lascivious25: raininjuarez: She had him just where she wanted him. It might not have looked that way
lascivious25: raininjuarez: She had him just where she wanted him. It might not have looked that way to others; she was on her knees, with his long body towering over her. He looked dominant — his frame casting a shadow over her — but she knew that she was in control. It didn’t happen often. She was tiny and he decidedly was not — he was more than a foot taller and outweighed her by more than 100 pounds. Usually, her body went wherever he pulled, lifted, or placed it, and she liked it that way. She ached to be swallowed in his arms. She felt like a toy in his massive hands, and she happily replayed that feeling — the feeling of being small beneath him, being buried beneath his bulk — in her mind endlessly. His size, his power, his insatiable hunger for her nestled perfectly inside every desire she had ever had for a man. She liked to surrender. But now, with his eyes closed and his length down her throat, all of his power — his six-three frame and his mass — they were useless to him. She felt as though his body was a machine, a glorious rigid pulsating machine, and she had the throttle in her hands. Or, more precisely, in her mouth. She would decide the course his pleasure would take, and she thrilled at the control it gave her. He’d been limp when she started. He walked in the door, and she had stopped him there, unzipped his pants and took him, soft and shrunken in her mouth. And as she licked and sucked gently at him, he had unfurled beautifully for her, stiffening on her tongue. She loved the sensation of his resting wrinkles expanding, becoming smooth, of the rushing blood filling him out. She loved listening to his breathing begin to labor and the soft rolling growl he made as he inflated between her lips. Now, he was hard as agate — twitching hard — so hard it felt to him as though his cock might shatter. As her lips coursed from head to base, she felt the silk of his skin — that impossibly soft surface transmitting the braided steel beneath. His pronounced veins rippled on her tongue as she sucked her way down, all the way down, until he came to rest at the back of her throat. When she reached the terminus — when she felt her nose press against his groin and his balls come to rest on her chin, she felt his fingers thread through her hair from her temples to the back of her head and hold her still. She loved this challenge. Engaged to his root, she’d recall summer days as a girl in the diving well, her legs snapping her down to the bottom of the pool to snatch a quarter off the floor. She remembered being starved for air, the way her lungs burned, but she never surrendered. And now, her mouth stuffed with cock and her nose pressed against his body, she celebrated the struggle, the married sounds of his feral pleasure and her liquid distress. Eventually, he released her head so that she could disengage and fill her lungs, but she saw breathing as defeat, and she was determined not to be so easily defeated. So she stayed in place, grabbed at his ass, the base of her palms sliding perfectly into the gorgeous twin depressions that hollowed when his ass muscles tightened. Her fingers dug in and she pulled him, hard even further into her mouth, grinding hard against him, as if her life depended on getting the last quarter inch of him inside her. And that was all it took to open him up. The barking sound he made when she crushed her face against his body and jammed his cock down into her throat didn’t seem human — didn’t even sound animate. It sounded like furniture being scraped along a concrete floor. And he canted forward, as if he was going to tumble, but at the last moment, his hands shot out, palms-first, against the wall behind her. Now he succumbed to her utterly and completely. He was preverbal — the most eloquent expression he was capable of uttering was a dark, thick grown, as black as pitch and as rough as gravel. He was sub-conscious; he was slipping from her. He didn’t know his name or where he was. All that existed for him was his cock and the flood welling up behind it. That first spatter against the back of her throat made her elated, almost drunk with pleasure. He’d always told her she needn’t swallow — in fact he told her that the sight of his profusion pouring in waves from her lips down her chin excited him — but she was determined to drink him all — to control this aspect of her work as well. But he gushed. Her mouth flooded so quickly that she had to gulp desperately to keep pace. Her lips pressed down hard against his shaft, and she worked him, milking him from the base toward the head. This was the best part. As he emptied — detonated — in her mouth, his growls transformed to whimpers. As she sucked him dry, his thighs quivered and his jaw dropped open and he whimpered like a little boy. Like a puppy. She continued to work him until he softened and shriveled in her mouth. She tongued his desiccated cock and listened to him snatching for air. And when his breathing returned to something like normal and he finally stood up straight again, she let him fall from her mouth, gazed up at him and murmured “good boy.” “Good boy,” she said it twice, and she wondered whether he fully understood. raininjuarez.tumblr.com Wow… What a fantastic description -- source link