He exhaled noisily. "I love watching you eat my cum," he murmured. "I just wish you could reach your nipples with your tongue, so I could see you lick it as well."
"Sorry," I shrugged. "This is all I've got. I'll tell you what I can do, though."
"Okay...."
"I can suck it out of my pussy." And, as soon as I said that, I wished I hadn't. After all, it was a long time since those Yoga classes; a lot of years, a lot of weight-gain (well, a little weight-gain) and a lot of inactivity. But there was a time, back when I was younger, when I could fashion my body into all manner of contortions. And I'd thought back then, as I stared into my own crotch, that if I really wanted to know what a tongue felt like....
I never tried it, and I never kept the classes up. But if I dug out my old manuals and practiced....
Mark was dressing, slowly and reluctantly. He had a bus to catch, and I needed to shower and get back to work. But I'd be seeing him again at the weekend and, as I kissed him goodbye, his expression told me how much he was looking forward to it. I just hoped I didn't let him down.
Okay, first things first. When I said I could suck cum out of my pussy, I wasn't being strictly truthful. In fact, I don't know if it is actually physically possible for any woman to place her face that close to her own vulva, to suck it, lick it, or anything else. I know there's always somebody, a friend of a friend of a friend, who says he's seen it done... I once stumbled upon an Internet discussion group that was devoted to that very subject. So no, I'm not claiming to be some kind of bendy super-freak who can pull off the possibly-impossible. But I could once get close enough that, say there was something I wanted that was just inside - well, it might slip out for me to catch in my mouth. And, quite honestly, if I could pull that trick off, I don't think Mark (or any other guy) would start complaining that he'd been cheated. Do you?
I started my exercises that evening - nothing strenuous, just a few old loosening up things that I remembered from before, sitting cross-legged with my hands on my ankles; inhale, flexing my spine ... no, don't move your head, keep your shoulders straight - I could hear my old teacher barking his orders at the class. Hold your breath, count to ten; exhale and relax. Okay, do it again, but this time, can you feel the energy moving down your spine as you inhale? And coming back up as you breathe out? Good....
Five minutes of that, and I was ready to move on... the neck rolls, the shoulder shrugs; I knew I was making some of this up as I went along (I never did find those instruction books), but it felt right... it felt good.
The week passed slowly and a little painfully. A crash-course in contortions that I hadn't attempted in a decade can have that effect. Neither was I ever able to figure out how to stage a dress rehearsal. I did think about it, and poked around in the larder to see if there was anything I could use, just to make sure this would work. But, quite honestly, the idea didn't appeal. I've never been into sex games with food, even when a partner suggested it. I wasn't about to start playing them on my own. No, I was going to have to trust to luck on this one.
Mark was on time, of course, and it was a little awkward, at first. We both knew what was on the menu for tonight, and we both wanted to get to it quickly. At the same time, though, neither of us wanted to seem too anxious...and I was growing increasingly jittery. What if it didn't work? In the real world, I'd shrug and say "so what? I'll try again another time." But sex and the real world rarely co-exist that sensibly, and a mishap in bed can blow so out of proportion that... I've heard of men struck impotent because their girlfriend refused to fulfill some special fantasy, and so what if those stories aren't true? Neither is the self-licking lady, but we still hope that she might be.
Mark certainly did, and it'd have been so easy to get caught up in his excitement that I might have lost sight of the promise altogether. I was going to have to maintain a very firm grip on myself... make sure that I was excited enough that I wouldn't suddenly feel stupid... or filthy... or awkward... when the moment came; but not so carried away that I fell over, or did it all wrong. And not so dedicated to the cause that the entire evening devolved into an extension of my exercises.
I had the routine mapped out in my mind. Now I had to stick with it. He'd already removed most of his clothes; as I stepped out of the last of mine, I lay back on the bed, gripped his fat cock, and guided him inside me, holding him tight and allowing my body to relax around his firmness.
I ground my hips and he began moving slowly inside me; imperceptible thrusts that jangled my clit, but nothing more. Gradually, though, I felt him pick up the pace. I wrapped my legs around him, holding him tight, holding him still. "Not yet," I whispered. His movements subsided, and I released him, to begin our slow, gentle humping again. Three times I halted him; three times, I knew, his balls built up a head of steam that had then to recede. When they finally blew, it would be like Vesuvius, and he'd better be ready to roll away quickly, because I wanted that lava while it was still red-hot. (Cold cum tastes disgusting... I learned that long ago.)
Okay, this was it. His thrusts grew deeper, harder, faster, but I made no move to slow him; if anything, I drove him even further, crying out his name, banging my hips against him, gasping, screaming... I felt him tense and draw back his body; heard his cry, and cried out myself as a hot splash of seed flooded into me. Then I pushed him off, raised my legs, hips and back; rolling my spine, curving my body, spreading my legs... I was a spring, I was a fist, I was a ball, coiling and curling in on myself.
I could smell my pussy, thick and cloying. The smell excited me. I flexed further... now I could see it, just inches away, gaping wide, wet and beautiful and smeared with the cum that had just gushed into it. I was astounded. I'd seen myself from several different angles before, well fucked and drooling the delights of the moment. But never this close, this tantalizingly close... I wished I could lick it, that I could plunge my face into my own folds, and wallow in the glorious mud that we'd made.
Instead, I'd have the next best thing. I flexed, and felt a molten movement deep within me; squeezed, and sensed it coming to the surface, a glimpse of white that pushed itself back to the surface.
I rolled; it oozed, a thick dribble that lay at my pussy lips, which hung suspended for a moment, as a dribble became a globule, then gathered more mass to transform itself into a thick, shivering dollop. It fell and I caught it on my tongue; another formed, I caught that too. I closed my mouth to savor the taste, of cunt and cock and cum and cunny-juice and a third drop splashed onto my chin - and then Mark was kneeling above me, lapping greedily at the feast I'd been keeping to myself.
I drew my legs in, coiled them around his neck, lowered my body to the bed with his head clamped tightly to its task; grasped his sticky, glistening cock and pulled it to my mouth, devouring the last delicious flavors from its pliable, suckable softness while he buried his tongue deep inside me, in search of his own creamy treasures.
And I was right. He never did complain that I never sucked myself... for the much the same reason, perhaps, that few guys ever notice that there's not much blowing going on in a blowjob. But, next time someone tells you shouldn't make promises you can't keep, remember this. Sometimes, you can get so close it doesn't matter.
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