A Cock in my Throat

Fuck My Mouth. Stick Your Cock Down My Throat

I love that feeling of a cock in my throat. Feeling a guy pushing down on me until his balls hit my chin. It’s a strange pleasure I get from being his slut. His cock is one which is especially enjoyable.

I knew I had to see him again. My birthday was coming up and was as horny for a good fucking as I’d ever been. Full on slut in heat. The sort of horny that makes me want to go to a bar, strip naked and let anyone and everyone have at me in any way they want. Except, right at that moment I wanted him. An hour’s drive away. On a cold, rain splattered night where the only solution to the desperation outside was loud music. Loud to point where the world outside the car ceased to exist. I felt good though. Excitable. Beyond moist. My work out that morning had been killer. I felt good, looked good and knew I’d fuck good.

Fuck it. I was Queen. Shitty drive or not I wanted to fuck him. Laughing at myself, at the crazy uniqueness I felt about him. A friendship where we can share and act out those deviant sexual desires. Whichever way it goes, it doesn’t matter who is in control. Free use of sex, body parts, whatever we want and no emotional entanglements or emotional responsibilities to each other. Yes, I know it’s a casual hook-up, friends with benefits kind of thing. Who hasn’t done that. But with him, it was the first time I’d been there and neither of us went beyond. He was genuine. Every other guy I’ve FWBed hits some emotional need. Every other girl I’ve free-used with ended with her ‘wanting more.’ Sharing is caring bullshit. When you’ve got someone and able to explore any sexual shit you want. I’m a lucky girl to have friends like these.

I arrive at his apartment block as someone else is leaving so don’t have to stand in the rain, waiting to get buzzed in. The change of air is instant. Warm and dry but I can feel the saliva in my mouth. Eager anticipation to what’s coming. I put a hand down my pants while I’m riding the lift. Already moist. I lick my lips and smile. The joy of sucking. The joy of having a cock rammed down my throat and feeling his cum spurt out. He knows how to make me gag and choke for maximum effect.

Sat on his bed. We chat about everything and nothing, I ask for his advice on a couple of financial things. He’s calm, explains things to me. My mind is calm. His energy relaxes me, puts my mind at ease. It takes time and meditation for me to feel like this when I’m alone. His voice does it all. I should record him. Talk turns to sex. He tells me about someone he saw the previous weekend. We share stories. I can be open with him, uncensored, off-guard. I’m sure that’s why the sex between us is always so good. Nothing else matters.

Anticipation builds in me. We haven’t touched yet, only the words. His accent slips to his childhood deep south drawl. It’s what he does when telling stories. We could be alone in a cabin in the woods somewhere drinking moonshine and spitting tobacco. Except I’m his prissy little English girl.

I want his cock down my throat.