Friday Night Fellation

After dinner, he sat at one end of the sofa, simply watching MSNBC while slowly enjoying a beer. For a Friday evening, we were both fairly calm and quiet, both of us looking forward to a weekend alone, a weekend without work, a weekend to simply indulge in each other.

The dinner cleanup complete, I decided to start the official weekend a little early. I joined him on the sofa, but instead of sitting beside him, I instead stretched out, my head in his lap, looking up at him and caressing his cheek. He glanced down at me, smiling as he gently squeezed a breast, then simply rested his hand there, molding his hand to one of his favorite curves of my body. But after a few minutes, however, I needed to be more active.

Slowly, I turned over, feeling his eyes upon me, sensing his wonderment of what I was about to do. Slowly, I unzipped his slacks, and a moment later I had fished out his penis, the portion of his anatomy which so often consumes my every thought and causes me to salivate like Pavlov's dog whenever I see it. I looked up at him shyly, flashing him my best "innocent little girl" expression, knowing that at that very moment, I looked anything but "innocent" with my face just mere inches from his crotch, from his exposed manhood.

He simply placed a hand on my head - not guiding me, just petting me, as if I were a puppy. I whimpered, looking directly at the slowly-growing treat before me, exhaling my warm breath onto him, smiling at his soft contented sigh. I gave the tip a tentative lick, as if tasting a lollipop for the very first time. Gently, I scratched with a fingernail, enticing my treat to grow, solidify, lengthen, tempt.

"You have a way with me that no one else ever has," he said softly, the jazz music of a commercial playing in the background, the scent of the alcohol tumbling upon me as he spoke. The way he was petting my head was having an effect on me as well, causing my heart to swell within my chest. I continued to breathe hotly upon him, lick him slowly and gently, scratch him with delicate care and admiration, and ultimately I kissed the very tip of his extended manhood, taunting him - and also taunting myself - by moving forward so slowly with my actions as the talking heads blathered on in the background. Fortunately, the blathering suddenly ceased as he used the remote to either turn off the television or mute the annoying chatter, then set it aside to pet my head with both hands.

"You now have my full attention," he quietly assured me... as if I needed a verbal notification of that fact, even though his manhood was definitely standing at attention before my very eyes.

I kissed the tip again, my fingertips gently pressed around the root. So firm and thick and erect as a missile, I thought briefly of the first time I had enveloped my lips around the then-strange shaft. With my first boyfriends, I had never done anything sexually other than feeling each other up through our clothes. In college, I slowly discovered my sexuality, but had somewhat resisted taking my boyfriends into my mouth. But this man, soon to be my husband, had somehow managed to change my perception, had somehow managed to show me the satisfaction and the pleasure I could derive from pleasuring him while essentially denying my own pleasure.

Upon hearing another sigh tumbling down to my ears, I looked up at him. His lips were parted, his eyes closed, his head leaning back against the wall. A slight smile curled up the edges of his lips.

Closing my eyes, I fully engulfed him, rapidly, plunging my mouth around his tall erection, surrounding him, sheathing him, and he groaned aloud at my sudden, unexpected act, his fingertips curling roughly against my scalp. I laughed around him, and his groan lengthened and intensified as it penetrated my ears, my soul.

Since I had his full attention, I slowly moved my head up and down, pleasuring him with my mouth, with my tongue, with my fingers. Gently, I kneaded his testicles, heavy with his love, filled with his desire. Although he is typically as quiet as a titmouse in most of our intimate interactions, he was especially aroused, especially turned on by my loving actions - he groaned, he sighed aloud, and he called me disrespectful names such as "slut" and "bitch."

...and it all combined to cause my thong to dampen and my nipples to harden. Despite the t-shirt and the shorts, I felt warm. Surges of electricity flowed through my body, even though I was only giving and not receiving such intimate pleasure; maneuvering so that one leg fell to the floor, I repeatedly pressed my clitoris against the edge of the sofa, adding just enough gentle pressure to add to the delightful wickedness of the moment.

My jaw needed a brief rest, so I lifted my head, allowing the male anatomy to slip from the seal of my lips. As I firmly stroked his thick length, I looked up at him with a wicked grin, and was met with a cold glare.

"I have half a mind to rape your throat!" he announced, clearly not amused that my mouth no longer sheathed his erection. My smile widened at the fact that I had brought him to this stage, especially since he rarely ever uses dirty language with me. Perhaps the alcohol – still noticeable upon his breath – had also helped to dismantle the barrier which prevents his primal nature from being revealed to me.

As I felt him lower my head once more, I instinctively opened my mouth, my hand immediately replaced with my warm wet cavity. His groan was louder than before. I submitted to him, allowing his hands to control my head as I continued to move against the edge of the sofa.

"Take it all, bitch!" He plunged my head fully upon him, my lips pressed around the hairless base, his tip lodged in my throat. I had been ready for this, but I still felt a few seconds of panic as he held my head in place, yet that panic caused me to move my hips a little faster and a little harder, adding to my pleasure in this most unusual situation.

He lifted my head enough so I could breathe momentarily through my nose, then pressed my face to his crotch once again and held me in place. Again and again and again he did this to me, my panic receding each time, my throat instinctively swallowing to try to ingest his entirety, my unladylike actions causing incredible sounds and obscenities and names to befall me until, with a mighty roar, he plunged into my throat one final time and lurched violently within me, unleashing his furious love, filling my belly with his white-hot desire.

When he released my head at last, I lifted my head quickly, gulping the precious air, wanting desperately to fill my lungs once more. He was breathing just as heavily, but for a very different reason, a low rumble accompanying each exhalation.

"Sit in my lap," he requested softly. I quickly complied, and he enveloped me in his arms, holding me close, his face buried in my neck, his breath warm upon my skin as I held his head in my hands.

He did not need to say anything. I felt his love and his thankfulness, and although only he had reached the summit of pleasure, I was satisfied in that his pleasure had come from me.