For years I wasn’t a fan of 69ing. The position exposed more of me than I was comfortable showing and at that point in time, I couldn’t imagine the close up of an ass to be attractive, especially my ass. It made me apprehensive, this discomfort, and therefore jittery and awkward, feeling weird in my own skin.
Don’t get me wrong, there were times I’d enjoyed it, times I’d get past my own head, just feel and be and do. But then another problem arose. It seemed I was easily distracted and 69 was the epitome of my distraction.
How in the hell was I supposed to concentrate on sucking cock when M had my clit in his mouth, sucking and lapping at it? I couldn’t, so I’d do the only thing I could do. Cum.
I’d find myself on all fours, M’s cock in my hand, maybe a slight up and down motion (but very likely not), panting and cumming, arched against his mouth. And I’m not complaining. Truly I’m not. But the problem is once I start cumming, sometimes I can’t stop. I cum and cum and I get so sensitive that even the slightest movement or bit of pressure and I’m set off again. And the whole time I’m cumming, M’s cock is no where near my mouth.
Sometimes I want to give. And give good. And the fact is I can’t give good when I’m getting so damn good.
But M, he’s a big fan of 69, so it’s held its presence in our bedroom and no matter how much I protested, it lingered, always there, always calling.
Eventually, things fell into place and we developed a rhythm. I no longer worry about my ass in his face or if my mouth is wrapped around him cock at any given moment. I learned to shut off my brain, relax and enjoy.
Now I love it as much as M. And sometimes I think I may enjoy it even more. It creates these fantastic fucking feelings, feelings so good they can’t be recreated. Pleasure so intense, I struggle to put it into words.
Last Friday, we’d been playing for an hour or so. I’m on my knees, sideways in bed, sucking his cock. He’s as deep as I can take him and I’m gagging every second or third thrust, spit dripping out of my mouth when I pull off for air. I’ve cum dozens of times, completely over-stimulated with M’s left hand moving between my pussy and ass, his right wrapped in my hair, controlling my movement, pushing deeper into my mouth.
I’m lost in his cock and not prepared when he pulls me, lifting me over him, a leg settling on each side of his head. His tongue darts out, flicks across my clit. My mouth slips from his cock, replaced by my hand, jacking him up and down, up and down, and I cum so hard I soak the sheets beneath his head.
Soon I’m flat against him, stomach to stomach, his cock down my throat as he pulls my clit into his mouth, sucking with just the right amount of pressure to make me lose it.
And within moments, I’m gone. The motions between us ebb and flow, crashing and retreating. I cum for seconds, minutes, what seems like hours and days. It doesn’t stop, but peaks and holds, then goes higher and higher again.
His cock is so deep in my mouth, I barely breathe, and perhaps it is the lack of oxygen that makes me see stars. Makes me forget my name, forget everything but Him and his cock and his tongue. His control and his love.
It’s the only word that comes close to describing the feeling.
I can’t guess how long we stayed like this, his cock impaled in my mouth, my cunt grinding on his tongue and lips and teeth. When I’m there, lost, floating, time doesn’t exist. It could have been moments or it could have been eternity. I wouldn’t have known the difference.
When we finally broke and he rolled me onto my back before burying himself inside me, tears of pleasure-filled euphoria spilled from my eyes.