Page 72 of Treat

“Can’t we do both?” she moaned. Her breast was in heaven with his mouth sucking, his tongue swirling. He’d even pull back to brush the straining tip with his mustache, a faintly abrasive delight. But her pussy was achingly lonely. She spread her legs wider, trying to get some friction, but though his abdomen was hard it was also flat, and she just couldn’t get the contact she needed.

“Are you humping my stomach?” he mumbled around her nipple.

“You took your dick away,” she whined. She canted her hips, trying to get some friction on her clit, but the angle was all wrong. “Bring it back.”

He bit her nipple, then flicked it with his tongue. “In a minute.”

“Tease,” she accused.

His laugh vibrated her sternum. “You don’t like it?”

“I hate it. Do it some more.”

He laughed again and switched to her other breast, stroking the underside with the flat of his tongue. His mustache brushed her nipple, and it was like a sharp jolt of electricity zipped through the sensitive peak.

“Mustache,” she croaked out.

He lifted his head. “What?”

“Mustache,” she repeated and grabbed his head to drag it back where it was. “More.”

“This?” he asked, rubbing his upper lip in a gentle circle around her areola.

She thought her toes might be curling, but she was too lightheaded to look. “Harder.”

The pressure increased, turning the tickling rasp into an abrading scrape, and this timeeverythingcurled. She let out a long, keening moan, clutched his head to her breast, and tried to remain conscious.

He nipped and licked, tongued and scraped, working her entire breast with his mouth and his mustache until it was so sensitized she couldn’t stand it anymore. She pushed back, freeing herself, and stared down at him. Her glasses were askew, but she didn’t bother to straighten them. She’d have had to let go, and she didn’t think she could. “Can I have your dick back now?”

Breathing heavily, his cheeks ruddy, he shook his head. “No.”

“Meanie,” she whined and ground herself against him. She was so wet his belly had turned into an X-rated Slip-N-Slide, and she would’ve laughed if it hadn’t been so damn frustrating.

“Soon,” he promised, using his grip on her waist to drag her up his body again.

“Wrong direction,” she complained, then squeaked when his mustache brushed her belly. He was scooting down at the same time he was moving her up, and in a matter of seconds she was kneeling on the pillows, his head between her thighs.

She looked down, curling forward to see past her belly. He stared back at her, his eyes like blue fire. “Oh.”

She couldn’t see his mouth, but the way his eyes crinkled told her he was grinning. “Yeah. Oh.”

She licked her lips. “I hate to seem ungrateful, but I wanted penetration.”

“You’ll get it,” he promised, and digging his hands into her ass, dragged her down.

The firm, direct contact on her pussy brought instant relief. Giddy with it, she circled her hips, searching for the right pressure, the right spot. His hands tightened on her ass, holding her in place, and she opened her mouth to complain when he stabbed his tongue into her. Thick and agile, it stroked the sensitive, nerve-rich flesh of her vaginal opening, penetrating her over and over again in deep, rapid thrusts while his mustache brushed against her clit.

“Holy shit,” she breathed and would’ve fallen off his face if he hadn’t been holding her. She scrabbled for the headboard, knocking his phone, a copy of The Hobbit, and a box of tissues off the shelf before she managed to grab the ledge and hold on. She rocked forward, searching for more pressure on her clit, and the short bristles of his mustache scraped and rasped against the sensitive ball of nerves so deliciously that she let out a squeal. But leaning forward broke contact with his tongue, leaving her feeling empty and greedy, so she rocked back again, grinding down so his tongue could get even deeper, and eased the pressure on her clit.

Back and forth, back and forth she rocked, tongue to mustache and back again, the pressure and the tension building in her pelvis, in her belly. Sweat beaded on her skin, dripped between her breasts and down her thighs as her orgasm built. She moaned and squealed, babbled and chirped, the sounds mingling with his grunts and groans, his muffled urgings to go faster, take what she needed, use him.

“Can you…breathe?” she managed to ask, trying to look down at him without breaking contact. Her glasses had slid down and were clinging to the tip of her nose, fogged and streakedwith moisture, so she couldn’t see him very well. But the determination in his eyes was clear as day.

He mumbled something that sounded like, “If I die, I die.”

“What?” she said, sure she’d heard him wrong, but he was shoving a hand between her thighs from behind and pushing his thumb into her pussy along with his tongue, and the extra penetration sent her flying over the edge.

Her glasses fell, hitting him in the head, but she barely noticed. She was too busy screaming and shaking and rattling the headboard, her pussy pulsing and her heart pounding so hard she thought it would fly right out of her chest, and when she finally let go of the headboard she just fell over onto her side to collapse in a wrung out heap on the mattress beside him.

---