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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
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A Tale of Four Blowjobs - 2
by Kimmie Holland (address withheld)
***
A sissy goes to sleep with a cock in her mouth -- and
wakes up with a cock in her mouth. (MM, tv, oral)
***
2. Pillow Talk with a Mouthful
Having changed into a short black chemise, I tiptoe
around the bed and slip under the blankets next to H.
His big body radiates heat and has already warmed the
sheets. This is my favorite part of the evening. I curl
up, snuggle close, almost clinging to him, like a koala
bear on a eucalyptus tree. He puts a heavily-muscled
arm around my waist and pulls me even closer, his hand,
burning like a brand, resting possessively on the bare
cheek of my ass, a.k.a. his ass, as he occasionally
likes to remind me.
"Whose ass is this?" he'll ask, giving me a playful—if
still stinging—slap on the bottom. Or sticking his
finger inside me without preamble.
"Yours."
"Don't forget it."
"I won't."
From where I lie nestled against his hairy chest, I
stare up at the shadows of the roses that he brought me
earlier in the evening; they're dancing hypnotically on
the ceiling in the scant light of a scented tea candle.
H. begins to reminisce in the dark. He's recalling the
night he took me to an upscale restaurant along the
shore. I was wearing an itsy-bitsy backless black mini-
dress, silver heels, black thigh-highs. He tells me
that as we walked up the stairs to the dining room he
could see the exposed place between the tops of my
stockings and my sheer panties.
"I swear," H says, "every guy at the bar turned and
probably caught the same view."
"You think?"
"Oh yes baby. They caught a glimpse of that tight sweet
ass of yours."
"Do you think they'd want to fuck me?"
"Oh I know they'd want to fuck you. You'd like that,
too, wouldn't you?"
"Definitely."
He lifts my hand off his shoulder and directs it under
the sheets. His cock is stiffening.
"Next time we go away, I'm going to have you ask the
desk clerk for the key and tell him you can't wait to
get to the room so you can give your boyfriend a
blowjob. Let me hear you say it, baby."
I do, in my best sissygirl voice, like a spoiled Lolita
pouting for her cherry lollipop.
"Would you do that, baby? Next time we go away?"
I'm momentarily returned to my senses. Most probably, H
is still only fantasizing, and is only looking for me
to play along, but, then again, I'm not so sure. We've
ended up actually doing many of the things that started
out—and seemed to me at the time—only fantasies. For
all I know, a week from now I could be standing in the
shabby lobby of some David Lynchian motor lodge at two
a.m. trying to force out these very words to an
unamused homophobic clerk who'd like to see me at the
end of a pitchfork.
"Well," I say, with a balance and objective
philosophical honesty not often found in pillow-talk
(or any talk, for that matter), "I'd probably be too
humiliated and nervous to get the words out. How about
if you said something to the desk clerk like 'she can't
wait to get upstairs to suck my cock' and then you can
turn to me and say 'isn't that right, baby' and I'll
like lick my lips and purr, 'oh yes…'"
"Hmm," H says, "I like that. Maybe you can give the
clerk a little sample of what you do best. I know you'd
have no trouble with that, would you, you little slut?"
"Oh you know I wouldn't," I murmur teasingly into his
ear. "I'd suck off anyone you told me to suck off if I
knew it would get you hard."
"I know you would baby. You'd do anything to please me,
wouldn't you?"
"Oh yes…I would. Anything."
Under the sheets, his cock now fills my hand. I can
feel it sliding, hot and hard, along my creased palm,
the smooth already-slick viper head of it nestled
against my inner wrist. No way is he going to be able
to get to sleep with this between his legs.
"Look what you did, you naughty girl."
"What I did?" I nibble playfully at his neck.
Under the sheets, both hands go to work. I tease the
underside of his cock with my fingertips, gently
manipulate the foreskin up and down around the glans. I
cup his balls, lightly run my fingernails over them.
"I think you're going to have to use that filthy mouth
of yours again. What do you think?"
I smile and nod. "I think so too."
"Better get to it then, baby. Show me what that dirty
mouth is good for. Show me what a sissy cocksucker you
are."
And so I scoot down beneath the sheets and slowly feed
H's erection between my lips. Lying on his back, hands
behind his head on the pillow, he groans his
satisfaction.
"That's it baby," he says softly, contentedly. "Take it
all."
My hair hangs over my head as I bend over his crotch.
The room is quiet except for the sound of my diligent
slurping. H is in no hurry; he's taking his time. This
is the way he'd like to fall asleep every night, I'd
bet, slowly sucked to complete relaxation, his last few
ounces of tension squirted out into the warm and
willing mouth of his girl-slave-wife-whore-geisha-
bitch-sissy.
After a bit, I lay my head lightly on the warm pillow
of H's stomach and continue to suck, changing the angle
and facilitating the ejaculation I can tell is nearing.
There is a thin rod of buzzing—is it muscle, seminal
fluid?—it's hard to tell exactly what it is but I feel
it between my lips whenever H is getting ready to cum.
It reminds me of the glowing filament in an electric
bulb. When I sense it, that is my cue to lock in on the
rhythm of my hand and mouth, coordinating them to his
thrusts, letting him take over and dictate the pace as
he begins bucking his hips off the mattress and pushing
his now fully engorged—and engaged—cock in and out of
my mouth.
Soon I'm rewarded with a spill of precum spreading
across my tongue. I tighten my lips, forming a wet seal
around his slippery shaft, tighten the ring of my
fingers; my mouth, he says, feels like a hot wet pussy.
I feel a rush of pride. The strangest things can make
you happy.
Within a matter of seconds, H lets out a loud groan,
then another even louder, and a third loudest of all. A
far-off part of me wonders what the couple downstairs
must be thinking—all night long my heels click-clock-
clocking across the uncarpeted wood floors, then the
occasional "cocksucker" "slut" "bitch" escaping, still
audible, from H's erotic chitchat, and finally the
rumbling roaring-groan of the male primate giving
triumphant voice to its full sexual satisfaction at the
moment of conquest.
They know there isn't a woman living here and they've
no doubt seen H coming—and seen him leaving—often in
the morning. Just from the look of him it would be
obvious that H wasn't the "slut" and "bitch" they hear
being ordered to her knees. That it's not me groaning
with animal pleasure as I release the contents of my
genitals into a compliant mouth. They might, by now,
even be rolling their eyes as they lie in the bedroom
under mine, and saying to each other, "That fairy
upstairs is at it again."
It almost seems odd to me, not that it doesn't make a
difference anymore what the neighbors think, but that
it ever made a difference to begin with. If I reserve
any of my former shame at all, it's hardly more than an
old reflex, a vestigial remnant of an instinctual
defensiveness to hide myself behind a flimsy façade of
"manhood" that has long outlived its utility. I'm
talking about the terror of being caught, found out,
and named: sissy, fairy, faggot, pansy. Just the
opposite—I now take a kind of perverse pride, a
humiliated distinction in being a sissy who is so
obviously good at pleasing my man.
I imagine the people downstairs must be wondering at my
cocksucking skills as they overhear H's orgasmic
vocalizations—not the first and not the last of the
night. Speaking of which it now feels like an
adamsapple is moving up and down inside H's cock; at
the apex of this muscular knot's rise to the crown of
his cock another burst of semen squirts into my mouth,
which I dutifully swallow before the next is delivered.
With a slow, gentle, rhythmic squeezing of my hand, I
milk out every last drop.
For a while afterwards, I lay there with my head on H's
groin, his cock still in my mouth, still semi-hard, the
crown still so sensitive and enlarged that it's only
with difficulty and considerable care that I can open
my mouth wide enough to take it out. I gently lick his
penis clean, avoiding the super-sensitive glans, and,
finally, gently wipe everything dry with a soft cloth
beside the bed. H gathers me up in his arms, kisses me,
plays with my nipple rings, tells me how good it felt,
but he's already losing the battle to sleep. I listen
to his breathing growing deeper and deeper, his
conversation lapsing into longer and longer silences,
and then ceasing altogether.
He's asleep; this great big man in my bed is asleep,
his cum in my belly, his heavy arms encircling me. It's
a wonderful feeling, being protected and possessed—the
sensuality of it something most men never experience
and, after all, being men, why would they want to? I
wriggle around a bit until H is spooning me in a comfy
position. I work my practically bare ass into his lap;
and dammit, if he isn't getting hard again, even now
that he is sound asleep and dreaming!
***
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others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
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Kristen's collection - Directory 62