As she thrusts her face forward on his cock again and again, her breathing grows wetter and more labored. She is skewering her throat on his cock, gasping around it for air. He rests his palm on the crown of her head – not pushing, not exactly.
Every time she pulls her head back, she inhales hard and damp through her noise. Thrust, sniff. Thrust, snort. Thrust, slurp.
Urged on by the play of his fingers and the luxuriating little murmurs in the back of his throat, she braces herself on her hands and throws his head toward his pelvis as fast as she can, hair dancing in constant movement, sucking juicily and non-stop through her dripping nose.
“Sweetie.” He curls his fingers to take a handful of her hair, stopping her madcap rhythm.
“Do you want a Kleenex or something?” “I’m fine,” she gargles from around his cock, then shakes his fingers out of her hair. He folds his arms back behind his head and, without noticing, quirks the corner of his mouth into a little grin.
