I was wearing sweat pants. Not just any sweat pants, but the ones I dye my hair in. If we were getting crazy with makeup and fake blood, I didn’t want to do it in my jeans. That’s my defence for wearing my skanky pants around him, anyway. I was also sporting the white vest-top that I dye my hair in, hair tied back, no makeup on (because he was just about to do it all for me), I was hardly at my sexiest. But there was something about it – us being that close for so long, perhaps? Or the fact that we COULD have sex all of a sudden?
Carrying on from: One Night Turned Into Three Nights
He was so close that I could smell him. It was a wonderful scent. Delectable. Good enough to eat and I was virtually salivating at the thought. I kept trying to avoid making eye contact with him but it kept happening. My eyes would dart from the TV behind him to his eyes, and then I’d blush and look down as he caught me trying to sneak a glimpse. He doesn’t blush, though. He just grins, because he knows. He knows that I’m starting to feel warm between my thighs and my chest is flushed, and probably my cheeks too. He knows that my underwear is starting to feel a little damp. He knows because I always tell him about it, right before I take his hand and guide it down the front of my underwear so he can dip his fingertip in and feel for himself. It’s become a bit of a thing for us. Our thing.
That’s exactly what I was thinking about as we sat cross-legged in front of each other on the bed, him leaning in close as he gently flicked the makeup brush across my face. Leaning in so close that I could smell him: cigarettes mixed with some Hugo Boss, a touch of coffee too. Plus him. Just his scent. I wholeheartedly believe that love, lust, whatever it is, is based on smell. It’s the thing I remember the most. Sometimes, it’s the thing that turns me on the most.
I know he’s feeling the same way because my hands have been absentmindedly playing with his cock for the last half an hour. Dressed in just a black tee and boxer shorts, I decided to grab the opportunity to make life difficult for him, because that’s what I like to do. I’m playful. Annoying too, probably. Definitely playful, though. I like to play.
Gently caressing him through the fabric, I let my fingers gently glide up his thigh from time to time, just under the leg of the boxers he was wearing, grazing the tip of his cock, but barely. It was driving him nuts. I could see it. I could feel it too. And hear it, a sharp intake of breath letting me know I was hitting the right spot.
“Are you wet?”
He stopped painting my face for a moment to look at me and ask the question. He knew I would be, but instead of answering I just took the brush out of his hand and guided his fingers beneath the waistband of my joggers. That’s all I needed to do. He took over from there, just as he always does, curving his finger inside and stroking for a moment before toying and tickling around my clit. He likes to taste me when his finger is nice and wet, pulling it out and licking it and making that “mmm” sound I love so much. Sometimes, he’ll let me taste too. I didn’t realise how intimate a moment the simple act could be, but it’s fast becoming one of the hottest items on our menu. I seem to especially like tasting myself on his beard as I ride him after he’s made me come, almost sucking myself from his lips and hair. I do taste good. Delicious.
But he tastes better.
I pushed him carefully back off the bed with one hand, edging myself towards him and reaching for the waistband of his underwear. I wanted him to stand up so I could fall to my knees on the floor and really get to grips with him. I wanted to show him what my mouth was truly capable of. I wanted to impress him. I think I did. Impress him, I mean. I rocked back and forth on my knees as I took him all the way down to the back of my throat, giving him a great view of the little dip at the base of my back that he likes so much. I’m starting to figure out those little things he likes now. I know that he likes it when I cup his balls and the base of his cock with one hand, bobbing my mouth up and down his shaft. I like to use my tongue to flick the underside as I do so, before turning my attention to the tip and swirling around. I also know that he also likes it when I take his balls into my mouth one by one, slowly stroking his cock at the same time, right above my face. I know he loves it when I look right up at him, especially when my nose is pressed against his stomach, my mouth and throat taking all of him in. And I know he really loves to look into my eyes as I take control of him. My big baby blues make for great blowjobs, or so I’ve been told.
I’m good at sucking cock (again, or so I’ve been told) and I enjoy it a lot, but I think this particular blowjob may have been one of the best performances of my life. I really wanted his cock in my mouth, right down to the balls, as deep as we could go. I really wanted to hear him growl and see his eyes roll back in his head. I wanted to please him: to give him as much pleasure as he’s patiently given me over the last few weeks while he was “off-limits”. So, I did. Enthusiastically. In fact, enthusiastically is probably a bit of an understatement.
I devoured him. He smells and tastes as good just as I thought he would, and his cock … I can’t get enough. I want it, and then when I have it, I want even more of it. Using one hand, and then two, and then none, I mixed it up with bobbing head movements and stroking hands, rocking on my knees to give him that view of my ass from above that he loves. My rocking back-and-forth would cause my bare nipples to lightly graze his legs every now and then and that would send shooting tingles right down to my cunt. I wanted to touch myself more than I ever had before. I wanted him to feel me, to let me show him just how much my body wanted his. I wanted to be the best, his best.
I also wanted to know what he really enjoyed. What really does it for him. I needed to find the little things that make him throw back his head, tighten his grasp in my long and loose-worn hair, and cry out, “Oh FUCK, baby!”. Even hotter than that, I want to find out what would make him release that guttural groan he makes that’s barely even a noise at all. More of a rumble. Almost as if you can feel it rather than hear it.
I already know he likes it when I make myself come. Unable to wait any longer, I reached down between my legs as I knelt on the floor before him. I wanted to show him how wet pleasuring him was making me, so I dipped a finger inside the folds of my sex, circled it around, and then pulled it out, reaching above my head to let him have a taste. I’d never done that before. I’d very much like to do it again.
“Make yourself come.”
I did as I was told. He can be quite dominating at times. He has the right kind of voice for it, I think. When my clothes are off, I have no control over what’s going to happen — and I fucking love it. When he tells me what to do in that stern and gruff voice of his, I do whatever it is he commands. I want to do whatever he commands. I do as he says because I want him to be the boss, in the bedroom at least. I’m a sassy little bitch who orders him around when I’ve got my clothes on, but once they’re off, all bets are too. He’s in charge and I’m completely his to do whatever he so desires. Just as I like it if I’m being honest. His secret little submissive.
I really wanted him to come in my mouth, but he had slightly different ideas. With just one arm, he hooked beneath my arms and lifted me from the floor to the bed again, leaning me back so I was flat and laying naked and ready before him. He fucked me. Hard. Fast. Furiously. Pounding me into the bed with everything he had before suddenly stopping … just as I thought I was going to come.
“I’m obsessed with your body. Open your legs. I want to see your beautiful pussy.”
And that’s it, that’s what tips him over the edge: seeing my pussy react as he plays with it. Watching my entire body react as he gets me closer and closer and then takes it away from me again. Watching my cunt clench and release, my hips lift and dip, my chest heave, my wetness drip down and pool under my ass to darken the bedsheets. And who am I to take away his little pleasures in life?
I played with his balls and rubbed his leg with one hand, tugging, twisting, and teasing my nipples with the other; all the while watching him watching me, waiting for the tell-tale signs that signify we’re getting close: his eyes clenched tight, my chest heaving up and down, his grip on my cunt tightening. He cups me as his come splashes hot against my chest and stomach, with a hold that almost hurts. Almost, but not quite. I love how hands-on he gets with me, actually grabbing mounds of flesh and sometimes leaving faint little bruises. I bruise like a peach, so you’d only need to poke me and the brown, blue and green patches would appear, but I always smile when I see the ones he accidentally leaves on my thighs, groin, and hips. I always remember what happened at the exact moment those bruises were created.
As he knelt over me and watched as I licked and sucked the last few leaky drops from his cock, he laughed: “Your makeup is smudged, babe. We’re going to need to re-do that before you start taking photos and show off your Halloween face-painting.” And I laughed too. My Halloween makeup had also smudged over his groin, thighs, face, shoulders, and hands. It looked a little bit like some kind of zombie infection had started to spread throughout his body.
Isn’t it funny what can unfold from a bit of Halloween face-painting?
Side note: This was probably the most difficult blog post I’ve ever written. It’s been an incredibly orgasmic Saturday.