V sucks my cock again

It’s been just a little more than two years since the last time V sucked my cock. Or – that was true until very, very recently.

V and I have embarked on a truly quixotic project together. Without going into too many details, it’s discrete, and finite. And, in the meantime, I will feed her cock as often as quarantine, testing, and logistics permit.

I arrived to find V’s very fine ass stretching the fabric of the grey leggings I’d asked her to wear, her nipples pressing against the soft t-shirt (no bra) I’d asked her to wear. Because reasons, while I thought it likely my cock would end up in her mouth, I had no certainty. Our rules of engagement did not permit me to arrange her body on my arrival as I might otherwise have done. Nude, kneeling, just beyond the front door? Spread-eagled, face down, on the bed? Edging, fully dressed, in a chair?

Understandably, though, after two years, some lubrication was in order. (N.b.: though it had been two years since V’s tongue circled the tip of my cock, we had drunk together once or twice in the interim.)

On this afternoon, we day drank together (Scotch for me, white wine for her), and caught up over a delicious quiche she had cooked for us. We talked about “The Vow,” the HBO show about the Nxivm cult. About work. About belonging and exclusion. And, finally, about my cock in her mouth. V and I like one another. We have a long history. We think similarly about many things. Conversation is easy, and, honestly, we both could do it for a long time with one another, quite contentedly. But. That’s not why I was there. And it’s not why she had invited me.

V led me upstairs, to her bedroom. She closed the door. And I kissed her. Deeply. I turned her around, and set forth to redden her ass. Spoiler: I didn’t really succeed. More than seven years ago, V told me “You don’t hit me hard enough spanking,” and some things, it seems, never change. Though I hit her hard, though her ass did indeed redden, though my belt did make some satisfying “thwacks,” it’s safe to say, there was a lot more damage she might have liked me to do, I might have done.

I’m conflicted around spanking, generally, and around spanking V particularly. I’m capable of enjoying it – and I did, very much, enjoy raining some blows down on her. But when I see some of the pictures on FetLife of the asses of women who enjoy being spanked? “Ow!” is mostly what I think. And sometimes, “Ew.” I like the idea of leaving a bruise or three. Even some welts. Some physical evidence I’ve been there. But nothing that looks… angry.

And, too: my violence is tempered. Too tempered, I sometimes think. I find it challenging to access the aggression necessary to leave real welts, real bruises. And, when I do find that aggression? Actually, I don’t very much enjoy either the path to or the time in that space.

So there’s that.

Anyway: I spanked her. Hard. Not nearly as hard as she might have preferred. I had her strip for me. I stroked my cock. I turned her around. I didn’t dare throw her on her bed – it’s a nice, old, wooden bed that didn’t look like it necessarily could take the full force of a full toss. Plus, the bed’s just a little too high for me to throw her on the bed without, actually, lifting her, and my doctor says I shouldn’t lift more than ten pounds. 😉 V is lean, fit. But she weighs more than ten pounds.

For round one, I invited V to imagine restraints. I lifted her slender wrists. I spread her legs. I kissed her. I nibbled, bit, her nipples. I traced the inside of her thighs – meaty, full, soft – with my fingers. I made. her. wait. And then? And then, I dove in. V’s pussy smells, tastes, delicious. The memory of it lingers in my beard for days, sumptuously. And I filled my beard with her juices as I lapped at her cunt. As I pressed down on her pubis, as I slid my fingers into her cunt, into her ass. Somewhere along the line, I fetched the ball gag I had bought her years ago. Or maybe it wasn’t the one I had bought her. I think it was nicer than the one I got her. This one was silicone. It had breathing holes. I filled her mouth with it, told her to tap my head three times if she needed me to stop, and four, if she wanted to come.

Again, I lowered my head between her thighs. I bit them, hard. I licked, gently. I fingered. Too hard? Too many? Probably. (Later, when the ball gag had been removed, we’d eaten dinner, and returned to bed, she said, helpfully, “a little finger goes a long way.”) But for now, I had three fingers deep inside her cunt, and another in her ass. I pressed down on her pubis hard enough that it felt a bit sore the next day still, she told me.

After not too long, V tapped my head four times, urgently. I stopped. “You want to come,” I asked? “Mmmhmmm,” she moaned, and nodded. “You will,” I said. “But not yet.” I resumed my ministrations. She tapped four times, more urgently, harder. “Not yet,” I said. “Mmmmmf,” she replied. More licking, more fingering. She tapped my head five times. “Five?” I said. “What’s that?” She tapped four times. Harder. She was growing frustrated.

One of the challenges of a discrete, boundaried relationship is that there’s just not enough time. I really, really would like to deprive V of an orgasm for hours, for days. This was a long date. It was nearly twelve hours after my arrival that I left. But there wasn’t enough time for me both to deprive and to reward in the amount I might have preferred. So, one more four-tap later… “Yes,” I said. “Be a good girl and come for me.”

I collected orgasm after orgasm from V. Her thighs were quaking. The bed was wet. I felt a sense of accomplishment, and delight. And, of course, I was still hungry.

I placed a pillow on the floor for her knees. I had her tease me. At length. Remove my socks. Remove my jeans. Remove my boxers. And then, finally, finally, I let her lick – and, eventually, suck – my cock.

Nude, her warm, moist mouth on me, I sipped the Scotch I had her fetch me after the water I fetched her after all her orgasms.

I gripped her hair with my hand. (“Don’t actually pull my hair out,” she protested. As if.) I closed my eyes. I meditated. I spent a solid ten minutes just dwelling on the sensations of tongue, lips, mouth, hands, fingers, wrists, frenulum, head, shaft, balls, thighs…. FUCK.

My words don’t do my experience justice. V’s hunger, her enthusiasm, her need, all complement her talent, her skill, her fucking cock-sucking artistry such that my cock just wants to fucking live in her mouth. FUCK.

When V sucks my cock, though, my vocabulary narrows. “Good girl.” “You’re so pretty.” “You’re such a good little cock-sucker.” And, “FUUUCCCKKKKKKKK.” I’m not a dirty talker. I’m not all that instructive. I guide with my hands a bit. Sometimes more roughly than others, but never all that roughly. (See above re: aggression.)

V’s blonde hair was, she said, a “disaster.” I thought it was spectacular, as I wrapped my hand in it, as I guided her head up and down, as I held her down on me just to the point of a little gagging, as I let her up. Finally, finally, finally, I exploded in her mouth, sending a torrent of cum down her throat. Finally. Finally.

We lay in her bed a bit, talking, kissing.

And then, it was time for dinner.

Stay tuned for dinner. And dessert.

One comment

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.