Chapter 10
One of the things I love most is sucking. Anything. I can go at it for hours as long as my mouth can handle the tiredness and the numbness, feeling the heat, the weight, the taste slowly changing on my tongue. Back then, I wasn't as good as I am now — these days I can make a guy or a girl cum in seconds, I know exactly where to squeeze, where to lick, where to pause — but I had the instinct. Something inside me already knew how to make it feel good for whoever was on the receiving end. And I know you're curious about the women part, but we'll get to that soon enough.
The guy there was just low, raspy moans, his thighs trembling lightly while I kept the slow rhythm, mouth full, tongue pressing under the head every time I came up. He tensed up all over, holding back so he wouldn't cum too quick, leg muscles clenched, breaths short and heavy. Suddenly, he grabbed my face with both hands, fingers firm on my cheeks, forcing me to look up. Our eyes met in the dark, my gaze heavy like always, his glazed over, almost desperate.
"Can I cum in your pretty little mouth, baby? Drink my milk?"
The way he said it made me wanna laugh. Seriously, the baby talk, "milk," like I was a kid and this was some candy. I never imagined anyone talking like that in real life, only in crappy old internet porn. I laughed back, a low, muffled chuckle with his cock still in my mouth, and nodded. I figured all girls swallowed guys' cum, that it was part of the deal, and I was damn curious to see what it really tasted like. I let out a wet "mm-hmm," without taking him out, vibrating the sound right on the head.
Then I sped up. One hand at the base, stroking firm and steady, the other going for his balls, squeezing lightly, massaging those nuts I loved touching so much — hot, soft, full, pulsing under my fingers. He groaned louder, a guttural sound that echoed low off the wall behind me, hips bucking forward without force, just instinct.
It came fast. His cock swelled in my mouth, throbbing hard against my tongue, and the first hot spurt hit the roof of my mouth, thick, viscous, salty with a bitter edge that shot straight up my nose. I didn't pull back. Kept my lips sealed around the head, sucking gently as the pulses came one after another, filling everything up. The taste was strong, kinda metallic, with a sweet undertone, creamy like condensed milk mixed with something raw and animal. Thick texture, sticky, sliding slow across my tongue when I swallowed. I gulped it all down at once, in slow swallows, feeling the liquid slide warm down my throat, leaving a lingering trail that took its time to fade. No disgust, nothing. Just curiosity mixed with a quiet satisfaction.
When he finished, shaking all over, cock softening slow in my mouth, I pulled off gently, licking the head one last time to clean up the rest. Looked up at him again, mouth still wet, his taste stuck on my tongue, and smiled faintly. I felt... happy. Truly happy, for a few seconds. Because I'd made him cum, I'd swallowed it all, I'd been useful, wanted, naughty enough to earn it. It was like, for that moment, the emptiness didn't exist. I was worth something. He was breathing heavy, hand still in my hair, looking at me like I was the best thing that'd happened to him that night. And me, kneeling there on the dirty ground, with his taste in my mouth, just felt that warm peace spreading again, slow, filling everything.
"Does it take you long to get hard again?"
He looked surprised, like he wasn't expecting the question so straight-up, and started making excuses right away, laughing awkwardly, voice low:
"You wanna fuck, you crazy? What if someone shows up? You're not even wearing a skirt!"
I didn't answer with words. Stood up slow from the ground, brushed the dust and concrete off my knees with my hands, feeling the slight sting in my thighs. Looked at him blank-faced, just with that heavy gaze I always have, and tugged down my baggy jean shorts along with my panties to mid-thigh. The cool night air hit my wet skin straight on, raising goosebumps everywhere, but the heat down there didn't quit. I stood there still, legs slightly apart, waiting.
"Come on. If you don't have a cock to fuck me with, use your fingers or your mouth. Your choice."
He hesitated a second, glancing around like the whole condo might pop up any minute. From the way he twisted his mouth, he wasn't big on going down — I could tell from his face. Without a word, he shoved his hand in front, thick fingers parting the way slow. One hand up front, circling my swollen clit with just the right pressure, the other from behind, two fingers sliding deep into my still-sensitive pussy from what'd gone down earlier. He pumped hard, rhythmic, while the thumb on the front hand kept circling my clit nonstop.
I barely moved. Just let it happen. Arms loose around his neck, face buried in his sweaty chest, smelling his cologne mixed with sweat, feeling his heart pounding fast against my cheek. His body held me up, pinning me against the wall, while his fingers did all the work. It was intense, too fast, fingers plunging in and out with wet slaps, dripping down my thighs onto the dirty ground. The heat built in waves, my clit throbbing under his thumb, pussy clenching around the fingers hitting deep, nailing that spot that made everything tighten up.
I came weak, quiet. A shiver starting in my legs, climbing up my belly, squeezing my core tight, but it didn't explode like I wanted. It was a lukewarm relief, partial, leaving my body limp but still restless. It still stung a bit inside, the soreness from the first time mixed with the rough friction of his fingers, but I didn't say anything. Didn't want him to stop, didn't want to explain. Just stayed there, face in his chest, breathing heavy, feeling the wetness trickle slow down my thighs as he pulled his fingers out, licking them quick like it was no big deal.
When he saw I'd cum, he fixed himself up first, pulling up his shorts, straightening his shirt. I tugged my panties and shorts back up slow, feeling everything sticky, wet, cold now with the breeze. Didn't say a word. Neither did he. Just swapped a quick look, him with a crooked, satisfied grin, me with the feeling we could keep going.
On the way back, he started talking nervously, babbling nonstop about how wired he was, how he'd cum too fast, how he needed time to recharge. I knew he'd tried to just leave me hanging — blew his load in my mouth and done, mission accomplished, no interest in giving me anything back. To cover up being a jerk, he started yapping about the car he was fixing at the shop, how he surfed huge waves at the condo's beach, the hangs he did with his buddies. None of it interested me. I responded with low one-word answers, "yeah," "cool," staring at the ground, still tasting him on my tongue and feeling the dampness in my panties with that lingering sting inside that wouldn't quit.
When we hit the straightaway where everyone was still hanging out by the pool, the vibe shifted. A thicker silence settled in, like everybody stopped talking at once. The laughs died down, eyes darted away quick, and my brother headed my way with a weirdly serious look. That set off an alarm in my chest — Jonathan never got serious like that, he was always the family clown, the outgoing one who laughed at everything.
"Sis, let's head up. Dad's calling."
He said it low but firm, and turned to head into our building's lobby without waiting for a reply. Before taking the first step, he paused and jabbed at Fabiano over his shoulder, voice loaded with contempt:
"And you couldn't be more of an asshole, huh, bro?"
I was shocked by his reaction. Jonathan never talked like that to anyone, let alone in front of a group. My heart sped up a bit, not from fear, but from a quiet confusion. What did he know? What had he seen or heard? Fabiano laughed awkwardly, shrugged like he didn't care, muttered a "thanks, dude" and wandered back to the group, to the girl who'd been hanging on him before.
To be continued.