Page 68 of Tips and Trysts

Men and their cocks have always fascinated me: the way they treat them as power sources, their obsession with length and thickness, how many pussies they can get them into—or assholes, or throats. I’ve seen countless men lose their minds over their own dicks. But until tonight, I’ve never seen a man so controlled when it comes to his cock.

When he pulls out, he’s careful. Careful with his piercing against my throat. Careful with my piercing against his length.Careful.

My hand tightens on his thigh over the coarse hairs on his skin. “You can do it,” I urge, voice scratchy already. “Fuck it. Take it.”

“I need you to do it,” he counters, brow tight. “I want to see you suck it. Show me you want me back.”

“No. You’re not listening. I told you to take it—so fucking take it, Everett.” And I open my mouth, edge my tongue out, and wait.

Everett falters before he touches the head of his cock to my tongue again. I can practically see the discomfort warring inside him—the intrinsic tendency to do what he’s told, rather than what he wants.

I cup my bare breasts, toying with them, teasing my nipples. “Do it for me then.Ineed this.”

I need this. The words are magical. Everett drives his cock forward with alarming speed, shoving it right over my extended tongue and into my mouth. The fullness is electrifying: a crescendo of lightning and rainclouds into the stinging contact at the back of my throat. I relax, opening up to him—

—and he fucks me.

His dick is relentless and thick, working into every crevice of my throat, spreading my saliva, taking my face in a manner bordering on animalistic. He grunts. He thrusts. He urges out a labored breath that intertwines with the thud of my heartbeat.

Through my watery eyes, I watch him, admiring the ravenous, ragged expression creeping onto such an elegant face. He’s otherworldly. Everett could be royalty—but he looks far better when he comes undone.

“Such a slut for it,” he grits. “Tits out, sucking me off while you’re on your knees. Do you have any idea how perfect you are?”

Perfect. For two decades, I was told to be perfect. The thought sickened me. When anyone told me I was perfect, the person they were speaking to didn’t really exist.

But when Everett calls me perfect, he’s talking about the woman in front of him—the one debasing herself without shame.

“That tongue piercing feels so damn good,” he murmurs over a groan. “I’m close.”

His words are a cue. I reach up, cup his balls, and squeeze them gently—just enough to pull a moan out of him. I use my mouth next. It’s a quick succession of motions—popping off his fat, wet cock and fitting both his balls between my lips and licking them, sucking them. His grip on my hair is unforgiving. Painful. Desperate. So, I slide my fingertips back and press on the skin between his balls and his asshole.

Everett swears aloud.

And then he’s telling me I’m everything. He’s marveling at what a whore I am, thanking me, and telling me how no other mouth feels like mine. My lips go back to his cock, and I put him back in my throat. He swears he’s going to make me happy—that he’s going to shower me with cash and gifts and tips—but it’s the words, “Let me mark you,” that nearly put me in a frenzy.

I’ll happily take the cash and the gifts and the tips—but his cum is the thing I really want.

I sit back on my shins and wait.

Above me, Everett looms with his pupils big and his eyes locked on my breasts. His hand wraps around his cock—shiny and wet from my mouth—and with a jerk of his hand, he finishes himself. His cum releases onto me, spreading across my body, landing on my nipples, my piercings, and my belly.

He watches every spurt.

“There it is,” he murmurs, and the words stutter with the motion of his jerking hand. “Look at all that cum dripping off your hard nipples.Fucking dripping.”

Satisfied, I look at my breasts and admire the masterpiece splattered over my skin. It’severywhere.

Everett extends his hand and pulls me to my feet. I’m not eye level with him—far from it—but right now, I feel taller than I ever have.

“Unreal,” he murmurs. “Fucking unreal. You’re brilliant.”

The praise laces itself in my bloodstream and travels through the network of my veins. I try not to smile. I want to be sexy and aloof, but I can’t help it—not when Everett is fixated on the splash of cum on my tits. He reaches out, swipes the tip of his index finger through the pearlescent spend, and drags it over my skin. For several seconds, his focus remains locked on the mess spread over my chest. “Do you know what I did after you dumped that gin and tonic on me?”

The night we met. I shake my head.

“I went home, went straight to my bedroom, and jerked off into my hand. Didn’t even shower first.” His gaze rises to my face. “Now you’re wearing my cum.”

“I never thought I’d suck your cock,” I admit before I take his wrist, bring his finger to my lips, and suck it clean. “But this cock is mine, right?”

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