Threesome - Lawrence Block [30]
“You have a beautiful cock.”
I took it in both hands and felt its heat. I put my lips to its head and kissed it.
“I haven’t really liked a cock in such a long time,” I said. I didn’t know what I was saying, I never talked like this, but the words flowed out of my mouth as the juices had flowed out of my pussy, uncontrollably, automatically, involuntarily. “I love your cock,” I went on. “Last night I heard you putting it in Priss, and this morning I ate her where it went in, and now I’m going to eat you. I love you and I love Priss and I love your beautiful cock.”
My mouth felt empty. I opened my mouth and took his cock in it and my mouth didn’t feel empty any more. He had grown hard the minute I took him in my hands and now he was hard as a rock and very large and there seemed to be a pulse working in his cock, I could feel it with my tongue. I slid my mouth as far down his cock as I could so that the head of it was touching the back of my throat. Usually when I did this I wanted to gag. Not this time. I just wanted more.
I let it slide out again until I had only the tip of it between my lips. Back, forth, back, forth, and the nerve endings in my mouth were tingling like crazy. Real physical excitement, not just the thrill of doing this to him, of doing this to Prissy’s man, of doing this, but the thrill of a contact that was thrilling in and of itself, my mouth responding, my mouth getting fucked, my mouth, cuntlike, receiving him and digging it.
He was wearing dungarees. I put my hands on his thighs and felt the good coarse denim under my fingertips. I dug my fingers into his thighs and plunged up and down on his prick.
It seemed to me that I could taste Prissy on him. Impossible of course, I had heard him in the shower, he took a shower every morning, it was just in my imagination, but I thought I could, and I thought of him plunging simultaneously into my mouth and into Prissy’s cunt, as if his cock could magically be in two places at one time, in two people at one time, and I sucked him, I sucked him.
Robert Keith Dandridge always wanted to be sucked, and I was not that bad a wife, obliging him in that respect most of the time whether I wanted to do it or not. I almost never wanted to do it, and I almost always did it, but one thing I did was that I always made him indicate he wanted it. I never of my own accord dove down upon his prick. Not that it never occurred to me, but that I never had wanted to let him get the idea that this was something I wanted to do for its own sake, because it frankly wasn’t.
I was supposed to be reasonable good at it, I had in fact been told by boys and men who seemed in a position to know that I was reasonably good at it, and I was obviously good enough at it so that Robert Keith Dandridge never tired of that aspect of our life together, however tiresome he (like I) may have found the rest of it. But however good I might be at it, I did not like it with Robert Keith. Not even a little. The only thing I almost liked about it was that when I really did not feel in the mood for his weight on top of me I could give him a quick sucking and make him come that way and be spared a regular screwing. So it was now and then the lesser of two evils, and that was the best that could ever be said for it.
Not so with Harry. With him it was my idea, all my idea, and I really wanted to do it, and I did it, and had some hard-to-understand oral orgasm just as he had an easy-to-discern penile orgasm, and my throat muscles worked out of their own accord and I swallowed every drop, which again was something R.K.D. used to beg me to do (why should he care, the idiot?) and which I had never once done.
God knows why I had never done it before. For you readers who have never considered the problem at length, be advised that it solves the age-old question of how to dispose of a mouthful of love