Page 148 of Kingmakers, Graduation

Ilsa strokes my pussy like her own little pet.

She presses her lips against mine, once.

“Good girl.”

I look up into her face.

“You haven’t lost your touch.”

“I should hope not.”

She stands up from the couch, pulling her shirt over her head, stepping out of her pants, revealing that powerful body I’ve always envied. Her breasts are small and high like they wouldn’t dare get in her way, shoulders like a swimmer, a tattoo of an olive branch on her ribs. Thighs that could crush you, that have crushed me, many times…

She comes around the arm of the couch, leaning over me, pulling my shirt off as well. I wasn’t wearing a bra. My nipples are already hard, standing up on my chest.

Ilsa bends over, taking my breast in her mouth. Her mouth is warm, her tongue flicking against my nipple, sending sparks of heat through my chest.

Her breasts are right above my face. I tilt up my chin, licking her nipple with the flat of my tongue, massaging her other breast with my hand. I suck on her tits with deep, slow pulls, trying to get as much in my mouth as I can.

Her flesh is petal-like against my cheek. I nuzzle against her chest, inhaling her perfume. Thinking how remarkable it is that Ilsa has skin this soft hidden under her clothes.

Ilsa moans against my breast, switching to the other side, sucking just as hard.

I arch my back, grabbing her under the ribs. I pull her down on top of me, her weight heavy and satisfying. I nose her underwear to the side, my hands on the back of her thighs, pulling her legs apart. I latch my mouth onto her pussy, licking her clit with long strokes, sucking on it gently, tasting her, breathing her in. Oral on a woman is so much more intimate than on a man, so much more like kissing.

Ilsa’s head is between my thighs, licking and lapping in just the same way. We fit together so well, every part of us soft and smooth and meant for sliding. There’s no stubble on her face, no roughness. I can grind against her while she grinds against me, her scent in my mouth as rich and feminine as my own.

Touching her is like touching myself, I know what feels good. I lick her clit and stroke it with my fingertips. What she does to me I do to her—when she increases her speed and pressure, I follow suit. We’re grinding together in tandem, building our orgasms at the same time.

I grip her ass in both hands, licking and licking at her clit. I use the flat of my tongue, giving her more and more pressure, while I’m spreading my thighs, riding her tongue.

She pushes two fingers inside me. The way she touches me is delicate, exploratory—feeling with her fingertips, dipping them in and out.

I do the same to her, feeling the intense heat, the rhythmic squeezing, the intimacy of being inside of someone.

She’s panting now,huh, huh, huh,and I know she’s about to cum.

Her pussy clamps around my fingers, tighter than you’d ever believe. Her thighs shake on either side of my head. I’m caught in a vice, the tremors running down my body. It makes me cum too, clenching and vibrating, crying out with her pussy pressed against my tongue.

I roll away from Ilsa, falling off the couch, feeling like toothpaste squeezed out of a tube. My ears are ringing, whole body flushed and pulsing still.

I open my mouth to say something.

My stomach contracts. Without warning, without any ability to stop it, I vomit all over Ilsa’s rug

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she says.

I fall forward into the puke, slamming my head on the floor.

When I wake up,I’m in Ilsa’s bed. Sunshine pours in through the window, cruel and garish. Someone honks their horn on the street below and it stabs into my ear like a deliberate assault.

I sit up, then immediately regret it. My head feels swollen and wobbly on my shoulders, aching with every beat of my heart. I trace the worst throbbing to the lump on my forehead. Just grazing it with my fingertips sends another bolt of pain through my head, worse than the car horn.

It takes me a minute to actually get out of the bed. Black mist sweeps over my vision and I have to cling to the footboard of the bed, hunched over, until it passes.

When I stumble out to the living room I must look like walking shit ‘cause Ilsa’s head snaps up and she barks, “If you puke on my floor again I will fucking kill you.”

I’d tell her,I’m not gonna puke,but I really don’t trust myself to open my mouth. Instead, I hobble over to the kitchen table and sit down across from Ilsa, pulling the hem of her oversized t-shirt down over my knees. She dressed me in her Pussy Riot shirt, so I know she can’t be completely pissed at me.

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