The Joy of Sucking Cock

I’ve said it before (several times, I’m sure): I love to suck cock.  Give head, a blow job, a BJ, a hummer, go down on a man, blow him, suck him off…  However you say it, I love it.
I’ve been told by a few different men, W included, that they “don’t usually (or, for a couple of them, ‘ever’) come from head.” While it hasn’t been my goal to prove them wrong (I love to suck cock just because, well, I love sucking cock), that has been the result. I haven’t found a cock yet I couldn’t, eventually, (tho sometimes with a lot of effort and practice and attention), make squirt yummy man-slime (as W calls it) down my throat.
Did I just say yummy in reference to semen?!?
Why yes, yes I did.
Besides the feel and taste of a man’s cock in my mouth and throat, I also love the feel and taste of a man ejaculating into my mouth.  The feel of his cock growing huge in that moment before he blows, the tension in his body, the way his cock twitches as he shoots into my mouth…and then the feel of it, the taste of it on my tongue: salty, sweet, hot, sticky, bitter, slippery…it’s all good. No, I don’t relish the idea of drinking the stuff–don’t fantasize about that at all–but in the moment of a man’s orgasm, I absolutely love it.  Crave it. Want it beyond anything else, even my own pleasure, although I have actually had an orgasm with little to no physical stimulation while giving head, somehow translating & experiencing his orgasm as mine.  I wonder at times if that is why I am such a “good little cocksucker” as W calls me. When I am deeply into it, I almost enter this place where I am both the sucker and suckee, and it is as though it is MY cock being sucked on.  And since I know exactly how it feels, I know exactly what to do to get myself–i.e. him–off.
Or maybe it’s just that I pay attention to his signals.  😉
I wrote about making Ad come with my mouth the first time.  That was incredibly hot, and right up there, even with all the amazing things I’ve written about and done, been made to do, and had done to me, at the top of my “Hottest Things” list.
And during a day of being caned, fucked, snarled at, face-fucked and finally, having him piss in my mouth, W actually came twice in my mouth, inside of about an hour.  I can’t take credit for that, though. That was all him, as he dragged me by my hair from face down on his desk, where he was caning me, to my knees to suck his cock, and back up again to the desk, over and over.  By the end I was nearly incoherent, just an open, wet mouth hole with no thought or premeditation on my part to “make him come.”  But when he did…oh my god it was so fucking hot I could have cried.  Or come. Or both.
(And as an aside, lately it is that image, that open-mouthed yielding as a cock is shoved into my mouth, no sucking or choice or effort on my part, and, in fact a refusal to allow me those things, a denial of my “ability” to “make” a guy come with my mouth, that pushes me over into orgasm lately when I touch myself. Thank you, W, for making fantasies reality and giving me fantasies for my reality.)
This past weekend I had the opportunity to demonstrate my love of cocksucking.
I’ve mentioned the new “game” we’ve been playing, with W finding men for me to…do various things to and with. Fuck, suck off, tease, be exhibited by, flirt with. And someday…darker things, probably. This time it was fairly tame, by most kinky folks’ standards, anyway. To my (and, I think, W’s) surprise though, it had a pretty profound affect on me.  But that’s a story for another day.
The guy in question wanted to take me out in a miniskirt, halter top & high heels on his motorcycle and “show me off” to his motorcycle-riding friends. He’d take me for a ride, I’d flash them a bit of  T&A, and then we’d go back to his place where I’d show him a good time.  All with documentary evidence and, of course, all in a pair of fuck-me pumps.  W wouldn’t have it any other way, now would he?
It was a perfect day for a ride.  The sweltering heat wave had been broken by a vigorous rainstorm that morning. (Me to W, when we woke up to thunderclouds and pelting rain: “Maybe he’ll cancel! We can’t ride in the rain, can we?” Him to me: “You’re going to fuck him, rain or no rain.  Now go get dressed.”)  But the guy, already dubbed BD in my mind, didn’t cancel.  It stopped raining, and W had to force me to change into a sluttier top when he realized that in my anxiety about this new adventure I was trying to do an end run and wear something more modest. A slut was what BD wanted, a slut was what he’d get. W would not let me disappoint him, no matter how anxiety-ridden I was.
And I didn’t disappoint. In an email to W later he said, “You were so right about her legs and ass, when she first walked in and I saw those legs in that short dress and those heels my cock started to get hard and the closer she came the harder my cock became. After a beer and some idle chat we went to my place and she changed into the other skirt and I saw her ass, well there went my cock again…”
And seeing the bulge in his pants, any anxiety I’d started with left.  I knew what to do, what W expected of me, what would please BD.  And what I wanted to do.  I dropped to my knees, unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock.  He groaned as I stroked it, almost gently at first, and then with a firmer grip, making it grow harder in seconds.
His breathing was already a bit ragged.  “Do you–” he started, and took a breath. “Do you want that cock in your mouth?”
I looked up at him from my position on my knees on his kitchen floor. “More than anything,” I replied honestly. And then I proceeded to demonstrate just how much I wanted his cock in my mouth.
Our date had been delayed by several weeks, and the build-up in email had been long, and, for him, torturous. He groaned again as I took him as deeply as I could into my mouth. He was average-sized, with a thick, bulbous head, but not terribly long–the kind I like best.  The kind I can deep throat. I made sure to get him nice and wet, sliding my mouth up and down on him a few times before pulling back to lick him from his balls up to the head, covering that sensitive area with my entire mouth before doing it again. He already had precum at the tip and I lapped it up, looking up at him with a grin.
“Damn, girl,” he said, “you really like this, don’t you?”
I didn’t have to answer.  Instead, I opened my mouth wide and relaxed my throat and took him all the way inside, sliding and popping him past the urge to gag.
“Oh fuck,” he said. “Fucking Jesus, you’re going to make me come!  Fuck…yeah…oh fuck…”
And just like that, it was over.  I bobbed my head up and down on him a few more times, following my hand as I stroked him.  Then his hand was on the back of my head and he was shoving his cock into my mouth and moments later I was swallowing strange, bitter semen as he groaned above me.
“Jesus, girl,” he said, breathing hard and leaning back against the kitchen counter, as I sat back on my heels and grinned up at him. “I can’t believe I came so quick. Goddamn you’re a good little cocksucker, just like W said!”
There was much more to that day, and I’m sure I will post more on it as well, but for me, that was the perfect moment. Doing what I love to do, pleasing this stranger, and thus, pleasing W. Perfection.