Fill my mouth

If you’ve read me for any length of time, you’re probably well aware that I have something of a mouth fetish. (“Something” of a mouth fetish. Ha. Understatement much?) Fingers, tongues, cocks, gags, toys…being held, being slapped, made to gag, made to swallow, made to choke and gasp and spit…it’s all good. Better than good. It’s stupifyingly hot and is a consistent source of arousal, both in fantasy and in reality.

Oddly enough, as many times as my mouth has been used and abused for pleasure, either mine or another’s, as many times as I’ve swallowed cum and spit and piss, as many times as I’ve had fingers, toys, alcohol, cocks, gags, clothes pins, rope and other things shoved in it, I’ve never never had it simply filled with semen.

Until the other night.

But wait, I’m getting ahead of myself. Drinking my Owner’s cum came at the end of the night. The beginning involved another fetish of mine: feeling a man masturbate. That’s right, I said “feeling,” not “watching.” It is feeling it that is the trigger, though watching, as long as my body is touching his while he does it – certainly isn’t a turn-off. But the point is to feel his body as it tenses, to feel (and hear) his breathing quicken, to feel the urgency in his limbs and the clenching of his belly, the way he shifts or positions himself as his arousal builds… I can feel my own excitement rise along with his, my breath growing shorter, my pussy clenching and releasing with every stroke of his hand, every pump of his fist.

I’ve come that way. No other stimulation, simply laying next to a lover, our sides touching, as he brought himself – and, unknowingly, me – to orgasm. I believe that is why I will often orgasm with my partner simultaneously, even if I’ve already come, even if I’m not ready. It’s a bizarre kind of empathy, an empathy that is emotional and physical at the same time. I experience their arousal, their orgasm, and my body responds as if it were my own.

So it all started with me stroking his cock in bed. Damn I love that man’s cock. Have I mentioned that before? Yeah, I think I have. Still, it bears repeating. I love the way it responds, the way it grows hard when he hurts me and when he loves on me, the way it twitches in my hand as I stroke and tease it. I want to squeeze it and pump it, harder and faster until he spurts all over my hand – except, well, I don’t exactly know how to do that. As much as I love the idea of – god that word sounds both juvenile and makes me blush at the same time – giving him a handjob, I…well, I don’t know how to do it. I’ve never done it before, ever. And he’s…heh…kind of particular about how things work for him (aren’t we all?) So while he’s taught me – and continues to teach me – how to pleasure him with my mouth, I’m even less confident in my skills in the “handjob” department. At least (before him) I had a pretty sound record of having mad blowjob skills, or at least my other lovers have always said so. But this…I’m really brand new at.

I know, crazy, right? Didn’t we all do that in high school? Isn’t that like Sex 101? Maybe for others it was…but you know, I’ve always been an overachiever. Yeah, that’s how we’ll frame it. ;-) I went from kissing a boy in the backseat of his Mustang to taking his virginity (along with my own) in his best friend’s bedroom. Yeah – I was the taker. The instigator. I was on top, and I held his wrists up over his head as I slid down onto his cock. Weird to think about that now. But handjobs…handjobs are an odd thing. At least to me. I’ve never been confident in my ability to give them. To girls or boys. I know how specific my own body is when it comes to masturbating, how I need to feel things a certain way to get there, and I assume everyone else does too, but I have no way of knowing if what I’m doing is right.

It’s so much easier to gauge a person’s excitement, their arousal by what you’re doing to them, with your mouth.

But I’ve always wanted to…”jack” a guy off. Damn, I’ve always wished I could have a dick to jack off! How cool would that be…

So the other night, it wasn’t…well it wasn’t to “completion.” (I’m sort of giggling and blushing even as I type that.) He did that – made himself come. (That’s where the whole masturbation fetish comes in.) But he let me lay next to him, side by side, facing each other, and stroke him. We were so close that it was almost like it was my cock I was stroking. I could feel my knuckles graze my own belly, could feel as his cock twitched in response to the nasty words he was whispering in my ear, as I stroked it as if it was my own. My body rocked against him, as though I was thrusting my cock into his hand. I moaned and gasped and writhed against him, oblivious to his words, if not their meaning, connected to his body, to his excitement, as though it was me.

I wanted to hear him gasp and moan, I wanted to feel his warm stickiness in my hand. I wanted to pull his cum from his body. But whether it was me or him doing it – fuck I wanted him to come. Desperately. I could feel the desire, the need, to ejaculate coursing through me, pounding through me, driving me. Please please please I want to come. I wanted semen to spurt out of my cock, to coat my hand, to splash across my lover’s face and chest, to fill her mouth…

And then he was there. Straddling me, on my chest, his cock in his hand, pumping it in my face.

His beautiful, beautiful cock.

I could feel his weight on my chest, his thighs tightening around my body, his balls and his ass contracting in his excitement, and I could feel it in my cunt. I put my fingers down there – liquid heat was pouring down between my thighs. I was thrusting up towards him…wanting with a mindless desire I couldn’t have verbalized if he’d told me to.

He may have told me to.

“I want…I want…”

He opened the curtains. “I want to see your face when I come,” he said.

O. M. G. Could I have scripted this????

I was so close to an orgasm it was painful.

And then he did it.

He grabbed my face and held my mouth open, held me still, open, waiting, as he spasmed and jerked his cum into it.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t swallow. He held my mouth open and filled it with his cum. And all I could do was hold it, feel his jism coating my tongue and taste its bitterness – and as I did, I found it unbearably sweet. Sweet because he’d given it to me. Romance in the midst of depravity.

I was a happy, satisfied kitty.

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