares at me expectantly, her eyebrows about to disappear into her hairline. All right, yes, we fuck. CLEO does a little dance in her chair, but it's not a big deal, I add, twisting the end of my low ponytail around my finger. No, of course not. You just fucked some hunk for your hometown you haven't seen in eight years, like I fucking knew you would, you sexy little home oh my God, I brought my elbows up on the table, hunching over to avoid eye contact with any other patrons on this patio. How was it is he good? Did his stubble give you rug burn down there? It was good, like really good, like Kenny from hoboken. Good, better than Kenny from hoboken. She leans forward. I didn't know it was possible to be better than Kenny from welboken. I shake my head, raising my hands in the air. I'm foxed. Jesus, what are YOU gonna do? I mean honestly, I have...

...no idea. When we talk we almost always somehow end up arguing about something and not just like, Oh, I think Netflix is overrated. Like he said some Shitty stuff about a female instructor and his program you hate that, right, but then he can be really surprising sometimes, like he told me the story about his dad. That was like super sad and he was vulnerable and emotional for a second. And then there's the sex. So I just don't know. You know, Cleo nods sympathetically, chewing the inside of her lip. Was He really talking Shit about Netflix? We laugh and the waiter brings our food, my stomach growling at the site. If only that we're all, he said. Anyway, what about you? How are things with Bo? She shrugs, taking a bite of her chicken her face lighting up as the food hits her tongue. I mean, there's no cunning from hoboken. I snort so hard I almost shoot hollandaise through my nose, but was fine. I've actually been meaning to tell you he brought up something interesting the other night after we hooked up. She cuts up her waffle with a fork. Oh, he said he doesn't think it's realistic for two people to ever truly satisfy each other, like sexually, like in any way. I guess he's been a practicing nonmonogamous for a few months now and he claims it's turned his whole world around. I am physically unable to keep my eyes from rolling. HMM, yeah, I'm sure it has. No but see, that's the thing. I felt the same way at first, but the more we talked about it, the more it made sense. Every relationship, well every good one at least, is all about honesty and communication. Right, the same principles apply for nonmonogamous ones, and really it's up to each couple to decide what is and isn't okay. there. Rules just happen to include fucking other people. Sometimes I stare at Cleo, legitimately surprised by the words coming out of her mouth. I feel like that only works if both people are honest about wanting to sleep with another person. She shrugs. I don't know if you have to have a certain person in mind. I think sometimes just leaving the door open is enough. Huh. What your many things, Cleo, but I never pegged you as a hippie. Careful, your small town roots are showing. After paying our bills, we part ways and I had home to get started on my normal Sunday afternoon routine, laundry, cleaning and staring at my phone. By the time I've flop done the couch later that evening, some inane reality show playing in the background. While I scroll through my phone, I can't stop thinking about the talk I had with Cleo earlier. It wasn't the first time a guy brought something up to one of us that seemed a little out of the ordinary, but it's the first time she and I have had such different reactions to it. Honestly, I'm proud of her for being so open and willing to try new things, but at the same time everything she described kind of just sounded like a recipe for heartbreak and exposure to stiys. If nothing else, her sex life drama is a far cry from what I'm dealing with. There's no way in hell that small town Indiana boy is about to use words with as many syllables as nonmonogamy, let alone suggest we form an open and ever evolving commitment to each other that also includes having sex with other people. Hell, if anything, hooking up with Noah is making me feel like I'm back in high school again, wondering when he's going to text me and why it's taking so long, and whether I should just ignore him for the next five days regardless. Maybe I should be with someone as adventurous and different as Bo. I've always played it pretty safe...

...when it comes to guys. Maybe I could use someone who will pull me out of my boring Hetero straitlaced Shell. Noah's name lights up at the top of my screen. I open the message, my stomach flip flopping at what I find. You were amazing last night. I can't stop myself from smiling and giggling like some fifteen year old being asked to the prom. Maybe Noah isn't going to challenge my perceptions of monogamy. Hell, it might be a step backward to be sleeping with someone from my hometown when I have the largest pool of single guys in the country at my disposal, but if he wants to gasp me up about my performance in bed, I'm not going to stop him. I was pretty fucking amazing last night, and it's like a cherry on top having him thinks so too. You weren't too bad yourself, cowboy. What are you up to? A thought pops into my head and at first I brush it away. I couldn't. He's Noah Bloom. He wouldn't have the balls. But then I remember the vigor with which he ate me out last night and I figure what the hell, it's worth a shot. Wishing you were here, the response comes almost immediately. Yeah, what would you want to do? I smile and roll over onto my stomach. scrolling through the emoji keyboard for the eggplant, the TACO, the tongue and the rain drops. Those three gray dots appear immediately, then disappear, then appear again. When the text does come through, I don't know whether to laugh or panic. Want to try that in person. I can be at your place in ten I look down at the Yoga Pants I've been wearing and drinking champagne in for approximately ten hours. I don't need to take a whiff to know those bad boys do not smell fresh, but I'm almost positive I still have a cute lace trimmed nighty buried somewhere in the closet. I take a deep breath and send my reply buzz when you get here. sprinting to my closet, I rifle through my pajamas after what starts to feel like a waste of two precious minutes, my fingers land on the Silky Blue Fabric I've been looking for. I pull out a classic baby doll nighty. It's essentially every teenage boy's wet dream, complete with a gauzy overlay padding in the Bra and creamy lace around the edges. CLEO and I had gone lingerie shopping together after a particularly rough breakup of hers a couple of years back, and this is what I ended up bringing home. Part of me wonders if it's too much for a casual hookup, but I shrug the thought off. I sent some intense EMOJI's. It's on me to follow through. I shimmy out of my clothes and do what my dad calls the poor man's shower, run a makeup removing wipe over my pits and privates, layer are on some fresh deodorant and Swish some listerine around in my mouth. Slipping into the nighty, I make sure to scoop my boobs up to get the full effect of the padding. I give my hair a quick tossle before checking the time. If my calculations are right, I've got about three minutes left. I make a mad dash around the apartment, throwing out a couple of old takeout containers and putting dirty dishes in the dishwasher. I even have the wherewithal to light a Goddamn anthropology candle before he rings the Buzzer. I'm feeling like a fucking rock star. Honestly, this feeling alone might be better than anything any man can do in the bedroom. But that doesn't mean I won't give Noah a chance to beat...

...it. I press the button on the intercom to let him in. I hear his footsteps coming up the stairs and when he knocks on the door, I check my reflection in the hallway mirror before opening it. Yep, definitely living up to the liberal sexting EMOJI use. I swing the door open and Noah's jaw practically drops to the floor. You look not here. I cut him off, grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him inside. He stumbles after me, his mouth still hanging open, his eyes wide as they travel from my cleavage to my legs, taking a brief detour to linger over the very visible outline of my panties. I lead him to the bedroom and push him onto my bed. He sits on the edge, a bulge already visible next to his zipper. I stand in front of him and allow a few moments for him to properly take me in. I'm still feeling Pretty Damn accomplished. No lastminute hookup has ever started out this smoothly. You're so fucking hot. His eyes are glued to my body. The way he's looking at me makes me feel wild and sexy and really, really turned on. I walk around him and he pulls his shirt over his head and ache forms in my belly and I nod to his jeans. He obeys, unbuttoning and kicking them into the corner. The outline of his arousal is fully visible now and the egg spreads between my legs needy and persistent, I slide my panties over my hips as he takes off his briefs and all in one motion I'm on top of him, straddling his waist. As our mouths collide, chests heaving, we move further up the bed. He rolls US over and lays my head gingerly on my pillow. I'm ready to protest, but he starts trailing kisses down the side of my neck and over my chest, on a sure direct path between my legs. Suddenly I have zero problems with what's about to happen. His stubble grazes my inner thigh just as his tongue reaches my center, and the first contact floods my body with warm, blissful pleasure. I let out a long, low sigh, pressing my head back into the pillow, my hips rolling along with Noah's gift from God of a mouth. My eyes close and my whole body relaxes as gentle waves of pleasure wash over me and the tiniest bit of Drool escapes from the corner of my mouth. I'm back in the classroom and this time Mr Bloom is standing over me, his impossibly tight buttoned down, threatening to rip with a single flex of his pack. Do you know what we do to naughty girls? He takes a handful of my ass in his palm. I whimper and shake my head, my eyes flitting to the massive bulge straining in his pants. He scoops me onto the desk and lays me flat, the cold metal a sharp contrast to the warmth of his hand. His fingers trail over my soaking panties, sending a shock through my core. He grunts and pulls his hand away, a smile twisting on his face. You like that, don't you? Angry, naughty, Ingrid, greedy, Ingrid, dirty, naughty, sad, desperate, Ingrid, Jesus Ingrid, ingred. Are you okay? I opened my eyes to find Noah's Pale, sweaty face hovering over mine, his hands on my shoulders.

Mr Bloom, my head feels groggy, like I've just been woken up from, Oh fuck, from a dream. Oh my fuck. My eyes focus on Noah, the look on his face a mix between horror and confusion. No, no, no, did you fall asleep? I sure fucking did. I push him off me and sit up, stifling a yawn. I sneak a glance between his thighs. Not fully soft yet. I can maybe salvage this. Arching my back, I leaned toward him, batting my eyelashes and dipping my chin. I walk my fingers toward him across the Duvet. Hmmm, I think your magical pussy eating put me in some kind of trance Ingrid. Maybe I can make it up to you. I arch a brow at his manhood w which seems to almost be looking back at me and disapproval. Noah shakes his head, the look on his face growing sterner by the second. That was like fucked up. I I thought you were into it, but then you stopped responding and when I realized you were unconscious, it felt like I was violating the look on his face is so earnest, so concerned, I have to keep myself from laughing. You are too nice. Excuse me for thinking there's a problem when one person to hook up is unable to say no. Okay, all right, Mister woke millennial man, we get it. Gold Star for understanding the bare minimum of consent. I don't have to check to know that his semi is fully deflated. So much for a smooth last minute hook up. Soon Noah is standing and stepping into his briefs. I I should go. It's not a big deal, Noah, I just had a long day. I was drinking earlier. Champagne makes me sleepy. You were great. It had nothing to do with you. He nods half heartedly, his jeans in his hand. I lean into a position I know perfectly showcases my tits in this nighty. Listen you let me know when you're ready to reschedule, because I know what that tongue can do and I've got a couple more ideas for how you could use it. He pauses and turns back to look at me, struggling to keep his eyes away from my cleavage. If I'm not mistaken, I think I catch a hint of a stirring in those briefs. Why don't you come here and I'll tell you about them? I pat my hand on the space next to me on the bed. After hesitating for a moment, Noah drops his jeans and climbs onto the bed next to me, propping himself up on one elbow. There's a playful glint in his eyes. Fine, but first, why don't you tell me more about Mr Bloom ten week turnabout is written by Amelia J rose, produced by consensual, creating steamy feminist first romance for riot carls. Special thanks to baby money and the down payments for the use of our theme song, Oh boy head. Sound Engineer John McNeil, mixing by spiral like creative mastering by aiding Guivora. Follow us at consensual pod on instagram and follow at the Noah Bloom and at the Ingrid Wheeler to watch this love story play out on your instagram feed. This episode was performed by Alison Grishaw, Travis Donohu and Nadia Pellettier. Tune in next week to hear Ingrid drunk text here. Where are you? We're doing shots without you. Hurry up and GIRT HER.

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