My tongue traced the cool, wet rim, lapping up the perspiration. I covered it with a fresh sheen of saliva as I dipped it a but further into my mouth. My lips engulfed the tip so that I could show it my desire.
As I pushed the shaft deeper into my mouth, my arousal grew and my panties dampened. I sucked on the tip and barely suppressed my own moans of longing. I craved it. My performance was all for me.
As I lifted my lips off, my tongue lingered. I traced circles and curly q’s on and around the rim. Over and over I engulfed what I could, filling my mouth in a hopeless attempt to sate myself. But satisfied I could not be.
With a long, breathy sigh, I closed my eyes, and tilted my head back. My hand grasped the cool, hard shaft and I gulped down all the liquid that poured down my throat. I swallowed what I could and licked my lips to gather up the droplets that I missed.
I exhaled deeply once I realized I was holding my breath. I’ve enjoyed what I could of this, but alas, both of us are now drained.
A tale of me, drinking a beer. xoxo
Loosely inspired by this week’s prompt: ? + ? = ?; My interpretation is 1 + 0 = 1
Often I imagine sexual fantasies when I am on my own, especially when I become inspired by others. The other night I was drinking a bottle of beer, when a sudden need came over me–I wanted to suck a cock. I didn’t necessarily want to be fucked or loved; I wanted a cock in my mouth for me to taste and enjoy.
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