~Subject: DoctorB (m-f, shaving, fellatio)
~From: brenhead@aol.com (Brenhead)
* * * * * * * *
Playing Doctor Pt III
Finally, an image took shape in him and he knew what she needed.
He felt the forming of a drama that would bring her back to him,
cure her of her hollow-eyed addict's need for his mouth, from her
need to fuse only his mouth with the smooth-lips of her own shaven
mouth, her always freshly-shaven and craving, drooling mouth, with
its sweetly swelling deep-rose lips and silky envelope of
rose-petal inner lips and tiny rigid tongue, posed brazenly and
invitingly like a whore on street corner. If he could lure her
other mouth to him, to his cock, if he could hold her face tenderly
as she reconciled with the taste of his cock, then in faith, he
believed her shaven mouth would follow, and once again she would
receive him inside her.... He prepared their room for her; lit it
like an alter, candles all around. He invited her in with infinite
respect and humility she, the holy visitor to her supplicant's
shrine. He guided her to the side of the bed and gently asked if
she would like to kneel with her face and arms on the edge of the
bed. He knelt up, his thighs toward the mattress, his hard cock
resting on the opposite edge of the bed, hid body automatically
pressing gently, invisibly, rhythmically.
"You may" he said. She looked up at him. Her expression was
impossible to read. "You may," he said. Identical tone of voice.
She moved. She moved slightly forward. Intending to stop, but
before she could, he said, "Stop" She made a sound. What...fury?
warning? protest? "Move again. More slowly. Much more slowly And
start again from the edge." he said. She began again, this time
forcing her breasts, belly, and the undersides of her arms flat to
the bed, so that the only way to move was from side to side, with
each snaking motion dragging her clit and sensitive lips against
the dryness of the sheets, the texture of the fabric registering
each thread against her smooth, rapidly swelling labia. She would
stop again. By herself. Again, he spoke. "You may open your mouth"
She immediately let her jaw fall and, to her deep dismay, felt her
tongue reach. It was his voice. With obsession in eyes, with breath
heaving her back, and with still-swelling pussy making her ass
work, she moved forward again with her tongue beginning to circle
in anticipation. "You may lick your lips" It was that tone of
voice. She began in a tiny storm, in a captive fever, to slide her
tongue around her lips, around the wet cunt-slippery insides and
the elastic outsides, over and over again, to press her tongue
against the inside of one cheek and then the other, to dream his
cock-head forcing there.
"You may dress me" She was within reach of him. She moved her
hands forward and gently held the leather strap under his balls
then brought it up and fastened it around the top of his cock, skin
against skin around him, tight on him, hard on him, adorning him,
defining and presenting him to her proudly. "Now move back" She
tried. But the motion pushed back the hood of her clit and made her
hips throw and grind into the mattress, out of control, out of her
control. She felt the sensation fly from her one mouth to the
other, connected for the first time since he had shaved her. Each
sensation within her mouth, each touch of her own tongue to her
lips, was matched by a sensation in her clit and cunt. She circled
her ass, working for more sensation. He watched her, coldly now,
all passion narrowed and sharpened into strategy. "You may" She
hated the waiting. She had always hated this waiting. The waiting
that fevered them both. She implored him with every motion, with
the twisting and thrusting against the bed that he loved to watch.
She never took her eyes from his cock, never stopped her tongue
from its reaching. A wet circle was forming on the sheets under
her. She was melting herself for him, from the inside. She held her
tongue out, with the flat shown to him, curling down and shuddering
firm just at the tip. Each spasm in her cunt forced a gasping lunge
with her mouth, face, head. Flesh tentacles, tongue and cock, faced
each other, only a hand's width apart. She let saliva drip onto the
sheets as please-fuck juice slid down between her labia, to the tip
of her clit and onto the bed. A twitching string of wet fell from
his cock, and there was rain of so many flavours, that before she
could die from wanting to drown, He said "Suck."
He reached down, held her face in his hands, and pulled. His
index fingers hooked behind the corners of her jaw, the remaining
fingers holding, pressing, massaging her neck as he pulled her over
him, his thumbs feeling her cheeks for the motion, the sinking then
filling with each mouthful of his cock. He leaned back and watched,
breathed, and listened to the wetness and the need and his eyes
widened at the milking of him, the pleasing of him, the begging
lips and eyes that sent electric pain into his ass and nipples and
balls, as he saw her urgently savouring the sweet sliding over the
head, the rim, the shaft, to the almost-bare flesh at the base, to
his heavy scent, to his groin, scrotum, everywhere with her mouth,
leaving oozing shine on her face, and on his skin where she licked
his thighs, hips, belly.
He pulled harder, fiercely. He called, demanded more of her
hunger so that he could show her more of his. And he knew it And
she knew it.
He took his cock away. Her arms snapped and locked to him, oh
god they went to him like machinery. Fingers grooved deeply into
the shallow behind his hipbones She pulled him in, now no one in
control, no one. She made those sounds, he stared at her, He threw
his head back, then forward, And had to stare again, his mouth all
open, while his breath moved in sequence with the pain, the
tightening, the charges racing from cock to brain and down through
the centre of him, of blood and heat bursting in him, of his cock
being pulled, expanded, gestated and delivered in delirious pain
from the womb of her wet mouth, waiting for the contractions that
would force the newborn essence of him down from his mind, through
his spine and into the world, ecstatic, letting her see him all
full and frightened and saying her name for comfort and waiting to
feed her what they both needed, him submitting to her wild needy
noises of devouring and drinking, And when he knew he must let her
suck it from him, out from him, all of him sucked out into the
pulling heat of her, his body flexed from the nape of his neck to
the soles of his feet and he arched and rose on the balls of his
feet and became a bow from which his cock sprang and the bow
inverted itself and he curled around his cock with that crunch in
his haunches that she loved to watch, his cock and jawline pinned
at the same angle as he exploded and he found his mark in a sharp
breath, whisper-roaring her name and flooded her again and again,
semen flung against her gasping, weeping, screaming tongue, lips,
cheeks, chin, while her haunches were frantic, vibrating, powered
by her clit, and her head flew back, taking the last few drops from
him like rain on her tongue, until his bones were drained and he
was liquid in his body and fell. She made those sounds. Over and
over, she inhaled deeply, massaging every drop of him into her
face, neck, breasts, his balls��and onto his lips for their
communion.
They kissed. They kissed. They couldn't speak. Finally, she left
his mouth slowly to slide down him and curl into sleep with her
tongue a bed for his soft, warm flesh, contented, drawing, pulling
at him, his hands on her hair and cheek, as she baby-dreamed on his
cock.
Her hand lay between her legs, still cupping and stroking her
addict's mouth. He had not won her back yet.
bpt94