Page 143 of S is for SEX

KAT

Predicting my former boyfriend Kyle’s sexual actions was easy. He’d climb on me, fuck me, and climb off. From time to time, he’d demand I suck his dick, and he’d hold my head with his hands while I did so, making sure to make me as uncomfortable as possible during the entire process. Predicting what Biscuit was going to do, however, seemed to be nothing short of impossible.

The long list of sexual offerings Biscuit chose from seemed to be very vast, and to be brutally honest, as far as I was concerned I never wanted to be fucked in a bed or in the missionary position again as long as I lived.

“Get up here and sit on my face,” he said as he bent over backwards and rested his shoulders and the back of his head on the table.

The deck off of the apartment jutted out to the side, and hung from the exterior wall for all the world to see. Every apartment in the building had a similar deck, and they were situated directly above, below, and beside each other. Mine was approximately eight feet by eight feet, and was just large enough for the small glass table and four chairs I had positioned on it for sitting and enjoying the evening air or having a drink.

As much as I wanted to do what he asked of me, the flimsy table, at least in my opinion, wasn’t suitable for both of us to be fucking on.

“I think it might collapse,” I shrugged.

“Get the fuck out of here,” he chuckled as he rolled onto his side and stood.

He turned toward the table and began inspecting the legs, upper portion, and the surface of the glass.

“Get this fucker at Home Depot?” he asked as he examined the table.

“Wow. As a matter of fact we did,” I responded.

“Well, it’ll do just fine,” he sighed, “Toad’s got one just like it at his place on the back deck, and I stood on the bastard one Sunday and told a story. Motherfucker never collapsed on me, so it ain’t gonna collapse here.”

“Now ride my fuckin’ face,” he said as he lowered himself onto the table again.

“But, we’re outside,” I explained as I peered over the edge of the deck to the deck beside us which was not more than ten feet away.

I glanced to my left, toward my other neighbor’s deck which was the same distance away.

“I don’t give a fuck. It’s seventy-five out here, and about ninety god damned degrees in your apartment. I been ridin’ all day, I’m hot, and it’s fuckin’ midnight. Grind that sweet little pussy on my beard, I ain’t gonna ask ya again. Now get to work,” he said in a demanding tone.

I glanced over my left shoulder, and then turned to my right. All of the decks I could see in both directions were empty, which wasn’t surprising. It was almost one o’clock in the morning. Somewhat reluctantly, I unbuttoned my shorts, pulled them down past my thighs, and kicked them to the side. After pulling off my panties and tossing them on top of my shorts, I walked toward the table and peered down at Biscuit.

Lying there on his back with his face pointed straight up at the sky, he grinned and stuck out his tongue.

“Just sit down here like you’re gettin’ on a chair,” he said as he closed his eyes and patted his hand against his beard.

“This seems weird,” I sighed as I glanced out at the pond situated directly behind the deck.

“Don’t seem weird to me. Eatin’ pussy is damned sure more natural than eatin’ a fuckin’ hamburger,” he said flatly.

“Fuck my beard, Kat,” he sighed.

As if I had no choice, and feeling no differently, I backed up to the table, straddled his chest, and squatted down on his face. As my butt cheeks rested against his face, he reached up and shifted me slightly, then shoved his tongue against my pussy.

As soon as I felt the tip of it against my swollen mound, I spread my legs slightly and relaxed.

Oh dear God.

His tongue pressed deeper and deeper, finally reaching the sweetest of spots. The tip of his tongue tickled my g-spot while the girth of it satisfied my pussy like no vibrator or dildo ever could. Somewhat nervous at first, ten seconds of his torturous tongue caused me to forget everything but being satisfied by his ability to please me orally.

As I exhaled and arched my back, I peered up at the clear star filled sky. His tongue repeatedly searched inside of me for a place to tease as I held my breath, bit my lip, and prayed to last another thirty seconds before I reached climax. The build up to the orgasm was almost more enjoyable than the orgasm itself, but so far about ninety seconds was my record on orgasm denial.

Being quiet during climax had never been one of my strengths, nor had prolonging the build-up. When it was time to have an orgasm, I had no control. The two sexual assurances in life, for me anyway, were that I was going to have the orgasm when the time came, and I was going to be vocal about it.

As Biscuit began to moan into my thighs, his tongue danced in and out of my now soaking wet pussy. Just to solidify my place on the night’s orgasmic calendar, I reached down and began to play with my clit. Five or so seconds later, I felt my body began to reach the brink.

It was all but over.

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