Unbidden 3

All characters are 18 years of age or older.

If you find yourself looking into a mirror . . .

(All characters are fictitious.)

*****

He unzipped his pants.

The teeth of the zipper grating quietly under the steady breeze of the ceiling fan above.

He dared not make a sound above a whisper.

She didn't move. Dead to the world outside her dreams. Restfully still.

He slipped the band of his briefs down, exposing his swollen protrusion to the cool breeze.

Goosebumps ran up his arms, causing a shiver in his neck.

His mouth dried up, making it hard to swallow.

He slowed his breathing, closed his eyes, focused on his quaking sinews. Trying his best to still his trembling nerves.

Finally, through effort, he got a gulp of air down.

He opened his eyes and continued.

He moved closer to her, where her head touched the pillow.

Her mouth slightly agape, her hot breath huffed in short expulsions.

He brushed her lips with his crown.

First contact. Jolting gratification. Sweeping pleasure throughout his being.

She closed her mouth, swallowed, then reopened. Resuming a steady breath.

His spine stiffened and his legs shook. He took another deep breath, holding it.

His chest burned, his heart pounded, his blood coursed their veins at an audible pace.

He waited only a measure, a brief lapse to be certain.

Oh no, he had to do only what he had planned - what he had purposed. No more, and no less.

He leaned forward, making sure his balance was perfect. Perfect enough to dance along the knife's edge.

Slowly, he eased the head of his spear between her parted lips. It slipped in, just an inch. No more, but enough.

Her sleepy saliva coated his crimson flesh. Waves of ecstasy washing over him wondrously.

He lifted his erection, at its base, from her mouth.

A strand of clear liquid attached her lips to his engorged hearth.

He pulled the rope up, steadily and in a smooth motion, and stepped back, watching its length grow.

He repressed a chuckle, amused by the two feet of liquid webbing between them.

The strand broke from her lip, leaving it to hang from the tip of his rigid appendage alone.

He moved back, into position, next to her red lips; grimacing, not in pain but in concentration, as he funneled the spittle string back into her mouth. Inch by inch, patiently.

Finally, it was all back in its home, where it came from, where it belonged.

She reached up, startling him, only to scratch the side of her nose and drop her hand back beside her peaceful body.

His eyes went wide, his ears picking up sounds from every crevice of the room.

Twice, twice now nearly caught!

Another minute passed, he waited.

He couldn't spoil this opportunity with impulse. No, he must be patient.

One more minute and no signs of disturbance.

He had to finish. He had to quench this compulsion.

He regained his objective, setting the bare flesh of his crown once again onto her lips.

He held it there, waiting.

No movement.

In a barely visible motion, he moved his skin along hers. The soft touch of her lips against his most sensitive nerves warming his blood. The creases in her lip like small ripples in a pond.

He closed his eyes, holding steady, savoring this sweet, satisfying moment.

Moving now, without complete control, could be costly.

He reopened his eyes.

Was she smiling?

No.

The corner of her mouth twitched.

She must be dreaming. Perhaps in a deep sleep?

He coaxed the end of his tool further into her mouth, daring to go a little deeper than the inch he allotted himself earlier.

One and one half inch, two inches . . . He stopped.

Oh! how he wanted to go further, but it could not be.

This was more than he hoped for, more than he imagined he'd do!

Her tongue twisted, touching the tip of his tumescence.

His brow rose, his breath caught, his cock betrayed him, throbbing at the unexpected palpate.

He had to remove himself and quickly!

But it was too late.

Volley, one upon the other, spent ejaculate into her mouth. Four times, five times.

He folded over, trying to stay the firing squad in his loins, but futile was his attempt.

With the little sense and focus he had remaining, he pulled his short intrusion from her warm orifice, leaving behind several liquid strands of his own, heaped upon her tongue, coating her tonsils.

He tucked his placated member back into his briefs, zipped up - careful not to make a sound above a whisper - and left her room.

The squeak of the door signaled the end of the night's charade.

He made it out! Unknown. Undiscovered. Exculpated.

. . . She opened her eyes, smiling.