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Message-ID: <62647asstr$1366881005@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Cheryl Allen Tessler <cat47@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} A Sex Memoir, part three, Mg
Lines: 196
Date: Thu, 25 Apr 2013 05:10:05 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Memoira_pt_three.doc" begin>

A Sex Memoir
Chapter 3

Lance may have been right when he said I was on a mission, but
beyond the blow job I was giving him I had no idea what the
mission might be.  At the moment I was in survival mode, and
survival meant making Lance have an orgasm.   I could tell from
the pre-cum on Lance's dick, and the hardness of his erection,
that I was making decent progress.  Lance, though, didn't want me
to finish there in the SUV.  He put his hand on my neck, squeezed
a little, then firmly took hold of my hair and restrained me.

"We're almost at the motel," he said.  "You can finish this blow
job there."

We pulled into a parking lot and, because there were few cars,
found a spot in the row of spaces closest to the motel and near a
passageway that led to a very large courtyard around which the
rooms of the motel were arranged.  The courtyard was large enough
to accommodate a swimming pool, some large trees, and many
randomly placed benches.  Not that I saw this very clearly: Lance
slung me over his shoulder as soon as we exited the SUV, carried
me through the passageway, up a flight of stairs to the balcony
on the second floor, then past several doors before putting me
down in front of room 213.

"This is home," he said, "as long as you behave."

Behaving well, of course, meant finishing the blow job I had
begun in the SUV.  Lance took off his shorts, grabbed a
straight-back chair, placed it in the middle of the room, and sat
down.  "I know you can suck well enough to make a guy cum in five
minutes," he said.  "I want you to take your time and be as sexy
as you can.  We've got a week."

This last line jarred me because I realized that in fact I did
have eight days of sex ahead of me.  As I got on my knees to
resume blowing Lance, I began to quantify just what eight days
would mean.  It meant getting on my knees, many, many times,
exactly as many times as a man told me to.

Being a good cocksucker, and then as now I think I qualify, is
mostly the result of desire.  A skill set is necessary, of
course, but developing the skills is also the result of desire. 
The thing that arouses desire in me, more than anything else, is
touch, a man's touch.  A man can touch me gently, firmly, or even
manhandle me, but if he doesn't do any of those things it can
take me a while to get going.  Jared, in the months I'd been his
fuck toy, had learned this, and he used a wide variety of
touching to get the sex he wanted.  It was immediately clear that
he had passed this knowledge on to Lance, because Lance had me
give him head for three minutes while he squeezed, pinched, and
massaged every part of me that he could reach.  He began by
massaging my trapezius muscles, slight though they are, letting
one hand wander to the back of my neck now and then, until I
moaned a little and tried to slide my lips down the length of his
dick.

"Not yet, girl," he said, taking hold of my hair.

He then began playing with one of my tits while continuing to
massage a trapezius.  He squeezed my tit gently, then firmly,
then pinched my nipple, continuing until he got another, louder,
moan.

"Yeah, it feels good when you add the vocals," he said.  "Keep
doing that."

I did, but the instruction was too vague for my taste.  The head
of his dick, which was perfectly smooth and very firm, and his
hands were taking hold of me and I was getting anxious to get
down to the business of making him cum.

"Hum some words," he said in a deep voice, and it sounded like a
command.  "Hum, 'I want to make you cum in my mouth.'"

Since this was just what I wanted, it was easy to comply.  The
trick to humming words effectively is to vary the emphasis rather
than just drone on.  Since I had to hum nine words, there were
several ways to spice up my delivery.  I started by humming
'want' a little longer and louder, then repeated the sentence
hitting 'make,' repeated again hitting 'cum,' and finally
repeated again hitting 'mouth.'  All of this was heard, and
clearly understood, by Lance and his friends, who snickered
approvingly.

"It sounds like she really means it," said one.

"She does," said Lance, "but she lacks real conviction.  Stroke
just the top half of my dick, make your tits sway a little."

My tits are pretty firm, so making them sway wasn't the easiest
thing to do.  I changed my angle of approach, moving my head up
and over Lance's dick so that I was stroking straight down.  I
relaxed my shoulders and rocked forward a little as I stroked
down, then rocked back as I stroked up.  Lance controlled the
depth of my stroking by gripping a handful of my hair, pulling up
whenever I got half of his dick in my mouth.  The conviction that
Lance thought was lacking gradually increased as the prospect of
making him cum loomed closer.  I emphasized the word 'cum' with
more force, then hit the phrase 'make you cum' several times with
genuine fervor.

"I shouldn't keep a girl from getting what she wants," said
Lance, after several minutes of keeping me in check, "so I
won't."  The next time I stroked down his dick, he let me go as
far as I wanted, though he did not let go of my hair.  Even
though he was allowing me to try to finish, I was acutely aware
that he was controlling the proceedings.  The first time he
approached an orgasm, he pulled me up until I was just giving him
head again, and made me repeat my sentence several times.  This
was nearly the last straw for me, and a real tussle ensued, him
holding me up by my hair, and me straining to get the length of
his dick in my mouth.  I was the only one struggling, though, for
he easily, even effortlessly, held me where he wanted me.

"You almost made me cum," he said evenly, "but this is too nice a
job to rush.  Besides, I want to give you plenty to swallow.  You
like to swallow?"

When I loudly hummed yes, Lance and his friends laughed.

"You always swallow?" asked Lance.

This time I hummed affirmatively even louder.

"All right, then," said Lance, "show me you're not lying."

Owing to some advice I had been given early in life, I thought
that swallowing was always mandatory, and I had no intention of
lying about swallowing.  Lance didn't let go of my hair, but he
let me stroke him to an orgasm that, for me, was at once a relief
and very erotic.  He, for one, wasn't lying about giving me
plenty to swallow, and a fair amount of his cum ran over my lower
lip and down his dick as I tried to ingest his cum.  This,
however, gave him an opportunity to employ my mouth for a
different task.  As I tried to lick the cum off his dick, he
slowly stood up and ordered me to open my mouth as wide as I
could.  When I did, he stared down at me for several seconds,
perhaps admiring the cum that was still on my tongue.

"Swallow what you have, then clean off my balls," he ordered.

Knowing that men are enormously pleased when a girl swallows, I
made a little show of swallowing, ducking my head a little and
acting as though I had to struggle to get his cum down my throat.
 Then I tilted my head back and wrapped my lips around his
balls.

I understand that licking a man's balls has a practical purpose,
and since I was the one responsible for Lance's cum ending up on
his balls it was only fair that I should clean them off.  But I
also know that there is very little, if any, erotic pleasure in
it for the man and aside from the practical purpose, the main
object is power.  The man is dominating and I am the submissive.
Among a group of men that know me, that I've already had sex
with, I'm completely comfortable being the sub.  But licking
Lance's balls while his friends watched made me feel one step
below a fuck toy.  Coupled with Lance's instructions that I hum
my agreement to suck off his friends (who were Johnny and Eddy,
by the way) exactly as they wanted, as often as they wanted, and
to offer up my pussy when ordered, I felt more like property than
I had ever felt with Jared and his friends.  After five minutes
licking his balls, Lance had me stop and repeat my promises
again, with feeling.  I had to go over my agreement three times,
and I got the distinct impression that Johnny and Eddy might be
more demanding that Lance had been.  I sat on the floor, resting
on my haunches with my thighs spread, per Lance's instructions,
while the three of them listened to my promises.

"That will do for now," said Lance, pulling on his shorts.  "I'm
going to get some food.  You guys make sure this little girl does
what you want."

How, exactly, Johnny and Eddy might 'make sure' made me gulp. 
Until you've had sex with a man, you don't really know what he
might do.

2013, by Cheryl Allen Tessler.  Other works by the author can be
found at <a
href="https://sizzlereditions.com/?s=SearchResults.asp%3FCat%3D25
0&search_404=1">https://sizzlereditions.com/?s=SearchResults.asp%
3FCat%3D250&search_404=1</a>

<1st attachment end>


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