Naughty Me

I don’t usually do this. Sometimes, when I’m in a wicked mood, I’ll put one knee by each of your ears and stay far enough away that no matter the way you pull and strain, your tongue will never reach. Or perhaps you’re terribly flexible and you sneak a taste, so I slip away, towards your feet, and all your face gets is a view.

But every once in a VERY long while, when we know each other well and I know you’d never walk away disappointed if it stayed just a view, when I’m in a mood and need something wet and hot, I slip down, centimeters at a time, to meet your seeking tongue.

Generally, I’m not a fan of stubbly chins scratching away at the oh so terribly delicate silk of my pussy. Any number of things can keep me from getting in the mood in the first place, and another dozen can take me out once I get there. No mood, no pleasure. I might enjoy it for a while, but inevitably I need a cock.

Today, with memories of lovely cocks and the present reality of yours, in my face, right now, the mood is off the charts. The stars align and the juices flow and I begin to think I just *might* come all over you. Maybe.

Moods come and go and time is running out, my climax is not terribly likely and I’m starting to feel guilty about the powerful sensations my downstairs mixup is unloading onto your lips. It’s time for your ‘happy ending’ and I go for it.

To my surprise, you stop me. Not yet! Muffled, haha! Alright. I’ll bite. You asked for it.

“Slow, gentle, more like you’re teasing than trying for anything.” Good god I love advice that is actually taken. I can feel the adjustment, the mental gear shift, from ‘work it’ to ‘let it grow.’ You asked for it.

I haven’t come in several days. It’s building, my hips are grinding, I put my concern for your poor face from my mind. After all….. you asked for it. I tease myself with your cock in front of my face. I love a good, solid erection. I imagine it pulsing, bathing my hard nipples in glistening white. In my mind’s eye I can see it everywhere, in me, on me, dripping and hot… and with that, I come.

You poor boy. I can nearly feel you gasping. I’m not an *especially* wet lady (compared to some) but it’s impossible not to notice. I’ve been on the receiving end of an orgasming woman and it is always pleasurable, not always pleasant.

I like pressure, little to no movement, during and after an orgasm. Hard to do when I’m straddling your face but you did your best and managed to help extend the orgasm. I very much wish, sometimes, that I could roll over and pass out, the stereotypical man, but it’s just not in me to leave a boy hanging like that!

You take a break to wash your face and I can’t stop laughing. I mean, I feel you, my scent comes on strong sometimes, but you stopped me from making you come earlier, before me, so I have no sympathy. You very much asked for it.

You’ve turned the tables, stroking yourself with my slick oiled belly and straining, thrusting, my one hand on your rigid cock, the other holding you to me. I trust your intention enough to submit. To be below you. To wait for you. To focus and feel, you, ready, almost there, harder, every muscle tight and ready. Release. Relax. At least for a few moments I’ll be fine under your full weight. Take a breath.

I think we both asked for it.