sensation.
Will’s groan brings me back to my delicious task. I let my jaw go slack to take him deeper. I let him fuck my mouth however he wants. Sweat drips from his face onto mine, one drop, and I smile around his cock. Then I’m coming again, unable to think of anything but this desire. His taste.
He whispers my name. His fingers twist and tangle in my hair. “Shit,” he says, “oh, shit this feels so good...I’m gonna come.”
I appreciate the warning, but when he makes like he’s going to pull out, I don’t let him. He cries out again, wordless. Desperate. His taste floods me, and I take everything he gives me, sucking hard until he’s spent and softening in my mouth. I swallow. I stand. I wipe the corners of my mouth.
Will slumps against the wall, his hair damp with sweat. His mouth lax. Eyes half-lidded. I lean in to kiss him at the corner of his mouth, first one side, then the other. Then, sweetly, fully on his mouth. His tongue probes me, and the thought of him tasting himself in me sends another slow ripple of pleasure through me.
“I told you,” I murmur directly into his ear, “I don’t beg.”
Chapter Fourteen
I was five or six years old when I discovered the world was different for me than for most everyone else. My mom’s younger brother, Archie, had married a woman I was supposed to call Aunt Dot. That part was fine. Aunt Dot was young and pretty and eager to let everyone know her opinion about everything, from how to make Thanksgiving Day stuffing to whether or not little girls like me should be allowed to sit with everyone else for the meal. Aunt Dot seemed to think kids should sit alone, but since I was the only grandchild at the time, nobody else was in favor of that. Dot, I overheard my mom saying, sure liked to talk.
And that was the problem.
I was too young to understand that what Aunt Dot was saying might rub the other grown-ups the wrong way. For me, it wasn’t her words that mattered, but her voice. Fortunately for me, most people’s voices, including my own, taste like clear, cold water. Like nothing. My grandma’s voice tasted and smelled like apple pie. My mom’s is flavored faintly of cinnamon, but without odor. Aunt Dot’s voice tasted like sour lemon candy and smelled of mold.
It tasted so bad I recoiled the first time she greeted me, which might’ve had a lot to do with why she didn’t like me. I put my hand over my mouth and nose. When she leaned in close, talking, her breath smelled of minty gum, totally pleasant, but I coughed on the stench of her voice.
“She stinks,” I complained to my mom without any tact. “Tastes bad, too!”
Embarrassed, my mother scolded me thoroughly, though later I heard her telling my other aunt that Dot might not smell bad at all, but yes. She sure did stink. It was my grandma who took the time to come find me in the backyard, where I’d been banished until dinnertime. Bundled in my heavy winter coat, I was doing my best to swing on the tire swing, but I hadn’t been able to shove my bulk through the hole in the center.
“To me,” Grammy said, “she kind of smells like Swiss cheese. Now, I like a nice piece of Swiss now and again, sure. On a nice ham sandwich. But too much of it just gives me a stomachache.”
I scuffed my boot on the hard ground. No snow had fallen, but everything was frozen. “I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings.”
“I know you didn’t, sweetheart. Come here.” Grammy hugged me close and kissed the top of my head. “But you know that nobody else can smell how she sounds, don’t you?”
It was, literally, as though she’d tugged the pull chain of a lightbulb in a dark room. The glare of understanding made me blink. I thought of the times my mom had laughed at my descriptions or dismissed my comparisons of food to sound. My dad, too. Kids in school.
“But you do, Grammy?”
She nodded, solemn. “Ever since I was a little girl. But not everybody does, honey. And they’re going to think
Will’s groan brings me back to my delicious task. I let my jaw go slack to take him deeper. I let him fuck my mouth however he wants. Sweat drips from his face onto mine, one drop, and I smile around his cock. Then I’m coming again, unable to think of anything but this desire. His taste.
He whispers my name. His fingers twist and tangle in my hair. “Shit,” he says, “oh, shit this feels so good...I’m gonna come.”
I appreciate the warning, but when he makes like he’s going to pull out, I don’t let him. He cries out again, wordless. Desperate. His taste floods me, and I take everything he gives me, sucking hard until he’s spent and softening in my mouth. I swallow. I stand. I wipe the corners of my mouth.
Will slumps against the wall, his hair damp with sweat. His mouth lax. Eyes half-lidded. I lean in to kiss him at the corner of his mouth, first one side, then the other. Then, sweetly, fully on his mouth. His tongue probes me, and the thought of him tasting himself in me sends another slow ripple of pleasure through me.
“I told you,” I murmur directly into his ear, “I don’t beg.”
Chapter Fourteen
I was five or six years old when I discovered the world was different for me than for most everyone else. My mom’s younger brother, Archie, had married a woman I was supposed to call Aunt Dot. That part was fine. Aunt Dot was young and pretty and eager to let everyone know her opinion about everything, from how to make Thanksgiving Day stuffing to whether or not little girls like me should be allowed to sit with everyone else for the meal. Aunt Dot seemed to think kids should sit alone, but since I was the only grandchild at the time, nobody else was in favor of that. Dot, I overheard my mom saying, sure liked to talk.
And that was the problem.
I was too young to understand that what Aunt Dot was saying might rub the other grown-ups the wrong way. For me, it wasn’t her words that mattered, but her voice. Fortunately for me, most people’s voices, including my own, taste like clear, cold water. Like nothing. My grandma’s voice tasted and smelled like apple pie. My mom’s is flavored faintly of cinnamon, but without odor. Aunt Dot’s voice tasted like sour lemon candy and smelled of mold.
It tasted so bad I recoiled the first time she greeted me, which might’ve had a lot to do with why she didn’t like me. I put my hand over my mouth and nose. When she leaned in close, talking, her breath smelled of minty gum, totally pleasant, but I coughed on the stench of her voice.
“She stinks,” I complained to my mom without any tact. “Tastes bad, too!”
Embarrassed, my mother scolded me thoroughly, though later I heard her telling my other aunt that Dot might not smell bad at all, but yes. She sure did stink. It was my grandma who took the time to come find me in the backyard, where I’d been banished until dinnertime. Bundled in my heavy winter coat, I was doing my best to swing on the tire swing, but I hadn’t been able to shove my bulk through the hole in the center.
“To me,” Grammy said, “she kind of smells like Swiss cheese. Now, I like a nice piece of Swiss now and again, sure. On a nice ham sandwich. But too much of it just gives me a stomachache.”
I scuffed my boot on the hard ground. No snow had fallen, but everything was frozen. “I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings.”
“I know you didn’t, sweetheart. Come here.” Grammy hugged me close and kissed the top of my head. “But you know that nobody else can smell how she sounds, don’t you?”
It was, literally, as though she’d tugged the pull chain of a lightbulb in a dark room. The glare of understanding made me blink. I thought of the times my mom had laughed at my descriptions or dismissed my comparisons of food to sound. My dad, too. Kids in school.
“But you do, Grammy?”
She nodded, solemn. “Ever since I was a little girl. But not everybody does, honey. And they’re going to think
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