Page 106 of Thug

Still sitting up, he motioned for me to come to him.

I did as he asked, mentally prepared for a tongue lashing.

He hugged me. “I don’t care if you can suck a dick.”

“Do you like blowjobs?”

“I’d be lying if I said no,” he said. “But it doesn’t matter.”

I should have known. He was the same as every other man on earth. He liked them and I was inept. I bungled blowjobs.

Devastated, I slumped in his arms. “How can it not matter?”

“It doesn’t,” he said a rather convincing voice. “You’re like my motorcycle. You excel at other things. So much so, that the things you can’t do get lost in the wake of your successes.”

Feeling fractionally better about my dick sucking deficiencies, I leaned away and looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“My motorcycle’s ugly, right?”’

I couldn’t argue that point. I gave a nod in affirmation. “Hideous, really.”

“But it’s fast as fuck.”

“It sure is,” I agreed.

“It doesn’t have a good coat of paint, it’s uncomfortable, and it’s rusty,” he said. “But it goes like a bat out of hell and it stops on a dime. It’s so good at what matters that I can forgive its shortcomings. You’re really good at fucking, cooking, and looking good, so who cares if you can suck a dick?”

I wrapped my arms around him. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He hugged me and then pushed me away slightly. “Now get busy doing what you’re good at.”

“Cooking breakfast?”

He scowled.

I tossed my hair. “Looking good?”

The scowl continued.

I licked my fingers. “Oh, the other one?”

He nodded.

I rubbed my pussy until it was a wet, throbbing mess. I peeled off my panties and tossed them aside. Facing his feet, I straddled his hips. Satisfied my performance would cause him to forget the dismal blowjob, I gripped his morning stiffy in my hand. Eager to prove myself, I guided the swollen head between my wet folds.

I shot him a quick look.

He gave a nod of reassurance.

I sank my teeth into my lower lip and forced myself along the length of his thick shaft like a boss. The tip of his cock bumped my cervix.

A shudder ran the length of my spine.

I pressed my palms against his knees and drew a deep breath. Armed with Price’s encouraging words of my sexual abilities, I bucked my hips wildly, forcing his entire length in and out of my wetness like I was getting paid by the inch. Hoping each frantic stroke would act as affirmation of my skill, I continued the rapid pace like a woman possessed.

At the one-minute mark I had thirty strokes in. I was on the brink of a sexual meltdown. Instead of masking my pleasure, slowing my pace, or changing positions, I simply continued. Shouting my satisfaction into the room, I left nothing to the imagination.

“Fuck. Yes. Fuck yes. Fuuuuck yesssss,” I wailed, tossing my hair in every direction. “I. Love. Your. Big. Cock.”