There was a soft, almost imperceptible squirting sound which accompanied the pulsating throb that stiffened the cock dangling before her face, loosely held in her fingertips, it's reddened, thoroughly engorged tip ballooning before her. In the silence of the space between them, in that split second after she had pulled the engorged member from her mouth with a wet smacking sound, but before the thud of her heart and reactionary flinch took over her, she heard the minute sound of his internal workings forcing the sticky, impregnating glob of cum along his urethra and out, through the dark hole at his tip, where it cast across the short distance between them and splattered across the bridge of her nose and over her right cheek. A moment later, as her eyes squeezed closed, she felt, rather than saw, the second wad emerging from him, thicker still than the first, it's hot mass impacting with her left cheek a fraction of a second later.
She stroked the cock as it ejaculated over her, encouraging it to give her everything it had. More spurting waves of hot semen reached her face, landing in her closed eyes, over her forehead, atop her lips and chin. She felt gluey wads fall from her chin and land on her exposed tits, but she only loved that more, loved that his cum was coating her, smothering her skin, emerging from him as he stood over her and going not into a condom or a tissue, but on her, on her worthy, deserving body. She grinned, giddy with joy, and felt another rivulet of his cum fall across her face, casting over her teeth. She licked it free, savouring his taste, extremely turned on by the experience of receiving his load, of tasting his ejaculate. She continued to stroke the stiff cock, moving her face closer as his load began to run out so as to ensure it all reached its destination, wiping his tip across her forehead before, instinctively, parting her lips and swallowing the salty length, feeling it's hard, dominating shape sliding between her lips, fitting her body like a key that unlocked her sexuality. She moaned into the man rod, vibrating it with her voice, sliding her tongue along it's underside, coaxing it to deliver her one more delicious serving of manly cum.
It took several long seconds for the sensations to fade as Suzannah woke up, blinking dumbly into the darkness of her empty bedroom even as she continued to feel the sensation of his warm rod in her hand and in her mouth, his salty taste on her tongue. She groaned groggily, confused, feeling the different sensations fading away in real-time as she awoke. Eventually, Suzannah realised that she was not on her knees before a man, but lying in her bed, dry mouth open, one hand between her legs, where a hot, slightly damp secretion had seeped through her loose pyjamas and begun to cling to her fingertips. Awakening fully and realising that she had been having a wildly erotic wet dream, Suzannah realised, disappointingly, that that had been
all
it was; a dream. That meant it wasn't real... And that she was
still
horny as hell.
Forty minutes later, Suzannah grunted and bucked her hips as she vibrated her fingertips across her clit, holding the curving pink tube of the insertable egg vibrator in the other hand, using it to rock the toy back and forth against her walls as she brought herself to a lonely orgasm. It was overshadowed by the dysphoric memory of the bukkake session she'd had in her dream, but it was enough to finish off her too-aroused libido for the night, and, riding down the high and cleaning herself up in the bathroom, washing the worst of it from her crotch and fingers and applying fresh panties, it was enough to get herself back to sleep.
The next day saw Suzannah dazedly make her way through the workday, too tired and sleep deprived to operate at full capacity. She'd actually managed to make it most of the day without getting too distracted, but as a rainy, darkly clouded 2 PM rolled around and her lunch brought a vague dreariness with it, she found her focus wandering more and more. It wasn't long before her daydreaming brought her mind back to the dream she'd had last night, and, with it, the eroticism she'd felt - which did nothing to keep her mind on the job.
The truth was, Suzannah had been having the dream more than she'd like to admit. Terminally single, with a naturally strong libido, Suzannah had had several short-term boyfriends--and not a few flings with boys--and girls--in her friend groups, classrooms and party cliques--ever since she'd started to discover her own sexuality. She'd been among the first to discuss her body with her friends in school, had been first to kiss a boy, and only the second in her whole year level to have sex, second only to a surprising tale about the quiet girl, Lucinda, who many believed was a lie started
by
Lucinda to try to stop everyone else from thinking she was just the 'quiet, nerdy child' of the year level. Single or not, Suzannah had always enjoyed her sexuality.
And then, a year ago, Suzannah had fallen victim to a small global problem known as a 'pandemic' and her love life--like most others--had dried up faster than a river in drought. Now, over a year later, she was back at work, but her party life, friend groups and social circles had not recovered.
At twenty-five, Suzannah was an attractive, curvy girl. At just a touch over the average height, she had perky, good-looking--though not overly huge--breasts that did an excellent job of always pushing out and sexily shaping anything she wore. Her slender frame was generously curved, with wide shoulders and hips and a slim waist that worked wonders in even the least flattering clothing, and a gently gym-toned bubble-backside that wiggled when she walked. A fan of heels, her figure only gained attractiveness when coupled with her natural disposition towards sexy clothing, and she often caught people staring across the bus, room or bar at her cleavage, or looking away as she turned over her shoulder, seeing the echoes of their eyes fixated upon her backside. She had a loose, naturally straight crop of red-brown hair that she parted in the centre, and she was blessed by not having to do much to it to get it to look good; bed hair frizz gave her an eighties' vibe, while some straightening and conditioning gave her hair an almost orange gleam that complimented her bright brown eyes stunningly. She had a simple, rounded face capped with a slim nose and pointed, dimpled chin, and a few red-head-esque freckles dotted her upper half, from forehead to stomach, a fact which she felt only complimented her chest - and helped others to look all the more easily.
Suzannah excused herself from her desk and hit the ladies' room, sitting down to pee and trying her best not to rub when she wiped the all-too-sensitive flesh between her legs. Drowsy, aroused, bored and dreading the prospect of three more hours of work, Suzannah wasted some time playing games on her phone until she felt she had managed to escape the worst of her bodily needs, and returned to her desk with an extra-generous wad of toilet paper stuffed down her front to catch any more secretions before they could dampen her panties - or reach her colleagues' noses.
