His face is burrowed close in to my cunt, his lips push-pull suckling at my clit betwen long wet strokes of his tongue lapping at my cream.
I am soaked.
When I stroke my hands through his hair and down his cheek, I feel his mouth muscles working beneath my petting fingertips, salivating at the taste of my tart sweet.
Locking his eyes on mine, he slowly and steadily begins to lick.
My own juices are flowing, combining sticky smooth with the Adam’s ale flowing from his mouth, slicking my inner labia and dripping down his chin.
Grasping a handful of his hair, pulling him into me, I pivot my hips and begin to rock, sliding my slippery cunt against his quicksilver lips, giving myself over to the sleek sheen glazing my thighs, swimming in the pleasure we are sharing.
He is sitting across from me: nude, hot, sprawl-legged and arousal-tense, flushed from the continual erotic storm he’s enduring at my hands. His cock is in a perpetual state of non-relief: dark red, turgid, and dripping beneath my touch.
It has been an hour at least, and this exercise in control is only just beginning. So far I have taken him to the back of my satin-tight throat, glided my sweet wet cunt over his hot hard cock in a barely-there slip-sliding frottage, and taken him to the edge with full firm strokes of my palms from balls to tip.
He has squirmed and writhed, whimpered and groaned, gasped and sighed and moaned; now it’s time to make him forget how to breathe.
The head of his cock is pulsing under my gaze, his balls full and tight. His slit is leaking – wantonly, seemingly in spite of itself – and I watch it for a moment, thrilling a bit at the way it shines, glossy and wet, lubricating his tip.
Raising my eyes to his, I wrap my left fist around the base of his dick and squeeze, then raise my thumb to my tongue. His focus drops to my mouth, and as I flicker my tongue across the pad of my thumb to wet the tip, it causes a heart-poundingly erotic Pavlovian response in him. His cock swells under my grip at the sight of that spit-wet thumb lick, and we begin his slow steady descent into loss of control as I swirl my tongue-wetted thumbprint over his sensitive head.
I straddle his lap in the hot tub, surrounded by bubbling water and outdoor winter night air. It is 23°F and getting colder by the moment.
Steam rises off the water through gentle snowflake falls, and our burning-hot skin is kept warm by the water temperature and the heat between us, even as splash droplets turn to ice all around us.
The juxtaposition between hot and cold is a sensual delight, and when he feels the fever-wet kiss of my naked cunt against his erection under the water, he lifts me out of the churning chlorination and carries me to the edge of the tub. Licking his tongue quickly over the palm of one hand while ensuring my balance with the other, he self-lubricates, dragging precum down the now-spit-wet head of his cock before pausing – poised and waiting – at my opening.
I lick two of my own fingers just as quickly, and their padded tips meet his own. Together we guide his urgent hot into my snug wet.
It is a fast furious fuck, filled with both the tenderness of “I’ve missed you” and the frustration of knowing that this – this relationship, the way we have been going, the unknown nowhere to whence we are headed – this, though beautiful in its simplicity, is fraught with complication, and it cannot last.
But here – together now in the otherwise impossible hot/cold of our steam-ice surroundings, muscles clenched, bodies asweat, eyes locked – we find that elusive stinging-pain pleasure so often denied for months at a time, and ride it. Hard.
We feed each other fingers for re-wetting – again and again and again – slipping and sliding into and against each other, saturating the surrounding dark with our slap-sound spit-frothed fuck until we are too tired to continue but too stubborn to stop.
Spitting – in terms of expectoration aimed on or at another person – is sometimes practiced as a humiliative exercise between consenting partners in BDSM. That, I am not into.
Spit, on the other hand…
The damp caress of the tip of his tongue against my skin before his lips land there, the soft suckling lave of his tongue against my nipple pulling juicy wet and demanding, the push of his fingers into my mouth to wet them before pushing them inside my cunt (or my fingers into his mouth after they’ve already been inside my cunt)…
And, PSA (because I’m cool that way): While spit may be natural it is also problematic. It can be hot, yes.
I am not advocating for the use of spit in lieu of hygenic body-safe lube (I’ll leave that kind of bad advice to the likes of Jenna Jamison), nor am I advocating for sharing spit with a partner unless you are doing so with informed consent.
Saliva is a bodily fluid and in addition to carrying a myriad of mouth germs (including neisseria gonorrhoeae, the bacteria that causes gonorrhea), it is a harbinger of the HSV virus. If you have HSV1 (the virus that causes cold sores) and you have a not-fully-healed sore (scabbed over ≠ healed, m’kay?), DO NOT use spit on your partner’s genitals.
Also, re: HSV1 ~ Do not assume that you don’t have it just because you’ve never had a cold sore. Do not assume HSV is automatically tested for when you have an STD screening done. In various regions of the United States, it is not a routine test. Ask for it. Know your own status. Get tested.
Please sex responsibly.
Please and thank you. 🙂