i could suck on his cock forever. i could eat nothing but his spunk and be fine. there is no arch. simply straight and so incredibly hard; it’s like the leaning tower of pisa sheathed in ropes of bulging veins. it’s thick. so, perfectly thick. the kind of thick where a womans hand can not encircle it and you need 2 in order to serve it justice. even stacked, his substantial length is not covered, leaving inches of skin to play with and slide up and down the steel of his erection.
and his head. the beautiful plum of his head. his head with the deep delineation, the pronounced ridge, over his shaft which provides ample room to tongue and tease as i explore and appreciate the texture change, the spongy difference. both hands and mouth are engaged in pleasuring him and using all three still can not cover him completely, even when he is as deep as i can take him. my jaw fails me.
his erection is so hard that it extends down to his perineum. bulging with arousal, behind his sack which is disproportionately small compared to his cock. i use one hand to stroke it, to press upon it, to gently rub circles over it as I slip the tip of a finger, gently and delicately, into his tight little asshole, on the downward strokes of that hand. my other hand and mouth continue to match the ministrations as i twist and stroke, slaver and lick, so that he is hard pressed to keep his control.
how many times did he need to back away? to buckle his hips to try and avoid my touch, so he could keep control? how many times did i smile as i lifted his ass, looking into his eyes as i smile derisively and take him into mouth and hand again? this was my show, not his. this was my deciding on how to service his cock, not his. i know his tempo, i know the signs. i push him to the edge time and again and then drag him back from it using my lips and hands on his tender and aroused flesh.
i was enjoying myself. aroused by arousing him until he forgot himself. serving his beautiful and massive cock was the only focus i had and because it was unknown when it would happen again, i wanted to remember every moment, to make it last so that he would remember why i am inside of his head and why he loves coming to see me. i needed him to be aware that all other women will fail him, when it comes to loving his cock as i do. they may suck him as an afterthought, an expectation or out of a sense of obligation, while i do it for my own joy and pleasure. his body knows the difference.
when he gets hard, when he gets excited, i am the memory he uses to self pleasure. the images of looking down at my mouth and hands servicing his masculine needs, with no conditions or expectations, are the ones which come into his mind. he needs it. and no one else offers what i do as what we do is not even comparable. i have listened to him over the years and secured that information about who he is compared to how he presents himself to the world. so i service more than his cock when i suck him as i’m inside of one head, when i suck the other.