Dreamings of Dick

Here is my happy place, crouched between the sprawled-out legs of a hot guy, a friend, someone I’ve been eyeing with lascivious appreciation for a long while. Face-down, arse-up; I’m ready, so ready; lip-licking, hip-wriggling, raring to go.

Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to give your mouth a good, hard fucking with my cock while I lie back and enjoy your efforts. No mercy – if I think you’re going easy on yourself, you’ll get ten strikes with my cane.

Swoon. A challenge, a mouth-fucking, a chance to perform – of course I accept!

Here I go, wrapping my pursed lips over his twitching, standing-to-attention dick; plunging my mouth down to his hilt, where the wiry curls of his pubic hair tickle my nose and fill me with the musky-sweet scent of his secret places. Pushing him further to the back of my throat, holding there for a moment then drawing back slowly, tongue swirling so that his handsome cock is lubricated, hilt to tip, with slippery drool. That was the warm-up. Now comes the work.

I ride him hard and fast with my mouth, imagining his hands against the back of my head, pushing his cock deep into me, then pulling my head away by the hair, like he does in my dirtiest fantasies; relentless and merciless; using me, taking me for his pleasure. I’m not fucking him, I’m fucking me the way I like it; brutal, uncompromising, savage; holding my breath so that his dick can occupy all of the space within my warm, wet, welcoming mouth; gagging and twitching in silence, snatching quick gasps of air between thrusts.

He moans, grunts, catches his breath as I work, and the sounds of his fuck-lust spur me to greater depths of self-abasement; my tongue held rigid, throat open, drool bubbling from the corners of my lips and running down my chin, eyes squeezed shut in concentration; braced on my elbows so that I can put all my weight behind the downward slide and bury my face in his warm belly, push a little harder, press a little deeper, trying to reach all the way down to my aching cunt and fill it with this hot, thick flesh.

He’s on the edge, hips thrusting involuntarily upwards to meet me, hands clawing at the sheets to anchor himself as I work his cock-head against the textures of my tongue, smooth at the tip, rougher at the root; straining forward to fill myself with him until, with a roar, he bucks against me, and I feel his hot, salty spunk splash the back of my throat, his dick pulsing between my jaws, his hands tangling in my hair, holding me in place so he can empty his every last drop of appreciation into this willing fucktoy.

Mission accomplished.