She’s six feet tall. Has broad shoulders. Small breasts. An athletic body. Is she a swimmer? (No. Volleyball.) She’s (much) bigger than my type, to be sure. Proof, I suppose, that it’s a type and not a requirement.
Things progressed fast. She sent hot pictures. Established her enthusiasm, her compliance. She read to me. She came for me. We met for coffee. Before she finished hers, her thighs were pressed against my ears as I lapped at her clit.
She hadn’t come for two days. At my request. She. Was. Ready.
On the short walk from coffee to hotel, I told her some things that would happen. She would beg, I promised. I told her how to communicate that she wanted me to stop something. I asked if there were things I should know, sensitivities she had. Limits.
In no time, she was begging to come. But I wasn’t ready for her to come. She was begging for my cock, but I wasn’t ready to give her my cock, either.
I had her touch herself for me. I had her work her hands slowly, slowly up my legs, starting at my ankles, and stopping her just when she reached my (very hard) cock. Twice. Separated by my licking her clit until she begged me to come. Not yet.
Then I had her work her mouth up my legs slowly, again starting at my ankles. Again, stopping just as she reached my cock.
I finally let her come a first time. And a second. And a third. I let her lower her mouth onto my cock.
(One of the hardest things about my style of dominance is the patience it requires in the face of TRULY massive temptation: this woman would happily have had my cock in her mouth nearly an hour before I allowed her to, all in service of anticipation, heightened excitement, delayed gratification. I never would have survived the 4-year-old marshmallow experiment, but I seem to do ok with the mid-40s cock-sucking one.)
The Amazon’s mouth is truly a thing of beauty. When it comes to head, there are several dimensions on which it can be evaluated. There’s enthusiasm, of course. And technique. But then there’s a third dimension: a sort of ineffable feel. The Amazon – along with Willow, and the Secretary – are alone in my fairly large memory banks in terms of the feeling provided my cock by the interior of their mouths.
Some women have rough tongues, or rough cheeks. Some have mouths that seem resolutely devoid of saliva. Some have saliva whose texture is stickier than it is lubricating.
The Amazon has a mouth that is like a warm cave of jello, with soft pillows lining the walls.
My sense is this isn’t about skill, it’s simply an endowment. Maybe I’m wrong – maybe there’s a tip she can give. But I don’t think so. I think she simply won the blowjob-mouth lottery.
Anyway, you can imagine the rest. There was lots and lots of oral, and more fucking than I usually do. She rode me. I plowed her. I lost a condom in her. She swallowed my cum.
We talked – about Tinder, marriage, all that.
She’s game, it seems, for just about anything.
That is a dangerous thing in my hands….