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When he touched my cheek with his turgid cock, all of my senses sharpened into needle points pulling along the groove of those three or four seconds. I could feel most of my skin breaking out in gooseflesh and my lips go cold, even as heat flushed through my pelvis, chest and cheeks. I could taste the faint mint of the gum I'd been chewing after dinner. I heard nothing but my breath, the blood pounding in my ears from orgasms and nerves, and the faint whir of the computer cooling fan. I'd always liked the way he smelled, even catching surreptitious sniffs when he answered the door or walked my out to my car at night, but being on my knees, my nose nearly touching his wiry pubic hair, I was wrapped around in the scent of him. This wasn't his cologne, though that was there, too. This was a little sweat on a clean man's skin, soap, and a kind of animal lust I had never thought was under his J Crew facade. I'd never even seen Mr. Peterson with stubble before.

Then there was the sight of him. Boys talked about their cocks at school, probably a lot more than they actually used them and certainly around girls they were never going to convince to take a look themselves. I had always heard them joke about their trouser snakes and purple-helmeted soldiers or whatever and I'd seen all different sizes and colors in porn. I'd seen my ex-boyfriend's dozens of times, poking through the fly of his boxers, barely lit by the lights in the parking lot behind the mall filtered through the tinted windows in the back seat of his car. I definitely knew what a cock looked like, even what it felt like in my hand; It was a different thing entirely to have a grown man's grown cock three inches in front of my face and know it was going into my mouth as soon as I got my wits together enough to open up.

His thighs were tanned from a recent beach vacation and the skin on his hips was very pale. His whole cock was slightly darker than his thighs, and the blue veins I could see through the white skin stretched across his pelvic bones were thick along the surface of his shaft. The head wasn't purple at all, but definitely ruddier than the shaft. He backed away from me enough that I could see a fat droplet form in the slit before he rubbed it against my lower lip. The whole situation shocked me with such lust and fear that I forgot to breathe for those seconds, catching up with a big gulp of air. He took it as an invitation and gently thrust the tip into my mouth to give me my first taste.

I knew from the handjobs I'd given my ex that the skin on the head was soft and smooth, but the texture of it on my tongue was slicker than I'd imagined. I moved my tongue from side to side, curiously probing the split in the ridge and the rougher skin just behind it.

"Mmmm, yes," he pulled out but rested the head against my lips, "lick it first, Caroline. Get every inch. Broad strokes with your tongue, then more attention with the tip of your tongue when you find the spots I like." He dug his right hand into my thick blonde hair, pulling it back so he could watch my mouth work and giving himself a convenient handhold.

I followed his instructions, dragging my tongue from the middle of the underside of his shaft back up to the tip, then a little further over to the left and repeat, repeat, repeat. His skin carried a trace taste of that same animal sex smell that filled my nose, and the faint mint of my long-discarded gum wasn't a match for it.

"Give me your hands," he commanded. I lifted them both from my thighs, palms up, and looked up at him quizzically as I looped my tongue around his ridge.

"Unnh!" He groaned, surprised, his hand tightening in my hair. "Yes, keep looking up at me like that, Caroline. Just like that. Mmmm, much better when I can see those pretty blue eyes." He pushed past the edge of my tongue and into my mouth, deeper than he had before. I struggled to maintain eye contact while my lips stretched to accommodate him without choking in surprise. "Now, take your right hand and wrap it around my cock, close the the base," he guided me and tightened my grip with his left hand, "and use your other hand to cradle my balls. There you go. That's my good girl."

He kept a tight grip on my hair as he used his left hand and gentle thrusts of his hips to teach me to coordinate stroking his shaft while I bobbed my mouth against the end. When I had the rhythm down, he pushed in harder and faster, so my lips were pressed against the sides of my index finger and thumb as I slid across his cock. I had heard all the boys and most of the girls at school talk about someone who was really good at oral being able to suck a golf ball through a garden hose. That was an exaggeration - I was pretty sure it was, at least - but I was sucking as hard as I could on him for two seemingly conflicting reasons. It was like I was two people superimposed in an old film frame: the horny girl who wanted to impress my lover with my skills and the pleasure I could give him and the girl who got herself in way too deep and just wanted to get out as soon as humanly possible. Maybe I was the reluctant one on the out-strokes and the slutty one on the in-strokes, pushing him back in my mouth for more and more of what I sort of didn't want.

Whoever I was at any given time, I'd gotten into the basic pattern of what he wanted enough to let my mind wander a little from my mouth. How could I make this better/get him out of me sooner? I searched my memory for the many Friday nights I'd spent with girlfriends scandalizing each other over the sex tips in trashy magazines, but I was slower to retrieve those mysterious tips to drive him wild than the dial-up connection had been loading the pictures that got me here on my knees in the first place. A word popped into my mind: hummer. Yes! Cosmo had told me at least a dozen times that you could hum a song with his thing in your mouth and he'd have the most mind-blowing orgasm ever. Why didn't I think of it sooner? Now I just needed a song I could hum.

It started unconsciously, as a beat in my head. I bobbed and sucked to it, even began rolling my tongue from side to side under Mr. Peterson's cock as I did. He groaned and pushed deeper into my mouth. To get him all the way in, I now only had my index and middle fingers circled tight around him with my thumb, rubbing and stretching the skin over his steely shaft. This was totally going to work. I kept the beat and waited for my mind to dig up the melody so I could begin to hum...and almost choked when I did. No wonder it's the song I thought of, it had been completely inescapable all year. It didn't matter how good the beat was or how much I just wanted this whole thing to be over - I was not going to give my first blowjob with "Macarena" as the soundtrack.

Soon enough I settled on "Wonderwall" which was one of my favorites to sing along with when it came on the radio in the car and had sort of a humming, drone-y vocal quality to it, anyway. While I didn't quite elicit the reaction Cosmo promised, Mr. Peterson definitely noticed and laughed.

"You're an astonishing little slut, Caroline. One minute you're staring at my dick with your eyes like saucers and the next you're humming away on it like an old pro. I think you've been holding out on me." He moved my hand off his cock and grabbed two handfuls of my hair, tilting my head back. "Let's see how much you can take." He kept the same rhythm, but there was nothing gentle about his thrusts as he got deeper and deeper into my mouth. I couldn't maintain the suction I'd had and tried my best to just keep my jaw open as wide as I could and relax the back of my throat. That tip actually worked. Thanks, Cosmo!

"Look me in the eyes when I fuck your mouth." My eyes were watering, but I obeyed. He was grunting or moaning with every thrust, staring into my face with a fierce determination. It was at that moment that I knew things had gone far beyond me getting him off quickly and figuring out the rest later. This was a man who was head and shoulders taller than me and who was obviously strong enough to hold me down. His wife was out of town and I wasn't due home for hours. If I told my parents, if I told the police...hell, what would I even have said? A handsome man caught me looking at porn on his computer and fingered me to three orgasms after I stripped for him, then I got down on my knees and decided to show him everything I knew about blowjobs and my pussy is soaked, Officer, but I didn't like it?

Along with the realization that Mr. Peterson was going to fuck me however he wanted and there wasn't anything I could do about it came a tingling, burning pain in the sides of my jaw. It ached from being hinged open so wide for so long, a sensation that quickly crowded out other thoughts. I pulled away from him at the end of the next out-stroke, his cock springing up out of my wet lips as I clamped my teeth together to give my jaw some relief. The effect was instant, but I knew I was going to need a few more minutes of rest if it was going to stop hurting entirely. An image suddenly flashed in my mind of a thickly-veined cock, lubed up and sliding between two tanned, grapefruit-sized breasts. I leaned back and tilted my head to the side as much as I could with his hands gripping my hair and cupped one of my breasts in each hand. My nipples are pink and the areolae are no bigger around than a quarter when they're hard. I used to think there was something wrong with them that they were so small compared to the ones I saw on older women changing at the gym, but I realized later it was natural for my age and size. They had lost most of their stiffness, but with a few rolls of my thumbs and the look Mr Peterson was giving me, they gained it back quickly. I pushed my breasts together and stroked them against the underside of his shaft. Using what I hoped was a coquettish expression, I asked, "...please?"

His fingers loosened in my hair and he smiled, but took a pedantic tone. "Please what, Caroline? If you want pleasure, you have to learn to ask for it."

"Please," I rubbed more insistently, not quite able to get him in my cleavage because of our height difference, "please fuck my tits."

"Better, but let's be clear," he said, pushing gently on my shoulders to lay my bare back on the oriental rug next to his desk, then straddling my body, pinning my elbows to my sides with his inner thighs. "You want me to take this big, hard dick you've been sucking for the past twenty minutes, " he teased the head against one of my hard nipples, "and slide it back and forth between these two gorgeous little breasts." He rested his cock on my sternum and pushed in from the sides with each hand. My breasts filled my hands and a little more when I cupped them, but Mr. Peterson's long, tapered fingers covered more than half of the skin. He moved in the tight valley he'd created, staring down at my reaction. It wasn't pleasurable like being fingered, but the pressure on my breasts and the friction between them was interesting and the view turned me on. "If I keep this up for very long, I'm going to cum."

Nothing I wanted to say sounded good in my head at all, so I just moaned approvingly, the tone twisting up at the end like a question: "Mmmmnnnmmmm?"

He set a steady pace with his hips and closed his eyes. For the first time all night, I got a clear look at his face from a direct angle. He was pulling at his full bottom lip with his teeth, which made him look vulnerable even though he had just blackmailed and dominated me into giving my body over to him. I guess orgasm makes slaves of us all at some point.

His grunts turned to short, ragged cries. "Ah! Huh! Ahh! Open your mouth, open your mouth," he whispered, breathless and desperate. The first spurt of his cum hit my left cheek, under my eye. The next one roped across the bridge of my nose. After that, he got his half-dozen shots into my waiting mouth. I had always heard semen tasted bitter or salty, but all I could think of when I tasted Mr. Peterson's was the grilled mushrooms that come on the steaks at the restaurant where my parents like to go for birthdays.

As his spasms slowed down, he pushed the head of his still-hard cock between my lips. "Suck very gently. Swirl your tongue. Swallow it all." He sighed and grabbed a tissue from the same box he'd used to clean up the desk chair and swept at the cum on my face while I followed his instructions. "Good girl. Such a good girl with such dirty, dirty thoughts. Is that the first time someone's ever come in your mouth?"

I nodded, still working his knob with my mouth and looking up at him. My ex-boyfriend was always soft and didn't want me to touch him any more this long after he came. Maybe that was one of the benefits of age? Maybe he was always just wired that way? I still don't know. Viagra wasn't a thing for another couple of years.

"You did a good job. You like the taste?" I nodded again. He pulled out of my mouth and reached behind his back with his right hand, teasing the lips of my pussy with his fingertips. "Looks like you liked everything, you're soaking wet again." He looked down at me shaking his head, "I'll bet nobody's ever tasted your pussy, either." He pushed two fingers slowly inside me and pulled them back out, glistening with my desire. He licked them, then sucked them into his mouth, closing his eyes. "God, you're delicious. Very sweet." He put his fingers back inside me and pulled them out again, even wetter this time, and he held them up to my lips. I pressed them firmly closed and shook my head "no."

See, here's the thing about me and porn at that time in my life. What I loved looking at more than anything else was pictures of people eating pussies. Short, tucked in pink lips like mine; long, dark lips; clits far back in their hoods; clits as big as the first digit of my thumb; everything in between. I loved everything about the idea of having a hot mouth and tongue on my inner parts, and I thought about it often when I masturbated at night in bed before falling asleep. But in almost all of the porn I'd seen with a woman receiving oral sex, it was another woman spreading her open and licking away. Boys at school constantly talked about getting blowjobs or getting laid, even the ones who definitely weren't getting either, but they almost never talked about eating pussy. When they did, it wasn't in a way that would make you think they'd actually done it. I thought it was something men only did for porn or as an enormous favor to a woman they loved, or something women did to each other. I'd never even worked up the nerve to ask my ex-boyfriend to try it before we broke up. I had never, ever told anyone about my secret interest in burying my own tongue in a woman's hot, sticky folds - I strayed away from that idea like you do from a hot iron left on the ironing board.

"Open. Your. Mouth." This was the closest to angry I'd seen him look all night. I didn't know why he wanted this so badly, I still couldn't wrap my mind around tasting my own juices being anything but dirty and wrong. I kept my mouth shut, shaking my head again as he slowly swiped his fingers across my lips. He gripped the back of my jaw tightly in his left hand and pointed my face up at his, locking eyes with me. "Open your goddamn mouth, Caroline," he hissed. "You'll thank me later."

His finger and thumb were digging in right where my jaw had been hurting when I pulled him out of my mouth. If he had been more gentle, it might have felt nice. Massage was clearly not his intention, and I reflected again on my situation - alone except for sleeping kids upstairs, no one to believe me if I told. Haltingly, I opened my mouth enough to let his fingers in. I expected him to shove them in, but instead of aggression, he moved them forward with tenderness. "Listen to me. Your whole life, you've heard that you're not the right age, not the right height, not the right size, shape, color, whatever. That's part of being a kid, wanting to grow out of those things and into who you are. That's not going to stop now that you're an adult. If anything, it's going to get worse."

He was right. Right about what he said which, now that I'm probably as old as he was then, I can look back on and say with absolute certainty is the way of things. He was also right about how I tasted: delicious, like scallops in white wine and butter and musk. He let go of my jaw and pulled his fingers out of my mouth, then worked them gently back into my vagina, pulling them out with more of my juices on them and placing them in my now willing mouth. "You are beautiful, Caroline. Your body was made for pleasure. The way you taste," he twisted his fingers back and forth gently against my eager tongue, "is a pleasure."

He moved down my body and knelt between my spread knees. "When you give your body, your pleasure, whoever you give it to, you'll never be wrong." He put his hands under my upper thighs and slightly spread my outer lips with his thumbs pulling to either side and flashed me a boyish grin I'd never seen on him before. "Even if they sometimes take some convincing." He gently pressed his tongue against my outer lips and began long, slow, strokes.

Jesus Christ. Why did I ever think that my own hand was a good approximation of exploring lips? This was nothing at all like masturbating, even when I used a warm, wet washcloth to try to capture the texture of a tongue. He opened me gently with broad, flat licks, then alternated with scooping into my inner lips with the tip of his tongue. When he began adding brushes over my clit, I clamped my own hand over my mouth to keep from yelling out loudly enough to wake the kids upstairs. Now working all of me with his tongue, he spread my vulva wider with his thumbs and dug into me with quick strokes while his nose rocked against my clit. Just when I thought the combination of his spearing tongue and hot exhalations were going to push me over the edge, he opened his whole mouth over me and gently sucked. My hips bucked up into his face and he moved his hands to grab me and hold me down as my orgasm began to build. This one was going to be even deeper and harder than the three I'd already had, I could already tell. I braced myself for the start of the trembling in my legs that led to the spasms further up and he...stopped.

I balanced on the knife-edge of cumming and he just sat back and looked at me with a wicked smile. I squirmed and pleaded with my eyes. Nothing. I reached down with both hands and spread my outer lips, the way he'd told me to do when he'd fucked me with his fingers. He didn't move. Exasperated, I started rubbing my clit to send myself over. He grabbed my hands and pinned them to the floor on either side of my hips. I moaned in frustration, then in pleasure as the tip of his tongue slicked slowly up and down my inner lips, always stopping before reaching my clit. It felt amazing, but it wasn't going to get me the rest of the way there. He looked disgustingly pleased with himself.

"Please," I whined, petulant as one of the kids asking to stay up to watch the end of a movie they'd seen a hundred times.

"Please what, Caroline? We've been over this. You have to say what you want if you hope to get it, that's lesson number one."

"Please let me cum again, with your mouth. I was so close!"

"I know," he said, turning to open one of the drawers of his desk and pulling out something I couldn't see in his closed fist. "That's why I stopped."

"Please let me cum," I repeated, more insistently, searching for the words I apparently needed to get what I wanted. "It's what I want. The...pleasure I want."

"Yes, but it's not what I want right now, is it?" He ripped open the foil wrapper of the condom in his hand and pulled out the pale latex circle, pinching the end and sliding the ring down his cock, which was monstrously hard again. "What I want is to fuck you. But first I want you to beg me to do it."