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    A Tale of Four Blowjobs – 3

    9 June, 2018 (13:16) | Gay Sex Stories | By: admin

    by Kimmie Holland (address withheld)
    
    *** 
    
    A sissy goes to sleep with a cock in her mouth--and 
    wakes up with a cock in her mouth. (M/m-teen, ora, tv, 
    sissy)
    
    ***
    
    3. Morning Wood Sucker
    
    Next morning, fittingly, it's his cock that wakes me, 
    insistently pressing against the crack of my ass; it's 
    sometime well before dawn, the room dark and soft as 
    blue chenille, and though his penis is up and strutting 
    about, cock-a-doodle-doo, H is still sound asleep with 
    his arm around my waist. Nevertheless he's 
    unconsciously thrusting his pelvis against me, his 
    erection instinctively seeking entrance into my warm, 
    soft body. It's endearing, I think, this blind drive to 
    hump me. I'd like to encourage it at every opportunity. 
    Yes, that's it, the idea I want to get across: I am a 
    thing-for-fucking.
    
    I reach behind me and take hold of H's cock and guide 
    it between the cheeks of my ass, which is already 
    sticky with the precum of his earlier somnolent efforts 
    to penetrate me. The head of his cock feels so smooth, 
    so sleek, so hot...and so very big against my tight 
    little hole. Alas, I can't wait for the day when H can 
    simply roll over and sleepily fuck me at will, bend me 
    over anywhere and everywhere, whenever the mood strikes 
    him, to deposit an urgent load of cum in my ass.
    
    And why stop there? Mouth, ass, even if they hollow me 
    out a cunt...it hardly seems as if the body's potential 
    to give pleasure has been even close to fully utilized. 
    For instance, I can imagine "designer orifices" being 
    opened all over my body, warm wet pockets at various 
    fetishized places where a man might want to fuck me. 
    With a cunt cored out of my sole, for instance, a man 
    could screw me in the foot as I wiggled my toes to 
    intensify his orgasm; with other strategically placed 
    cunts, I could be fucked in the chest, between my tits, 
    under my arm, between the shoulder-blades, or even in 
    the back of my head, where perhaps a man might shoot 
    his cum directly into my brain�imagine that, a 
    braingasm! 
    
    The liquidity of my sexuality, pouring as it does from 
    one gender into another, respecting no boundaries, 
    causes me to question the very notion of erogenous 
    fixities�i.e. whether such libidinal localities do or 
    even should exist�and to consider my desire for the 
    impossible as something perfectly natural... a logical 
    extension of my irrationality, something not unlike 
    what was once mankind's desire to travel to the moon. 
    As it is, I am already something of a sexual proteus, 
    an ever-changing, unnatural object of male fantasy. Why 
    shouldn't I then have at the very least seven or eight 
    different cunts for a man to fuck me in?
    
    For now, in lieu of orifices not yet ready, or still 
    imaginary, I'm just going to have to make due with the 
    one hole I have at my disposal, trying to make up in 
    versatility and availability what it lacks in novelty 
    and variety. An asshole, after all, hasn't the mobility 
    and responsiveness�the loquaciousness, let's say�of a 
    mouth, nor can a cunt boast a muscle inside as 
    possessive of wily intelligence and as subject to 
    voluntary control as the tongue. 
    
    There will always be something uniquely transgressive 
    about fucking a mouth. No other bodily orifice whether 
    used for sex or not has the power to communicate with 
    the subtlety and complexity of language. One can't help 
    but feel this is significant, even without thinking the 
    matter all the way through to its logical and 
    metaphorical conclusions.
    
    And then, of course, there is the whole matter of 
    fucking me in the face�the most distinctly unique and 
    individual part of my body�the thing that makes me 
    "me." An ass is faceless�it can be any one of a 
    thousand, ten thousand asses. A cunt is every bit as 
    masked and anonymous. To stick a cock into either of 
    those places, ass or cunt, is to defile nothing, it's a 
    zero-sum game, a sexual draw. Ass, cock, cunt�it's a 
    horizontal progression, equal backwards and forwards, 
    an erotic palindrome. No hierarchy is disturbed, no 
    idol pulled down, here we have neither revolution, nor 
    vandalism. But to fuck a face is to turn the ladder 
    upside down.
    
    A cock plunging in and out of a face is to deface�a 
    graffiti of semen sprayed across the Mona Lisa. A pair 
    of hairy black balls bouncing against a chin is the 
    Dali-esque metaphoric equivalent of the bristling and 
    swollen bellies of two large spiders assaulting the 
    angelically golden visage of a sunflower. It inspires 
    in us a perverse frisson of irresistible repugnance and 
    shuddering fascination. I suggest, as Bataille might, 
    that this is nothing less than a vision of God.
    
    I manage to extricate myself from H's embrace just 
    enough to turn around without quite waking him. He 
    murmurs, stirs, grabs at me blindly. I slip under the 
    sheets where his cock is jutting up from beneath his 
    warm and furry belly. Did I say a vision of God? 
    Perhaps it is the Goat of Mendes. But is there really a 
    difference? I slowly lick the shaft, watching how the 
    light touch of my tongue-tip makes his cock leap and 
    lunge. 
    
    I wonder if he's having a sex dream; if so, I wonder if 
    sucking his cock will make it glow more intensely. If H 
    isn't having a sex dream, maybe sucking him off will 
    inspire one. I'm his suckubus, his cum angel, his cock-
    a-doodle-do, and my entire raison d'etre is to 
    facilitate his early-morning R.E.M. orgasm.
    
    At some point before he deposits his load into my 
    mouth, H is more awake than asleep and, accordingly, 
    his thrusts grow longer and stronger, until, at last, 
    he grows still and stiff to prolong the penultimate 
    moment. Then it's sliding over my tongue, slippery as 
    egg yolk, my breakfast, a surprisingly copious amount 
    of semen. I swallow, like Rocky Balboa in training. I 
    come up from the tangle of sheets and H motions me into 
    his arms. 
    
    "Good morning," I whisper, licking my cum-slicked lips. 
    "Sorry if I woke you. But you were so hard."
    
    "Oh baby. I'm not complaining. What a way to wake up."
    
    "It's still early," I purr, pleased as punch that I've 
    started the day off right doing something right. And I 
    haven't even gotten out of bed yet! There's hope for me 
    yet. "Go back to sleep. I'll start the coffee."
    
    Continued...
    
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