PLAUDITS OF THAT UNLETTERED MOMENT (con't) -- #2
Her swollen, sensitive breasts smashed against him. Her nipples prodded unyielding muscle. He was one large, prevailing guy, her inner voice observed with acute pleasure. A very strong, buff, dominant guy who could overpower her easily, and she wanted that. She saw a hunk who was so tough he could piss his name into concrete, make feral wolves turn their eyes away, or quiet a bar fight when he walked into the room.
She wanted invasion, an attack of senses and body. He smelled so masculine, so erotically of musky clean and woods fragrant soap and raw fleshy heat. That heat transmitted itself to her, warming her on every erogenous level, from flesh, to mind, to spirit. Even the hot, wet, minty taste of his tongue, the velvety texture of his mouth, increased the sensitivity to every new machination of sensation.
He deepened the kiss, ravished her mouth. She’d never been kissed with such hunger, such raw need. All knew that there was no substitute for victory, his conquest was the complete joy of her mouth fused to his. As though he’d yearned for this moment for a lifetime.
She clutched his shoulders. Her chest was tight with desire, her throat dry with it; her heart hammered against her rib cage. She felt ready to combust on the spot. She now understood why heroes and heroines of novels would risk everything for sex. She was horny enough to cum without her clit or cunt being touched.
Yet, she struggled to cool down, slow up and take back control. It was her turn to dominate him and make him as weak as he made her. It was her way. He already made it past barriers that no one else ever had. She never had sex in her room, her intimate domain, and she was ready to allow that, to take that step. Past sex was oft mechanical lacking emotion and desire. And marked by one very fundamental style, she retained control. The foray into virgin ground unnerved her. Thus, she needed to blow him, needed to make it less personal, needed to return to what she knew how to do, and do well.
With others she’d have their pants down and their cock in her mouth before they were even fully in the apartment. Her room was her domain of sensual dreams and fetish fantasies, and she had oft wondered if there would ever be a man of flesh and blood carrying her across the threshold, gaining entrance to the solitude of her most inner haven. Momentarily, she bristled that previous sex was about his orgasm, duty and devoid of emotions of heart and soul and spirit. She got her upstart in her sex life under the afore principles, comprehended the long term impact on her, but she was far too reticent to have fixed it. The epiphany she was presently experiencing was sex and love were wonderfully hinged one to the other. She wanted, no, needed to swing on them. But. The same old was the same old and comfortable.
Moving her hands from his hair, she slid them over his taut, expansive shoulders. As her hands migrated, so did she, ending the fiery kiss with a tender bite of his bottom lip. Yet, simultaneously, beginning another seduction as her fingernails traced his neck veins, hands cupped powerful deltoids, crossing over triceps and biceps. Her fingers reached his hands, and entwined them with hers as her tongue traced a pattern over his chest, down and down to hardened abs. Cyndy was deadeyed on reaching one objective, it rising to meet her. That conquest was within inches, and she was ready to overtly impress.
He began to pull his hand free. "No...!" he mildly asserted, projecting little challenge in his tone, knowing that this was their experience and she had every right to express need and want.
"Yes," she returned, in a confident, husky tone.
James gathered her head in large hands, stalling her movement.
"Yes. Let me." Cyndy reacted to quell the kerfuffle that he presented.
"Yes." She won their turkey-shoot and was about to eat the bird.
She made her way slowly down his body until she was on her knees in front of him. The moment stilled as the culmination of passionate emotion inundated her. The feelings were so different, as her face addressed his cock and balls. No thought of the mechanics of pleasure saturated her mind, more the intimacy of expression, caring, giving, pleasing because he was James, the heat of her heart, not just any other man. Her eyes appreciated his wealth, drivel moistened the corners of just parted lips and her heavy breathing ruffled his loose shorts, warming.
His stomach quivered when she reached the waistband of his dark blue briefs and dipped her tongue on the underside of the elastic, then dragging that tongue along the length. She tugged at his briefs with her teeth, one side, then the other, then she once more ran her tongue along the elastic well below his bellybutton. Her journey took her to the tip of the triangular of curls outlining his cock. Just as those curls were borne of true kink she bent and bowed to that ideal.
Using her teeth once more, to pull the briefs to her fingers, she drug his shorts well past his hips, purposely yanking them down and down. The captive cock finally free, popped and jerked and bounced and presented itself with apt pride.
She kissed the bulbous tip tonguing it, while continuing to urge his briefs down and down until they ended up around his ankles. She lowered her hand to one of his calves, then urged him to step out of the cottony clothe, first one foot then the other. As her hand migrated up via his inner-thigh she cupped his balls and held a wealth of manness she knew was about to be completely hers.
To give credit where credit was due, this was her forte, her ace of manipulation that could momentary enrapture a man past his point of resistance. When it came to this, it wasn't a crapshoot more the shooting fish in a barrel. Yes, she was that good. She oft recalled her Grandpoppie always decrying a thing worth doing was worth doing well, though she knew he really wasn't specifically thinking of this. Would he be proud of her? Of course James would be. Why? She was that good.
Flinging the briefs away, her fingers brushed along the wealth of curls and then engulfed his cock, finding a drop of pre-cum perched at the very tip of his head. She lapped it up and into her mouth. Her eyes met his at that moment.
With slight of hands both balls vanished in the caress of her. She recognized the generous gush of blood that was engorging him, bringing phenomenal length and gargantuan girth as well as an unwavering joy to her. He was becoming her greatest challenge. From the git-go she could anticipate his astonishing size but didn't expect the totality of it as it firmed up, seemingly without stopping. Could she take him completely down her throat? That concept was moot. Why? She just would force it and herself to achieve full deep-throat. Why? This was their moment in time. She wanted, no, needed to give all she could.
She heard him catch his breath, felt him trembling. Had the misdirection of blood dazed him? She wasn't certain but her slow and sensuous approach was only a precursor to the wild foray that was about to follow. Her blood churned with heat and she was ready to take him on a bonafide ride of seduction, to shake, no, shatter the very ethos of him.
Fingernails raked the back of his gonads, stimulating the muscles that propelled ejaculation. She wanted the strengthy shrapnel of projectile semen to bounce about her throat, feeling it all the way down.
Once again she trapped his hands. Her own circled his wrists, holding them like manacles as if that were enough to stop him from moving. They both knew it was her roving tongue and seducing mouth that did that. This intended manipulation was simply the precursor to provide intense stimulation.
James' possible consternation was that if she'd play it out until he was weak-kneed and nearly incoherent would disquiet him. Yet again, he offered a weak protest, "No... wait...."
She knew his resistance was folly and began to noisily feast upon his penis, famished for the hot meat. She thought touché take that and that.
"Damn!" he flashed.
At that moment she devoured to a depth he never knew before. That haymaker of the blowjob world brought him a momentary wobble.
"Flash fry the buffalo. Babe, that was hot." James closed his eyes and leaned into her quest for depth. But that was short lived when he tried to pull her head back. "Wait." Yes, that wait was counter-intuitive to all Cyndy wanted to share and maybe a bit anticlimactic. Had he wanted to delay gratification? Maybe. Or maybe there was another goal he aspired. "Wait."
She didn't, believing his request was asinine, thinking damned if you do and damned if you don't. Would have said it out loud, but her mouth was completely full of swollen cock.
James pulled her head off his little head. Hoping that the blood's enthusiasm would have some time to convalesce.
Refusing to commiserate with his strange rebellious mood, her physical answer to his displacement was to draw slow circles on his muscular thighs with her practiced tongue, moving down and then back up his inner leg with each spiral. His cock jerked upward like a marionette being manipulated by a puppeteer. Pleased by his response, she brought her face to his turgid rod once more. Her warm breath coated the head before she used the flat of her tongue to lick him from the back of his balls to the tip of the cleft of his cock-head, readying it to be engulfed in her wonton throat.
She moved from one ball to the other, tormenting him until his legs went weedy. The doldrums of a year fantasying about him transfigured from a downtrodden idea to a transfixing exhalation. Destiny had always been the antichrist that perplexed Cyndy, but at this moment she felt, in our dark lord we trust. There they were, lost in the throes of lust, that was about this very moment, all previous and more importantly, all to come.
The density of the wall pressed into his bare backside as she nuzzled his legs apart with her prodding head, undaunted by his muscularity she forced his legs apart, while big-tongue lapping at any flesh which was close.
She acted the wily minx, undeterred in her provocative mindset that this sojourn was not about the culmination, but more about the minutia of each action. And her earlier developed repertoire was vast enough to procure that end.
He moved as if he wanted her to stop, at which she slapped his bare-butt being the momma telling that nudgy child to stand still, knowing it would behoove him to let her finish. She slapped a second time, more effusively, instructing that she was in charge.
He couldn't help the animalistic growl, when she speared the cleft of his sex and amused herself with it. She then lavished his cock with the flat of her tongue. Each act was raucous, direct and controlling.
Feeling the raw bestial call, "Grrr..." James entwined his fingers within her hair. He could have jerked her down onto him, taken ultimate control, driving every bit of his inordinately long, gargantuan cock down her throat, making her his pleasure-slave, but he understood this was her moment, so he growled, again. "Grrr..."
He continued to growl deep in his throat as she swirled her wicket tongue, and then engulfed the head to suck it. First just an affable taunting, but the suckling grew by degree and her rounded mouth continued down the span. Gulping in his length, further and further, one inch added to two, then enjoying five, struggling slightly with eight, proving a point when she surpassed twelve, not sated until her lips met the root with her tongue probing his ball sack. An immeasurable accomplishment, yet so very measureable at thirteen inches. A full praiseworthy display of her ability thusfar, and then with middling procrastination, she slide back up until her lips were just a pucker at his cock tip."
"Kiss the frog, Princess."
Princess might have been mistaken as being pejorative by many, putting the fire and brimstone on, but Cyndy embraced it as if she was wearing the jeweled tiara of royalty, radiating. She wanted to dance at the balls. (to be continued)
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