Archive for the 'blowjob' Category

06
Nov
09

can we all agree that we don’t have to take responsibility for weird mental fantasy-tangents?

By That Kind of Girl Leave a Comment
Categories: blowjob, fantasy and ill-advised

She peels back his boxer briefs and his cock springs toward his face. She cups the head in her palm and licks broad stripes up the shaft until it glistens with saliva. He pushes his hips up toward her mouth and she rests the tip of his cock against her pursed lips, like she is kissing it.

He shifts his pelvis up further, but she presses against his cock, lips shut. Then, in one fluid jolt, she pulls her throat over his cock, her lips grazing his pubic hair, his cock disappearing utterly into her face. She looks — he thinks — like a a space alien disguised as a hot chick in a teen comedy, misunderstanding how earthlings eat popsicles.

He is snapped out of his reverie by a heavy electric thrum in his balls, and he cums into her throat with persistent violence.

“Jesus,” she says afterwards, chewing her lip, “Why’d you cum so fast?”

“I was thinking of you,” he says, looking up at the corner of the ceiling.

03
Nov
09

seriously, sweetie, it’s flu season

By That Kind of Girl Leave a Comment
Categories: blowjob and hygiene

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.

02
Nov
09

at least she made an impression, i guess

By That Kind of Girl Leave a Comment
Categories: 69, blowjob and hygiene

She lays underneath him, catch his cock neatly in her mouth as they 69. When she swishes her tongue over his head, raising her head to take his cock all the way in her throat, he goes down on her maniacally: a juicy riot of flicking and suction and circles with his tongue – now lax, now pointed and vicious.

Sometimes, his intensity causes her to forget that she is going down on him, or to let his cock slip out of her mouth and trail along her cheek while she breathes hard and rhythmic. When she is moments from orgasm, she props herself up toward his cock on one elbow, lightly juggling his balls in one hand, cradling his cock in the other, sliding her face feverishly along his cock. Licking up the shaft, then in a hard twist around the head, down the other side of the shaft, working both hands in opposition to her mouth to create constant movement.

He presses his mouth into her and goes down on her with more intensity, like his whole tongue is somehow inside her clitoris, trying to lick its way out. She grows blind and groping in her attentions. His cock is dripping with her saliva, and she drags her cheeks in the lubrication as she tongues him, swiveling her whole head in time with the grunts he snuffles across the base of her thighs.

Moments after he cums, she drops her head to the sheets, neck muscles aching. Her cheeks are shellacked with, positively saturated with drool. When she lifts her head back up, a moist impression of her profile is soaked into the sheet.

27
Oct
09

should have packed a toothbrush

By That Kind of Girl 1 Comment
Categories: blowjob, hygiene and kissing

He lies back on the bed, arms crossed behind his head, his naked body sprawled languidly toward her. Her tongue is warm, almost hot, as it circles around and flicks his right nipple. She works her tongue down his chest in asymmetrical little jags, lapping and nuzzling and stroking.

When she reaches his cock, she lifts her head for a moment and works her throat, producing saliva, before sliding his cock in her mouth, fast, decisive, until his balls hang off her lower lip like a lip ring.

His whole lower body clenches like a fist, and he grabs her hair and pulls her back up face to face with him so he doesn’t cum too quick. She licks little circles into his shoulder and up his neck, then tilts her mouth in toward his.

“I’d rather not,” he says, placing a firm hand on her ribs to separate their torsos. “It seems kind of unsanitary now.”

24
Oct
09

the old bartleby approach

By That Kind of Girl Leave a Comment
Categories: blowjob and dirty talk

She licks his chest, frenzied, swiveling her head and tilting her face toward and then away from his nipples, really tasting him. His hand is on the back of her neck, underneath her thick, sweat-tangled hair, stroking the thin hidden skin that the sun never touches. He moans and pushes her head lower.

As she licks down his stomach, rubbing her face in his belly hair, he digs his fingers into her hair and rubs her scalp to the rhythm of her mouth. Her nose for a moment gets caught in his belly button, and he pushes her head lower, until he must lean up and forward to push her head with the tips of his fingers toward his swollen cock.

She darts her head between his thighs and starts licking his left leg with the same urgency. He slides down in the bed to draw her face to his cock, and she ducks over it, gently biting his hip. With a muffled groan, he aims his pelvis at her.

“Oooh, baby, yeah, suck me off.”

“I – I’d prefer not to,” she says, pausing to look at him, framed between his knees. “I was sort of hoping you’d get the hint.”

23
Oct
09

probably your mouth could be more usefully employed

By That Kind of Girl Leave a Comment
Categories: awkward pillow talk and blowjob

When he is about to cum, she constricts her throat around his pulsing head, muscles firm like she is singing a soprano aria. His left thigh clenches, deliberately at first, then faster and faster until it is practically vibrating. When she moans, deeply muffled, his cock jerks hard, again and again, as though it is trying to escape her, blasting hot halfway down her esophagus.

Afterwards, he slides her body up along his, warm and sticky with sweat, until her face is pressed into his neck, where veins still throb.

“I always think,” he whispers into her hair, “what would be the worst thing to say during sex.”

“Well.” She picks a piece of his chest hair off of her nipple. “I can tell you the worst thing to say after sex.”