I love his cock.

I love his cock. The length of it, the breadth of it, its smooth, silky head, hell even the smell of it. This morning it was musky, his perspiration and the smell of sleep mixing with the scent of my own body, that had lain pressed against him all night.

He’s as much a cuddler as I am, perhaps more so, as I frequently feel myself grabbed and drug back into his embrace if I have escaped to the cool side of the bed in the night.

Last night we went to a play party with a group of our friends. Ad was there too, as well as V’s wife and her play partner(s). He and Adam double-topped me. It was a great game: me down on my hands and knees in the middle of the roomful of people (or face up if that was my choice), “presenting” whatever body part I wanted (or didn’t want least) to be abused. The game was this: one of them would use an implement on me (I could choose where) until I begged for the other one to take over. I would never know what implement the other had chosen next.

When it was V’s turn he’d taunt me all the while. “Are you ready to switch?” he’d say, knowing I’d take it as long as I could, push myself until I just couldn’t endure it anymore. When I finally nodded, (or backed away, whimpering) he’d nod his head at Adam. “Then beg for it,” he’d say. “On your knees, beg him.” And I would beg him, my face pressed to his shoes or his knees, panting “please, please…” not knowing what implement he’d use but not caring either. And I’d turn and present my lace-petticoat-clad backside to Adam, who would then whack at me until I crawled to V and begged him for a change. And every time my kitty ears fell off (there was a lot of groveling and begging and pushing my face against their knees) V would admonish me to put them back on in that stern voice of his, and back and forth and round and round I’d go, crawling between them, whimpering, scrambling to find my kitty ears, begging them, while everyone watched and they laughed and teased and tormented me.

Mostly they abused my ass and the back of my thighs, but occasionally, I couldn’t bear it there any longer and I’d turn over and offer up the front of my thighs or my breasts.  I usually regretted that quickly (“Really?” V would say, “You want me to whip you there??”) and I’d turn back over, thrusting my ass high up in the air at V’s command. It was an amazingly hot, fun, sexy scene.

Afterwards, V and I went home and had sex. He called it “victory sex” – my reward for having taken all their abuse. He pulled me on top of him and had me hold his wrists as I teased his cock with my pussy.  At some point he put his hands behind his back and put my hand over his mouth – he wanted me to take my pleasure of him, conquer him, as he and Ad and done to me earlier. It…didn’t really work for me. Even when I brat, even when I poke the bear, I’m only doing it so that he will take me down, not because I have any desire or expectation of being on Top; when I have been taken down, I have nothing in me but more desire to be used, to be taken, to submit. Still, it was an interesting feeling, holding my hand over his mouth, queerly sensual – tho all the while I was hoping he was about to turn the tables on me and flip me over to take me like I wanted. He didn’t. But there was a feeling of pleasure in having pleased him, as he writhed beneath me, pumping his hips up against me as he came, groaning.

And then – there was this morning.

We’d cuddled in bed awhile, having a rare morning alone in his house so we didn’t have to do child duty. “May I use Baldy?” I’d asked. In answer he’d pulled the blanket away so I could see his erection. “You can use it while you give me head,” he said. “But you better not come before I do.” Earlier that week, he’d told me to stand by the bed and hold a dildo in my pussy – by clenching, not with my hands – as he whacked my ass over and over. “Don’t you let it drop,” he’d said. I can’t recall what what the consequences would have been if I had, but I do remember my reward: turning around to see his cock jutting up, rock hard. “Look what that does to me,” he’d said. I love that I do that to him. I love seeing his erection, stiff, thick, jutting out from his body. I love that he wants me in a way that is wholly physical, animalistic, a desire that comes from some deep, primal, place in him.

And then there was the feel of his cock, hard in my hand, the smell of him, musky in my nose, as I positioned myself between his legs and took him in my mouth.

I won’t lie, it wasn’t hard to hold off my own orgasm while I pleasured him. Not that it didn’t excite me – it did. But maybe that’s the problem, I get so wrapped up in what I’m doing with my mouth, in his responses, in the feel of his excitement, that I forget about my own. Even with Baldy rumbling away between my legs (though I forgot myself a few times and pushed and ground my cunt against the Hitachi) my whole concentration was focused on making him fill my mouth with his semen.

Which he did, holding the back of my head, pushing deep into my throat, making me choke and laugh and swallow.

And then I got my Baldy orgasm. And what did I think about? I imagined myself between his legs again. Remembered the smell and feel of his cock in my mouth, the taste of his cum in on my tongue, the feel his hand on the back of my head.

Comments

  1. Modesty Ablaze

    Wow . . . you’ve left me squelching reading this wonderful post!
    And now I’ve got a full day at the office to get through . . . with all these fabulous visions of your adventure playing over and over in my mind.
    I won’t be able to concentrate all day long ! LOL!!!
    Wonderful!!!
    Xxx – K

    Reply

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