A comfortable exhaustion was taking hold of my body. Like a long Sunday morning in bed, or that perfect time late at night after a glass of wine that makes the bed so much softer and makes your head spin when you close your eyes. That’s what that toilet seat felt like; it was my bed and his stomach was my pillow.
Only when the immediate spell of exhaustion faded did I notice his scent again, and the softness of his skin. His fingers were in my hair, combing through it gently.
My lips found his skin like a ship finds a harbor. It didn’t even occur to me that he might stop me when I kissed his stomach, when I felt those little hairs tickle my chin. He wasn’t twenty-five and it showed; he also didn’t have the stomach of a man who did sit-ups every day. It was a comfortable straight torso with some give under his skin, slightly softened by age and time. I could suck a fold of it into my mouth and bite it before I released it again. He grunted at this, and his fingers hardened against my scalp.
“I see you are rested,” he said from what felt like far above me, smiling down. I whimpered. I think I pleaded unintelligibly, too, as I kissed and licked at his stomach. The waistline of his jeans rubbed against my chin and I wanted it gone, but when my fingers found the button, he closed his hand around mine.
I looked up, all puffy eyes and bee-stung lips.
“Please?”
“You have such beautiful instincts,” he whispered, hands cupping my face. His voice gathered force when he continued. “Ask again, be polite and specific.”
I blushed. Maybe it really had been instinct, or something terribly suggestive in his hands or his smell, but I had never pleaded for sex before, much less the chance to pleasure a man. But here I was, sitting on a toilet seat in front of Paul Archer, a man I had only just met and his words caused a painful stirring behind my clit.
“Please...” I started, the words were there, all lined up and I was too deep into the game to pretend I had any modesty left. “May I please touch you? Touch your cock? I just want to touch you...”
“Just touch?” His reply brought me up short and my mouth fell open.
“Anything you’ll let me do,” I spluttered and when I didn’t know what else to say, he pushed his thumb into my mouth. It was large and the skin was far more hardened than his stomach. Before I could wrap my mouth around it, he gently pulled down my jaw while his eyes locked on mine. My breath washed against his hands like waves against the shore.
“I suppose little puppy deserves a treat, something familiar after all that adventure.”
As always, his voice did not contain a trace of cruelty or unkindness. He hardly even sounded condescending, which always seemed to stand in contrast with the words he uttered. With his thumb still keeping my mouth open, I just nodded and my eyes clouded over a little when he nodded down to his stomach.
“Take my cock out.”
I felt a shiver run down my spine; I was still looking up at Paul. There was no rush in his eyes but there was in mine and I brought my shaking fingers to the waistline of his jeans. Finding the button, I tore at it for a moment or so until I took a deep breath, forced my fingers to move as I commanded them to. It was easier then and I leaned my forehead back against his stomach while I pulled down the zip and reached into the elastic of his underwear. The painful pulling between my legs intensified at that first touch—the heat, the soft skin around the hard tumescence. I couldn’t wait and quickly brushed down the fabric until it sprung to light.
He gave me a moment to appreciate it, to look at its size and shape. It was average, I suppose—not surprisingly long but beautifully thick, so much so that I couldn’t meet my fingertips as I wrapped my hand around it. He was circumcised, like most American men his age as he told me later, and he had one of the most beautiful mushroom heads I had ever seen. I found myself licking my bottom lip in anticipation and immediately, he clicked his tongue and pushed my jaw back down. Without another word, he breached my lips and pushed his cock inside my mouth.
I hadn’t done this in a while. I had been concentrating on my career and done little dating and my eyes bulged at the strain of my lips stretching around him. In a flash, I thought of my cunt and my ass, both still feeling quite intruded upon, and they had only felt two of his fingers. I whimpered a moan around his hard flesh at the thought and wondered how soon he’d fuck me or whether he’d wash my cunt out again because I could feel it growing more slippery with every passing moment.
With one hand around the base of his cock and the other hooked behind my ear, he controlled speed and depth completely. It was a new experience for me, the swift push deep into my mouth whether I was ready for it or not. He hit against my gag reflex with the very first stroke and my body cringed in response. He did it three more times, fucking my mouth in rapid succession until he pulled out all the way. A thick strand of saliva spanned between his cock and my lips. My stomach churning and new tears pooling in my eyes, I was still catching my breath when he angled my head up.