“Oh, shit, sorry,” I say. “Did that hurt?”
“No, it just took me by surprise for some reason. Keep going.”
I don’t tell him that precum tastes weird. I guess he’ll find that out for himself in approximately ten to thirty minutes, depending on how quickly I can get the hang of this.
I try to be more gentle, kissing softly up his shaft, always thinking about where my teeth are and how much saliva I’m involving.
“Spit on it,” he says. So I do, and he whines and calls me “princess.”
It takes a while for me to find a rhythm. I try licking it like a lollipop. I try winding my tongue around it like I’m cleaning up a dripping ice cream cone. I try sucking on the end, and taking the entire thing into my mouth until it hits the back of my throat.
There are a few hairy moments when I go in heavier than my capabilities allow and end up gagging, and I’m also aware of two or three times when my teeth knock against his flesh. I thought I’d have to concentrate on his cues, but exactly as he promised he’d be, Eggo is very vocal.
“Oh, fuck. Yes, like that. Literally like that. Oh, god,” he says when I focus my sucking on the tip. “Oh my fuck, that feels unreal. You look unreal. Oh, Jesus, that’s . . . so good. Holy fucking fuckballs this is intense.”
My jaw is aching, the muscles at the back of my neck are cramping, and my right foot has gone to sleep. I want him to climax so I can take a break and it’ll be my turn, but also, watching him fall to pieces in front of me, knowing it’s all because of me, must be one of life’s key happiness secrets. His stomach muscles spasm, his facial expressions flit between surprise and agony, and his moans fill my living room, and I’m doing that. I’m making that happen.
“Wait, wait,” he says, placing a hand on my forehead. I stop. “Are you gonna swallow, or spit, or do you want me to finish on myself?”
I release him, and he fills his hand with his cock, stroking it as he watches me.
“Oh, god. I don’t know,” I say. Not gonna lie, cum tastes wrong. Bitter and salty and like it should never be in someone’smouth, but I very much need to walk him over that peak. “I’ll spit.”
“Good, because I’m fucking close. Are you ready?”
I nod and resume sucking him the way I know he likes it. Less than two minutes later he’s whining, rocking his hips, gasping for breath, and then he’s coming into my mouth.
“Keep going. Slowly,” he says, because I’d stopped to watch him.
After I pull off him, I look around for a glass to spit the cum into, but by the time I’ve stood up, moved over to the coffee table, picked up a cup, and hawk-tuahed his jizz out, the essence of it is all through my mouth. It coats my palate and tongue and every single tastebud I possess, including some extra tastebuds I didn’t know existed until right now. Even the glands below my ears are cramping in protest at the bitterness.
“That’s rank,” I say, placing the cup on the coffee table and trying to magic more saliva into my mouth by sucking my tongue. “It’s anaesthetised my mouth. My tongue literally feels numb.”
Eggo throws his head back and laughs, not even the slightest bit offended. “Next time, I’ll come on my belly.”
“No. Don’t do that. Coming in my mouth was fucking hot, actually. I think if I, like . . . take you further into my mouth when you bust, it’ll be at the back of my throat so I can just swallow it straight away.” I nod to myself. “I think that would be easier. Less swishing.” Less disgusting.
“I’ll try that on you now, shall I?” he says. “Learn from your mistakes?”
We swap places. He doesn’t tuck himself into his jocks, and when he stands, he’s flush with my body.
“Let me taste myself on you,” he says, grabbing my waist with one hand and sliding his tongue into my mouth, and eventhough the bitterness lingers, it’s such a sexy move. “Oh, yeah. That’s nasty,” he says when he pulls away. He laughs again.
I take my jeans off and sit where Eggo was sitting only moments ago. The seat is still warm, and it smells of him, like a Finn blanket has enveloped the whole thing.
He works the front of my jocks down and unabashedly stares at me. “Bewty,” he says, perhaps to himself, perhaps to me. “Remember to tell me what feels good, yeah?”
“I’ll try,” I say, already welcoming failure like an old friend.
And then his hands are on my thighs, caressing bare skin, and my cock is in his mouth, and it just feels right. He sucks gently, moves slowly, and I place my hands over my face to hide my expressions from him.
He squeezes my thigh three times in quick succession. The movement feels weird and unexpected, but whatever, I don’t question him. He does it again, looks up and makes eye contact as if he’s expecting something. When I still don’t answer, he pulls off me.
“This . . .” He triple-squeezes my leg once more. “Means, do you like this? You have to tell me, remember?”
I realise that even though it may not come across that way, Eggo’s nervous, or at the very least, slightly anxious. It’s a first for us both, and he’s a professional athlete, used to high performance.
I swallow the awkwardness building in my throat. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s good. Maybe you could . . . go a little slower?”
