8. Session Two | Instruction #2
"Fuck," he breathed. "Fuck, Nailah.”
I rolled again. Slower. Grinding the length of him without taking him inside. Using his body for friction while he sat there blind and bound and unable to do anything but feel me.
I leaned forward. Put my mouth on his neck.
Open. Wet. Tongue against the pulse hammering in his throat.
I dragged my lips down. Found his collarbone.
His chest. My tongue circled his nipple, and I felt him jerk beneath me.
I bit down. Not gentle. His back arched off the chair, and the sound he made was half pain, half plea.
I bit the other one. Harder. Pulled with my teeth while I ground against his dick. His wrists pulled against the silk. His hips tried to thrust up and I lifted away, denying him the pressure.
"Don't move."
He stilled. Vibrating.
I licked the spot I'd bitten. Kissed back up his neck. Found his ear.
"You want to feel me come all over this dick?" I whispered. "Or you want to earn it with your mouth first?"
"Mouth." Immediate. No hesitation. "Please. Let me taste you. Please."
I smiled against his skin. Climbed off his lap.
Stood up on the chair. One foot on the side of his right thigh and the other foot on his left shoulder.
I was standing over him now, my pussy at the level of his face, and I spread my lips with two fingers.
Let him smell me. Close. The full concentrated scent of how wet I was inches from his mouth.
His head tilted up. Blindfolded. Mouth open. He could smell me now, close, the full concentrated scent of how wet I was inches from his face. His tongue slid across his bottom lip.
"Open your mouth," I said. "And don't you dare move your head until I tell you where."
He opened. Jaw wide. Waiting.
I gripped his hair with one hand. Pulled his head back at the angle I wanted. Then lowered my hips until his mouth made contact.
The sound we both made. His: a groan of gratitude so deep it vibrated against my clit. Mine: a gasp I wasn't prepared for, sharp, because the heat of his mouth against me after an hour of denied arousal was almost too much.
He licked. Broad. Flat. Greedy.
Too soft.
"Harder."
He pressed his tongue firmer. Licked up through my folds. But his rhythm was hesitant, searching. He was used to being the one in control, the one who set the pace. Without his hands, without his sight, without his usual confidence, he was fumbling. Learning.
"That's wrong." I pulled his hair. Yanked his head back until his mouth lost contact. He made a desperate sound, chasing me with his lips. "You're treating my pussy gently. I said eat it."
"Tell me," he breathed. "Tell me how."
"Flat tongue. Wider. Press hard. Start at the bottom and drag up slow. When you get to my clit, suck it. Pull it into your mouth. Then bite it. Gentle first. Then harder until I tell you to stop."
I pushed his face back in. Guided him with my grip on his hair. Tilting his head where I needed it. Controlling the angle. He did what I said. Wider. Harder. His tongue pressing flat and firm, dragging through me with pressure now.
Better. But not there yet.
"Slower. You're rushing. Feel me. Feel where I'm swollen. That's where you stay."
He adjusted. Found the spot. Pressed his tongue against it and held.
"There. Right there. Now circles. Small. Don't move away from that spot."
He obeyed. Tight circles on my clit with the tip of his tongue. My thighs trembled. My grip tightened in his hair.
"Faster."
Faster. His tongue working with focus now. Not the skilled man who probably ate pussy effortlessly for every other woman. This was different. This was a man being taught. Being corrected. Being molded by my voice into exactly what I needed.
I ground against his face. Pulled his head closer. "Don't stop. Don't you fucking stop. Right there. Harder. Harder."
He moaned against me. The vibration sent a bolt through my entire body. My hips rocked forward. I was using his mouth now. Riding his face standing up, one hand gripping his hair, the other gripping the back of the chair for balance.
"Suck it. Now."
He sucked my clit into his mouth and the world tilted. My head fell back. A loud, raw sound left me. My thighs clamped against the sides of his face. I pulled his hair so hard his scalp must have burned, but the sound he made against my pussy was grateful.
He bit down on my clit, and flicked his tongue over it. Alternating between biting and sucking.
"Don't stop don't stop don’t…aahhh!”
I came on his face.
Hard. My body seizing. My hips bucking against his mouth.
My hand yanking his hair to hold him exactly where I needed while the orgasm rolled through me in waves.
My pussy clenching against his tongue. The wet, obscene sounds of his mouth working me through every aftershock.
His moan vibrating against my most sensitive skin while I used his face.
Because it was mine.
When it slowed, when my body stopped convulsing and my legs went weak, I released his hair. Stepped down from the chair on shaking legs. Stood in front of him, breathing hard.
His face was drenched. Lips swollen. Chin glistening. His tongue ran across his bottom lip, tasting me, savoring. His dick was harder than it had been all night, curved up against his stomach, leaking a steady stream.
"Good boy," I said. Breathless. "You're learning."
That full body shudder again. The sound that left his throat when I said those two words was something I'd never get tired of hearing.
I removed the blindfold.
His eyes found mine. Blown wide. Dark. Wet at the corners from the effort of three rounds of denial. He looked destroyed. Spent in a way I'd never seen another human being look. Every wall he'd ever built was rubble at his feet.
"Eyes on me," I said. "Don't look away. Not once."
I stood between his knees. Held his face in both hands. Tilted it up to mine. His skin was hot. Damp at the temples. His eyes searched mine.
"You were so good," I murmured. My thumbs stroked his cheekbones. "So good for me. Do you know that?"
His eyes fluttered closed. His whole body softened. Everything released at once.
"Eyes open."
They opened. Locked on mine.
"Now I'm going to give you what you've been begging for."
His eyes darkened. Hungry. Hopeful.
I reached down. Wrapped my hand around his dick. He cursed. Low. Vicious. I stroked him slow. Firm. My face inches from his. Eye contact unbroken.
"You don't close your eyes. You watch me. You watch what I do to you."
Then I dropped to my knees.
The mat was soft beneath me. I knelt between his spread thighs and looked up at him.
His eyes on mine from above. Wide. Disbelieving.
Like he couldn't process that I was down here by choice, not by request. Not because he pushed my head down or said suck my dick or did any of the shit men do when they want head without asking.
I was here because I wanted to be here. Because this was mine to give on my terms, at my pace, in my way.
No hand on the back of my head. No fingers gripping my hair, steering. Just his wrists in silk behind the chair and his eyes locked on mine and whatever I decided to do next.
I wrapped my hand around the base. Held him steady. Let my breath fan warm across the head for three seconds without touching. Watched him twitch. Watched his abs contract. Watched his jaw clench from the anticipation alone.
Then I licked him. One long, flat stroke from the base to the tip. Slow enough to feel every vein, every ridge against my tongue. He made a sound like I'd punched the air out of his lungs.
I did it again. The other side. My tongue wet and deliberate, tracing the full length of him like I was memorizing his shape.
I took my time. No rushing. No bobbing down immediately the way men expected.
I explored. Licked around the head in a slow circle.
Pressed my tongue into the spot just below the tip, that soft notch where the nerves live clustered together, and held pressure there while his thighs shook.
"Fuck..." Barely a whisper. His eyes still on mine. Glazed but open. Obedient.
I took the head in my mouth. Just the head. Sucked. Hollowed my cheeks and pulled while my tongue swirled against the underside. His hips jerked. His wrists strained against the silk. A sound tore from his chest that was guttural and involuntary.
I pulled off with a wet sound. Spit on him. Watched it slide down his shaft. Wrapped my hand around him and spread it, my grip slick now, twisting on the upstroke while I licked lower.
His balls. I cupped them in my free hand. Rolled them gentle. Then squeezed while I ran my tongue across the skin, soft and sensitive. He writhed. His legs tried to close and I pushed his thighs apart with my shoulders. Keeping him open. Exposed. Mine.
"Nailah..."
"Did I say you could talk?" I looked up at him. My mouth wet. His dick resting against my cheek, heavy and slick. Eye contact. Steady. "You can moan. You can breathe. But you don't speak unless I ask you a question. Understood?"
He nodded. Jaw clamped shut. Eyes wide and desperate.
I went back to work.
I took him deep this time. Inch by inch, my lips stretching around his girth, my tongue pressed flat against the underside.
Felt him hit the back of my throat and held there.
Didn't gag. Didn't rush. Let him feel the heat of my mouth surrounding him completely while I looked up at his face and watched his eyes roll and his mouth fall open on a silent scream.
I pulled back slowly. A string of spit connecting my lips to the tip of him. Broke it with my tongue. Then took him deep again. And again. Setting a rhythm that was mine. Contracting my throat muscles around his head every time it hit the back. Each pull back a pause for punctuation.
I used spit. Generous. Let it slide down his shaft, drip over my fingers, make everything wet and sloppy. The sounds filling the room were pornographic: the wet suck of my mouth, the slick movement of my hand, his breathing fractured into pieces.