“Force me,” I said. “Force me to suck your dick. Force it down my throat. Push my head, make take it.” I was kneeling on the bed, eyeliner and mascara on. I wanted him to see it run down my face.
His cock was already hard from tonguing my pussy earlier. I love his tongue on my pussy, but when he sticks it in me, wraps his hands around the outside of my legs, and pushes in until his face is up against my body and then starts wiggling his head, I completely lose it. I go from moaning slightly to a squirming, howling mess. He’ll stay in me until his tongue is coated in my come. Then he’ll pull out, take a few breaths and let my body still, and do it again.
And now it was my turn. I looked up at his face. He’s always timid about really forcing his cock down my throat. He knows how sensitive my gag reflex can be and I think he’s afraid of pushing me too far. Tonight, I wanted to be pushed.
His hard cock stood out at me and I started to lightly suck it, working my way from head down toward the base. Each bob of my head took me a bit closer as I let my saliva wet him and my tongue swirl at that spot he loves. His legs bowed slightly as I made my way. His left hand reached back for our headboard to help steady himself as he stood on the mattress. I appreciated the choice of the mattress – it made my knees feel so much better than the floor.
I started to slide down more onto his cock, right to the point where my gag reflex would be triggered. I choked and pulled up, leaving a trail of spit stringing between his dick and my lips. I took a couple of deep breaths and looked up into his eyes. He was staring down at me, watching. I closed my eyes and pushed back down onto his dick, gagging again. More spit. Again. Again. His right hand gently rubbed the back of my head, letting me work up my throat and gain control over my gagging.
I took a deep breath, and then pressed full onto his cock, pushing into my throat. I always struggle with keeping my throat open, and I felt his cock stop, blocked. And then his hand pushed me, and his cock forced itself into me.
Air cut off, slight pain of being stretched in the way I love, my body wanted to push away and yet I wouldn’t allow it. I choked against him for a bit, and then he released me. I came up, gasping for air. A huge intake of breath followed by an exhale. Tears on the side of my eyes, waiting to fall. His cock was covered in thick, throaty cum. Back into my mouth for a few shallow bobs of my head, and I pushed down again, and he pushed me further. It went easier this time, but I had to fight my body for control.
A tear fell down my face as he released my head and I gasped for air again. On and on he forced me, making me stay longer than I wanted to. Pushing me sooner than I expected. Doing exactly as I wanted him to. As I asked him to.
Spit ran down my chin, mascara and eyeliner ran down my cheeks and smeared onto his belly as my body struggled against his. He played with my breathing and held me even when my hands pushed him away. I looked up and him and he watched my wet face with muted interest. His pleasure was all that was important and my discomfort was part of that pleasure.
“You’ve become quite a cock slut, haven’t you?”
I looked into his eyes. “I always was,” and then slid my mouth back onto his sensitive dick. Each bob and lick was met with soft moans from his mouth.
In the end, we pushed my gags too far and decided to change from the deep throating. He ordered me to my desk where I was to live-tweet the sex we were having. He still didn’t make it easy by making me squirt (on our carpet!) and then pulling my hair so I couldn’t see the keyboard and barely the screen.
It made for one hell of a fucking, and neither of us cared we missed the first 10 minutes of the Superbowl. Sometimes you just need to be used.