No way, that’s terrible, I don’t know how you handle that, you should give me a blowjob.
– SG’s response to my complaints about my advisor.
blowjob
Jack and Jitters, Part 5
“You know I can’t multitask.”
The Southern Gentleman had pulled me up onto my hands and knees on the bed. While I was busy sucking his cock, his hand had wandered down to my clit. Still sensitive from my orgasm and fast-careening toward subspace, I could barely concentrate on his cock when he touched me.
He chuckled, “well, you’re going to have to learn. Or I’m going to have to teach you.”
I tried to shrink away from his hand so I could focus on sucking him off. He sighed, “looks like I’m going to have to teach you, Ivy.” Before I could process this, his hand practically clamped over my cunt as he started to rub my clit violently and his other hair gripped my hair firmly as he started to fuck my face roughly.
I was totally and completely overwhelmed.
And it was perfect.
Jack and Jitters, Part 4
He rubbed for a while longer as I ground myself against the bed, squirming and gasping with how sensitive I had become. As I got close, he yanked the stockings that bound my wrists and pulled me down to my knees. His other hand gathered up a chunk of my hair and held it roughly, pushing my face into the crotch of his pants.
I reached up with my bound hands to try to undo his belt and he let go of my hair, grabbing onto the knot in the stockings. “You have way too much freedom.” He tightened the knot, making the removal of his belt, pants, and boxers a tad more difficult.
He reached down and pulled my nightgown up, knotting it above my breasts as to expose my body without removing it. He combed his hand through my hair, pulling it a bit as his hands left my scalp to dip my hair back and open my mouth. “Look at me while you suck it,” he said as I took him into my mouth.
I don’t want to fully admit that I started grinning when he sighed, “I love the way you suck my cock.” I really don’t want to own up to the fact that a phrase as simple or lewd as that could make me feel awesome. Because, well, I’d like to think I’ve got other stuff going for me and other important skills. But, gosh, I don’t know. There’s something about making a man sigh.
I didn’t break eye contact until he hauled me to my feet somewhere in the middle of it by the stockings around my wrists. He removed the stockings and yanked the nightgown over my head and off of my body. My hands wandered to his shirt and I pulled it off. We were both naked. For a few moments we were – as it seemed – even.
Goodbye, summer.
It’s where I belong. I’m home. And I don’t even need to click my heels together.
It almost looks as if he is embracing her. There’s a definite feeling of sweetness. The way her hand is resting on his side is just absolutely tender. But then you see the way his right hand is pulling and it’s an entirely different story. And, somehow, it all fits perfectly.
This photo is unrealistic. Not for the lady specifically, but because no airplane has seats that comfortable. Let’s be real here.
There’s something kind of sweet about that extended, waiting tongue. And how both of their eyes are closed. And how he’s holding her head. Judging by the source, the scene’s probably rougher when set into motion. But, in my mind, it’s just plain tender.
(Note: This should be a general note for all posts of this nature. The acts described herein are consensual. I was comfortable with the direction that the encounter went in and I was equipped with a safe word if I felt any of my limits being pushed or anything of that nature.)
I had been horribly bad. He had tried to spank me and I had kicked him away. I winced. I braced myself for something horrible.
But I should’ve known he wasn’t the type to go crazy on me right there. I’m sure some would have just resorted to hitting so hard my teeth rattled in my mouth. But, he knew that sort of punishment would achieve nothing in the long-run. He knew the way I learned and he knew exactly what would get to me.
And for this reason, he decided to ignore me. He simply turned away, walked over to my desk, sat down, and checked his email. It was literally the worst punishment he could inflict, the most harmful, the most cutting, the most effective. And he knew it. And I knew it. And he knew that I knew it.
I crawled over beside him and knelt by his left leg. I hoped he would find the act endearing enough to stop punishing me. But it wasn’t nearly that easy. I sat there in silence for a good ten minutes before he started petting my head, a good fifteen before he unzipped his jeans and told me to crawl under the desk.
He fucked my face so hard I cried. Partially from the strain on my jaw. Partially from knowing how bad I had been. It was an almost wonderful release, punctuated by his snarl that little brats like me didn’t even deserve to have his cock in their mouths.
He finished on my face and chest. He had me sit there with it on me, its initial heat cooling against my skin. Tears mixed with cum. I drank in the moment and realized just how much I belonged to him then.
Soon, he pulled me up into his lap and cleaned me off. He held me, calmed me down, kissed my forehead. I choked out a thank you. He just pulled me closer and let me bury my face in the crook between his neck and shoulder. To average society, I’m sure, the entire ordeal makes no sense.
We had an understanding. There was security in our risks. There was freedom in limitation. There was trust. There was emotion. There was pure, brutal honesty in the strangeness of our needs and our suffering. And from that there was a beauty in just being, in some odd way, completely and totally understood.