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    A Tale Of Four Blowjobs 1

    9 June, 2018 (13:14) | Gay Sex Stories | By: admin

    by Kimmie Holland (thefreakbox.blogspot.com)
    
    ***
    
    It's a 4-blowjob night for this sissy. Here's the first 
    one. (MM, tg, cd, oral)
    
    ***
    
    1. First Time (That Night) He Used My Face...
    
    After pizza by candlelight, he calls me over to sit on 
    his lap. I settle my pantied bottom across his thighs 
    and put my arms around the back of his big neck. We 
    talk and kiss, doing less and less of the former, until 
    we're doing almost exclusively the latter. Meanwhile 
    his hands have found their way under my nightie, inside 
    my nightie, down the back of my nightie. It feels as if 
    he has seven or eight hands and they are all over my 
    body.
    
    He makes me admit what a slutty little girl I am. What 
    a dirty, cocksucking mouth I have. He has me tell him 
    how many men I've sucked off. I can feel his cock throb 
    under my bottom when I give him an honest answer. Gosh, 
    even I'm surprised: it's a lot of cocks!
    
    "And you swallowed every time didn't you, you little 
    cunt, didn't you?"
    
    "Oh yes," I whisper into his ear�and that, too, I'm 
    perversely proud to admit, is the truth.
    
    His cock pulses again: picture the ring of muscle that 
    passes through the body of one of those thick Amazonian 
    rainforest snakes. That's what it feels like, something 
    predatory and feral and sexy that's just woken up, 
    hungry and looking for dinner. That's me: what's for 
    dinner.
    
    "You love it don't you, you filthy bitch?"
    
    "Yes I do."
    
    "You love to suck cock?"
    
    "I love to suck cock."
    
    "You need it, don't you?"
    
    "Yes, I need it."
    
    "Show me."
    
    I slide off his lap and H stands up, undoing his belt, 
    then the top button of his jeans. I take over with the 
    zipper, getting it started with my fingers, and using 
    my teeth to pull it down the rest of the way. My hands 
    are occupied lowering H's pants, which he steps out of 
    one foot at a time. I press my face against H's crotch 
    and use my breath to warm his balls. Next I use my 
    tongue, licking him through his underwear as his cock 
    begins to make its way through the opening in the 
    front, searching me out. That's how I know it's time to 
    get down to serious business.
    
    Kneeling on the floor at his feet, I slowly feed his 
    cock between my painted lips. As I work slowly up and 
    down the length of it, H. gets himself worked up 
    verbally, his sexual glossolalia growing more heated, 
    more aggressive, more "abusive." Things are heating up 
    to that semen-boiling point where desire and violence 
    meet, the tipping point between tease and please, the 
    endocrinal trigger, the synaptical jump that separates 
    orgasm from everything else.
    
    "That's it bitch, take it, take it all."
    
    I open my mouth as wide as possible, take my hand away 
    from the base of his cock, and use both hands to cradle 
    and warm his balls in my palms. I might be a 
    pornographic priestess consecrating the holy wafer as I 
    look up from the floor to H-on-high, his cock planted 
    in my face, my lips sealed around the shaft where it 
    meets the curling hairs of his lower belly. This is my 
    favorite moment, a man's cock half-choking me, my big, 
    made-up eyes looking upwards submissively, pleadingly, 
    gratefully...adoringly?...and him looking down, all-
    powerful�as every alpha male deserves to be at this 
    moment�lord and master of me, this pale, weak, perfumed 
    vessel of fluff and pleasure at his feet.
    
    Something happens at this moment, something always 
    magical, a transubstantiation as miraculous as any 
    other. It manifests like this: H cups the back of my 
    head in one of his big hands and jams my face into his 
    crotch.
    
    His cock, which seems to have swelled to unreal 
    proportions to fill my entire mouth from tongue to 
    roof, is literally jammed against the back of my 
    throat. He's begun to violently thrust his hips and the 
    solid stream of obscene verbal abuse that pours forth 
    is no longer playful, teasing, and cautious, but pure 
    rape-talk. It's at these moments of unrehearsed 
    soliloquy that many men reveal themselves and one 
    understands how thin the curtain is at a given moment 
    between sex and violence even under the most consensual 
    of circumstances. 
    
    Thrillingly, even knowing H as well as I do, this voice 
    he's using now�it's the voice of a stranger, a man 
    capable of sudden violence...a killer? Maybe! Does he 
    feel it, too? How much stronger, how much more powerful 
    he is? How I couldn't get away unless he let me go? How 
    he has me totally at his mercy? How he has, quite 
    literally, the power of life and death over me?
    
    I hardly ever suck cock without it turning into an 
    educational experience. And, indeed, I learn another 
    lesson during this session�a practical cocksucking tip. 
    As H's cock beats relentlessly against the back of my 
    throat, I suddenly realize that to keep from gagging 
    and choking it's only necessary to constrict my throat 
    the way you would if you were preparing yourself to 
    drink something very, very cold. It stiffens the 
    muscles back there and makes them ever-so-less 
    sensitive to the insistent jabbing and stabbing of a 
    man's hard cock. It just goes to show you. Even with 
    your nose buried in a man's pubic hair, there's always 
    something new to learn if you're paying attention!
    
    "You love when I cum in your mouth, don't you, you 
    filthy slut?"
    
    "Mmmnhnrghhh..."
    
    That's International Cocksucker for "oh god yes, I love 
    when you cum in my mouth! I love when you use my face 
    for your sexual pleasure!" and it's understood all over 
    the world. Just for emphasis, I nod my head, nod, that 
    is, as enthusiastically as one can nod with a mouth 
    full of cock and I let my eyes smile between thick 
    lashes. Drool, warm and copious, spills from my mouth 
    as I moan-mumble and forms a little puddle on the floor 
    around my knees. How degrading! How humiliating! H 
    grunts with satisfaction, a leering sneer of lust 
    rearranging his features into those of a centaur, a 
    satanic satyr, the great god Pan.
    
    He cups the back of my head again; tired of looking at 
    my face, no longer wanting eye-contact, requiring only 
    my warm mouth, the sight of my kneeling, suppliant, 
    submissive and defenseless body beneath his, enjoying 
    my helplessness and surrender, he resumes battering the 
    back of my throat with his cock ((how can he thrust so 
    hard, I wonder, doesn't it hurt him... no, the harder 
    the better it seems to feel to him!)). 
    
    No longer concerned at all about my comfort�indeed, he 
    almost seems unconcerned if I literally choke to death 
    or not at this point�he thrusts in and out, out and in, 
    harder and harder, using my head like some sort of 
    fuck-ball, my ribboned pigtails ((as per his request)) 
    swinging, until he starts spurting, one after another, 
    short, tight jets of thick cum so far down my throat I 
    don't even have to swallow�it's already well on its way 
    to my tummy.
    
    With a touch of gallantry, H helps me back up atop my 
    stilettos when he's finished unloading and holds me 
    tight, until my knees stop feeling all wibbly-wobbly. 
    Then he guides me gently, with his finger thrust come-
    hither fashion inside my ass, back to his chair, and 
    sits down with me once more sideways on his lap. 
    Meantime, he feels me up, has me ask him to please, 
    please kiss me on my filthy slutty cocksucking mouth, 
    and then he thrusts his tongue into said filthy slutty 
    cocksucking mouth, a.k.a. cum-bucket, piss-pot, etc. 
    
    He breaks the kiss long enough to tell me that my face 
    smells like I've been sucking cock. He wants to take me 
    out with his musk all over my face, women can always 
    tell, he says, they'll look at you and know what a 
    dirty little cocksucker you are.
    
    "Would you like that?"
    
    I nod, eyes closed, picturing it. "Yes," I whimper, 
    unnecessarily, since he's pulled up my nightie to 
    reveal incontrovertible proof of how much I'd like it. 
    He touches the front of my panties.
    
    "Oh look, you've wet yourself, baby. Are you excited?"
    
    "Mmmm....yes," I squeak.
    
    He puts his finger in his mouth. "You taste good baby."
    
    I bury my face in his shoulder as he teases my swollen 
    pink clittie free at last of its confinement behind the 
    lace-and-rhinestone panel of my bikini-style panties.
    
    "Feel good?"
    
    I wiggle my ass in his lap and whimper some more. Oh 
    god, does it feel good, whatever he's doing to my 
    clittie, it's driving me crazy! His hand is like a 
    warm, intelligent vibrator, automatically synchronizing 
    its speed precisely to my level of arousal... set, 
    purposely, just one setting lower than what it would 
    take to take me over the edge.
    
    "Do you want to cum, baby?"
    
    Nodding...yes, yes, yes!!!
    
    "Ask me to let you come, tell me what a dirty girl you 
    are."
    
    Now it's my turn to be filled with the holy spirit, to 
    speak in tongues. "Please, please let me come. I'm such 
    a dirty... cocksucking girl... such a slut... my 
    face... like cock... smells of cock... I'm... a... 
    cocksucking... cum-swallowing... sissy-girl... oh... 
    oh... oh..."
    
    I lift my head from H's shoulder. My nightie is hiked 
    up over my pierced navel, my panties pulled down, and 
    I'm sitting side-saddle across a man's lap as he 
    diddles my engorged clittie. My face smells like his 
    crotch. My tummy is filled with his cum. The pale 
    smooth flesh is exposed above my streetwalker-pink 
    fishnet thigh-highs. My legs extend, trembling, and 
    rigid as I approach orgasm, my feet arched inside the 
    red platform sandals, my back arched, everything seems 
    arched, if eyeballs could arch mine are arched...and 
    then it happens.
    
    "Are you going to wet your pretty nightie," H asks, 
    scarcely a moment before I start helplessly shaking and 
    spurting.
    
    His hand has picked up that scarcely perceptible 
    quarter-speed necessary for me to achieve escape 
    velocity. As I shudder and gasp on his lap, achieving a 
    kind of feathered apotheosis, I'm lost, floating within 
    moments of timeless bliss, wide-eyed, blinded to 
    everything, I see it clearly: paradise as celestial 
    orgasm, just these peeks (and peaks) of pleasure, no 
    more, no less, and in those moments, all we could ever 
    desire of angels and heaven.
    
    In the hazy, candlelit aftermath of bliss, I feel H 
    peel the soaked nightie from my belly with a tsk-tsk 
    expression of mock-disapproval.
    
    "Look what a mess you made."
    
    I gaze down over my exposed tummy and purr my 
    contentment. He holds his palm, shining with my cum, in 
    front of my face.
    
    "Lick it clean, piggy-girl."
    
    I lie back in his muscled arms again, close my eyes, 
    and softly lap the cream I've made, quiet little 
    pussycat tongue-strokes across his work-hardened 
    palm...I taste clean, almost sweet, it must be the 
    exclusive diet of fruits and veggies, nuts and oats, I 
    think, absently. I'm like some passive creature raised 
    for milk and meat, to fuck and eat, gentle, soft, and 
    yielding, here's my mouth my ass my throat master... 
    it's all for you. 
    
    To be continued...
    
    The thought pleases me. For more stuff by us�pictures, 
    art, vidclips, real-life experiences, & assorted 
    nonsense, please visit:
    
    http://thefreakbox.blogspot.com/
    
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