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His fingertips dig into the couch cushion, and I do it again. Experimental strokes. Getting the lay of the land.
Slow, teasing pumps at first, because that’s how I do it to myself. I slide my fingers over the head, and his hips push up. I tighten my hand around him, alter the pressure and the pace of my strokes until his hips are undulating. I press my thumb against the slit and swipe at the bead of liquid there. He slams his hips up and swears out loud, and it spurs me on.
So I lower my head.
And take the tip in my mouth.
It’s soft is my first thought. The skin, not the dick. The dick is very, very hard. Salty bitterness drags over my tongue when I give an experimental lick. It’s unfamiliar. Not unpleasant. Just strange. New.
I move my head up and down, one hand around the base of his dick. The muscles of his thighs tighten underneath my other palm. His fingers dig into my shoulders, then slide through my hair. He pulls at it. Twists his fingers until I’m forced to take him deeper into my mouth. I move my hand up and down his length and follow it with my mouth, taking him as deep as I can.
He spreads his thighs farther apart. The fingers of his right hand let go of my hair and dance down my cheek. In a moment of inspiration, I angle myself so the head of his cock is now pushing against the inside of my cheek.
“Fucking hell,” he groans, rubbing his thumb over the stretched skin of my cheek. “You’re a natural.”
I ghost my lips down the side of his shaft. He widens his thighs even more.
“Yeah, just like that.” He sounds reverent.
I open my mouth and go down on him again.
“You look hotter than ever like this,” he says. “With my dick down your throat.”
Turns out getting head brings out the dirty talk.
Also turns out I’m into it.
He arches his hips up, very slowly, very carefully fucking into my mouth.
I didn’t think I would like it.
I was wrong.
I do. I like seeing him barely holding on to his sanity. I like the babbled encouragement and the way his fingers turn clumsy.
I like sucking him off.
I suck until my cheeks hollow.
“Jesus! Don’t,” he pants. The cords in his neck strain as his muscles stiffen. Like he’s trying very hard to hold still. Like he needs to fuck something.
I suck harder.
His words become impossible to decipher. A steady string of curses and pleas fall from his lips and spur me on. He pulls at my hair roughly, but I ignore it.
“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m gonna—Don’t. Oh fuck, please.”
He lets out a loud moan.
And comes in my mouth.
Spurt after spurt hits my tongue, and I blink in surprise, swallowing and missing some, and it’s a fucking mess. When I sit back on my hunches, there’s cum in my hair and on my tongue and probably in other places I just haven’t noticed yet.
Lake is panting harshly, his spent cock against his stomach, still wet from my mouth.
“Fuck,” he says weakly once his breathing is back to normal. “Fuck me. This was…”
Yeah, I’m feeling pretty pleased with myself.
