Make Me Suck Your Cock
When he called and asked me to come over, I said, “I don’t know if I’m in the mood to suck your cock.”
“You love sucking my dick,” he teased. “I have champagne and a gourmet chocolate bar.”
“Is there any other kind?”
I’d reached the point in my affair with the cock where I needed it a little kinky, just every now and then. I wanted more intercourse than we were having too. After sounding out Big D on the subject of anal intercourse, I knew the kink wasn’t going to be his cock in my ass. Yes, I tried it, didn’t really like it, don’t know what all the fuss is about there. Okay. I’d done it only rarely myself, but with the right cock, at the right time—I did know what all the fuss was about.
I remembered his story about the woman who invited him in for a drink, stripped and handed him a belt to whip her. It wasn’t exactly my thing, but I did it. Was it hot? I asked. The sex was hot, he said. Her ass felt pretty hot where I hit her, he added.
The thought of Big D striking my ass with a belt made my heart beat faster and my pussy swell and lubricate in anticipation. I dressed in one of my two “uniforms” for sex with him: the stockings, black lace bra and heels, of course, with black pencil skirt and silk blouse. (The other outfit: slim jeans, heels, man’s white shirt over the stockings and black lace bra.)
He greeted me with hungry kisses—inside his apartment door. The greeting at the outer door was always properly collegial. In case anyone was eavesdropping or walking out as I was walking in, they shouldn’t think I was his lover arrived for a hot session of cock-sucking.
“I want champagne,” I said; and he opened the bottle, filled my glass. As I took a sip, he brought out the chocolate bar, Lindt dark chocolate with chili pepper, one of my favorites. “Uhm,” I said appreciatively.
With one hand, he fondled my breasts and with the other, fed me bits of chocolate between sips of champagne. I rubbed his erection inside his pants. He fed me more chocolate. I unzipped his fly.
Holding that hard dick loosely in one hand, running my thumb up and its shaft, I looked into Big D’s dark eyes, molten pools of pure down and dirty lust, and said, “Make me suck that dick.”
“Okay,” he said. “Suck my dick. That’s an order.”
“Not good enough,” I said, swallowing the last of my champagne. “Let’s go in the bedroom.”
Carrying the bottle, our glasses and what was left of the chocolate bar, he followed me into the bedroom. His eyes were twinkling. He thought I wanted a little rough foreplay, some nipple tweaking. The man had no clue.
I took off my skirt, climbed up on his bed and got on all fours, chest pressed down against the mattress, my ass up in the air, my favorite rear entry position.
“Take off your belt and make me come,” I said.
“What?! Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I said. I turned my head to the ther side so I couldn’t see his face. “Whip my ass with your belt.”
I heard the leather come through the loops and I felt it in my pussy at the same time. My god, it was thrilling. I felt erotic dread in the pit of my stomach. I wanted him to master me. Whack! A modest blow to the buttocks where they meet the upper thighs. Whack again! Another modest blow. Four more. They stung. They felt good.
He said, “Suck my dick.”
“Yes,” I said.
I wanted him to whack me again, once, maybe twice, harder this time—to show me who was master that night—but he didn’t. He pulled me to the edge of the bed; and I sucked his dick while he stood. He pushed hard and fast into me, fucked my mouth, fucked right down my throat—and came.
He lay down with me, held me in a full body embrace and caressed my pussy, one thumb on my clit—and I came too. We fucked, intense and sweaty, and both came again. The sex was hot, hotter than it had been in a while.
I didn’t ask him to use the belt again after that night. Nor did he suggest it. Sometimes I wish he had.
NEXT WEEK: DICK-MATIZED, The Conclusion
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