You feel the bed sag as my weight falls onto it. You feel my fingers, gently, opening your thighs. You feel my breath, warm, moist, on the inside of your thighs. My lips brush your flesh, my tongue flicks at you. You flinch, wince, slightly ticklish, infinitely tender.
I lick, slowly, slowly, up your thigh, once more approaching your cunt.
You bite down hard on the belt, as my tongue slides between your pussy’s lips, up toward, against, your clit.
I come up for air, for just a moment: “Remember – if you want me to stop – I mean reallywant me to stop, tap my head three times. And then again, three more. Got it?”
You nod. You probably could talk in spite of the belt in your mouth, but you don’t even try, don’t want to confute my belt/gag, not now. You nod.
And I’m back down. At first, it’s just a tease – your thighs, your inner thighs, your lips. I’m tickling you a little, touching lightly, softly. Your getting wetter (as if that were possible), but I’m not giving you what you want, what you think you want. Your clit is aching to be touched, your cunt to be fucked. But I’m not giving you that satisfaction, yet. It seems like an hour has passed, and all I’ve been doing is stroking, pressing, pulling, tickling, touching, everything but your clit, your cunt.
My hands alternate between pressing your thighs wide and kneading, squeezing, rubbing, your breasts, your nipples. Squeezing them too hard, then tracing around them, then abandoning them for your thighs, which you can feel developing palm prints.
And then, in an instant, my tongue is licking, lapping, my hands pressing firmly on the insides of your thighs, pressing them down against the bed, hard, wider than is comfortable even, as I force them apart. I raise my head a couple of inches and spit, covering your cunt with saliva, which I promptly spread all around using my hand, from the top of your clit down to your taint, to your asshole, you’re covered in my spit and the wetness that had been dripping from you. As I resume my attention to your clit, licking, sucking, pressing, I run the middle finger of my right hand into your ass-crack, up toward your asshole. I press against it for a moment, and gently, slowly, slide it just a tiny bit in.
You moan, and I suck your clit hard.
You press down on my finger, and it goes a little deeper into your ass, and then I take it out. I lick it off before inserting it into your cunt, first just that middle finger, then two, then three. All while licking at your clit, slowly, quicker, quicker, slower.
“Ay, dios mio!” you exclaim as I press a fourth finger into you, deep. “Oh, snap!” I say. “You spoke Spanish. I must be doing something right.”
You grab my head and shove it hard, back down into your cunt. “Don’t fucking stop!” you try to say, through the belt, which sounds more like “Dmmmm mmmmm-mmmm hmmmmm!” You arch your hips, thrusting up to meet my mouth, and quiver all over as you start to cum. You try to push my head away, but I’m stronger than you, and I’m not going anywhere. I keep on going, licking you, fingering you, pressing against your pubis with my other hand, using my shoulder to press your thigh out. You try to close your other thigh against my ear, trying to come up with any bit of pressure to dislodge me, but I keep going.
And you keep cumming. Your body is shaking, your legs trembling, your cunt contracting around my fingers, trying to push them out, but they’re not budging, and neither is my tongue. I’m brushing your labia with my lips even as my tongue still dances over your clit. You’re trying to push me away from you, trying to pull away from me, but I’m having none of it. Your leg kicks involuntarily, knocking over the bottle of beer by the side of the bed (Miller Lite, inexplicably). “Just another bit of roadkill in this adventure,” you think. Or would, if you could think about anything.
But instead, your sensation recedes. You feel numb between your legs – you no longer feel like you’re having an orgasm, you feel like you are an orgasm, as the waves continue to pass over you, as I’m riding them with you. You’re no longer pulling away from me, but again, pushing into me. Your legs are drenched, my face is drenched. Is it sweat? Cum? Spit? All of them?
And then, suddenly, you simply can’t take it any longer. You tap my head, insistently, hard, three times. I keep going. And you do it again.
Slowly, with a smile on my face, I come up for air:
“I won!” I say triumphantly.
You’re huffing, your cheeks are red, your legs still shaking. I climb up, and remove the belt from your mouth.
Your eyes narrow, and you glare at me:
“Round 1, you son of a bitch. Your turn….”
The look in your eyes scares me. “Don’t you dare be a biter,” I say….
to be continued