I almost fall back on my butt, I’m so stunned by the sheer size of him.
“Th-that was inside of me, last night?” I stammer.
He takes that flesh in his hand and strokes. Up, down, up. “It wasn’t just inside of your tight pussy, angel. I sunk in all the way to my balls.” Another pump of that clenched fist. “Built to be my sugar baby, weren’t you?”
Sugar baby.
My sex slicks over that term.
Over the way he runs those tattooed knuckles up and down the primed length of his sex, his breath coming faster with every stroke. Jealousy starts to spark in front of my eyes, because I want to be the one touching him. Biting back my trepidation over his size, I walk forward on my knees and take over the task of fisting my Daddy’s sex, marveling over the weight of him, murmuring praise while I mold it in my hands.
“Spit on it, little girl.”
An excited whimper escapes me.
Wetness spreads on the seam of my panties.
“The slicker you make my cock with your spit, the deeper I’ll go.” He gathers a fistful of my hair and guides me closer to his lap. “I’ve had my tongue in your throat. Now I’m going to slide my cock down there. Spit and suck like a good girl.”
I’ve soaked the crotch of my bike shorts by the time he finishes speaking.
At first, I thought I would be self-conscious about spitting on him, but no, it’s freeing. My saliva slides down the swollen stalk and I work it all over with my pumping fist, spitting again and spreading the moisture around, before I finally bring him to my mouth and tunnel him to my tonsils, the salty tang of himinciting a new kind of hunger—and all that’s available to eat is Jason’s smooth flesh. It glides in deep and I work my mouth around, eager to please, rubbing my tongue into grooves and sucking with all my might.
“Oh fuck,” he moans. “If this is your first time, you’re going to have me begging on my knees for head within a week.” I graze my teeth along his biggest vein, from base to tip and he shudders violently. “God oh God. Forget it, I’m already there. Please, angel, please. Suck it deep.”
I lose track of time for a while, I’m so hypnotized by his hoarse calls for his maker. The way his hand jerks around my ponytail when I allow him into my throat, swallowing in a way that closes my throat and, based on the way he shouts curses at the ceiling, feels extra good for him. I bob my head with enthusiasm, steadily growing addicted to the little spurts of milk that he leaves on my tongue, like little treats. Incentives to pull on him harder with my mouth, like I’m sucking on a lollipop. A big one.
“So innocent down there with your sneakers and ponytail. That mouth likes to put in work, though, doesn’t it? That mouth likes being crammed full of Daddy’s dick.”
I moan around his swelling erection, knowing instinctively he’s going to climax.
Wanting him to finish so badly, I’m whimpering, supplying more spit so he can fuck my mouth harder—and he does. His hips start to flex, roll, slowly, then fast, faster, until he’s using my ponytail to draw me in close, so close, over and over again, my forehead smacking off his belly, the girth of him spearing down my throat to choke me. His hand drags me off and I gasp for air, tears rolling down my cheeks, before he does it again.
Fucking me deep in my throat.
Releasing me. Letting me drag down oxygen.
Doing it again.
“Tell me you want my come,” he rasps, his tone ragged.
“I want your come. I need your come,” I babble. “Come in my mouth, Daddy.”
He has barely breached my lips this time before my mouth is flooded with liquid heat. I cough in surprise and some of it dribbles down my chin, but I surge forward and take his spurting arousal deep, drinking him down eagerly, his fingers shaking in my hair, his hips and thighs straining.
“Fuck fuck fuck fuckfuuuuuuck!”
I don’t know how long it takes for him to drain himself completely, I’m too distracted by the lush taste of his spend. I don’t stop until he must physically pry my mouth away and still I whine, trying to fight back for another suckle. I’m pulled into Jason’s lap, instead, however, my ear pressed to his thundering heart as he rocks me, calming my whimpers with kisses and strokes of my back, my hair.
Finally, I seem to come down off my high, my pulse returning to normal. That’s when I realize the sun is nearly setting. How long were we making out? How long was I on my knees worshipping him? An hour? “What do we do now?”
“Do you have any more classes today?”
I shake my head. “No. Do you have to go back to work?”
“I’m supposed to.” He tilts my face up to his, kissing me tenderly. “But I know someone who needs some new clothes.”
A gratifying heat steals through my limbs. “Did I earn them?” I ask, innocently.
