Copyright, drlust, 2004
“That’s it! Yes! Right there…just like that. Uh huh!”
Other than Gayle’s scattered urgings, the only other sound in the living room was the slurping noises my mouth was making in her crotch. The music she put on had ended a good ten minutes before. It was just as well. I’m not much of a Nashville fan and I found listening to Faith Hill, well, off-putting.
Her long, gangly legs were splayed out on either arm of the large armchair in the corner of her living room, her skin creamy white against the dark green walls. God she was skinny. Not anorexic…just skinny as hell. Really not my type when it comes right down to it.
I prefer a woman with some meat on her bones, curves where there are supposed to be curves. Gayle’s skin was so white it was beyond pale. To be fair, the fish-belly look is a hazard of our profession—night manager at two different local bars. When you work the hours we do, you just don’t see a lot of the sun.
“Yes! Don’t stop! Don’t stop! Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” she moaned, her voice getting louder, her hands dropping now to my head, pressing my face more tightly into her cunt. I could tell she was getting very close. It was almost time to back off, slow down.
I know I haven’t made her sound very attractive. In fact, unless you like tall, really skinny women, Gayle wouldn’t be considered attractive—except for two things. She had a regal pair to tits that looked even larger than they were because of her skinniness. She loved to show them off, favoring spandex tops, or t-shirts that clung to every pore.
There was something about those large breasts suspended above her ribcage and tiny waist that made them seem like they were floating, almost not part of her. The other thing that made Gayle attractive was her personality. She was hot-blooded, irreverent, smart-assed, and funny. She had been one of my good friends for several years.
“Oh God. Shit! So good. So good.” Gayle was proving to be a real talker.
I could feel the muscles in her thighs beginning to tense. It was time to back off again. I pulled my face away from her pussy, staring at it, loving the way her lips were swollen, distended, the way her clit was poking up aching for me to finish.
“No! Not again!” she barked. “God damn it! Why won’t you let me cum!” she pleaded.
“Soon Gayle,” I reassured her. “Soon.”
Then I began licking my way up her thigh toward her knee, then down her bony shin to her toes, sucking each one in turn into my mouth, running my tongue between them, fucking her foot with my tongue. Then back to her knee, down her thigh, across the top of her vulva, causing her to arch her back in hopes that I’d return to her clit, and then up the other leg and down to her toes. Again I fucked her toes with my tongue. This made her moan.
Finally, I returned to her cunt. It was time for her to cum. I’d tortured her for a good half an hour and I knew from experience that it was possible to play this game too long. What she couldn’t have known before we started was that for me being in control of a woman’s orgasm in this way was intensely pleasurable.
I’m sure lots of men love to dominate the lovemaking by using their cocks. For me the most erotic moments come when a woman is suspended on the tip of my tongue, every fiber in her body crying out for release. At that moment of supreme control, my cock swells to almost unbearable hardness, and I often orgasm myself without any contact.
Whether I cum or not, that moment of exquisite tension—when I know that one more stroke of my tongue on her clit will break the dam—that is my moment of greatest sexual pleasure.
My partners are often surprised when I orgasm spontaneously with them. I assure them it just means they turn me on so much. I never, ever tell them that it is the control, not their pleasure or their bodies that pleases me.
Without warning, I sucked Gayle’s clit between my lips, drawing it into my mouth as far as it would go, and my tongue lashed it up and down, back and forth, up and down, back and forth. Within seconds she was bucking against my face, both hands on the back of my head grinding me into her crotch, my nose smashed uncomfortably against her pubic bone.
Her head tilted over the back of the chair and she let out an animal howl that I’m sure everyone in her neighborhood heard through the open windows of her living room.
That wailing drove me forward. I grabbed her ass and shoved her cunt even tighter against my face, my tongue moving like a fan blade against her clit, the suction I was exerting on her clit even greater. The muscles in her ass were contracting wildly, her thighs clamped against my head and she came again, grunting this time instead of howling.
“Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!”
Then her hands flew to my forehead and she shoved me violently back, away from her, twisting my neck painfully.
“Stop!” she gasped. “Stop. Too sensitive. Let me be.”
I rocked back onto my knees and watched as she held herself, right hand over her breasts, left covering her pussy. Twitches and shudders ran through her from her shoulders to her calves. The overall impression was of someone receiving mild electric shocks. Again I was assaulted by how thin she was. This woman needed to eat more.
****
Tom was just as good as Charlotte and Kim had said he was. When we had lunch last week, Kim had described him as “a fucking orgasmatron.”
Charlotte had urged me to think of him as a “human vibrator.” When I asked her what she meant by that, she said, “You know, he’s just like that vibrator in your night stand. When you need a great orgasm, you get one, no questions asked.”
There was no denying that I’d just had one of the best orgasms I’d had in several years. Tom’s tongue was much better than any vibrator I’d ever owned.
“Don’t expect anything more from him than sex Gayle,” Kim had admonished me. “He’s really two people—the nice guy we know from work and the sex machine.”
