“Shit.”
Slowly, Ishmael guided my head with a gentle push. He stretched my limits, furthering his reach.
“Ahk. Ahhhhhk.”
He tapped against the back of my throat, loosening my restraints. My gag reflex was ignited.
“Urgggggh.”
“Don’t do that, my baby. Don’t fuck up your clothes,” he groaned.
“Ahk.”
Still, he plunged deeper. Slower. Steadier. Working his way down my throat.
“That’s it.”
Tears pooled in my eyes.
“Mmmmm.”
Ishmael fucked my mouth ever so gently.
“That’s it, my baby.”
The tears fell down my cheeks. Cream slid from my pussy. I was utterly and unbelievably aroused. Pleasuring Ishmael drove me beyond the point of satisfaction.
His strokes intensified as his grip on my head tightened. I matched his strokes.
“Fuck.”
His low grunts were sheer motivation. I dislodged him from my mouth and slid my hands down his shaft. I took his balls into the warmth of my palms–one and then the other.
“Mmm shit.”
I massaged his dick with my hand and his balls with my mouth. My tongue slithered between the skin of his dick and my lips, resting against the thin strip just beneath his sack.
His body stiffened. He nearly pulled the threads from my sew-in, twisting my neck in his direction. He leaned forward until his mouth was on mine.
He shoved his tongue into my mouth. Hungrily, I kissed him deeply. Passion radiated from my frame. It rested within his. Ishmael was hot to the touch.
He loosened his grip and released me from his oral inclination. I reclaimed his balls, then his perineum. My strokes matched the rhythm of my tongue. In unison, we strived for his undoing. I wanted Ishmael spineless… boneless… helpless when I finished him.
“Goddamn,” he huffed. “Shit.”
He disturbed my flow once again, making it evident his ending was approaching. He was prolonging the inevitable. I’d allow it.
For now.
With a hand around my neck, he grunted. I was unmanning him. Right before my very eyes. He wasn’t sure how to handle it. How to handle me. But, I surely knew how to handle him and everything that came with him.
“Eyes on me.”
My hand never left his shaft. I stroked his dick as I did what I was told. His head was cocked. His lips were pulled back. He wasn’t wearing that handsome smile. His face was twisted. His eyebrows were low.
“Make this dick spit up, my baby.”
I nodded. A thick strand of slob rubbed across my chest each time I lifted and lowered my head. My eyes burned from the mascara that ran down my face. The back of my throat was sore to the touch. Still, I wasn’t ready to part with his pole. Pleasing Ishmael was quickly becoming a passion of mine. It offered me instant, unshakeable gratification.
