She had a grilled ham and cheddar sandwich. I had a cold ham and Swiss. She wore a summery cotton dress. I complimented it. “It was $5, and it shrunk the first time I washed it. That’s why it’s so short,” she said.
“Your loss, my gain,” I said.
We took our sandwiches to the little park across the street, and ate them. Her breasts and legs were distracting, but I did an admirable job of actually listening to her words.
After we’d eaten, we walked to the hotel. I settled up with the inscrutable man behind the plexiglas window, and he handed me the key. We found our way in, dropped our stuff, and kissed. Her kiss was reticent, almost reluctant. Her lips opened occasionally, her tongue slipped out, into mine, but then she pulled it back and her lips closed again. I squeezed her ass – meaty, round, delicious. She rubbed my cock through my shorts – it’s painfully hard. But though I was eager, I wasn’t impatient.
I hadn’t yet seen her nude. We had discussed my preference for clothes, my general sense that women are hotter dressed than naked.
“Take off your clothes for me,” I say. “Please?”
She looks puzzled. She’s wondering why, given what she knows.
But she complies.
Her breasts are large, full, round. Her nipples are light, neither small nor big. Her pussy is shaven – there’s the slightest hint of a landing strip, but it’s faint.
“Lie on the bed for me.”
I stand above her, admiring her body. I trace her lips with my finger. “You’re beautiful,” I say, as I slide a finger briefly in the side of her mouth.
I hop over her, lying next to her. “Would you play with yourself for me?”
She looks – anxious?
“It’s ok if you don’t want to.”
“I don’t do that,” she said.
“You don’t in front of other people? Or you don’t?”
“I just don’t. I mean, I can, but it’s like trying to tickle myself. It just doesn’t work.”
“Ok,” I said. We had a few moments of awkward silence. “Would you mind teasing my cock a little?” I ask. She kneels on the bed and starts caressing me. “Actually, would you mind putting your dress back on?”
“Just my dress?”
She stands, and slips into the soft dress. Her hips flare out beneath her tiny waist, and the dress is elastic around her waist, heightening the effect.
“Back to my cock, please,” I say.
She is beside me, rubbing, touching, stroking, through my shorts, through my boxers. “You like being teased, don’t you?”
She continues – I can only see her face in the mirror beside the bed, as she’s turned to face my cock. Her blonde hair falls down below her shoulders. I periodically grab a fistful of it, just to feel what it feels like in my hand, bunched up, tight. “Do you need instruction?” I ask.
“No,” she says.
I grab her ass, or at least, a handful of it, under her skirt. I can’t quite reach her pussy, though I can trace the bottom of it with a finger. But her legs are closed too tightly, and the angle is just wrong, for me to have much access.
She unbuckles my shorts, and her hand is on my boxers, grabbing my cock, firmly.
“How much of my blog have you read?” I ask.
“A little,” she says. “I stopped reading, because I didn’t want to get scared off.”
I ponder that sentence, all of the implications of it. She feared that what I’ve written might scare her off. She didn’t want to be scared off. O.k. – got it.
“What might scare you off?” I asked, as she stroked up and down. By now I had moved her so I had access to her pussy. My middle finger found the wet entry, and slid in gently. She was very wet, and very tight.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Language, words. There are certain ways of describing things that might.” Her voice was just a little breathy, now, as it trailed off – it reflected the sensation of my finger on her clit.
I wasn’t sure I understood. “You mean, talking dirty?”
“Not exactly,” she said.
I squeezed her ass harder. “May I go down on you?”
She blushed just a little. “Ok.”
I pushed her back on the bed, kissed her briefly – again, with the “I’m-not-sure-I-want-his-tongue-in-my-mouth” half-open kiss. I licked a nipple. I traced down her belly with my tongue. “You’re sweet,” I said. “Are you wearing some sort of lotion or something?”
My tongue went down, and I found my spot between her thighs. Though she’s petite – several inches shorter than I am, and no fat anywhere on her – her thighs aren’t small at all. Like her ass, they’re several handfuls. I want to go slowly, to tease her, but more than that, I want to taste her. I dive in, my tongue lapping at her, first at her wetness, then higher, at her lips, and higher, on her clit. She’s quiet, almost (but not quite) still.
I press her thighs gently apart – her demeanor, her body language, suggest that she doesn’t crave rougher handling than this. Am I reading her right?
I lap at her, and gradually, I feel her body respond. Her hands are resting on her chest, atop her dress. She moans slightly. I tell her to put her hands on my head, and she does. And now her body is growing in responsiveness. Her hips aren’t bucking, but they’re thrusting toward me. I slide first one, then two fingers into her as I continue licking her, sucking her clit. She’s sensitive – I can see that it’s easy for me to over-stimulate her. “Softer,” she says. “Quicker.”
I do as instructed, and the payoff is almost immediate. Her hips buck in earnest, her thighs clamp on my ears, and she presses the pillow into her mouth to stifle her moans. Was that an orgasm? Was it real? And a moment later, she’s pushing me off, curling into a fetal position on the bed. I climb up beside her. “You ok?” I ask.
“Oh, I’m good,” she says, emphasizing “good.”
I look at her, think about kissing her, but read once again her reticence. Does she not want to taste her own pussy? Does she just not want to kiss? Is it me she doesn’t want to kiss? Or am I misreading?
I caress her ass gently. “It’s my turn,” I say. And I take my shorts off, keeping my boxers on. She lowers herself between my legs, kneeling.before me, and eases my cock out of the top of the boxers. She looks at it, her head lowers, and she licks it delicately, several times.
“Mmmmm,” I moan.
She takes my cock in her mouth, pressing down all the way to the base, and coming up to the top. Her mouth is warm, soft.
Every woman’s mouth feels different. Most feel good. Some feel great. Hers feels great – it’s perfectly welcoming, almost like a pool of liquid rather than a cavern with solid walls. All of the sensation of the interior of her mouth is softness and warmth, all of the pressure comes from her tongue, her lips. Her cheeks? Not part of my experience, at all.
After some time, I can see she needs a break. And I want to taste her again. “Come up here,” I say. This time, she kisses me enthusiastically. What changed? My cock?
We kiss for a moment, and I dive back down, repeating everything as before, only this time, I handle her thighs just a bit more roughly, pressing them wider apart. Her feet find their way to my shoulders, and she’s pressing them, harder. She’s quicker to cum this time, and I’m less uncertain. Her body is visibly not in her control, I think. Her fetal position feels more urgent afterwards. She’s gone, eyes closed, distant, for a minute or two.
Once back, she asks, “Do you always keep a ratio like that?”
“What do you mean?”
“Two-to-one, her finishes to yours.”
“Finishes?” I say. “Are you done?”
She smiles. “No.”
And her mouth is back on my cock. We’re talking though. “You see that spot here,” I say, touching just below the head, on the underside. “That’s so sensitive that I can cum from licking and sucking just that spot.”
“I don’t know. I tell myself it’s like a clit.”
“Wow,” she says, and my cock is in her mouth again, her tongue expertly licking, flicking, pressing just that spot.
Shit. I’m going to cum. Only I’m not. I relax, and find my rhythm again.
I could do this forever.
She licks, flicks, sucks, presses. Her brown eyes meet my green eyes as she sucks. “You look good,” I say.
She smiles, at least, as much as she can, her mouth filled with cock.
“May I go down on you some more?”
“NO!” she says.
“No, it’s just that, well, as much as you give, I’m gonna give it back, and then some.”
“Oh, good,” I say, and push her back down as I collect a third orgasm with my tongue.
We talk a bit – about whether she’s a slut. “No,” she says. “I’m a chickenhead.” She explains the term to me – it’s not one I know. “It’s a little ‘ghetto,’” she says.
“Like ‘dome?’” I ask.
“Yeah, only more.”
We talk about what she likes about giving head – the sense of power, of prowess, of skill. We talk about racial stereotypes relating to head-giving. “Beckys” she says, “you know, white girls, give much better head.”
“You are really good,” I say.
And she’s back on my cock. “Are you ready for me to cum?” I ask. “Mmm-hmm,” she nods, my cock still in her mouth.
And I do. Deeply, powerfully. I hold her mouth on me as I shoot repeated spurts into her. She doesn’t press up, and even after I let go, she swallows the last few late gushes.
We kiss again, admire ourselves in the mirror. “You really do have a great ass,” I say. “May I take a picture or two of it?”
“As long as they’re good,” she says.
I think they came out ok. What do you think?