I Scent The Morning Air

The first thought that forms in the light of morning is the compulsion to suck. I like how the constitution of penile flesh alters within my lips, going from an inchoate, bendy, pliable state, to a finished product, inflexible and rigid and unyielding. The springiness of the skin belies the strength beneath.

Amadeo moans sleepily as consciousness returns to him. I smile when his eyes flash open and work to seat the glans within my throat. Though his hands tangle in my hair, he lets me fellate him at my own pace. Interrupting the pure sucking movements to tongue the sides of the shaft, leave small kisses over the underside, and nose his pubic hair and the meeting of his legs and groin, I start slowly but steadily ramp up the velocity. At first, I concentrate on the front half of the penis, but pay homage to it all before long. Cocksucking is an act of worship. I exalt the man when I adore his penis.

As I work him, my hand reaches between my legs. Fingers press on the smoothly waxed pubis and rub in taut circles.

His hips pitch up from the mattress. I tighten the seal of my lips, furnish saliva, and swallow fluently as the cock sinks deeper. Finding my rhythm, I fuck his cock with my face. At the base, my cheeks collapse, my throat swallows, and I add a clockwise twist of my head. At top, my lips have a loose hold on the helmet, I take in a draught of air, and then I am headed downward again. The spit sheets down his balls. With scrotum sucking divertissements, we continue in this manner.

The ragged quality of his breathing communicates his nearness to completion some minutes later. How long, I can't say. I am in a trance. I haven't been paying attention to the time.

"Where do you want to come?" I ask him. My nose nuzzles down his length.

After a moment's contemplation, he answers. "In your pussy."

I roll a condom over the shaft and position it at the opening and lower my body. The tension at the entrance and in the walls as he penetrates feels numinous to me. I feel my muscles stretch to accommodate the thickness of his cock. Once the penis is ensconced, Amadeo clutches my breasts and lets me do the work of fucking him. I use the runner's muscles in my thighs to control lift and drop. I remember my kegels and tighten about the shaft.

Playfully, I balance myself on top of the glans and hold position, hovering. The muscles just inside the entrance clench tightly then relax.

Amadeo growls. His hands cinch upon my hips, the fingertips making the flesh indent, and bring me down. The powerful muscles of his arms lift my weight up his erection. He hauls me earthward again while his pelvis rockets up from the mattress. I rebound off his pelvic bones.

We change positions so that I lie on my side, one hand pushing off the bed, the other from his thigh. From behind, one of his enormous hands clutches my shoulder and covers a breast. Fingers digging into my hip, the other hand holds me by the waist to improve his leverage. His cock is the complete toolbox: it hammers, it screws, it saws into my cunt. He fucks me with innate authority, strength, and speed. The movements are effortless, rhythmic, natural, fluid, and easy. The hand on my hip angles my body backward in the direction of his groin as the cock evacuates. I list forward as the cock sinks into me again. When he bottoms out inside, I feel the impact in my thighs and buttocks.

Amadeo calls me a good little slut and corrects himself. I am his good little slut.

I groan at his name for me and respond with wordless speech. The pistoning motion of the shaft against the walls of my vagina feels damn good first thing in the morning. Ten minutes of fucking, and I am nearly there.

We don't manage to synchronize our orgasms, however.

As it happens, Amadeo doesn't come in my pussy. He pulls out, snatches the condom from his penis, rolls onto his back, and lifts me on top of him. Cock between my legs, he finishes by jerking himself off. The semen lands between my belly button and the arch of my pubis. It puddles there in thick and viscous lakes. When he has finished trembling, my hand replaces his over the shaft. While he clutches my knees and wings my legs open, my fingers curve, and I rock my palm along his length in order to shake the last dregs of semen out.

The ejaculate is sticky on my body. My fingers gather the opaque fluids, and I suck them clean of his spendings. The wet spot on my skin feels cool in this air. He smells like the Mediterranean before sunrise.

"Bitch didn't come?" The inflection of the sentence indicates this is a question though Amadeo and I both know the answer. His hands clap, one upon each of the buttocks.

"No."

"Do you want to?"

"Yeah. I do."

"Turn around and masturbate for me. Come on me like I came on you."

Straddling his waist, I sit on top of him. My fingers trace the slit up to the clitoris, and I diddle my fingers on top. The glans brushes my ass, which is pink, but unblemished.

Amadeo presses the pillows under his back and props himself up on his elbows to observe. I take the wetness from inside my cunt and smear it over the clit. The tips of my index and middle fingers grab hold of the little bundle of nerves and give it a vigorous shake. Amadeo lowers so he is horizontal and drags me up on top of his chest so he can see me from up close when I come. I finally rotate the clitoris between the thumb and index finger while I rut my pussy against the hard plates of his chest. I feel loose inside.

"Can I?"

"Are you a dirty fucking cunt?"

"Yes."

"Are you my submissive bitch?"

"Yes."

"What else are you? Tell me."

"I am a fuck-toy."

"More precisely, you are my fuck-toy. Isn't that right?"

"Yes."

"Keep playing with yourself then, fuck-toy."

"Please. I need to come."

"Are you a good girl?"

"Uh-huh."

"Then you can come." His finger flicks a nipple as though activating a switch.

Orgasm seizes me. The muscles in my legs go stiff and my toes curl up. My head is thrown back. Oxygen comes to me in shallow gasps. The perspiration plasters my hair to my forehead. High pitched sounds sail to the heavens. The window is open. The air is cool. It's a psalm of thanksgiving I sing. The muscles of my vagina collapse.

There is some wetness on his chest when I get off of him and pillow my head atop his sinewy arm. I lap the juice from his chest and share it with him through languid kisses.

Republished with permission from Leah Lays London. Want to see your true tale of lust on Fleshbot? Contact us. Photo by John B. Root.