She’s sloppy and inexperienced, but her enthusiasm more than atones for that. Every awkward movement, every eager noise, only heightens my pleasure. I haven’t witnessed this kind of pure, unvarnished, honest desire in years. She pulls back, gasping for air, a string of saliva connecting her swollen lips to the head of my cock. Her eyes meet mine again, searching for approval, for direction. For permission.
The praise falls from my lips like a prayer. “Good girl.”
The effect is immediate.
Her full-body tremor runs from her shoulders to her knees. A small whimper escapes her throat. Her free hand disappears between her legs, and I realize she’s touching herself, getting off on choking on my cock.
This vision of her—pleasuring herself while pleasuring me—is the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen.
Not because she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve slept with or the most skilled, but because she’s so damn authentic. Present and one-hundred-percent herself even with my dick in her mouth.
She sucks me deeper, growing more confident by the second. Her tongue swirls around the head before she plunges down. I ram the back of her throat, dirty talk spilling from my mouth unbidden.
“Oh, you’re a good little cocksucker.” My fingers curl in her hair. “You really want this, don’t you?”
She moans around me, the vibration launching shockwaves up my spine.
“Suck it like you really mean it. Show me what you can do. How good you are.”
In her urgency to prove herself, her pace quickens.
Every filthy word drives her to work harder, swallow more. Her free hand clutches my thigh, nails biting into the muscle as she bobs her head faster, sloppier, all technique abandoned in favor of pure enthusiasm. Obscene slurps fill her quiet home, punctuated by her whimpers.
“Keep going, and I’ll give you something to fill you up. That’s what you actually want, isn’t it? My load.”
A muffled whine escapes her throat as her pace accelerates.
She definitely wants it.
The pressure builds at the base of my balls, a tight coil that threatens to unravel me completely.
Her own body jerks. Her moans vibrate my cock.
I fight the impending orgasm, struggling to maintain control for just a few moments longer.
But when she peers up at me, teary eyes glazed with desire, her lips stretched around my dick, I snap.
My release hits with the force of a bullet, tearing through me with unexpected violence. A guttural roar rips from my throat. Squeezing her hair, I hold her in place while my hips buck against her mouth and I empty myself down her throat.
She milks every last drop.
Right before her eyes roll back in her head and she succumbs to her own pleasure with sharp cries.
For long moments, I can do nothing but breathe, my chest heaving as though I’ve run miles. My vision blurs at the edges, my mind wiped clean of everything but her.
She retreats slowly but doesn’t move away.
Instead, her tongue continues to trace my skin, licking me clean with delicate care.
The tenderness of the act affects me more than the orgasm itself. No one has ever treated me with such reverence.
It sparks a need to reciprocate, to give rather than take.
My cock’s already stirring again, hardening under her attentive tongue.
Excitement flashes across her face. She’s pleased with herself, proud of the effect she has on me. She opens her mouth to take me again, eager but unsure, waiting for permission or direction.
The strangest instinct seizes me. Not the usual urge to distance myself, which usually occurs following release.
