Friday, August 20, 2010
Back in my freshman year at college, I had a job in a gift store that also sold cigarettes and one of my favorite parts of the day was asking cute guys “soft or hard pack?” Say it in the right tone of voice and some of them would get really flustered.
Apart from one, who looked me in the eye and asked, “which do you prefer?”
Sometimes, I like a soft pack. I like to see it sleeping on his tummy, waiting for that first gentle kiss, twitching a little as my tongue slides up and down, warming as I nuzzle and then swelling imperceptibly as I raise it to my lips, and slip it in and feel it growing, fatter and longer till my jaw starts to stretch, and what was once soft and pliable is becoming hard and rigid…
And sometimes, I like a hard pack, knowing as I kneel that I’m about to be impaled, feeling his thickness and weight as they force my mouth to spread wide open, crushing my tongue and driving in hard, bumping against the back of my throat, unbending, unyielding, powerful, strong…
And sometimes, I don’t care. Just as long as I can feel his passion and desire, and the moment of his climax when his body grows as stiff as his cock, he holds his breath, he jerks, he cries, and my mouth is overflowing with all he has to give.
And I swallow as much as I can and I laugh, because nothing makes me that happy.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “Maybe we should meet up some time and you can let me try them both.”
Posted by Jenny Swallows at 3:05 AM