Nah, That Ain't Me, Man, I'm From Buffalo.
His hand wrapped around my own, bringing it down to his dick. I jerked my fingers away and slapped his wrist. What is this, high school?
Listen, seriously. If I've had your cock in my mouth, and you know I enjoy it, and I've told you I plan on giving you head, please let me do it my way. Or ask me nicely. Don't push me down there wordlessly--expectantly. Admonishment rose in my throat.
However, I am gracious, and he was stoned.
"I was getting you water," I said. He'd taken my hand as I walked past him on my way to the kitchen and pulled me into his chest and shoulders and kisses. That's when the hand-to-dick manouevre was executed.
"Hmmm, you were getting me water. Yes."
I patted his cheek and met him in the bedroom, waters in hand. He was already in my bed, naked under the covers. He sipped his water, "What, no bourbon?"
"Do you want bourbon?"
"I want you."
"Well, you've got me."
I dropped my jeans and pulled off the top. I tossed the black bra onto the chair, leaving me clad in cheeky black boyshorts.
"But these are nice, yes?"
"Oh, all right."
I inched them down and over my hips, wiggling them from side to side, squirming out of them, turning and kicking them over my shoulder with my foot. Of course I caught them.
I slid in beside him. He's a big man. I feel so little when he wraps around me. My feet were cold. My shoulders were cold.
"Your ass is cold."
"I know. . .sorry."
"You have such a nice ass."
"You think? Thank you."
"Yes. Yes. Your skin. Smooth, god, so smooth..."
I giggled and kissed him, "I moisturize daily."
It was stupid banter; we both know I have a nice ass. I like the banter, though. I like the purposeful extension of the moments before we start putting things into each other.
My fingers reached for his right nipple and gave it a tweak. He growled and threw my legs up over my head, diving in with his tongue. He doesn't give the best head in the world, but he is earnest. He is, I think, a little obsessed with making me squirt, and I need more than two minutes of stimulation before that pulling and milking becomes a fun thing to do.
I kept his face there, showing him how I liked my clit played with--how the flicker-fast, barely touching hits of myfingerhistongue make my eyes roll back and my hips push up.
Finally I let him put his fingers in me. Just two. Or maybe three.
"God, I love that sound."
He was up to the third knuckles on his huge fingers and I was growling, opening.
"Rub my. . . my. . . my clit. . . with your. . . uh. . . tongue"
I meant to say "thumb."
He plunged his face down excitedly.
"No, no, no, I meant your thumb. Like this."
He got it. Hallelujah.
I spread my knees wider and grabbed my tits as my back arched. His hand, wet with me, slid up my thigh, over my hipbone and all the way to my mouth. I took the fingers, one by one, sucking them clean.
"You do that so well."
I was on my side. He was on his knees. It only followed that I curl underneath him and suck on something else.
I took his cock between my lips. I nursed on it like a baby. I slid it to the back of my throat and licked the underside up to his balls. I gurgled and he sighed. I looked up at him, blissfully watching his cock slide into my mouth as I grinned.
I think that often people misinterpret what constitutes a good blow job. I think people worry that they don't suck cock fast enough or deep enough or porny enough. I'll fess to head-shaking, ass-fingering, spit-sucking face fucks and gagging on a certain cock while its owner holds my skull flush with his groin until I pound the mattress and blow snot. But here's the thing: I like long, slow, deep, soft wet blowjobs that last for three days. Enjoy that reference if you got it.
That's when I'm in control. I let him fuck my face, but I made him do it slowly. I put his cock down my throat. I made his breath shake and his dick throb and his balls pull up and his mouth gasp, "Unnh, baby, I'm gonna come."
"You're going to come on my face," I hissed, my hand on his shaft, thumb milking his dickhead as he covered my cheeks and hair.
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