I grasped the base of his cock between my forefinger and thumb, squeezing it gently. A heavy exhalation from down below tickled my pussy.
I licked him from base to tip before pressing my lips around his shaft, just behind the head. My tongue swirled around the silky smooth hardness, exploring. He was large but not huge, girthy but not alarmingly so. A perfect cock, I thought to myself. Rather than thrust into me, he let me do my thing at my pace. Teasing the crown of his cock, running my lips and teeth up and down the saliva-slick length of his shaft.
His fingers crawled spider-like from my hips to my crack, spreading the cheeks, exploring there like he had every right to do so. It was bold and I was grateful that he just went and did it rather than ask. Not a modern approach to this kind of thing, but I wasn’t about to get all political about it. A finger circled my anus while his tongue flitted magically around that pink pearl of nerves that crowned my cunt. I couldn’t have objected even if I wanted to, partly because of the cock in my mouth, but mostly because it felt too good.
That’s when I tasted him, a teaser of precum. An appetizer. I normally wasn’t the swallowing kind, but the taste set my mouth to salivating as though I were starving and he was serving the most delectable dish in the world.
I wanted to finish him. I wanted him to come in my mouth and I wanted to swallow it. But he was taking his fucking time, playing with me as I was with him, drawing the moment out in mutual torture.
My mind wafted unanchored from sensation to sensation. The hardness in my mouth. The insistent softness of his tongue against my sex.
Then he focussed on my clit, unleashing a flurry there. That’s when I knew that I was approaching the point of no return, when my body took over and strove for the promise of release.
I reciprocated with some intensity of my own and a warm moan emanated from behind me. My hand moved in counterpoint to my mouth. I took him as deeply as I could, used all the moves in my arsenal to goad him into an eruption.
Then came the final sprint. Our actions became less focussed but more insistent. I moved my hips against his face, quivering and hitching against the onslaught. At the same time, I allowed his cock to impale my mouth past the point of comfort, but also past the point of me caring. If I could have engulfed him completely, I would have.
And then, simultaneously, a second of pause, the moment between chambering a round and pulling the trigger.
Then, the explosion.
My body obeyed its own imperatives. I was vaguely aware of the unspooling and the spasms as I came. I was more focussed on the swelling in my mouth and his own spasms as he spurted his hot seed. Uncharacteristically, I swallowed it, gulping it down as best I could while continuing to milk him with my fingers and my lips.
After we’d recovered somewhat, Brian sparked up another joint but I limited myself to a few light tokes. My body felt gelatinous already. If I were any more relaxed, I’d probably melt into his bed and disappear.
We spoke little in the aftermath but engaged in some desultory stroking. I was fine with that and grateful that he didn’t launch into the post-coital post-mortem that some guys insisted on.
I nestled into him, my head on his chest and a leg flung over his. It was a comfortable fit. His heart beat slow and steady against my palm.
“You have anything to do today?”
“Nope,” he said. “Just this.”
“I don’t want to overstay your welcome.”
He laughed. “After that? Never.”
“Good.”
After a while, my hand strayed down to his groin again, just to check things out. His cock was soft now, slumbering. I rolled his balls in my hand before returning for some gentle strokes.
“I’m not sure that’s going to work.”
“Have faith. I got the power, remember?”
He laughed. “I’m just not sure if I do.”
But eventually he did.
“Round two?” I asked.
He reached into his bedside table and produced a condom. “Dress me up?”
I unrolled the condom without butchering the job. Then I swung a leg over him and sandwiched his cock between his stomach and mine. We kissed and eventually I lined him up and descended on him slowly.
A satisfied hum issued from his lips. For the most part, he let me do as I pleased, contributing only the lightest of touches up and down my back and occasionally toying with my breasts. Languid was the theme of the day, so I fucked him in that spirit. The slow pace enabled me to focus on the passage of his cock, how it filled me, how it warmed me. The sense of possessing a part of someone within me, stretching to accommodate foreign flesh, was my secret thrill, almost more than any other part of the act. And so I took my time, releasing him and claiming him anew. As long as he stayed hard, I was glad to keep this up, stroking and grinding.
Beyond a lazy smile, he reacted little, just lay there as my hips rose and fell, his cock a greased piston on idle.
Finally, he said, “My turn.”
He flipped me onto my back and braced my legs against his arms, spreading my legs wide in the process.