That first flush and tingle when you read about the tip of a tongue dampening unfurling pussy lips. Sliding between, from the bottom of that pleasure opening, lightly between the folds, brushing over the entrance without penetrating inside. The promise of that flickering form inside you, up where you want it most. Your urgently demanding clitoris the beacon of need, your desires floodlit in the wake of each growing strumming throb.
So it came to be that I desperately needed his tongue on me, in me, after reading just the first few shorts of my new erotica book. I’m meant to be reviewing these books, dammit – that means I should be able to finish at least one of them without tossing it aside, the need for physical satisfaction immediate and strong.
I’ve already blogged about the effects Alison Tyler’s Dark Secret Love had on me (I also reviewed this wonderful book separately, here), this time it was the first few shorts from the Big Book of Orgasms, Rachel Kramer Bussel’s new anthology. I’ll be reviewing it as soon as I can get through it without attempting to mimic the orgasms in my own style with my own partners and toys.
My writhing was already grabbing his attention. The little looks across to me, in bed, wondering what I’m reading that’s got me so hot that I’m struggling not to lift off the bed and fuck the air above. I can almost imagine the small curve upwards of the side of his lips when I turn away, putting the book face down, open where I’m up to. He knows what I’m after now.
I turn back and look at him, trying to gauge whether he’s in the mood to play. He’s still busy with the laptop, but glances up at me and gives a quick air ‘mwah’ of affection. I head south – good place to start, right? – and give my attention over to his, for now, docile cock beneath jockey pants. The tight, stretchy material showing his package very attractively indeed. My hands roam around at first, then cover it, cradling the form under the material. Warm, familiar, mine.
Working him a little more with my fingers and curling my hand around to separate his slowly awakening cock from the material, I lay my head on his tummy and let myself be comforted by the scent of my lover. Enjoying the flesh to flesh contact, and the little curls of hair over his navel leading downwards providing that masculine sheet under my cheek.
Peeling his underwear from the now desperate-to-be-freed cock, it bounced into life, greeting the air and my sight. I knew he was turned on now and attempting to remain nonchalant in whatever he was up to on the lappy. He didn’t remain nonchalant for long once the warm wetness of my mouth enveloped him – the sharply intaken breath, the little jolts of his knees upwards on the bed, involuntary actions that speak for his feelings louder than if he’d growled what a slut I am directly into my ear.
That would come later. For now I contented myself with teasing him using my lips, tightening and loosening, swirling my tongue around the head and over the frenulum, down his shaft and back up again – learned ways of pleasing him orally, learned through our time together. Time tested guaranteed signature moves that are a dead cert. Lifting my head now to get more flexibility in my actions, my hands underneath me to his side helping to support me, my head moving up and down, down, down – the back of my throat hitting his cock tip, hard.
It makes me gag when I do that. He likes that though. So I do, too. It’s a recursive perverted pleasure activity which is dirty and so wrong it’s right. Gulping and denying myself air for his excitement, gagging to the point of retching and prioritising the sensations he receives over my own comfort. That’s fucking hot.
By now he was straining, his cock skin taut and slick and his balls in one of my hands getting ready to release down my throat. He comes, telling me first, in that polite way he has. Not that it will change what happens; I take all of it down me, I always do.
Once we’ve both recovered from his orgasmic peak, I realise he must have set the lappy aside at some point earlier on. Probably around the time of the first sharply drawn breath, the first grunt of desire. I flop back on the bed, sprawling out, throat raspy and sticky and the taste of him still on my tongue all the way down my throat.
He leans over to kiss me. He likes the taste of himself on me, tongues intermingling and exchanging the last of that sex moment. The warm, incessant burning between my legs hasn’t given up; now that his need has been seen to, temporarily at least, it’s back with a vengeance. It’s like my pussy is screaming to be attended to. My clit is not much quieter. I’m probably imagining it, but it’s almost like the restriction of underwear is too much to handle without sexual satisfaction in the next 10 seconds.
I rip the offending underwear off, pulling the, by now incredibly damp knickers down my legs and tossing them to the floor. His fingers are on me immediately, as I had hoped they would be. He can tell how aroused I am from the first touch. Hot. Slick. Puffy and opening in readiness for whatever sordid actions he plans next. I can’t really think at this point, it’s all about getting him on me, in me, fast. Now.
One finger, then two. Curling just the way I need and a thumb to my clit, rotating. Slide in, then back out some, and swirl around on the outside. Wetness from my petulant pussy lubricating against any chance of friction.
He knows I still need more, my body making appropriately inappropriate actions, the wriggling and writhing in disobedience to the unwritten rules of our playtimes. Straddling me for a second he grabs the first phallic shape that comes to hand, literally, from the bedside trove. Glass. Of course. Slipping it deep inside me I could almost cry with the relief of being filled, at last.
He’s lower down now, not beside me but between my sprawled out, spread legs. I bend my knees so that each hip raise means the dildo slips in a little deeper, attacking my pussy and assaulting my cervix in a beautiful battle for satisfaction.
Then, what I’ve been really craving. His tongue on me. First that evil teasing; the sides of my entrance and just underneath my clit. Avoiding the main event. It’s only when my moans turn as desperate as they get before tears, he places his mouth over it completely. Covering that hot nub, silencing its screams with the lashings from his tongue.
My orgasm came thundering through me, ripping my mind and body so far apart it was like tearing a sheet of paper in two, screwing up each half in a fist and throwing in opposite directions.
It took quite a while to regain my vision. It took even longer to get back to the book.
– Cara Sutra