Confession Of A Screamer

I didn’t used to be a screamer. It’s something that’s been happening more and more as I get older. I try to repress it. I’m terrified that one day the phone will ring and it will be our neighbor, checking to see if I’m all right.

It starts with a quiet moan when you go down on me, your lips grazing over my sensitive skin, your tongue sliding along my folds. I tilt my head back and force my throat open, breathing heavily, but silently. I can’t help but squirm under your probing mouth. Your tongue dances over me, and I catch my breath. Your lips close over my clit, sucking me into your warm wet mouth. A squeak escapes me.

I get control of it, though, panting as I press myself hard against your face. Your thumbs slip into me as your mouth continues to work. I turn my head into the pillow and groan in agony. The sheets are clenched in my iron grip. You suck faster, and I try, oh how I try to stay quiet! My panting becomes a series of desperate grunts. You abandon the sucking and jam your mouth hard against my aching nub, ramming against it with your stiff tongue.

After a few soft and high moans, the squealing begins. You’re pushing me too hard, too fast. No woman could possibly keep quiet! I jam my heels against your back, forcing myself harder against you. I grit my teeth and try to suppress it, but the scream comes anyway. I scream like a woman in a horror film, again and again, my entire body tensing against the impending orgasm.

And just like that, you drop me from your mouth. I can feel my crotch throbbing, and my hips squirm in search of you, but you are enjoying this torture and are nowhere to be found. I begin to whimper.

“Please,” I whine, reaching out for you with my hands. You laugh. “Oh, please,” I cry, as I feel your lips circling my tight nipple. I can feel your cock bump against my thigh. I stretch longingly toward it, but it’s too far away. You nibble one breast and knead the other with your hand.

“Ooooh....” It’s a moan, but one of absolute anguish. I grab your back and try to pull you higher against me, but you don’t budge. I know you’re smiling. I can feel the change of your mouth against my breast. “Please,” I cry again, whimpering, until finally you nestle against me.

Your hot shaft sits just at my entrance, and your mouth is over mine. My fingers weave into your hair and we take turns biting and sucking at each other’s lips. You work your hands down to my ass and I’m so shocked when your head forces into me that I cry out. The sound is lost inside your mouth. Your lips move down to my neck. I sigh aloud when finally your length slips inside me. My hands caress your crazy curls and you brace your palms against the bed and begin to work in and out of me until we’re both so drenched every thrust sounds like somebody trying to get the last bit out of a Slurpee cup.

I can hear your breath come heavier now. I kiss your forehead and then you lift your head away. I can feel the heat spreading over my chest and neck as I watch your changing expressions with every thrust. My hands rest on your shoulders and then follow the subtle contours of your muscular arms until they rest on your wrists. I’m moving with you in time, like a tight Latin rhythm section. That’s when I begin to itch. It’s not quite an itch, but not quite anything else I could name, either. It’s that aching need that kicks in sometimes: deeper...deeper...fill me...make me complete. A series of breathy “ahhhs” comes out of my mouth in time with your thrusts, each one louder and more yearning than the last.

You’re slamming into me now, driving into me as hard as you can, and my “ahhs” become full out screams. You scream a chorus or two with me and finally, my cum shoots all over us both, drenching the sheets. The warm, wet assault makes you crazy and you push faster until we both cum together. You fall over me in a controlled collapse, and as we lie perfectly still, trying to catch our breath, I’m still moaning softly.

I can’t keep quiet, you see. It’s impossible with a lover like you.