I’m addicted to the slow living room blowjob. Kneeling in front of him and running my tongue over his cock while he lounges on the sofa and sips his wine, telling me whatever the fuck is on his mind–doing nothing other than this–God it’s satisfying.
I’m sure some of my addiction is from the sheer physical thrill. I can taste him, and at times there’s nothing else to think about other than the unique salty spice of his cock.
But I know some of it is what he says, too. It’s work stuff, it’s life stuff, it’s kinky shit we’ve wanted to talk about but find it difficult to approach in between home repair and grocery lists.
On my knees between his legs like this, just the two of us in the room, we are in the bubble of Just Us, and it’s fucking perfect. He works up a buzz on that wine while I drag my lips up and down his shaft. Sometimes I stop for a moment to ask him a question, to answer one of his. Sometimes I shift positions so I can get more access to his balls. I like to try to make him moan while he’s talking to me.
He keeps a throw blanket at hand to toss in his lap should a kid suddenly wander in from where they’re sleeping in the other room. I know it’s risky, but fuck. If you can’t have oral in your own goddamn living room, what the hell is all of this for?
I take my time. I selfishly love the focus of him just talking to me, sloughing off the demands of the day with each swallow of wine and relishing the attention I’m giving him. He keeps talking, except when he stops to sip or gasp.
I’m all ears. I’m also all tongue and lips and fingers.
An hour passes. I get up to stretch my legs and refresh his glass before I settle in for more. I like that he watches my ass while I prance to the kitchen for the bottle. Feeling bolder, I bite a bit when I’m back between his legs.
Things escalate. He grabs my ponytail to hold me while I deep throat his cock. The conversation turns to dicier topics. Threesomes, unrealized lust, the most fuckable of our friends. He grows harder, and I can taste precum.
And then he’s pushing me back and standing to pull me to my feet. Guiding me to our room, to the bed, behind the only locking door in the house, he pulls off my shirt, unhooks my bra, slides his hands over my nipples as he circles around behind me to drag his hands down to the button of my shorts to pull these down, claiming my panties at the same time.
I’m naked, shoved face down in the bed, and my little pink plug is quickly lubed in preparation for my ass.
I’m nervous, I always am when he does this, and he maneuvers my torso to assist. My boobs and neck pressed into the bed and held there by his elbow, my knees are forward, almost under my shoulders, my ass pushed up and backwards towards him.
He works the plug in. It hurts, and it feels good.
And then he works his cock into my pussy. God, the pressure. With the plug and this extreme angle, everything is just…sensation and pressure. We both moan. “Can you feel that??” I whisper, which is what I say sometimes when I mean, “Is it at all possible that this feels as good for you as it does for me?”
He begins to thrust in and out. “Yes,” he growls back. I turn back to look at him. He’s on one knee only, genuflecting to my ass as he works his cock in and out of my pussy, running his hands around my hips to hold me in place. Seeing that one foot planted next to my knee and the way it positions him over me, mounting me, taking me as his prey…holy fuck it’s unfair that I can’t get a better vantage point of the whole thing. One of these days we’re going to have to record.
I reach through my legs to touch my clit. He shudders and very slowly pulls out. “What are you doing,” I demand. He reminds me I’d just edged him for an hour and a half in the living room and commands that I keep touching myself while he staves off his orgasm. Ah yes, okay.
I grow closer, quickly, and he presses the head of his cock back inside my pussy. Then he pushes all the way back in, and I can feel that he is on the precipice–he’s always almost uncomfortably big when he’s that hard–and this time the plug in my ass adds this burning, tingling, additional edge to my orgasm, and I hiss and whimper as I cum, his cock pulsing as he pumps that beautiful cum of his inside of me at the same time.
Anyway I like the living room blowjob. We get to spend time alone, we focus on each other. And then he fucks me like a half-crazed caveman and I take it like some kind of demure deviant. It’s a nice way to stay connected.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/cq3rud/mf_slow_living_room_blowjob
Relationship goals…. thanks for this love.