"No!" she yelled, pushing me away.

I looked up, startled.

She was smiling down at me, with a look of sheer evil enjoyment, one hand forcefully on my forehead and the other violently tweaking her own left nipple.

I don't generally take no for an answer; especially not from her. I pushed as hard as I could while lying on my stomach, my head moving her hand back an inch at a time.

She resisted, but not too much. She was playing, and she expected me to win eventually.

What she didn't expect was the wrist grab. My hands, which had been on her hips, shot out simultaneously, each pinning one of her wrists against the bed, pushing down hard. I wanted to make damn sure she couldn't do that to me again.

She let out something like a mew and a moan, a startled, scared, thrilled little noise as her hips came up off the bed almost involuntarily. She wasn't pushing me away anymore, she was pushing into me, mashing into me, humping my face furiously.

This would be no artful tongue flicking.

This would be a tongue lashing, a face mashing, a big wet messy slobbery licking.

I dove in, fully in control, as her hips rose to meet my face, my mouth wide, covering her cunt, sweet, tangy, delicious, my tongue moving faster and harder than you can imagine, than she had ever imagined. She screamed. I panicked for just a second, but nobody in the giant Washington, DC hotel had noticed.

So I licked her again and she bucked, her hips spazzing off the bed like a startled cat and screamed again, only quieter this time, and then fell back onto the bed, spent, exhausted and panting.

I win.

I always win.

I'm just too good to lose.