Page 57 of S is for SEX

With him standing directly in front of the couch and me sitting at the edge of the cushion, I gripped his muscular ass in my hands and began to suck his cock like it was going to solve all the world’s problems.

I massaged his balls carefully in my hand while I slid my mouth up and down the thick shaft with precision. The fleshy tip banged deep into my throat with each stroke of my lips. Satisfied that I was well on my way to etching a permanent mark deep in Ethan’s mind, I continued to suck vigorously, hoping my talent would satisfy him so greatly that he made me a permanent part of his leisurely evening schedule.

Measuring my success in boxing came easy. I simply compared the wins to the losses. As there weren’t any losses, I was easily able to identify myself as a success.

Determining my success at sucking a man’s dick was equally as easy. It wasn’t indicated by moans, groans, or an appreciative post-blowjob comment. At least in my mind, it was measured in the amount of time it took me to get a man to reach climax. If I was somehow able to coerce a man to reach orgasm – simply by using my mouth – in a matter of a few minutes, he was undoubtedly satisfied with my performance.

If I had to suck and stroke endlessly until my jaw, hands, arms, and mouth were exhausted, something was either wrong with me – or him. Based on the available information and my willingness to fully accept it, I didn’t require praise in boxing or in my head game. Everything I needed was in front of me.

I massaged his smooth ball sack and moved my wet mouth along the shaft, studying his facial expression as I did so.

I buried him deep into my throat and gazed up and into his eyes.

He lifted his chin and tilted his head back. His entire body tensed and he began to moan. I recalled what Rachel said about not sucking him to completion, but at that moment, while caught up in the excitement of it all, I wasn’t about to stop.

I was ninety seconds into my performance and he was going to unleash.

I wanted to see it.

I needed to see it.

Something about watching a man ejaculate was exciting to me. Seeing the cum spurt from the tip of his cock made me feel like I had truly accomplished something.

And it was fucking hot.

As his cock twitched and began to swell, his moaning deepened, and I slid his cock from my throat in response.

Holding it directly in front of my mouth, I jacked my hands along the slippery shaft, pointing the tip into my waiting and willing mouth.

In two more strokes, I was well on my way to success. His chest tensed, his bicep muscles flared, and he groaned out in pleasure. Cum blasted from the tip of his cock and shot into my mouth over and over, the long thick bursts seeming to last forever.

I’d sucked enough cocks in my younger years to develop a taste for a man’s cum. It wasn’t something I would describe as tasty, but it was somehow satisfying in its own way. I found the salty and slightly bitter essence to be rather sensual. A reminder of the sensuous act that extracted it from deep within.

As his cum filled my mouth, however, my tongue tried to reject it. My stomach heaved. My nostrils flared.

And I remembered.

Asparagus.

Fuck.

Nothing on this earth made a person’s piss stink – or a man’s cum taste – worse than asparagus.

He gazed into my eyes.

I met his gaze. With my mouth agape, his cock still in my hand, and my tongue covered in his rotten cum, I tried my hardest to look content.

I fought against the putrid stench, closed my mouth, and swallowed.

My stomach fought to reject it.

I struggled to keep it down.

And I remembered Rachel’s advice.

Whatever you do, don’t swallow.

Truer words had never been spoken.

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