Chapter 11 #2
Ishmael’s dick sprung from his briefs, serving as the perfect distraction. Its girth was soul-stirring. I wrapped my fingers around it as best I could. I ran the length of his protruding veins. One at a time. Saliva flooded underneath my tongue.
I drew in as much as possible.
“Spuh.”
Ishmael’s body lifted from the seat slightly. I placed my palm over his head and twirled my hand around, lowering it all the way down his shaft. His head fell backward.
My left hand joined my right hand. Each time I made it to the head, I twisted my palms around it and slid down his length.
“Fuck.”
My eyes were on Ishmael. His eyes were low, riddled with need.
“You like that, Ishmael?”
He nodded.
“Use your words, love.”
I stole a page from the book of Ishmael.
“Yes.”
He didn’t attempt to call my bluff. Without a warning, he understood the consequences of him not responding verbally. I’d suffered those same consequences under his ruling.
“Where do you want him?”
“Baby–” he groaned.
“Where do you want him, Ishmael?”
I stroked his dick with closed fists. His shoulders were curled inward. His spine was bent. His eyes had turned to slits.
“Put ‘em in your mouth, Royce.”
I removed my left hand, replacing it with my tongue. I enclosed him, suctioning his dick until it touched the back of my throat.
“Shit.”
In the opposite direction of my hand, I twirled my head as I lifted. I switched directions as I lowered.
“Fuck.”
Ishmael tasted so much like mine. His skin pressed against my tastebuds was heartening. My beating red organ slammed against my chest, attempting to free itself.
I rolled my tongue around the tip of Ishmael, harping on his sensitivity. He shuddered. A palm of his rested on my head. Silently, I braced for impact.
“Mmmmm.”
Saliva ran down my hand, lubricating his skin. I glided up and down his dick effortlessly. Each time he made contact with the back of my throat, more lubricant was extracted.
“Shit.”
Slowly, Ishmael guided my head with a gentle push. He stretched my limits, furthering his reach.
“Ahk. Ahhhhhk.”
He tapped against the back of my throat, loosening my restraints. My gag reflex was ignited.
“Urgggggh.”
“Don’t do that, my baby. Don’t fuck up your clothes,” he groaned.
“Ahk.”
Still, he plunged deeper. Slower. Steadier. Working his way down my throat.
“That’s it.”
Tears pooled in my eyes.
“Mmmmm.”
Ishmael fucked my mouth ever so gently.
“That’s it, my baby.”
The tears fell down my cheeks. Cream slid from my pussy. I was utterly and unbelievably aroused. Pleasuring Ishmael drove me beyond the point of satisfaction.
His strokes intensified as his grip on my head tightened. I matched his strokes.
“Fuck.”
His low grunts were sheer motivation. I dislodged him from my mouth and slid my hands down his shaft. I took his balls into the warmth of my palms–one and then the other.
“Mmm shit.”
I massaged his dick with my hand and his balls with my mouth. My tongue slithered between the skin of his dick and my lips, resting against the thin strip just beneath his sack.
His body stiffened. He nearly pulled the threads from my sew-in, twisting my neck in his direction. He leaned forward until his mouth was on mine.
He shoved his tongue into my mouth. Hungrily, I kissed him deeply. Passion radiated from my frame. It rested within his. Ishmael was hot to the touch.
He loosened his grip and released me from his oral inclination. I reclaimed his balls, then his perineum. My strokes matched the rhythm of my tongue. In unison, we strived for his undoing. I wanted Ishmael spineless… boneless… helpless when I finished him.
“Goddamn,” he huffed. “Shit.”
He disturbed my flow once again, making it evident his ending was approaching. He was prolonging the inevitable. I’d allow it.
For now.
With a hand around my neck, he grunted. I was unmanning him. Right before my very eyes. He wasn’t sure how to handle it. How to handle me. But, I surely knew how to handle him and everything that came with him.
“Eyes on me.”
My hand never left his shaft. I stroked his dick as I did what I was told. His head was cocked. His lips were pulled back. He wasn’t wearing that handsome smile. His face was twisted. His eyebrows were low.
“Make this dick spit up, my baby.”
I nodded. A thick strand of slob rubbed across my chest each time I lifted and lowered my head.
My eyes burned from the mascara that ran down my face.
The back of my throat was sore to the touch.
Still, I wasn’t ready to part with his pole.
Pleasing Ishmael was quickly becoming a passion of mine.
It offered me instant, unshakeable gratification.
“Your words, Royce.”
“Okay.”
I took his dick into my mouth again. I’d missed it much more than I cared to explain. My right hand joined my efforts to disarm the missile at our disposal.
“Urgggh-”
My gag reflex didn’t halt my movement. Vomit would have to wait. There was no room for it in my mouth. Not with Ishmael filling it to capacity.
I used my left hand to grab his wrist, guiding his hand back to my head. His guidance wasn’t needed, but I craved it like I did my next breath.
“Uhhhhh.”
My center was aching with need. Ishmael’s semen in my mouth was crucial to my peak. I pushed the fabric of my dress upward and shoved my hand inside my panties. I inserted two fingers inside of me.
“Mmmmm.”
“Fuck, my baby.”
Ishmael’s ending was upon us. I worked my fingers while assaulting my throat with his weapon.
“Mmmmm.”
“This motherfucker ’bout to bus’ baby. Shit.”
His grip on my head tightened. His body stilled. His stomach caved. His breathing changed, nearly stopping completely.
Stars aligned behind Ishmael’s head. My eyes were still on him.
Provoking him. Expressing my imminent rapture.
I needed him cumming. I needed his semen on my tongue.
My lips. My face. Wherever it landed. And, if it happened to be on him, I was prepared to clean the mess I’d made with the tip of every tastebud in my mouth.
“My ba– Urgh. Fuck.”
His unearthing was the foundation for mine. My center tingled with numbness as I exploded onto my fingers.
“Uhhhhh!”
Warm semen squirted into my mouth. Hurriedly, I slid backward, allowing the rest to coat my lips and fall onto my chest. Watching Ishmael erupt in high definition rearranged my brain matter.
“Oh God,” I moaned, pulling him back into my mouth.
His body pressed into the seat. His grip tightened.
“My baby–please.”
Only because he’d asked nicely did I release him. My gloss coated his shaft. I rested my lips against it, still looking up into Ishmael’s anguished eyes. Whatever dilemma he was facing was written all over his face.
I straightened my spine, allowing his dick to fall between his thighs. My right index finger pushed his remnants of him from the sides of my mouth and my lips. I shoved the finger in my mouth, sure to clean it thoroughly.
I swiped his semen from my chest and placed it at the tip of my tongue. It vanished in my warmth as I closed my mouth. My smile didn’t reach my eyes. They were preoccupied with the greed I suffered at the hands of Ishmael.
“We have arrived, Royce,” Ishmael cleared his throat.
Disappointment tiptoed around his statement. He didn’t want to attend the dinner. He was fragile. Vulnerable. Open. Exposed.
“We have.”
I pulled his pants and boxers toward his waist. A pat on the leg got his body lifted long enough for me to secure them both. As he watched, I zipped his pants and then rebuttoned them. I pulled his belt through the buckle and tightened it.
The Chanel clutch opened with ease. I removed the small pack of wipes and used one to clean my fingers. I, then, used another to swipe the slime from my vulva. In disbelief, Ishmael held me under his watchful eye. I discarded both cloths in the small trash can on the back of the seat.
A dollop of hand sanitizer fell into my palm. I held the bottle over Ishmael’s hands. He turned them over. My generosity allowed him to clean his hands without requiring more sanitizer. I rubbed mine together.
“You’re makeup,” he reminded me.
I opened another pack of wipes and slid the compact mirror out along with it. One side at a time, I cleared my face of the additives. They weren’t necessary, neither was reapplication. I finalized the bareness of my appearance with clear KC lip gloss.
“Ready?”
Ishmael sighed with a shake of his head.
He wasn’t ready. He wanted to call it a night. He wanted to take me back to his place. He wanted to rip my dress from my body. He wanted to stick his dick inside of me. He wanted me cumming hard and loud–like he had.
“Yeah,” he lied.
He opened the door. I waited until his feet were planted safely on the ground. He required time to collect himself. He stood on wobbly knees.
Royce.” Ishmael extended a hand, welcoming me to join him.
I exited the car, following him like a cat in heat. Cameras began flashing the second we were in full view.
Ishmael leaned closer to my ear. I braced myself for whatever was to come from him. He’d been deep in thought since his semen touched my tongue.
“If you put your mouth on anyone else, I’m going to have to take them motherfuckers off your face,” he promised, buttoning the jacket of his suit.
I smiled, turning toward him.
“Jealous much?”
“I don’t care how hard your head is, my baby, don’t make me prove to you that I am no bluffer.”
He pulled me closer, stopping mid-stride for still images. After five seconds, he pulled me toward the entrance of the large event center.
“I don’t bluff either, Ishmael. So, don’t force me to pull your card.”
I didn’t have to explain for him to understand.
“Is that a threat?”
“I don’t make threats I can’t fall through on.”
“Sounds like my type of woman.”