With a subdued giggle, Sissy planted a sweet pink kiss against Pat’s plump cock before agreeing. Hue had settled into Adele’s chair like the Queen of the Nile by the time Adele and Sissy reapplied their lipstick and traded places. In truth, Adele was looking forward to playing with Pat’s cock. She liked that it was shorter than the rest. Maybe she could fit the whole thing in her mouth. There was an element of satisfaction in the idea.
She tried to think of something amusing to say to Hue’s shy husband, but her brain was fried on cocksucking. A meek, “Hi,” was all she could manage, and then she felt silly for saying something so inane. “I’ll just…do this…”
Pat said, “Okay,” and then followed that up with, “Thanks.”
Shaking her head, Adele advised herself to say nothing further.
The base of Pat’s cock was veritably slathered in pink lipstick. When she wrapped her mouth around his fat cock, she could have sworn she tasted cosmopolitans. She was right—the whole thing fit. It came close to gagging her, but not close enough. Letting Pat’s erection slide almost all the way out of her mouth, she trapped his wide cockhead between her red lips. She let her tongue dance along his satin-smooth tip as it pumped salty precome inside her mouth. He nearly jumped onto Roger’s sleeping lap when she tickled the slit. She never truly understood how sensitive men’s cockheads were. Was any part of her body so sensitive? How could she ever compare? It was impossible to know.
Pat’s cock didn’t have the length for her usual trick of wrapping her fist around the shaft as she sucked the tip. Anyway, it felt good to swallow a cock whole. So, she did what Sissy had done before her and wrapped her arms around his middle. When her clothed tits touched his thighs, she pressed her body hard against his. Pat didn’t move. As in conversation, he didn’t say much. He simply sat there and took it all in. That’s the one thing Adele didn’t care for—his lack of enthusiasm. Now he was a challenge. She had to make him come.
When Elliot’s familiar pre-ejaculatory noises met Adele’s ears, she wanted to look up at him. She wanted to see what little Sissy was doing to her husband that made him moan and squeal. Even his hips writhed beneath the girl—Adele could feel him moving beside her. But she didn’t look up. Her husband’s joy only urged her to bring Pat to orgasm as quickly as she could.
Holding Pat’s cockhead between her lips, Adele snuck her index and middle fingers on either side of his shaft. She held that fat dick between her fingers like a firm, fleshy cigarette. Keeping tight suction on his tip, she ran her fingers up and down the saliva and lipstick path from the root of his cock up to her lips and back down again. She stroked him fast. It was all she could think to do, and it worked. Pat sighed. His hips urged his fat cock farther into her mouth, and she took it. She took it all in again, and this time he seemed to appreciate it all the more. He thrust his hips. She sucked his cock. She sucked the whole damn thing. She sucked it until Pat shrieked and hissed and thrust his hips beneath her.
He came in her mouth, and she swallowed his hot cream as fast as she could. It tasted salty and almost tangy. Even with all of her culinary expertise, it was hard to describe the taste of come.
When she rose from the floor, she didn’t look Pat in the eye. Nerves made her chuckle, but her chest felt tight until Elliot grabbed her by the wrist. He’d already folded his cock neatly into his pants and zipped up his fly. Sissy had taken a seat on the arm of Hue’s chair. In that moment, despite the two other cock-suckers in the room, despite the two other men with lipsticks on their dipsticks, Adele felt perfectly alone with her husband.
Elliot pulled Adele into his lap and kissed her lips. With a laugh, he said, “You taste like come.” As the others chuckled along, Elliot whispered, “Some way to spend a wedding anniversary.”
Adele nestled her head against his shoulder and smiled.
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Donna George Storey
Miranda reached toward the buzzer on the imposing oak door, imagining for a moment that her hand belonged to a stranger. The flesh looked so pale and clean, the nails impeccably manicured. Such a dainty hand should never be defiled by the unspeakable things she was about to do.
She paused, her arm poised in midair like a dancing nymph in a Renaissance painting. Suddenly her fingers seemed to swell and blush, glistening with a dewy sheen.
Greedy slut!
Miranda inhaled and stabbed the doorbell with her index finger.
Sam opened the door with a smile. He always seemed to dress so nicely for these occasions—pressed khakis and a forest green shirt that looked expensive, touchable.