Details

“Open your fucking mouth.” It’s said relatively softly, because there are people all around us, and we’re not supposed to be doing this.

The reason I didn’t open my mouth immediately is because I was still trying to relearn how to swallow. Moments before he had managed to force three of his fingers down my throat. I was recovering, you see, so I had an excuse. But the excuse didn’t change how hot it made me to hear him say that.

I managed to swallow a couple of times before opening. This time four fingers were insinuating, no, that’s way too gentle of a word, shoving…the thesaurus suggests: push, heave, jostle…none of these really cover it, and generally I’d say, you get the idea, but this is details. It’s really hard to describe, I lack the words. Imagine taking a huge bite of an apple, swallowing it half way, and then trying to breathe around it, yeah, and not gag either. I also forgot to mention, that while I have little to no gag reflex, and my throat seems infinitely expandable, my jaws aren’t. So I’m trying not to gag, which goes much better when I just stop thinking about it, trying to breathe, which is barely going at all, and to top it all off my jaws ache from the sides of his hand. Oh, yeah, one more thing…I’m also wet enough to drown someone.

So, I’m dealing with all of this, and he starts talking to me. I guess I should have said somewhere in here that I love to be talked to. It’s better than sex, honestly. I mean, someone talks to me and I can replay it over and over again, like this scene I’m writing about happened a week ago, and if I close my eyes, and breathe real slow, I can remember everything, hear it in my head all over again. Let’s just say that my hand and I are good friends.

I don’t remember it word for word. I wish I did. But this is the gist of it.

“I want to see my cock down your throat. Give me your hand.” I’ll say now that I’m rather uncomfortable when men put my hands on their erections, but I wasn’t’ exactly uncomfortable, and what was in those leather pants cannot be relegated to the mere category of ‘erection’. “That’s not even really hard.” Hot DAMN!

I’m whimpering now. I wish there was a different word. Whimpering is such a helpless, dog like thing to do, and I wasn’t feeling at all dog like. I was feeling hot and sexy and voracious. Delicious.

“And then what would happen if I slapped you.”

Insert sigh here. Yes, I know, face slapping, it’s such a clichéd thing, but there area few things that with the right people will get me going instantly: having some pull my hair, not tug, pull, hard. A knife held next to my body, skin to blade, and it’s much better if it’s sharp. The taste and smell of blood, my own, or others definitely works. And being slapped across the face. Okay, continuing on.

“My big cock all the way down your throat, while you’re trying to breathe and then I slap one cheek.” His fingers are still down my throat at this point, pumping gently. “And then the other cheek. I grind my pubic bone against your nose and chin.”

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

He takes his fingers out of my throat and gives me a Boy Scout smile, as if he just won a fucking merit badge or something. It’s royally disconcerting, and hot as hell. Did I mention I’m kinky?

Later on I’m sitting on a bench, naked, chilling out, talking to friends, and I start to say, “I really like…” He walks up behind me.

“What were you saying?”

“I was just saying that I really like you.”

I forget how exactly we got to this point, what was said and so on, but here it is.

He was telling me how he was more libidinously connected to his hands than his cock. And let me say now, that while I’ve never seen his cock, this man has great hands. I smiled sweetly, all the while thinking, I want him to fist me, so badly I can taste it.

He smiles down at me and says, “I like that look on your face, the one that says, ‘I’d love to have your hand inside of me’”

Goodness, I must be like and open book. But there, details.