We

We’re watching the end of a DVD. We’re both still in our pyjamas, he in a white singlet and striped boxers that I chose in one of those ‘shopping for boyfriend’ moments, I in a black slip with lace trim that does nothing to hide my cleavage. The kind of cleavage you could happily sleep between. The kind that had been the centre of his attention a few hours before. (He remarked how responsive my nipples were: I, close to cumming through the bites and flicks of tongue alone on budded nipples, thinking this isn’t how Good Girl’s bodies respond). I have my head on his chest, and his long arm is wrapped around me, a network of veins and pale freckled skin. I place my hand casually on his cock, or at least in the vicinity of it, knowing that that action alone will pinpoint its exact location it is within seconds. He makes a small chuckle of something, perhaps appreciation. My touch is gentle, not at all urgent. My fingers trace the outline of his cock as I marvel at how easily it transforms under my touch.

(I think of the night before, of my eyes filled with delight as the stripper dances naked for me, and he, the proud swell of his cock barely contained within his pants, his lustful eyes on me as my lustful eyes are trained on another woman, a slight blush colouring my cheek).

It makes sense to undo that little button on the front of the boxers. It makes sense to slide my fingers in and touch the smooth skin of his shaft. It makes sense to wet my fingers and return them to their treasure, letting them rub gently at whatever surface they can find. And so, I tug his cock out of its cozy home and through the hole in the front of his boxers. I tug it out as he lets out another chuckle (of approval). I slide my head down to his lap and take the head of his cock gently into my mouth. This is my thing. This is what I do best and if there is just one thing in the world I want, it’s to give the perfect blowjob. To know that at that one moment that man is completely under my control and has never ever felt anything so good. I have been told that I am exceptional. I do not doubt this, because giving head is my thing. It’s one big continuous improvement programme. I have skill with mouth and tongue and lips (and teeth) combined with hands. It’s my pièce de résistance. I go through moves in my head, what my lips will do, where my tongue will go, building neural pathways like some elite athlete training for their big moment.

And so, my mouth is on him. There is nothing rushed about this, about us. He is starting to vocalize a little, perhaps in anticipation of what is to come. I find that valley that runs just under the head of his cock and run my tongue back and forth along its groove. I flick at the head of his cock with my tongue, eliciting twitches from him and rapid intakes of breath. I slowly lower my head down over him until I can feel him butting against the back of my soft palate. I relax my throat and push down, allowing the head to slip past my epiglottis and into my throat. I hear him gasp sharply and I smile internally. I smile at what I have just done. I slowly retreat from his cock only to ride down it again, into my throat, surprised at the lack of gag reflex and thrilled at the prospect that I now have his cock all the way in, with my lips at the base of his shaft. His beautiful cock is now entirely within my mouth and I am delighted.