A Lesson In Oral Sex, Against Impossible Odds – “Knitting” [MF]

Show me a man who doesn’t give oral, and I’ll show you how to steal his girl.

To say that I’m a fan of oral sex is the understatement of the century. Short of the judicious application of power tools, I have never known anything that would drive a woman to orgasm so powerfully, reliably, and repeatedly.

As Robin Williams taught us “Bring a lunch, stay for the day.”

I was living in the city of Kalamazoo at the time. Yes, it’s a real place, no you don’t actually want to visit. Kalamazoo is a great place to be from, and there’s a long list of reasons that the majority of people who live there only do it for a few years.

But if you have to suffer, there’s no reason not to do it in style. It’s a college town and I was living on Stanwood street in the heart of the student ghetto. I had a small liberal arts college off the end of my driveway, an old state university at the other end of the block, and hot and cold running pussy abound at all times of day and night. The women of Kalamazoo were beautiful, plentiful, and even if you couldn’t find Miss Right, you could certainly find Miss Right Now.

We were friends, but not the kind of friends with carnal benefits. She was a militant lesbian, and despite my background that includes dance and gymnastics, I’m actually straight. While we were both sluts and had compatible hardware, her firmware threw a compiling error anytime I looked at her sideways.

There are people who celebrate the celibate relationships among type-mismatched friends. There are those who can just cast off the sexual tension, and revel in a platonic relationship with someone like that for years being completely at ease.

I am not one of those people. I’m a slut, and I revel in novel and interesting sexual experiences.

She was dark skinned, exotically beautiful, and had the power to set my loins ablaze with the mere smell of her hair. She wasn’t just attractive, she was staggering.

And she was steadfastly ambivalent to anyone carrying heterogametic chromosomes.

We were enjoying a boring evening of lazy repose. She was stretched out on my bed. I was sitting at my desk, resting one foot on the bed. The conversation came easily as we talked about nothing in particular for hours on end; predominantly though, we talked about women.

It was in the midst of discussing the different tastes of women by hair colour that I was feeling my Wheaties; a suicidal thought crossed my mind.

“I wanna eat you out.” I said, with my splendid gift of witty repartee.

“I’ll crush your throat under my heel if you even try to fuck me in a dream.”

I could feel the love. Clearly, she wanted me.

“No no no” I parried, “I don’t want to fuck you, you’re queer as a three dollar bill. I just want to eat you out – it’s one of my favorite things to do. Nothing in return, and nothing beyond that. I’m just curious and want to see how it goes. I’m not asking for anything, you just lay back and enjoy the ride. No strings, no bullshit, just fun.”

“Boys are gross. What do you expect to get out of this?”

“Nothing, I’m just curious and it’s not like we have anything better to do.” I wasn’t lying. I really did have no intention of fucking her. I just wanted to see how I compared to her usual female companions, and satisfying my curiosity meant more to me than satisfying my desire. I wanted the confidence points, and her orgasms stroking my ego would do more for me than her stroking my cock.

“I could be knitting.” she said, and raised an eyebrow.

“Aye, you could. But this will be interesting if nothing else. So, give me a shot?”

“Ugh……alright. But if you so much as point that thing in my general direction, I crush your throat with my heel.”

“Fair, I will of course remain a perfect gentleman, and all of my clothes will remain firmly in place.”

She contemplated the idea for a moment, but eventually her bored, sluttish nature piqued her curiosity enough to give it a shot. She slipped out of her silk, intricately patterned underwear without taking off her boots, and laid back on my pillows. She gave me the kind of look Carl Sagan would have had walking into the Ark Encounter, and said “Fine, go.”

I lifted her sundress with the delicate touch and rightful trepidation of a EOD technician encountering his first glimpse of a makeshift landmine. I laid prone and slid forward to greet her holy of holies with the proper genuflection and prepared myself to worship upon her altar.

Now, let me just make one thing abundantly clear. I’m no rank amateur at cunning linguistics. It’s not because I’m God’s gift to women or anything, it’s actually quite the contrary. I’m an absolute nerd.

I had been lucky. Fate smiled upon me and gave me not only the opportunity to learn, but the microscopic wisdom to realize that opportunity and seize it. Throughout my formative years I had fallen headfirst into several unique and pivotal situations that had curated my sexuality and allowed me to acquire knowledge and experience beyond my years.

But those are stories for another time.

Suffice to say that I’m not one of those hapless gads who doubts the existence of a female orgasm, believes the G-spot to be an outright myth, or thinks that a woman’s clitoris can be hidden somewhere in her sock drawer.

Quite the contrary. I know that a gentleman believes “women come first”. I believe the only thing more powerful in the universe than knowing how to stimulate a woman’s clitoris, is knowing how to stimulate the three pound organ between her ears. Foreplay isn’t optional, it’s the entire first act. I maintain a standing rule that women should have at least two orgasms before my needs even come into play. I know intimately how to give the good Doctor Gräfenberg a come-hither finger, and why they put Rock Dots in his name.

You don’t need to be the greatest lover in the world, but you should try like hell to be the best she’s ever had.

She was neatly trimmed, but not shaven outright. Her faint musk held spices of a culture a world away from my own, and told me that she used her shampoo as body wash. The dark skin of her body translated to her even darker labia and created a divine gradient to pink as she blossomed before me.

I slid my arms under her spread shapely thighs and held her gently up along her sides. Opening her gently with my tongue, I ran the length of her slit, savouring her taste and easily found my way straight up to the pea-sized nub of her slightly hooded clit.

You don’t begin with a frontal attack. Every woman is different, and you don’t want to overstimulate a sensitive one and cause them to recoil in discomfort. You can always ramp up, but coming back from too much will jar her arousal and is much more difficult to recover from.

So with a feather touch I enveloped her clit with my tongue and caressed it with glancing blows, off to the side, ever so slightly to the left. I held her hood back with my upper lip and set to work with a gentle, slow, steady pace while paying close attention to her reactions for feedback.

As much as women vary with their sensitivity, so too they also vary with their level of response. Some women moan and coo, some wiggle and squirm, and some like to talk so much it can break your concentration. Oral sex is a dance between two people, a constant call and response, guess and check, a feedback loop of stimulation and observation.

There are a few rather universal tells common to most women. Pay attention to her breathing. The orgasm doesn’t come when she’s breathing heavily, that’s just the buildup. The moment the wave crashes and she’s actually locked in the grip of the orgasm, she’s most likely either exhaling in one long vocalization, or she’s not even breathing at all and holding her breath for a full five seconds. Whatever you were doing just before this moment, keep doing it. Don’t change, don’t speed up, and for the love of fuck don’t stop.

When a woman orgasms as you’re eating her out, her pussy will try to eat your face. You can see this best if you’re on the bottom of a 69 and as you rock her clit you’ll see her pussy winking and blinking at you. When her orgasm hits, you’ll see it pulse in a perfect rhythmic pattern over and over again. If you’re in a more classic position, you’ll feel it on your chin. This is an excellent reason why you should never have a scratchy, stubbly face when you’re going down on a woman. Stubble hurts.

Almost immediately I felt her labia grow with arousal. The rush of heat surrounded my lips and I felt her labia swell as her wetness became far more obvious. This was encouraging. I quickened my pace and applied more pressure. I transitioned from a flat tongue gently caressing her clit, to a more pointed approach with the top and tip of my tongue actively licking her more straight on.

She spread her legs more, inviting me deeper, and let out a soft moan. I cupped my hand under my chin, and slid two fingers easily inside her velvet vice. She was tight, and dripping wet.

Now the clitoris is certainly the star of the show, but it doesn’t have to be a solo act. Good oral is a symphony of stimulation, and it’s a mediocre lover who only pays attention to only one thing at a time. The G-Spot is a bundle of nerves that anyone with a little practice can find reliably. The rewards for this exploration and experimentation are well worth the effort.

With a woman on her back, and you having clean, well-trimmed fingernails, place your hand palm-up and slide a finger gently inside to the second knuckle. Curl your finger about seventy degrees so it’s pointing at her belly button, and push it against the front wall of her vagina. Pull slowly towards you, touching her with the pad of your finger, not the tip, and you’ll either find the spot, or come to the end of your motion against the bone inside. If you reach the bone, go back and try again.

The spot you’re hunting should feel about the size and firmness of a small unripe strawberry. It’s subtle, but it’s there, slightly firmer than everything around it, but not hard. When you find it, tug on it with the pad of your finger, never the tip, even a well trimmed fingernail can hurt. It wants firm pressure, in a tugging movement towards the opening. Time this rhythmically with your licking, and she’s going to have a good day.

It’s absolutely possible to do this while you’re eating her out, just cup your chin in your palm. You’re basically trying to reach through and touch your nose. The G-spot requires more pressure than anything else you’ll ever do with your fingers in a pussy, it won’t work with a limp touch. Too hard is painful, and if you do it perfectly the first thing she’ll feel is a need to pee (it’s just behind the bladder), but practice, and it will certainly level up your oral game.

At least, usually.

She quivered and moaned softly, but I could tell I wasn’t anywhere near giving her the “peel her off the ceiling” experience I wanted her to be having by this point. I wanted her to be high-fiving God and it was much more likely she was meditating upon thoughts of her grocery list.

I redoubled my efforts. Paying close attention to her tells so as not to overstimulate her, I quickened my pace and began assaulting her clit in fast strokes, not just from the front but alternating front and sides. Not just working in licks from bottom to top, but top-down as well.

For fully twenty minutes I ravaged her like a dull beaver. Her wetness ran down my chin and pooled in my hand as I fingered her and licked her in semi-synchronous patterns, my tongue and hand moving into and out of phase. She would moan and push her head back, I was certain I’d lit the fuse. But the fireworks never came.

After half an hour my jaw was on fire, the muscles in my neck were a Gordian knot of agony. My tongue would take a week to heal, and still, no matter what I tried, despite my absolute best efforts, I could not get this woman out of second gear.

I yielded to her impenetrable shell. Her clit had beaten me.

Gasping, I slid down and collapsed face first, my head between her knees.She lifted her head and looked at me wide eyed. “Are you ok?” she asked.

I took a moment to find any shred of pride I had once carried, there was none.
“Am I THAT bad at this that I can’t give you even a single orgasm?” I asked. She chuckled, “Oh you’re awesome; that’s not the problem at all.”

“Then what is?” I asked, looking for the secret that would help me pick her locks.

“You’re a dude, fuckhead. You’re doing an incredible job, it feels amazing, but…”
I waited a moment, gazing into those giant dark brown eyes. I prompted her – “but what?”

“I could be knitting.”

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/g004w4/a_lesson_in_oral_sex_against_impossible_odds