Lola Pt. 01

He was far less gentle with his mouth than his words, far less reserved - but equally precise. I watched my nipple disappear in his mouth. He looked so immersed, diligently exploring every side and angle of my small, perky breasts. I watched him squeeze me over and over, almost as if milking me. This old perv. All I could feel was shame. I was confused, conflicted. My nipples stiffened, my body softened - but that response wasn't much of a choice. I'm chronically over-sensitive to touch, and he had at least a couple of decades of practice on anyone else that's ever touched me before. It felt nice, but wrong. I didn't **want** him. I will never want him.

And then there was this moment - he hovered over me, trapping the very tip of my nipple in a flickering of his rough, freakishly fast moving tongue. Tiny electrical shocks sizzled on my skin, down the spine, up the back of my neck. My whole body tensed up. I closed my eyes. He pulled my waist closer to him, arching my back, and m I could no longer see him. The jolt of pain when his teeth clenched on my overstimulated pink flesh caught me off guard. I heard my own voice, hoarse, confused. Half moan, half plead.

I didn't know yet that pleading worked like lighter fluid on him. He got rougher, faster - sucking, kissing, biting, alternating between intensely overwhelming and soft and gentle. He enjoyed squeezing pained moans out of me. His touch was not unbearable but far from easy to endure.

Warm pleasure spread to my belly, a strange background to the intermittent pain.

By the time his lips reached between my legs i could no longer claim my moans were solely pain-induced. Eyes closed, I felt myself picked up by a rising current, his hands in my thighs, my dress - pushed high up my waist, the thin strip of fabric of my underwear - off to the side. Then, nothing followed - nothing but cold, empty air. My hips inched forward on their own.

That's when he, what I could only describe as **attacked** my pussy. I could tell, I could even hear - I met him with a warm wet welcome down there. I felt the weight of shame again, for my body to betray me like that. Or was it my mind that betrayed my body? Something I heard a friend say once surfaced to mind - "Boys lick your pussy; men - eat it". I certainly felt like a meal about to be completely devoured. I wiggled in his hands, overwhelmed by this powerful new mixture of emotions - shame, pain, and undeniable pleasure.

I felt so stupid.

I leaned back. I never knew a tongue could make you feel this much. The way he pushed against my already swollen little bead was way too much, almost painful - but far outweighed by the sweet rising pleasure. One by one, he pushed every last thought out of my mind too.

He was persistent, relentless - until suddenly the world went completely dark. The force I felt building up in me almost scared me - I closed my eyes and let go, submerged in darkness, bracing myself for the imminent moment of impact.

Moments, a few cursed seconds before the most powerful orgasm I ever saw coming could hit me - he abruptly pulled away. All the tension escaped me in a moan so needy and desperate that just hearing myself snapped me out of the haze. I opened my eyes to a smug, unfriendly smile. Pausing to enjoy the sight between my legs for a moment, he looked up at me and then the dress still hanging on my body.

"Take everything off".

I didn't hesitate, pulling the only two pieces of clothing I had on off myself.

He pulled me by my legs and I slid down to the soft carpet. Leveled with my eyes, he brushed over my lips with his thumb. "I'd like to try these now" and I thought he was about to kiss me.

Instead, he rose up to his feet, simultaneously freeing himself of his pants and pressing my shoulders against the side of the bed. Instead of his lips I was staring at a thick, hard, uncircumcised cock, bobbing just inches from my face. Intimidating, repulsive.

I could feel his desire so distinctly, as if it was my own.

Impatiently, his cock pushed my lips apart and slowly, but surely, filled my mouth with clammy, foreign flesh - only stopping when his tip was firmly pressed against my throat. I felt a rush of panic at the sensations filling my mouth to the brim, leaving little space for air.

His thumb slid onto the nape of my neck, wrapping his hand around it. No, this was all too much, this whole thing - it wasn't right, it wasn't okay. I shouldn't be doing this. My hands pushed on his thighs, I looked up, overwhelmed, even offended. He was leaned over the bed, and I couldn't see his face until my soft attempt to push him off got his attention. His eyes were clouded, heated - desire was mixed with disgust, and so, so much anger. His anger disarmed me.

"Breathe." He said without moving an inch. It felt like I couldn't, but then I felt my nostrils flare up as thin strands of air filled my lungs. It was slower, but my air wasn't completely blocked off. He pet my hair gently, but his eyes were not kind. On one hand, I wasn't sure anyone has ever wanted me with such intensity before - I could feel it in the impatience of his cock growing firmer, in the tension in his hands. But it was like he hated me for it, or deeply despised- and this was something I was certain I've never felt before, at least not in such proximity. It filled me with fear and adrenaline.

I kept breathing. My hands now rested still on his thighs. I'd like to think it was fear alone that diluted my resolve to stop all this - but I can't be sure.

I almost felt guilty for interrupting him. I didn't want him to be disappointed.

Everything softened.

"Okay" he nodded, more to himself than me, and pressed me down just a little harder right before finally pulling out. But only for a brief moment.

Each time he pulled out he dove back in faster, and each time he pushed back in - he pressed harder at my throat, and stayed there longer. My eyes watered from the increasing pressure but I tried my best to keep composure. Every instinct told me not to interrupt him, not to upset his enjoyment. I tried to make sure my teeth were not scratching him. I reached my tongue forward, massaging him as much as his movement allowed me. My efforts seemed to soften the sharpness in his movements and that encouraged me. So absorbed with whether I should be doing this or not before - now I was fully fixated on doing it well. I wanted to give him whatever it is that made him shake and groan like that.

The blowjobs I've given to my previous boyfriends before that night were, first of all, very few - not my favorite thing to do to be honest, and second - they were a special, slow, sensual experience. Nothing like what was happening right now. He was methodical, relentless and merciless. To say it was overwhelming would be an understatement of the year. But my self-pitying had to step aside while I did my best to accommodate him. Between getting enough oxygen and keeping down the ominous throat spasms, I was entirely occupied. I could feel his stiffness and was sure he was about to orgasm any second - or at least move on to the "main event". I just had to hold off until then.

But oh how wrong I was. Time stretched and stretched, and we were not slowing down or moving on. He was entirely consumed by the process, alternating rest and attack modes, determined to feed his entire cock down my throat. This was becoming impossible to endure.

My jaw is tired. There's wetness everywhere - part my tears, but mostly the endless saliva he pulled from from my throat. Im surprised at the amount. Whenever I'd feel him tense up, nearing release - he'd pull out entirely and give himself a break, making sure to keep my mouth occupied in the meantime. At first, just with his fingers, holding me close to his face, exploring the insides of my mouth like it was not at all attached to a real person. Until eventually, instead of bringing me up to his him, he pushed my face down, pressing me against his balls. Ive never done that until then, but it wasn't hard to guess what he wanted. Covered in coarse hair, it felt strange sucking and licking them, but I ignored any and all my reservations with relative ease this time. However weird this might've felt, I was ready to lick his balls until sunrise if it could've saved me from chocking on his cock, again and again.

The air first filled with my embarrassingly loud slurping, then with his increasingly demeaning commentary. His hands were getting rougher too. I'm surprised I don't feel angry at him. Instead, every time he'd take the intensity up another notch - I'd only get softer, smaller. My experience centers on adapting to his needs. Holding the breath better when his hand tightened on my throat a little too much. Not complaining about the way his fingers felt sharp pressed into my cheeks. Agreeing with everything he said, even as his words grew more hurtful and mean. He wasn't wrong, after all. I wasn't exactly not a dumb, needy whore right now.

Unless he had no intention of actually paying me. Somewhere in between being deeply offended by his offer and chafing my knees against his bedroom carpet - there was supposed to be a point where, at the very least, I should've ensured the terms he offered were real. But in my haze, none of this felt real. For all I know, he could laugh me off the next morning and send me on my way, fucked and just as broke. And then I wouldn't even be a whore - just a dumb, easily manipulated slut. This part I didn't need spelled out to me - but now was too late to be figuring that out.

This was ridiculous. He edged himself for what felt like a small lifetime - a lifetime I spent gagging, gasping, sucking and licking. I finally snapped. I pushed him away lightly but decisively as I felt a bubble of emotion burst. I was sobbing.

He pulled away and removed his hands off me, letting me calm down. Then he asked "do you want to leave?". I looked down, embarrassed.

A quiet "No" left my hoarse, tortured throat. I shook my head lightly.

"What do you want then?" He seemed pretty displeased, pulled away from his primal trance.

I could barely hold back the gag reflex from my own words. What have you become, Lola?

"I want you to just cum"

I wasn't lying. I was tired. I just wanted him to get what he wants and be done.

"Oh yeah? Then don't be so useless and make me fucking cum." He said, shoving himself in once more.

Straight back into it, he pounded faster, with a renewed ferocity in his movement. Then, moments later, he pulls away again. His tone was mocking me.

"I don't know.. I can't tell if you're even trying. Are you? Are you even trying to be a good whore for me? Or are you being a bad girl? A stupid, lazy little bad girl?.. " - then, emphasizing each word with a thrust - "You.. should.. be.. ashamed.. Lola.."

He pulled me back by the hair again:

"You know what, I think a proper little whore should feel bad for doing such a shit job. Don't you? Are you a good whore, Lola? Are you??" He pulled on my hair and I half whispered:

"Yes.."

"Yes what?"

"I'm a good whore.. I'm sorry.."

"I don't see you feeling sorry." Then his voice got lower, grittier "Girls like you never get slapped around enough.. lazy, entitled.. you should be begging me to slap you for this.. to discipline that useless mouth of yours"

It took a few tries for me to be able to ask him to slap me, to get the words to sound convincing enough for him. The last try came out quiet, but surprisingly sincere. Maybe I did deserve it - if not for my humble blowjob skills, then maybe for having so little self respect that I find myself eagerly sucking off some old perv for a little fucking cash.

A sharp, stinging pain flashed across my cheek. I realized no adult has ever slapped me before.

Seconds later the same burn spread across the other side. I reached out for his cock myself before giving him time to consider a third. I was now absolutely desperate to make him cum and attacked him with the same appetite as he did hours ago with my pussy - which by now was dripping Into a wet spot on the floor below me, completely ignored by everyone, myself included.

After letting me exhaust myself on his cock he took over one last time. I was barely there. I just wanted to make my mouth feel the way he wanted it to. I couldn't believe all my efforts couldn't get him to release.

All of a sudden, I felt his impossibly swollen head "pop" through the entrance to my throat. I felt like he shoved himself all the way through to my lungs as I struggled to fill them with air. His flesh felt impossibly intrusive, completely all encompassing, blocking any hope of air passing through the airtight seal. I started freaking out, but just before panic completely took over - he finally "popped" back out.

The pause was only long enough for me to get a breath in. He has lost all resemblance to the man I came to see - and turned into a beast. My throat was now unlocked and fair game, and he indulged in a long and loud exploration of it. I had somehow adjusted my shock enough to allow him longer stretches, but I was sore, exhausted and in a trance myself. Finally, a deep guttural noise began building up in him and he pulsed in my throat so fast I thought I would lose consciousness - I wasnt even entirely sure I haven't already. He held my head tightly in place while shooting his warm seed straight into my stomach. By some miracle - maybe the promise of a finish line so close - I was able to hold off the gag reflex and stay calm enough to not waste the little air I had left on ruining his raucous, explosive orgasm, even as the

He took a long time winding down. It felt like a closing of a ritual, an intimate moment between his cock and my mouth - after I gently sucked out the last bits of his cum, he played around, smearing the few rogue gooey, milky strands across my face. I closed my eyes, obediently accepting the leftovers collected with his fingers, trying not to focus on his taste. I was exhausted, but glowing with relief, and maybe something else too. Something resembling a sense of accomplishment.

My own throbbing pussy came to mind. I reached down to check on her. He noticed and nodded with approval. Then reached over and pressed his hand right over mine. Both our fingers slipped right inside with ease.

"You feel this? You're such a sloppy mess down there, look at you.. such a happy little service slut. You like this - you understand? This is how much you love me fucking your face, is that right?"

I try to answer as best I can but I'm barely listening. The longing I've ignored for hours took over me with all its cumulative force. With him rolling my swollen clit between his fingers, everything is affirmative. Yes, please, thank you, I want you, I love this, please fuck me already.

"Such a nasty little cunt.. begging me to fuck it..." - he shoved his fourth finger inside and I wailed at the pain of being stretched - "But I.. don't get it.. Who would want to fuck a nasty hole like that? Huh? No baby, this cunt is too needy for me. I'm not interested."

He let's go of me and sits down on the bed. Im stunned, drained, wound up. I feel unrecognizably small, content with anything he says - but this. Rejection hurts. Angry, I begin to get up but he stops me by pressing down on my shoulders.

"Rub your needy pussy for me baby"

I'm so confused by him, but the throbbing down there ached for attention. I obey.

He's pleased for a moment - but only a moment. He points to his foot - right above his ankle, dripping down to his foot, was a strip of wetness, likely the result of my dripping mouth earlier.

"You see this? You got your mess all over me. Go ahead and clean up after yourself"

I reach awkwardly to wipe it off with my free hand, vaguely aware that that's not what he meant. He confirmed it with a loud slap across my face. That and a flash of angry eyes was plenty enough for me to lower my face to the floor and draw my tongue up across the wet spot on his ankle. Somewhere outside of this room, there used to be a Lola who thought feet were gross, that old creepy men were gross, and that whoring yourself out to strangers is gross. The Lola in this room, right now - all she could think about was the edge she was so close to.

Yeah, I had a feeling this wasn't really about the "mess". After I was done, he had me go on and lick his feet, in an excruciatingly embarrassing pose he ordered me to keep - my butt sticking up in the air and my desperate fingers trying to summon release from overwhelmed, broken senses. Any small distraction on my part caused him to yank my hand away from my pussy and ask repeatedly - aka beg - for my hand to be allowed to get back to its work.

By the time I felt my wave rising, I was diligently sucking and lapping up anything placed in front - or inside - my mouth. Right now they were his toes and I was perfectly content twirling my tongue around them as long as he let me reach the coveted peak. There was no space for any active awareness of humiliation as the most intense wave of orgasm I felt, possibly in my entire life, covered me in a long, exquisite, excruciating spasm.

When I could finally breathe my chest exploded in a long, wailing moan. The second moan brought a wave of another release and tears flowed out of me as I continued shaking and sobbing on the floor, my forehead still resting on top of his foot. His hand was gently petting my hair until the last spasms subsided. In silence, he pulled me up to the bed, keeping me below his waistline. He rested his head on a pillow, pulled up the side of the top sheet around him, placed my head between his legs and for a little while gently played with me, rubbing his softened cock and his sweat covered balls over my face, wiping off my tears and filling my nostrils with his musky sweat.

I closed my eyes and drifted away into sleep, his cock peacefully resting on my cheek.