The feel of his stubble against my cheeks makes me melt. I kiss his forehead and the tip of his nose. I nip the apple of his cheek and he growls and lets his finger tips press against my spine.
I crawl between his knees, feeling well and truly submissive, and when I am like this, I find that I am my most shy.
I cannot form dirty and devious words, but I do ask first:
“I want something.”
It is the smallest voice I have, and it takes all my courage to say it.
I grip his thighs with my finger tips and stroke the insides of them, fingers tentatively moving up toward his hips. His eyes stay locked and I know that he knows what I want. I am focused and in control. I want him and I want to please him because in these moments that thought washes over me: I am a vessel for pleasure and it pleases me too.
“May I?” I ask politely, as if asking if I could take another cup of tea.
“You may,” he murmurs his assent.
He doesn’t chide me for the way I ask and I breathe a sigh of relief.
I suck him and I pour myself into it. I don’t hold back. I choke myself on his cock. I let the drool slip down my lips and chin. I want him to know how much I want to do this. I can feel myself grow wetter every time his cock touches the back of my throat, and there is a humming, vibrating energy growing within me.
He calls me “good girl,” and it makes me melt.
“You’re going to make me cum,” he growls, and slides his hands into my hair, not pulling, or pushing, merely fisting the silky strands.
One hand stays gripping his thigh while the other stealthily makes its way in between us to cup, to stroke and grope his balls gently. They are covered in my drool and my hand is immediately wet. My lips make contact with my fingertips on every downward stroke, my nose presses against his pelvic bone. There is a strange and wonderful struggle when I suck him. My brain wants me to stop, not to choke, not to suffocate in the warm, enclosed space of his body, but I don’t mind if I choke, I don’t mind the animal fear inside of me, the buzzing, heady feeling that courses over me, the wet feel of my drool slipping past my lips as my body goes slack with the pleasure of pleasing him.
He cums in my mouth.
“Don’t swallow it all,” he says.
I obey. I swallow some of him down, but hold on to the rest. I sit upright and he directs me to tilt my head back, to play with his seed in my mouth. Goosebumps rise over my skin as he watches me, the little tip of my tongue brushes against my bottom lip enough to let a drop of it roll down my skin.
“Dirty girl,” he calls me. “Clean yourself up.”
I swallow the rest of his cum, use my finger to clean my chin. I lick my lips. Satisfied.
I climb back into his lap gingerly and cuddle down against him.
“Did you have a good birthday?” I ask.
“Yes, and you’ve just made it better.”