I have a somewhat shameful secret to share.
I crave sucking cock.
I'm married to a nice guy, with whom I have sex on regular bases and it's nice but... it's not quite enough. Recently, I find myself darkly dreaming about a different sort of relationship.
A while back, at work, there was this temp guy - why is it that temp guys are always the ones with that twinkle in their eye and that sexy smile? You know, the one that says, 'I know what you're thinking'? Well, we flirted a bit. He's got one of those voices that are so easy to imagine in one's ear; one of those made for dirty talk. Maybe it's the way it gets a bit quiet and breathy, I don't know. So, we flirted. Not that it meant anything - not to him, I think, certainly not to me, oh, certainly not - I have a beautiful family would never risk losing - but it got me daydreaming.
In my dream, he recognises me for what I am. Corners me in the office they gave him, the one at the end of the hall that no one else had wanted, one without any windows worth mentioning, for which I'm grateful now. No one can see us. He asks me if I want to give him head and - reluctantly - I admit that I do. I blush violently as he smiles, staring into my eyes.
He's not satisfied, though. He opens my shirt so he can pinch my sensitive nipples and, seeing the effect this is having on me, asks me if I want to suck his cock. I cringe at the crass words but... I do, I want to suck his cock. I bet it's as wonderful as the rest of him, I bet it smells sexy like the rest of him, I bet it tastes good. Yes, I admit softly, I do want to suck his cock.
Still he's not satisfied. He doesn't just want head, simply a warm place to come. He fingers me, right there against the wall of his temporary office, to see if I'm wet and to make me even wetter. He doesn't just want me not to say no; he want me to scream yes, crazed and starving as I admit I am, avoiding his searching eyes, dying with embarrassment. I know he doesn't just want a cocksucker, he wants a dirty, hungry cocksucker - and one trembling with shame of it. He gets off on it and, God help me, so do I. As he makes me touch him through his clothes, I feel like I'm going to faint because he's rock hard and I need to feel him, lick him, swallow him; my pussy clenches at the thought of filling my mouth with that erection. I'm so hungry for it.
I met this guy, way back, before I was married. He asked for my number. I thought he'd ask me out. It might have been why he called, but mood quickly got from flirty to dirty and we... well we started having phone sex on regular bases.
He'd call at oddest times. Although I resented that, it turned me on. He'd wake up with "morning wood" and call me expecting me to "take care of it".
It's a little detail that keeps popping up now in my temp fantasies. I have a busy schedule, you know; I'm disciplined, I don't deviate from plans often - you try juggling being good at your job and raising two toddlers any other way - but this guy, in my dreams, he calls and asks me to come in early, while there's no one in the office building. He woke up horny and he expects me to rush my morning routine so I could arrive at work early, kneel in his office and open my mouth eagerly.
And I do it. I'm so ashamed of it, but I do it.
My tongue is hungry to feel the incredibly warm skin of his cock, taut because he's so hard. I love how the head feels too big for my mouth. I don't give head to my husband often. Well, almost never do. I need practice. He tells me, as his fingers hook into my mouth to stretch it, that it needs practice, that it's too small. He loves it, putting me down; he revels in it, looking down on me while, reluctantly and eagerly at the same time, I open my mouth so he can use it. I may curse him but I'll run to come in before there's too many people and I miss tasting his first erection that day. I'm his sex toy and I'm there quite simply because he wants to use me.
It's not enough, though. Just being there with my welcoming mouth isn't enough for him - nor me, although I'd never admit it out loud.
He pulls my shirt off and my skirt up. He tugs on my nipples until they're all hard and crinkly - it only takes a second, I'm ready to go - and dips a finger into my pussy to make sure I'm in need. When I'm dishevelled and trembling with desire, he rubs his cock all over my face, smearing precum over my forehead and lipstick around my mouth, while his hands destroy my carefully arranged office hairdo. All so, when he finally slides his cock between my lips, he can watch it go in... into a mouth of a wanton slut, her tits hanging out of her bra, kneeling with her knees apart because she wants to show off the juices running out of her hot and bothered pussy. Her hair and face are a mess but she doesn't complain; she's forgotten she should. She's just looking up into the eyes of a man slowly fucking her face and she's loving it. With each stroke her pussy tightens until she thinks she might come even like this, without touching herself.
There's more, there's a lot more. While, in reality, all he does is drop a witty remark here or a thoughtful look across a conference table there, in my fantasies, he's coming up with increasingly humiliating things to do to me, or things he tells me to do to him.
He knows I will; I'll do anything just to feel that rush. He looks into my eyes, waiting for me to say no, challenging me to not give in for once, but I want to give in; I just nod and do as told. I suck his cock like my life depends on it and halfway through, I realise, somewhere along the way, I've forgotten to at least pretend his desires disgust me. If he wants to stuff my throat then I let him, even though I choke and ache for air; and when he wants drool I drool, letting it drip down my chest, stain my expensive shirt, join the wetness on my thighs; and if he pulls on my hair too hard or makes my eyes water as I strain to accommodate him, I'll try to keep silent so as not to distract him; and he comes wherever he chooses, right onto my tongue to make sure I taste it, all over my face to complete the sleazy mess there, or over my tits so I can massage it into my skin when he's done. I do it all just to hear him moan as he comes; I'm crazy for that sound. I replay it in my head when I want to send myself over the edge.
It's not enough. It's never enough, it seems. I get a new idea of what could happen and I'm in frenzy for days, thinking - if I licked his balls - if he made me do it - and a hair ended up in my mouth and I tried to get it out but he wouldn't let me because he just didn't feel like waiting for it - I'd hate it and love it so much.
It's these little lurid details I need.
So... can anyone help?
Although the temp guy is gone, as you'd expect from a temp guy, my fantasises, they've stayed. At work, sometimes, I still press my thighs together, wishing my head was between his. At home, when I grab a moment to myself, I make myself wet thinking of the dirty things that make a blow job dirtier than I've ever had the courage to make it in reality. I pass the doors to the office that had been the setting of so many of my fantasies and I almost stumble when they pour into my mind like a dam is broken; last night, in my bed - no, there, behind those doors, he's made me spit on his cock to make it slippery, messy, disgusting, and then he made me lick it all off. And that other time, getting more brazen every time, he spat onto my face. It's so filthy I don't think I could bear it in reality, ever, but it makes my clit throb just thinking about it.
It feels so good. I crave someone who'd treat my mouth as a mere fuckhole. Or, at least, someone who'd want to talk about it. Here's what's funny: I want what I want, but I can live without ever having it. The unbearablepart is: I feel like I am, alone, playing a game meant for two.
So... can anyone help? PM me? Let me know if you have an idea that would make my mind cringe away while my pussy just gets wetter? Tell me what makes you hard, how you like it sucked, what makes you smile darkly upon the woman down on the floor for you. Please. I need it, badly. Tell me what you once did, or would like to do, or even what you wouldn't really do but like to think about.
I want it, please. I'm hungry for it.
I crave sucking cock.
I'm married to a nice guy, with whom I have sex on regular bases and it's nice but... it's not quite enough. Recently, I find myself darkly dreaming about a different sort of relationship.
A while back, at work, there was this temp guy - why is it that temp guys are always the ones with that twinkle in their eye and that sexy smile? You know, the one that says, 'I know what you're thinking'? Well, we flirted a bit. He's got one of those voices that are so easy to imagine in one's ear; one of those made for dirty talk. Maybe it's the way it gets a bit quiet and breathy, I don't know. So, we flirted. Not that it meant anything - not to him, I think, certainly not to me, oh, certainly not - I have a beautiful family would never risk losing - but it got me daydreaming.
In my dream, he recognises me for what I am. Corners me in the office they gave him, the one at the end of the hall that no one else had wanted, one without any windows worth mentioning, for which I'm grateful now. No one can see us. He asks me if I want to give him head and - reluctantly - I admit that I do. I blush violently as he smiles, staring into my eyes.
He's not satisfied, though. He opens my shirt so he can pinch my sensitive nipples and, seeing the effect this is having on me, asks me if I want to suck his cock. I cringe at the crass words but... I do, I want to suck his cock. I bet it's as wonderful as the rest of him, I bet it smells sexy like the rest of him, I bet it tastes good. Yes, I admit softly, I do want to suck his cock.
Still he's not satisfied. He doesn't just want head, simply a warm place to come. He fingers me, right there against the wall of his temporary office, to see if I'm wet and to make me even wetter. He doesn't just want me not to say no; he want me to scream yes, crazed and starving as I admit I am, avoiding his searching eyes, dying with embarrassment. I know he doesn't just want a cocksucker, he wants a dirty, hungry cocksucker - and one trembling with shame of it. He gets off on it and, God help me, so do I. As he makes me touch him through his clothes, I feel like I'm going to faint because he's rock hard and I need to feel him, lick him, swallow him; my pussy clenches at the thought of filling my mouth with that erection. I'm so hungry for it.
I met this guy, way back, before I was married. He asked for my number. I thought he'd ask me out. It might have been why he called, but mood quickly got from flirty to dirty and we... well we started having phone sex on regular bases.
He'd call at oddest times. Although I resented that, it turned me on. He'd wake up with "morning wood" and call me expecting me to "take care of it".
It's a little detail that keeps popping up now in my temp fantasies. I have a busy schedule, you know; I'm disciplined, I don't deviate from plans often - you try juggling being good at your job and raising two toddlers any other way - but this guy, in my dreams, he calls and asks me to come in early, while there's no one in the office building. He woke up horny and he expects me to rush my morning routine so I could arrive at work early, kneel in his office and open my mouth eagerly.
And I do it. I'm so ashamed of it, but I do it.
My tongue is hungry to feel the incredibly warm skin of his cock, taut because he's so hard. I love how the head feels too big for my mouth. I don't give head to my husband often. Well, almost never do. I need practice. He tells me, as his fingers hook into my mouth to stretch it, that it needs practice, that it's too small. He loves it, putting me down; he revels in it, looking down on me while, reluctantly and eagerly at the same time, I open my mouth so he can use it. I may curse him but I'll run to come in before there's too many people and I miss tasting his first erection that day. I'm his sex toy and I'm there quite simply because he wants to use me.
It's not enough, though. Just being there with my welcoming mouth isn't enough for him - nor me, although I'd never admit it out loud.
He pulls my shirt off and my skirt up. He tugs on my nipples until they're all hard and crinkly - it only takes a second, I'm ready to go - and dips a finger into my pussy to make sure I'm in need. When I'm dishevelled and trembling with desire, he rubs his cock all over my face, smearing precum over my forehead and lipstick around my mouth, while his hands destroy my carefully arranged office hairdo. All so, when he finally slides his cock between my lips, he can watch it go in... into a mouth of a wanton slut, her tits hanging out of her bra, kneeling with her knees apart because she wants to show off the juices running out of her hot and bothered pussy. Her hair and face are a mess but she doesn't complain; she's forgotten she should. She's just looking up into the eyes of a man slowly fucking her face and she's loving it. With each stroke her pussy tightens until she thinks she might come even like this, without touching herself.
There's more, there's a lot more. While, in reality, all he does is drop a witty remark here or a thoughtful look across a conference table there, in my fantasies, he's coming up with increasingly humiliating things to do to me, or things he tells me to do to him.
He knows I will; I'll do anything just to feel that rush. He looks into my eyes, waiting for me to say no, challenging me to not give in for once, but I want to give in; I just nod and do as told. I suck his cock like my life depends on it and halfway through, I realise, somewhere along the way, I've forgotten to at least pretend his desires disgust me. If he wants to stuff my throat then I let him, even though I choke and ache for air; and when he wants drool I drool, letting it drip down my chest, stain my expensive shirt, join the wetness on my thighs; and if he pulls on my hair too hard or makes my eyes water as I strain to accommodate him, I'll try to keep silent so as not to distract him; and he comes wherever he chooses, right onto my tongue to make sure I taste it, all over my face to complete the sleazy mess there, or over my tits so I can massage it into my skin when he's done. I do it all just to hear him moan as he comes; I'm crazy for that sound. I replay it in my head when I want to send myself over the edge.
It's not enough. It's never enough, it seems. I get a new idea of what could happen and I'm in frenzy for days, thinking - if I licked his balls - if he made me do it - and a hair ended up in my mouth and I tried to get it out but he wouldn't let me because he just didn't feel like waiting for it - I'd hate it and love it so much.
It's these little lurid details I need.
So... can anyone help?
Although the temp guy is gone, as you'd expect from a temp guy, my fantasises, they've stayed. At work, sometimes, I still press my thighs together, wishing my head was between his. At home, when I grab a moment to myself, I make myself wet thinking of the dirty things that make a blow job dirtier than I've ever had the courage to make it in reality. I pass the doors to the office that had been the setting of so many of my fantasies and I almost stumble when they pour into my mind like a dam is broken; last night, in my bed - no, there, behind those doors, he's made me spit on his cock to make it slippery, messy, disgusting, and then he made me lick it all off. And that other time, getting more brazen every time, he spat onto my face. It's so filthy I don't think I could bear it in reality, ever, but it makes my clit throb just thinking about it.
It feels so good. I crave someone who'd treat my mouth as a mere fuckhole. Or, at least, someone who'd want to talk about it. Here's what's funny: I want what I want, but I can live without ever having it. The unbearablepart is: I feel like I am, alone, playing a game meant for two.
So... can anyone help? PM me? Let me know if you have an idea that would make my mind cringe away while my pussy just gets wetter? Tell me what makes you hard, how you like it sucked, what makes you smile darkly upon the woman down on the floor for you. Please. I need it, badly. Tell me what you once did, or would like to do, or even what you wouldn't really do but like to think about.
I want it, please. I'm hungry for it.
