I wrote this around about the time he was ditching me / unfriending / blocking me on every social media site without me realising. It seemed a shame to waste it.
Bacon Sandwiches & Blowjobs continued…
I’ve never given a blowjob with an actual ice cube in my mouth before. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve sucked on an ice cube and let it melt (or popped it out my mouth) to go down on a guy before, but I’ve never had an ice cube and a dick in my mouth at the same time. That all changed the other day when Brown Eyes playfully shoved one in my mouth and ordered me to suck his dick. Not that I needed much ordering to be fair.
The cube forced into my right cheek, he held the back of my head as I leant forward over the arm of the couch and slowly slid him into my mouth. I almost spluttered, fit to burst, the ice cube wasn’t small and it’s not like he’s small either. For a second, I wondered if I would need to admit defeat, especially as the frozen cube was starting to hurt the inner lining of my cheek, but as he slowly pulled out again, I slipped it across my mouth to my left cheek and waited for him to slide back in again.
I slid my arms around his legs, the edge of the couch bringing my head to just about cock height with him standing in front of me, I grabbed his ass cheeks with my hands, letting my pointed black nails dig into his skin. Not enough to break it of course, just enough to remind him who’s boss. Me, for right now anyway.
Switching the ice cube from my left cheek to my right cheek and then back again with my tongue every time he pulled his cock from my mouth, I used my hands to pull him back in, pulling his ass towards me so his cock was filling me and I couldn’t breathe. He likes that sharp intake of air I quickly inhale between long and deliberate thrusts. He knows he’s filling me completely, like he’s almost too much. Almost, but not quite.
As the ice cube melted and he groaned at the coolness of my mouth, I switched it from cheek to cheek, getting braver as it shrunk, sliding it across the top and then around the bottom of his shaft. The noises he made were incredible, real guttural groans that I can still hear. He’s always telling me to “warm my hands” on him, often grabbing and shoving my hands down his trousers. He likes cold hands on his cock but he especially likes cold hands on his balls. He likes my cold hands on his balls because they’re tiny, and he definitely seems to like my long black nails that leave big red scratches across his skin.
As the cube finally disintegrated, I picked up the pace, ready to let him empty himself in my mouth. He tastes good. You know how some men just taste good? He tastes good. Unpredictable as ever, he had other ideas and this time chose to finish inside me from behind as I knelt along his black leather couch. His hands were painfully grabbing at my hips and thighs, slamming into me, and I didn’t cum this time but it wasn’t about me. It was about him. I would have preferred it if he’d cum in my mouth but to be honest, he could finish anywhere he liked and I wouldn’t care. His wish is literally my command. I cannot get enough of him, of feeling him explode in my mouth or across my chest, of tasting him, hearing him, seeing him. I can’t get enough.
When he slumped on the couch, I licked him clean. I do it every time because he likes it and I quite like it too. If I have cum on my chin, he’ll lightly wipe it off with his finger and delicately slide it into my mouth. It’s just one of those little things we do. Like an unspoken agreement, a moment of intimacy, right before he throws his big tattooed, hairy arms around me and pulls me in close, nuzzling into my hair and telling me he loves me as he does so. He tells me he loves me after every time I give him head, in fact, after every time he climaxes. So, he tells me a lot.
I can’t wait to see him again. I can’t wait to take his beautiful eight inch cock into my mouth and worship every tiny little piece of it. I want to wear red lipstick and see my kiss mark at the base of it, knowing I’ve taken him entirely in my mouth. I want to get a photo of that. Not that I’d need it. That would be an image I’d remember for the rest of my life anyway.
He really turns me on, this permanently mood-swinging 42 year old man-child. Just the thought of being close to him causes my underwear to flood. I wore grey leggings today which was a great idea for all of five minutes until my head got carried away and this blog post started to materialise.
Note to self, do not wear light grey coloured clothing around this man otherwise everyone will see the damp patch.