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He sleeps, oblivious to the maddening roar within my womb. I command my legs, no, my cunt to take the initiative. There are no rules, and my hand turns the doorknob. Should he awaken, I’ll inform him of my mission, and if he continues to snooze, then so be it.
I stealthily creep into his room, a room that’s doubled for ‘ours’ and his slackened lips are perfectly positioned for my tongue to enter, no, invade his blissful sleep. Cheap, sluttish, amoral, wanton, and more words crisscross my mind. I’m all of these, yet all fail to sum up my psyche. It’s difficult to define each burning thought, and separate those thoughts from the rising pulse within my pussy.
The darkness is a cloak, and I’m a walking succubus who isn’t going to stop to ask for his permission. Three silent strides see me by his bedside, I sink onto the floor and my hand reaches up, and over, to caress his warm abdomen.
He’s naked, asleep and I open my mouth for the first taste. My tongue circles his lips, and his breathing rhythm falters. I retreat, watch and inwardly leap around like an excited child. I’m going to fuck him.
Opening wider, my tongue boldly tickles the soft damp inner lining of his lips for a few seconds before painting his teeth. I grip his stirring cock, and relish its plasticity. Its metamorphosis, within my hand, unlocks the wetness within me. I briefly butter my pussy, and return to the centerpiece that is his cock.
‘Err…W-Wha….’
Shut up.
His voice protests but his cock or his tongue interrupt his logic, short circuiting it with a fiery slap. He then tells me that it’s my fault, that I did this, that his hardening cock was all my doing and I have myself to blame. With one firm sweep of my hand, the sheets give way and his cock lies on the altar of his belly; the main course is served, and I savor it slowly. His hips rise, and my tongue paints. Up and down, all around and my grip never falters.
‘Jesus, freaking Christ…’
Fully awake.
He guides my head, needs to fuck my mouth. Who is fucking whom?
Moisture’s music massages our ears. He slides in and out, and I stroke my furious clitoris until I hum, for my song to vibrate along his shaft and for him to hit the roof – of my mouth – mid gyration.
‘You bitch…’ he groans as his warm syrup floods my mouth.
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