Post-Modern Love: 01

First I undid his seatbelt. "Drive very safely," I whispered, unbuckling his belt, and then twisting and wrenching his trouser button until it passed begrudgingly through its attendant slit. That was tricky, even though he obligingly sucked in his gut. The zipper, however, parted its teeth with delicious ease despite the outward-pressing bulge. The inside of the car smelled like leather, paper, rubber, and pine cones. I molded my hand over the hardened cock in his undershorts. Gloriously hard cock. O yes, I do believe he liked me.

"Mmm," I hummed. "I love... your cock." But I said it slowly, hungrily, as if I'd just popped a bon-bon or a truffle into my mouth, and it came out more like "caulk," like Julie Christie in "Shampoo"—if I hadn't been squeezing said rod, he might have thought I was talking about his watertight silicone sealant. Slowly, I pulled away the elastic of his shorts and drew out his erection, a dim greeny-gray mushroom-headed pole in the dashboard glow. Beautiful. Bone-stiff. I bent to it. It smelled dark and leaf-moldy and with the faintest trace of mostly gone moisturizer—my Zack had unusually dry skin, and lotioned himself up head to toe every day to battle it.

I hadn't really planned on this, madame. I'd never sucked a cock in a car, let alone a moving one. What was most pleasing, and only learned later, was that no one had ever done this to Zack before. I was shocked by that, him being such veteran adulterer by that time. What a coup for me! To have gained a first against so many!

But that wasn't on my mind at the time. I had started this whole thing with the intention of only teasing him, blue-balling him... I know that sounds cruel, and I don't know why I thought to do that. Really, I think it was mostly a matter of not believing that I could do, or that he would allow, much more than just a manual bit of flirtation. But I was greedy, yes, like I said, and in great need of physicality. Thinking of it, I had to touch it, and touching it, I had to see it, and seeing it, I had to suck it, and sucking it... well, I couldn't possibly stop short of making him give up his load. Choke me with his cum. Empty his balls down my throat, as I was fond of saying to him in my filthier throes.

And I was feeling particularly evil, as well, I'm ashamed but not above admitting. My "friend" Lynn so kindly gave up the company of her husband of any evening to rescue a preggo in distress, and I was going to repay her by sucking him off, by licking and sucking his hard cock until spurt after spurt of his married-man cum filled my mouth, until his jizz jetted over my hot, greedy tongue. Don't you think, though, that when a woman is profoundly pregnant, she is also at perhaps her most narcissistic? One feels like a world of sorts, a kind of universe, completely unto oneself and wholly apart from all others. It's all about me, about me and my stupendous, miraculous body, about procreation, making life, propafuckingating the species—how fundamental! One has moments when one almost feels deified. (Cut all this stuff out, luv. Literotica readers will go cold over it, I expect.)

His cock. It tasted a faintish amalgam of urine, wax, sweat, and hair. Altogether, though, this was the taste Zack's cock. Add saliva, and you have the taste of Zack's cock when it's been in my mouth. (Add copper penny and salt, and you have the taste of Zack's cock after it's been in my pussy.) I savored its cylindrical, hard-yet-soft full feel in my mouth for a bit, and bobbed it gently, thinking "this is me pretending to be a cunt, a cunt getting its fuck..." I had to stop and catch my breath.

"Don't stop," he breathed.

"I love fucking your cock with my mouth, Zack," I said, licking at the head, plunging my mouth down over as much of it as I could take, then pumping it with my fist. I must say that I was mostly oblivious to where we were, what was going on, had no more sense of being in a moving car. At that moment, I felt more consumed by his cock than consuming it. "I love..." bobbing, up for air, "your cock..." ditto, "in my fucking mouth..."

And then back at it, laving it stem to stern with my tongue, sucking the head, pulling off and pumping it and looking at it squarely in the dimness, sucking it some more. Looking at it some more. God, I wanted to see the white cum spasm out of it, but I also wanted to feel it, feel that unique belly-flop experience of a man ejaculating in my mouth... Even when you know he's coming, even once you learn all the physiological nuances of a man so that you can detect the precise moment when he's going to shoot, there's still a thrilling beauty to it all. The same way you can never tire of a good rollercoaster; you see all the twists and turns, you see the long climb, you know you're at the crest, you remember the sudden wild fear of the free fall, and yet... here we go, baby. Here we go. Give it to me...

He was shifting, thrusting... I felt the car gradually slow, slow... and then lurch back up to speed. (I thought about recommending cruise control, but felt it might break the mood.) He was close, and I loved that closeness, that feeling of being on the verge of no-control, both of us. I stopped bobbing and sucking, kept gently fisting...

"What do you want me to do with your cock, baby?" I said. "Should we save this big, hot load for Lynn? Or do you want to fill my mouth? Hmm? Do you want to shoot your hot cum in my mouth, Zack? Zack? Do you want me to swallow your cum, baby? Because I'll eat it all. I'll eat all your cum. I haven't been able to think of anything but you shooting your hot cum down my throat since the last time you fucked my mouth, baby..."

He just panted, glanced down at me hastily, then looked back to the road, thrusting his hips up at me. But I wasn't going to take just that.

"You have to say what you want," I said.

"Suck me off," he croaked. "Eat my cum, baby."

"Are you sure," I teased—I was scum, I know. But believe me, this made it all the more... authentic. Acknowledging what we were doing. Being genuine about what we were doing. Don't pretend. "Are you sure you want to shoot your load in another woman's mouth?"

"Take it. Or I'll shoot it all over your pretty face. I know you'd like that."

"Oh, yeah... that's my boy."

I slid my lips slowly and snugly down his hard shaft, like I was stretching a Trojan over that pole, and then began twisting my fist up and down the length of him while I sucked on his cockhead, joggling my tongue at the underside of his head... all this, I knew, was the crest of the hill, the end of the long climb...

He came in my mouth. He gushed his semen over my tongue, and I sucked at his spasming cock, swallowing, sucking, swallowing... It was warm, salty yet sweetly edged like fresh clams, muscular. It was fucking beautiful, delicious in its purely biological, intimate way, controlled and yet chaotic, dirty and yet pure, coldly administered and yet desperately hot because of that. I could say I ate his cum, and this went intimately beyond all other common knowledge. Oh, I've cleaned up after him, and I've washed and ironed his shirts, and I've tended him through sickness, and I've listened to his deepest fears, and I've tendered his dreams, and I've wiped his tears... Yes, well, very nice, but have you eaten his cum? Has he come in your mouth? Has he transmitted his hot, beautiful, slippery fucking load down your throat, groaning and thrusting and holding your head in place, his essence manifest through your entire system, your digestive track, your bloodstream, the molecules from his semen making their way to your brain? Have you eaten his cum?

The beautiful child in my stomach kicked, and then barrel-rolled. In anticipation, I imagined, from the elixir still to come.

I looked up at him from my place in his lap.

"You're divine," I said, meaning it. God.

xx,

A.M.

[to be continued...]