Tuesday, April 3, 2012
I knew he was coming long before he said anything. I could feel it building in the balls that tightened in my hand, in the sudden tensing of his cock as it strained against my jaw, and in the barely perceptible sensation that he’d grown an extra half-an-inch, as though preparing to leap down my throat.
My fingers clenched around his buttocks, holding him tighter, drawing him closer and, as he called, first my name, and then a sharp word of warning, my throat opened up to accept the coming flood. And then he was gone, jerking out of my mouth with such violence that I almost toppled forward, while his seed spurted thick and white across his belly.
“Wow, that was close!” he smiled. “I’ll try and give you a bit more warning next time.”
I smiled and kissed his chest. A true gentleman – or as much of a gentleman as a guy could be, with his balls banging against somebody’s chin, and his prick rammed down their throat. Looking back, I should have said something there and then. But it didn’t seem necessary. I’d get him next time.
Or the time after that. Or the time after that….
It’s strange, but the longer you live with someone, the harder it becomes to tell them your fantasies. I don’t just mean the weird “I’m an Amish milkmaid, you’re a Viking stormtrooper” ones, because I’ve never really been able to get into those. No, I’m talking about the common-and-garden “I wish you would…” things that cross everybody’s mind when they think about their lover, but which we keep to ourselves because… why?
You know exactly what I’m talking about. When you’re in that first flush of lust-driven romance, anything goes and, if there’s anything lacking from your love life, it doesn’t seem to matter because there’s so much more to discover. And there’s always tomorrow night, as well. But the days turn into weeks and suddenly three, six months have passed you by, and now that need isn’t simply unfulfilled. It’s eating you alive. And, somehow, you can’t say a word about it.
Relationships are strange. Again, in those first few weeks, you go out of the way to seem perfect. You don’t fart, you don’t inadvertently twirl a finger around in your ear… I know one girl who won’t even use the bathroom until she’s sure the romance is stable. But soon enough, you’re scratching and belching like an old married couple, there’s panty-pad wrappers in the bathroom wastebin, and you’ve even heard him pee with the door open.
But not every barrier comes crashing down. Some go up, and the sexual ones are usually the first to raise. Once you’d have thought nothing of suggesting… well, whatever…, secure in the knowledge that your partner would leap at the chance to do it. Now you’re not so sure, because you know them better, they know you, and the dreaded word “no” is no longer taboo. Neither is “yuk,” and I’m not sure which would bother me more. Probably both of them together.
Richard and I had been dating since January, when we met at a party thrown by mutual friends, and those first few weeks were so phenomenal that it was ages before I started to notice that there were certain places he wouldn’t go, and even longer before it started to bother me. Once the idea was in my head, though, there was no way of shaking it out.
Like I said, it took a while before it started bothering me. We’d settled down for the night, and I was almost asleep when I realized that what I thought was a knee digging into my back was actually an erection. I reached an arm behind me and stroked a finger up its length, and was rewarded with such a sweet, gentle, groan that I knew he must be feeling as sleepy as I was. So I rolled over and, laying my head on his stomach, began simply nuzzling at him, feeling his thick helmet resting on my lips as my tongue flicked slowly across it.
His hands were in my hair, carressing my scalp, and exerting just enough pressure that I knew he wanted my lips to slip lower, to take him deeper into my mouth. I did so, feeling a tingling in my belly as his flavors swirled on my tongue, and my jaw opened wider to accommodate him.
His breathing remained gentle, belying the strength of his cock as it strained against my mouth. I shifted my weight a little, tightening my lips around him as I raised him up, alternating smooth bobs of my head with the sucking motion that I knew drove him crazy. My fingers were on his balls, swirling in time to my tongue, and drifting closer and closer to his ass. And then that familiar twitch, that unmistakable tensing of every muscle in his body… my finger jammed hard into his anus – and he was away, rolling out from beneath me, while his ejaculation fountained onto my shoulder, and his mouth cried out his ecstasy.
And I just lay there feeling drained and empty, cheated of the greatest prize that any man can give his lover. But you know what? I have patience. He won't elude me forever - and when I do catch him and his come in my mouth, I'll make sure he enever wants to go back to his old ways.
Posted by Jenny Swallows at 3:02 AM