Girl on the Net

If you’d rather hear this one read aloud, join my Patreon (at any tier) and go to this update: it starts at 14:45. If you want to catch up with the trilogy (though it’s not necessary to read them in order), here’s part 1 (cunt) and part 2 (ass). This is part 3 (mouth), and it’s my favourite. 

Shagging new people isn’t just a question of teaching them how I like to be touched, or which words make me squirm with desire. Sometimes I find myself having to school men on the basics, like ‘it’s not shameful if you can’t get hard’ or ‘you’re allowed to take some time to get comfortable before I start sucking your dick’. New guys often behave like sex is this thing which must be done correctly, immediately, or they’ll somehow lose points. This isn’t a criticism, my dudes, it’s understandable that some of you have taken this message from society, because society’s been shrieking bullshit at you for ages, telling you that this is how sex works. It even uses words like ‘performance’ when trying to sell you boner pills, as if fucking is a production you’re putting on, and I’m just the audience who will sit there and applaud.

I’m not complaining, either. I’m happy to teach men some of these things, what I’d say are the basics. I won’t shame you for your body; you’re allowed to take a break for water or say ‘no’ to things if you need to; your desires are welcome and interesting rather than gross. But although I’m happy to hold guys’ hands on this stuff, it is relaxing sometimes to take a break. Shag somebody who knows the drill already. Understands that he’s allowed to pause if he’s shattered by the pace, or make himself comfortable before a blow job.

This guy does just that. He understands that taking the time to position himself comfortably is not a distraction, it’s a welcome move. Settling down, plumping up pillows, putting on some decent tunes or porn before letting me go to town on his dick – it’s a power move that shows appropriate respect to my art. Yes, I said ‘art’. Blow jobs are an art, and they’re a collaborative one. He knows this, as he knows it’s not a problem if he isn’t immediately hard for it: he’ll just kiss me or let me get to work, content in the knowledge that sucking soft cock is part and parcel of the masterpiece we’re about to create.

So. He gets comfy before I start to suck him. Stripping naked, arranging pillows, then stretching out on the bed with languid ease. His eyes are bright with excitement, but his pose fully embodies the phrase ‘no pressure’. It’s the morning after the night before, so he’s already filled my cunt with cum, and then my ass, I suspect he doesn’t mind whether he comes again. He’s not in this to finish, but to have fun.

He puts on some porn.

It’s a familiar scene, one I’ve watched with him before. I grin when I see the opening titles because we’ve talked at length about why this one does it for him so well. This choice, like his choice to get comfy, shows reverence and respect. He’s picking his favourite scene because he’s treating this blow job like the precious, rare treat we both know it to be. I settle down next to him on the bed and encourage him to touch himself for a while, so I can watch a bit with him – and watch him a bit – before I blow him.

Here, too, there’s something comforting about the way he is with me: he’s not performing. When I press myself against his body, he instinctively wraps an arm round me to pull me closer in, before prompting:

“Wait, we’ve set this up wrong. Let’s switch sides.”

Of course. I’m accidentally on the side of his dominant hand. I move to the other, so he can hold me in his left arm and grip his cock with his right hand. Then when he starts again, it looks so natural and is all the hotter for it. He’s tugging casually at his dick exactly as he would if he were alone and warming up for a long masturbation session. I feel privileged and horny-as-fuck to get to study the detail of exactly how and where and how tight he squeezes. See the porn on screen, too, and note which parts make him beat a little faster at his now-red, aching prick.

Again, casually – comfortably – he murmurs requests. When I kiss the side of his neck he murmurs ‘yes’ and ‘more.’ When I lean against him he tells me explicitly:

“Closer, let me feel your tits against my skin.”

Unngh. 

Enough foreplay, I want him in my mouth. So as he tugs at his cock I slide down his body, kissing his flesh as I go. Holding gently on to his balls to make everything tighter while he rubs it, before gently putting my lips round the head so he knows it’s my turn. He moans.

He loves it when I suck his cock. And there are so many different words that could be emphasised in that sentence, but the one that matters most is ‘I’. He loves me sucking his cock specifically. I know how to do it. I can tease and play with the head, running my tongue round the ridge of it or letting my soft mouth envelop it over and over. I can add gentle strokes with one hand as spit from my mouth collects in the crook of my fingers to make it all wetter. I can twist that hand on the up-stroke, gripping my forefinger and thumb in a tight ring that stimulates him best. But ultimately I can measure and judge exactly which of these moves to weave in to an overall pattern, building him slowly but steadily to a point where he struggles to stay still, and starts instead to fuck upwards into my mouth.

I can swallow him, almost, if I try. If I shift my angle on the bed so I’m coming at his thick erection from above, I can stretch out my neck in a straight line and tilt forwards, wet lips split wide to accommodate his girth and throat open till the head of it pushes past the soft palate at the back.

Gulp.

“Good girl,” he tells me, when I do this. “You’re such a good girl,” he continues, and that’s why I do it.

When he pushes my head down with his hands, my eyes water and I choke. Making gagging noises that I’d never even think about trying to suppress because I know they make him harder: I can feel it on my tongue.

This is something that doesn’t get mentioned enough, in my opinion. One of the pure pleasures of a blow job is the enhanced feedback, as you feel every single twitch and throb of their cock in your mouth. I’m kneeling between his open legs now and although I can’t see the porn from this angle I know exactly when it’s hit a part that he finds especially hot because I can feel it on my tongue. If he holds my head down so the tip of his dick is jammed tight against the back of my throat so I gulp and splutter, I know those noises get him off: I can feel it on my tongue. With every single atom inside my warm, wet mouth, I can sense the way his cock pulses if a particular noise or image gets him horny. Occasionally there’s a drop or two of precum to savour as well.

I know what gets him off because I can feel it on my tongue. Sometimes even taste it in my throat.

By the time the porn gets to what I can tell is one of his favourite parts, he’s moaning and fucking up into my mouth, eager for me to take the full length of him hard and fast and deep. I’m drooling a lot, my right hand is covered in it. I cup his balls gently with the other but often lose my grip, he’s become so desperate. If he weren’t fucking upwards with so much purpose I’d describe this as outright squirming. He grunts a little, just the way I like, and lets me know with gestures that he’s close. Gripping my hair and trying to pull me further onto his dick.

I eagerly oblige, then take a break because the depth and speed he wants is hard to maintain for long. But this is not a problem, in fact it’s a benefit. Each time I pause to draw a few panting, ragged breaths, wet fist pumping at his cock so as not to lose momentum, I get to briefly catch that look in his eye: half pain, half rage. He’s desperate to yell ‘don’t stop’ but he knows I have to. I am human, after all, and there’s only so long I can survive on half-sip breaths while choking on cock.

I get to see that other look too, the flash of lustful glee – desperation, need, whatever you want to call it – when I draw a deep lungful of air then bend my head to take him back into my mouth. I get to hear the unnngh of satisfaction as I return to sucking him down.

Both my palms are now placed on his thighs, fingers digging at his flesh. Pushing against him as he thrusts up into my throat. Groans and grunts coming both from the TV and from him. Choking from me, deep and urgent panting as I try to suck down as much air as possible with each short break for breath. There’s spit all over my chin and face and hands. I’m exhausted and determined and I feel so fucking powerful like this. Those moments when I pause to breathe, or adjust my grip or angle, those are the moments when I own him completely and utterly. When every single neuron in his brain is focused entirely on the next move I care to make, and every hope in his heart cries out for me to just let him come now.

Please. A bit more. Five more seconds. Five more strokes. Just a little longer oh please please until…

“I’m gonna come,” he tells me. He knows I want to hear it. Not so I can withdraw and let his cum fall elsewhere, but because I want to savour that moment just before he erupts. When his dick fills with a little more blood and he’s as hard as he fucking gets, less than half a second before he lets go and the first hot load of spunk pours down my throat. Then another.

And another.

And another.

And he’s holding my head now, keeping me in position as I eke out the last remains of my previous breath. Light-headed and gulping and drowning and swallowing and squirming in my soaking wet, salt-tasting victory.

When he’s spent, and sighing with relief, he lets go my hair and I breathe again. Not quite removing him from my mouth just yet – he likes me to linger. But I pause with him still wrapped in my lips, I breathe through my nose, and let my tongue play over the taut skin of his head. Licking the traces of his orgasm away, squeezing the shaft with my hand to make sure I milk him of every last drop. Swallowing them, too, before I look up to meet his gaze.

We grin again, like we always do. It doesn’t feel right to just write the smut without taking note of the joy.