Our Fantasy 4

We both want this, but neither of us does, really. It’s a hot fantasy, one of those things that I whisper into your ear while I’m fucking you like a she-wolf, like a sleek, sexy mare, satisfying your aural fixation with my jagged breathing punctuated by phrases like ‘his cock’ and ‘watching you’ and ‘get off for me.’

Just bringing it up always spurs your arousal. It’s another tool, like slapping your round ass or sliding my slickened cock over your beautiful face. You close your eyes (I can see you in the mirror), and you push back against me like a cat in heat, your fingers go to your nipples or your clit, and you moan. You push your ear against my mouth, and my tongue snakes out to lick it, punctuating attention from the new lover you’re imagining behind you, his balls slapping against you, his cock splitting you open, his nails across your back in a rage of pheromones and testosterone.

Neither of us wants to know him, but we both want you to put his cock in your mouth. I think, though your preference might be to be bound, that wouldn’t work unless I play, too. I don’t want to play. I want to watch. I want to sit close and stroke myself while your hungry lips slide over his flesh, watching you impale your face on his pole, sliding up and down, sucking deeper than you ever have with me, because this is a special meal. I’m special for different reasons. I bear you no malice for the things you’ll do to this one-time victim—it’s your fantasy, too.

So, his cock is in your throat, and you’re gagging, and you’re still sucking him, one hand working along his length as you slide him out, pulling with your mouth all the way. You’re still wearing the dress you thought would lure him, would seal the deal made sight-unseen over the internet. You were sexy as you met, coy, but not too innocent, and confident in the fact that you are a choice catch for him, and you decided to fuck this man for both of us. Mostly for you, but you know that I want it, too, and you won’t deny me much pleasure.

So, in my mind, I’d have you suck his cock, nibble lightly on his sack before you suck each oblong nut, one at a time, stroking your nails over his skin and face as you feast, staring at his face and mine, alternately, as you work him into your mouth. My hand would be stroking madly, and I’d want to come, but it wouldn’t yet be time, and I’d have to slow down. You could take a break, if you wanted, to come over and kiss me. That would help, really, and I hope you’ll think of it.

You’d kiss him, too, of course. You’d kiss him deeply while you stroked his big, thick cock with your slick hands. I’d watch you squeeze his balls while you licked the inside of his mouth, you dirty whore, and gave him your tongue, thick and delicious, as an appetizer. After tasting that dish, it would be time for him to do a little more, to slide his lips and tongue down your hot body, inserting little bites along the trail, opening a Pandora’s box of sensation from just below your ear to just above your cunt. It might take him an hour to move down your body, and that would be just fine.

I’d stroke your face as you lay there, lips parted, my fingertips caressing your cheeks and forehead, entwined in your hair, watching the show as it plays across your face from one erogenous zone to another, not that you’re not just one big one by now. As he softly licks your pussy, like I do when I start, before my hunger gets the best of me, I’d have to pull back hard on your hair, yank your head and that rising cry to my mouth, suck your tongue and let you feel both of us tasting you as he slips his tongue into your cunt.

You’re so sweet there. You’ve always been sweet, to my experience, and I love to savor the taste of you. Let him consider this his aperitif, then, and let him savor your flavors on his tongue, dipping in and sucking out, coating his face, making you writhe and buck as I suck face with you like a teenager on a first date. You can probably feel my slippery, steel-hard cock against your shoulder and neck, and maybe you want it, but now’s not the time. Enjoy it, lover; let this mystery man eat your pussy!

He might use his fingers on your skin, maybe two in your slit, or one in your ass, or maybe he just holds your hips while you buck shamelessly against his face, calling a name that’s not mine, maybe not even his. He chews and sucks like he’s done this before, and your back arches, my tantric priestess, and you reach out with your mind as the waves crash over you. Your mind is panting as hard as your body shakes, and it’s time for you to be full, for us to put this thing to rest, to discover whether it’s only a fantasy or a new lifestyle. Can we go back to the farm, now that we’ve seen Paris?

Per the instructions gleaned from our combined fantasies and many hours of nasty sex talk, he slides straight up your body and pins you to the bed, you legs high on his hips, almost up around his back, and he slips into you with one motion. You shudder, and I watch your calves grip this man, not me, as he pins your arms over your head with one hand. You’re a small woman with him over you, his body like a shadow eclipsing a classical sculpture of female ideals, but there isn’t much here to emulate, unless one really likes their idealism in the raw.

Flesh slaps against flesh as he starts hard, deep, and fast, your mouth is wide, your head is turned toward me, and you’re being filled with cock by a man you barely know and want with all of your being, have wanted more than you’ve known for longer than you’ve known it. He rides you like a cheap whore, using you, and you know it, and you soak him fast and hard.

The slapping is louder now, and he’s sucking your neck and tits while he pounds. Your face is a mask of abandonment and pleasure, and your hips never stop, your cries fill my ears and surge like tides against my naked body, and I’m thrilled the camera is on so that I can fuck you the next time we see you with another man. I’m a little humbled by the crescendos you continue to reach, the cacophony of grunts the two of you create, the music of bodies and fluids and voices, and I want to come, but I’m still not allowed.

He arches hard into you one more time, and you are a limp toy, arms still overhead, legs secured like steel around his lower back, his fingers in your mouth and on your breasts, and you sigh as you are awash in your own come and his salty lubrication. He pulls out, and you are on him, on your hands and knees, forward to pull his fuck sausage into your maw, his tool purple and red, vascular and thick like a club, and you suck him down. Your ass is in the air, and you’re swallowing his big dick, and you shake your hips at me, and I almost respond. I want you so much now, but there are too many emotions for me to take you now. Let’s do this, let’s make it happen, and then you’ll get it from me. Often. Hard. Believe me.

His eyes are pressed shut as you eat his meat, and the sounds of his grunts indicate that you’ll get fed soon. That’s not the plan, though, and you know it. Another deep taste, another full swallow, (yes, suck it, whore!) and you’re around the other way, your face pressed to the floor, your ass back on him, rubbing against him like the sweaty, out-of-control bitch-in-heat that you are. He’s on the balls of his feet, and he slams into you.

The first stroke in this, your favorite position, elicits a scream, and your head is flailing, and your mouth is open, and he’s fucking you like a well-greased piston in a performance machine. I can tell that you’re riding one long orgasm now, and I also know, as his hands clench you tightly, his nails digging in just above your hips, that he’s not long for this world. The staccato slap, slap, slap, the bass groans, the shrieks and mumblings from your filthy mouth are about to send me over, voyeur that I am in this game. I’m in front of your face now, and I’m madly fisting my dick, and you part your lips as the animal in your cunt starts a low growl, digging his nails deeper into your soft flesh.

You’re screaming at him to fill you, when your lips aren’t sucking at my head, and then he goes in a roar that fills our ears like a freight train. His slamming forces my tool to the back of your throat, and your eyes roll back in your head, and you feast on the first spurt of come as I watch him fill you, my hot lover, and I yank myself out to spray your face in time to the shudders that overwhelm you.

I hope you’re satisfied… until next time.