his eyebrows. “Don’t tell me a little honey pot like you is a virgin.”
I laughed outright at that. “Of course not,” I said. “You’ll be glad I’m not, too. I’ll be able to give you lots of pleasure. You’re my first as Blue. Blue’s first.”
“I hope Blue finds this night to be memorable, then,” Emil said, smiling and stroking my hair.
He undressed, throwing his clothes on the floor like they were nothing. I would’ve hung them up for him, if he’d wanted me to, but when I made a move to do so, he crushed me to him instead.
“They’re just clothes,” he said. “I want you to focus on me, and on yourself. On enjoying this experience.”
I melted into his arms, tangling my fingers in his blond chest hair. He wasn’t overtly muscular, but this was a man who could handle himself. He was fit, and I wondered what he did to keep himself in such good condition. I traced the shape of his defined pectorals, running my fingers down his abdomen and to his well-shaped cock.
I’d been living in the boarding house for long enough to hear the horror stories from the rest of the girls about the condition of the cocks they’d been paid to put inside their bodies. One of them, Daisy, told a hysterical story about how she’d had to make over the tiniest penis she’d ever seen, praising and praising its owner while she gave head. She said it was like licking a lollypop, and used the tip of her thumb to help illustrate. Another girl whose name I’d forgotten told an equally funny story about a customer’s banana cock—curved so profoundly she thought she’d been hallucinating. Other stories were gross—cocks with lint on them, a long, black hair from whoever had been down there last, pubes that hadn’t been cut since the previous millennium.
After this experience, I was going to have my own dick story to tell—the customer with the perfect dick. It was long and thick, the dark blond pubic hair trimmed nicely. I wanted to worship that cock. I slipped my hand up and down the veined shaft, pressing my thumb into the slit at the tip.
“Like what you see?” Emil asked, raising his perfectly shaped eyebrows. I wondered if he had them waxed.
“Oh, yes,” I said. “In fact, I’m going to show you how much I like it.”
Bending forward, I licked it from base to tip and back down again, coating it completely with my spit. When I reached the base again, I kept going down, taking one of his velvety testicles into my mouth, rolling it around, then giving the other the same treatment. I was pleased to hear Emil groaning in appreciation. I started licking the shaft again, cupping his sac with my hand, rolling his balls around in my palm, pushing my thumb against that delicate skin. Without warning, I swallowed him whole, taking his entire length in my mouth. The art of the blow job could be so expressive, so meaningful, and I didn’t think most women realized that.
You could tell a man exactly how you felt about him through a blow job—or make him believe you were telling him exactly how you felt, if you were good enough.
Emil put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me back. I blinked at him, confused.
“You are very talented,” he told me. “But I want to worship your body, too. You’re so beautiful, Blue.”
The more he talked, the more aware I was that English wasn’t his first language. He was impeccable at it, but he had an odd, almost stilted manner of speaking. It only added to his mystique.
He unfastened my bra and buried his face in between my breasts.
“Perfect,” I heard him murmur, his voice muffled.
He skillfully took one of my tits in his hand, weighing it, before he lightly pinched the nipple. I gasped at the electric shock of it, then gasped again as he tightened his hold on the rosy nub. He didn’t release my nipple until I moaned thickly, thrashing beneath him.
Emil kissed me as he dragged my panties down to my knees, and then to my ankles. I kicked them off the bed to
I laughed outright at that. “Of course not,” I said. “You’ll be glad I’m not, too. I’ll be able to give you lots of pleasure. You’re my first as Blue. Blue’s first.”
“I hope Blue finds this night to be memorable, then,” Emil said, smiling and stroking my hair.
He undressed, throwing his clothes on the floor like they were nothing. I would’ve hung them up for him, if he’d wanted me to, but when I made a move to do so, he crushed me to him instead.
“They’re just clothes,” he said. “I want you to focus on me, and on yourself. On enjoying this experience.”
I melted into his arms, tangling my fingers in his blond chest hair. He wasn’t overtly muscular, but this was a man who could handle himself. He was fit, and I wondered what he did to keep himself in such good condition. I traced the shape of his defined pectorals, running my fingers down his abdomen and to his well-shaped cock.
I’d been living in the boarding house for long enough to hear the horror stories from the rest of the girls about the condition of the cocks they’d been paid to put inside their bodies. One of them, Daisy, told a hysterical story about how she’d had to make over the tiniest penis she’d ever seen, praising and praising its owner while she gave head. She said it was like licking a lollypop, and used the tip of her thumb to help illustrate. Another girl whose name I’d forgotten told an equally funny story about a customer’s banana cock—curved so profoundly she thought she’d been hallucinating. Other stories were gross—cocks with lint on them, a long, black hair from whoever had been down there last, pubes that hadn’t been cut since the previous millennium.
After this experience, I was going to have my own dick story to tell—the customer with the perfect dick. It was long and thick, the dark blond pubic hair trimmed nicely. I wanted to worship that cock. I slipped my hand up and down the veined shaft, pressing my thumb into the slit at the tip.
“Like what you see?” Emil asked, raising his perfectly shaped eyebrows. I wondered if he had them waxed.
“Oh, yes,” I said. “In fact, I’m going to show you how much I like it.”
Bending forward, I licked it from base to tip and back down again, coating it completely with my spit. When I reached the base again, I kept going down, taking one of his velvety testicles into my mouth, rolling it around, then giving the other the same treatment. I was pleased to hear Emil groaning in appreciation. I started licking the shaft again, cupping his sac with my hand, rolling his balls around in my palm, pushing my thumb against that delicate skin. Without warning, I swallowed him whole, taking his entire length in my mouth. The art of the blow job could be so expressive, so meaningful, and I didn’t think most women realized that.
You could tell a man exactly how you felt about him through a blow job—or make him believe you were telling him exactly how you felt, if you were good enough.
Emil put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me back. I blinked at him, confused.
“You are very talented,” he told me. “But I want to worship your body, too. You’re so beautiful, Blue.”
The more he talked, the more aware I was that English wasn’t his first language. He was impeccable at it, but he had an odd, almost stilted manner of speaking. It only added to his mystique.
He unfastened my bra and buried his face in between my breasts.
“Perfect,” I heard him murmur, his voice muffled.
He skillfully took one of my tits in his hand, weighing it, before he lightly pinched the nipple. I gasped at the electric shock of it, then gasped again as he tightened his hold on the rosy nub. He didn’t release my nipple until I moaned thickly, thrashing beneath him.
Emil kissed me as he dragged my panties down to my knees, and then to my ankles. I kicked them off the bed to
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