M/F ~ Age Gap ~ Older Man Younger Woman ~ Ireland ~ St. Patricks’ Day E-Rom

I love tasting his Irish cream! And being filled up with it, too.

A hot, older Irish billionaire gave me a trip to Ireland and I gave him a blowjob

Melanie

Many people don’t know that a night of good sex is followed by a morning with something I’ve coined the “sex hangover.” I may not have been aware of this before yesterday, but after the mind-blowingly great sex I had with Shane last night, I now know that it’s very much a thing and that I’m suffering from it at this moment.

But a sex hangover is much better and less shameful than a regular hangover. I believe it’s something that should be taught in health class or sex ed.

It would have been handy to know, but I suppose it doesn’t apply to many people, since a lot of women put up with really bad sex. I guess not everyone can be as lucky as me.

For example, a regular hangover has you waking up in the crankiest of moods, and has your head beating with pain. With a sex hangover, you wake up with a great smile on your face and the only part of your body that hurts are your sore, worn out thighs.

Another benefit a sex hangover has over a normal one is that there’s no shame of “should have, could haves.” Unless it’s about how much more hot sex you could have had!

The only constancy between the two types of hangovers is that you still wake up partially confused with where you are spatially.

I have to backtrack in my mind to remember how I ended up here in this blissful state.

The most vivid and immediate memory I can recollect is being on a private jet with Shane. We fucked. Hard. He took my virginity, and it was amazing.

Then we started drinking some champagne, and if I remember correctly, we ended up drinking a lot more than we should have.

Finally, we landed in Ireland. I remember seeing a lot of green scenery, but… then everything goes blank.

I put my contacts in and the world becomes a lot clearer. Thankfully the sex hangover really overpowers the regular hangover, otherwise getting dressed and out of bed would be a total chore.

Although, for anyone who’s wondering, that first step out of bed really throws you for a whirl regardless of the type of hangover you’re experiencing.

A twinge of fear rises as I realize that I really can’t recollect any information from last night that would have resulted in me being in a hotel that I couldn’t possibly afford to stay in.

My wallet is still on me, so at the very least I know that I couldn’t possibly have paid for this room. So that’s good.

Shane wasn’t next to me in bed when I woke up. But the shower is running.

Before informing Shane that I’m awake, I walk around the hotel room he obviously got for us and notice how different it is from the types of places we’ve been in before. Back in New York, whenever he invited me over, I ended up riding the elevator up to a high-rise penthouse suite at a luxurious hotel.

This seems like the polar opposite of that. Not that it’s not nice. Rustic — is what a realtor would call it. It’s obviously an expensive place but the décor makes it look purposefully vintage and humble.

I head to the bathroom and join Shane in the shower. He looks more than happy to see me. His teeth are shining, and his skin has that after sex glow. I can only hope that I look as picture-ready as he does.

“Mornin,’ sweetheart,” he greets me in his gorgeous Irish accent. “How are ya feelin’?”

My answer to that question starts out with some hesitation.

“Shane, where are we? I know we had a great night — I can still feel it in my thighs — but I have no idea where we are.”

“Ah, yes. Well, geographically, we’re in Dublin, Ireland. Or the outskirts of it, anyway. We’re in a hotel near the airport — the fastest nice one I could book once we landed. But metaphorically speaking, I would say we’re floating on Cloud Nine after all that hot sex we had last night!”

“I have to agree with you there,” I say, as my tingling pussy reminds me of the fun we had last night. The memories come flooding back to me now. I love how good it felt for his big cock to be deep inside me. “So, what’s the plan for today?”

“We, my darling, are going to work today. But I promise I’ll make it fun. And after that fun work — well, it’s St. Paddy’s Day here now, so you’d be wrong in thinking that’d we’d do anything but celebrate it like true Irish folk,” he says playfully.

“How do ‘real’ Irish folk celebrate St. Patrick’s Day?” I ask him.

He smiles.

“First, by calling it St. Paddy’s. Second, by drinking and wearing green.”

“So, there’s no difference in how Americans celebrate it?”

“Sure, there is,” he says with a pause, “We hold a parade.”

Before partaking in any of the St. Paddy’s day traditions, though, Shane is serious about getting some work done. We take a taxi into Dublin proper and on the way there, Shane speaks with his business partner the entire time.

He’s speaking in a hurried, almost frantic manner, but what I gather from it is that Shane wants to delegate his share of some project over to his partner or make someone else do it.

Or something along those lines. Apparently Shane’s Irish accent really comes out when he’s speaking to another Irish person, and it’s even harder than normal for me to make out what he’s saying.

I hope me being here isn’t causing him any problems at work. The last thing I want to do is be a burden to him.

“Is everything alright?” I ask him, in the hope that the morose look on his face could somehow mean he received good news.

He sighs through a quivering smile.

“Ah, I’ll get my ear talked off later but yes, everything is alright. Better than alright, even. You and I can spend the rest of the day together, but I do need you to do some work for me.”

Thinking he’s flirting with me, I unbutton my flannel shirt and lean back on the taxi seat and ask him what kind of work he has in mind.

It seems I got the wrong impression, though.

“Today, I’ll be educating you on Irish creams, and proper Irish drinks. None of that American stuff. Or German stuff.”

I button my shirt back up and try to avoid making eye contact with the taxi driver, who is creepily trying to catch a glimpse of my goods in the rearview mirror. That’s what I get for trying to be spontaneous and sexy.

“Not to sound ungrateful — I mean, you did pay for me to fly overseas, and I’m very appreciative — but I thought my first day in Ireland would be a bit more eventful than helping you work,” I admit.

“But you’re not just helping me with my job; you’re getting a much-needed education on Irish alcohol in its many shapes and forms. Besides, we’ll get to watch the St. Patrick’s Day parade and visit some of Ireland’s most famous pubs and touristy landmarks. We’ll make a day of it.”

He knows exactly what to say, this Irish man of mine.

Man of mine. Oops.

The powerful chemistry between us and the great sex we’ve just had has me getting ahead of myself. Shane isn’t my man yet, I remind myself. Or, at least, it’s hard to say whether he is or not.

I thought he was my man for the first week we spent together in New York, and he thought it was fine to just leave me in the dust.

It’s true that he apologized, and I forgave him, but that doesn’t excuse the fact that he did that. He may have promised not to do that again, but in reality, I flew to another country with someone I don’t really know. It’s an irresponsible thing to do, but I just did it.

The post-coital bliss is really wearing off now, and suddenly the only thing running through my mind is how I’m missing class to go drinking with someone I’ve known for a total of nine whole days.

That’s not what a rational person does. All the homework I left back home is going to be turned in late, and the upcoming midterms are going to end me if I don’t continue cramming for them.

But all my worries melt away — along with my panties — as Shane lifts my chin up and focuses his gorgeous eyes on mine.

“So, are you ready to help me work?” he asks.

“You know I am.”

The taxi stops on a very busy street, and Shane opens the door for me and helps me out. We have arrived at our destination, I suppose. It’s a very old looking building with TVs stacked on top of each other like a messy game of Tetris.

All the analog televisions are facing the street and playing different channels. It’s a very Instagrammable sight, but I’m trying to not get sucked into my phone while I’m here, even if I do want to brag about my impromptu vacation.

Maybe Denise would even take a break from photographing her model of a boyfriend to notice that I still exist.

“Ah, look at that — it’s Dustin the Turkey. Love me some Dustin,” Shane says, pointing at a strange-looking Muppet rip-off with a large pink nose.

“That’s supposed to be a turkey?” I ask him incredulously.

“Sure, he ain’t no Jim Henson puppet, but he’s hilarious.”

“How is he funny?””

“He’s a turkey with a Dublin accent,” he insists, thinking it’s an impressive feat of comedy. “And… he sings songs… in a Dublin accent. You know, whenever I talk to Americans about Irish comedy, they don’t understand that a lot of Irish comedy is just saying things in a Dublin accent.”

Shane stares at me a while, I guess thinking that he made me realize how an Irish turkey can be funny. But after I don’t say anything back, I suppose he realizes that I still don’t think it’s funny.

“Well, the show got cancelled, so you won’t have to worry about seeing that turkey much,” he finally says.

That makes both of us laugh.

Once we arrive at our destination, we step inside the pub and Shane orders a big drink for both of us.

All morning, my brain had been playing pinball in my skull, going back and forth about whether I should be feeling guilty for taking this trip, but the one thing I should have really thought about is having breakfast to line my stomach before a day of drinking.

But I can’t help it — I still have a sex hangover!

And I plan to have a lot more during this trip to Ireland with my older, rich, sexy Irish tour guide.

Melanie

The first drink hits me like an eighteen-wheeler.

Focus is an idea that has dropped out of my brain entirely. I want to pay attention to what Shane is teaching me about beer and Irish cream, but it’s all going in one ear and out the other.

I just keep hearing Irish names and I can’t discern whether the names he’s giving me are of men he knows, or brands of beer, or puppets from his unfunny childhood. Fennelly’s, Sheelin, Dustin, Marx and Spencer, and I don’t know what any of them are.

“You doing alright, Melanie? You don’t seem all there.”

I’m able to register what he says just fine. But I don’t answer because I’m trying to tend to more pressing matter — which is trying my hardest to not fall of my chair.

With each drink that goes down my gullet, I feel like I’m losing one vertebra. Staying firmly seated on this stool is an impossible mission that there is only one way out of.

“Excuse me for a moment, Shane. I think I need to use the ladies’ room.”

I stumble my way over to what everyone keeps telling me is the women’s restroom and thankfully, there isn’t a single urinal to be seen. Just stalls.

So, people in Ireland are at least kind enough to lead a drunk lady to a bathroom. I carelessly slam one door closed and kneel down in front of it, immediately dispelling all of the poison in my body.

An angel of a lady asks me from outside the stall if I’m alright and hands me some paper towels to clean my mouth. I thank her and wipe myself up before stepping out and having to see this mystery woman. The girl looks like a teenager.

“It happens to us all, hun, and believe me, it’s happened to me more than once. Are you good to go back out there?” she asks me.

Thinking a bit more clearly, I thank the eighteen-year-old and strut back out a bit more competently. I sit right back down in front of Shane and ask him if we can order some bread or something to keep me from losing myself entirely before hitting the next pub.

He doesn’t think twice before stepping away from me and towards the bar to ask for an order of fish and chips. Finally, something solid.

I’ve been so windswept by everything, I’m forgetting basic things like eating a single meal before leaving the house. Last thing I ate was a couple of tacos al pastor from a truck outside the bar back in New York.

The fish and chips help bring back down to a level of beer tinted glasses where I can walk properly, think more or less completely, but still see the world as a beautiful and giggly place.

Shane, acts as my knight in shining green armor as we bounce from pub to pub, drinking all sorts of bitter or sweet drinks. Some of the drinks are wildly enjoyable but so far, my favorite moments have been the few seconds we have between pubs, where he holds me tight so I don’t fall face first on the street, and I can enjoy the famous Irish scenery.

Past the brick and mortar buildings that makes up the pubs we’re invading, lies vast green lands protected by thick trees lush with more greenery. Beer goggles or no, Ireland is a beauty. It’s no wonder people want to live and retire here and manage to look as happy as they do.

The only people who look unhappy are the few nuns we’ve passed, they’re sure not pleased with the debauchery around them. Maybe if they had a drink once in a while, they wouldn’t act like they’ve got crosses up their “arses”, as the Irish would say.

The beauty of Ireland hits something in me. Drunk me and sober me. Living in NYC, I don’t get to see much green, the bit of green I do see is the faded green from Central Park, but otherwise I’m surrounded by the grays and browns of living in the big city.

For some reason, I’m reminded of my days in high school painting all over the walls of my childhood bedroom. I’d use a lot of green because all I thought about was moving somewhere like Ecuador or Argentina where I could walk five miles in any direction and be surrounded by forests, or jungles, or any sort of green.

Painting was the best way for me to start dreaming of something more than living paycheck to paycheck like my parents.

I used to think I could make it as a painter one day. My parents encouraged me to pursue it, but I couldn’t make heads or tails of their true thoughts.

Everyone’s parents encourage them to do whatever they want, but sometimes they’re getting their hopes up for nothing. Not all kids are talented or determined enough to actually go after their dream job.

I wasn’t. Shortly after I graduated high school, my parents wouldn’t stop talking to me about “real jobs.” The names of schools of law, or for medicine crept into our dinner conversations and any talks of being a full-time painter were thrown out to the wayside.

“Melanie, look the parade is starting!”

From afar, a wall of people start making their way down the street. Excited people inside the buildings come out onto the sidewalk and join the parade.

There’s green everywhere. Green hats, green scarves, green flags waving. Hordes of bagpipers in kilts march together playing loudly.

There are floats made of flowers and craft paper. Dancers dancing in green dresses with crafted fake fairy wings flitter here and there. Even a large puppet of St. Paddy works its way down the street.

Having so much alcohol in my system nearly makes things seem psychedelic. So many people, so many sights and sounds one wouldn’t see on a regular day. The smile on Shane’s face alone seems so magical in front of the out of focus lights behind him.

This is my man. I was a fool to not chase after him or look him up on social media when he first walked out of my life. I understand being afraid of change, it’s one of my phobias. Hanging out with someone I don’t really know is very out of character for me, but because it’s with Shane, it feels different. Comforting. Maybe this will last a week, maybe a lifetime. One thing is certain and it’s that I want to be in Shane’s life, and I want him to be in mine.

I’ve found love. And it’s amazing.

Denise may have also found love, with Instagram guy. I should call her soon and make sure she’s doing well. Maybe instead of avoiding each other, we can go on double dates.

This has been such a roller coaster of a weekend. Just yesterday, I thought I was alone in the world after having been abandoned by my best friend, and today I’m having the best St. Patrick’s Day I’ve ever had with the man of my dreams.

Shane

After the parade, I take Melanie’s hand and lead her to our final destination — a pub near and dear to my heart.

“Alright, I know you’re pretty sloshed already, my darlin’, but this is our last stop and believe me, this is the one that matters.”

I stand in front of the red brick building and present to her our final pub of the night.

“Kelly’s Irish Pub. She’s a beauty, ain’t she?”

I look over the building with pride. This has been my home away from home for many years.

Melanie mumbles some sort of confirmation, which would be worrying, were she still not giving some pretty believable answers as to which drinks are good. I lead her inside and sit her down at the bar. I hop over it to serve her the most important drink of the night.

She eyes it for a second and then takes a sip. Once the drink has touched her tongue, she looks at me.

“It’s… got cream. And it’s good,” she says with a droopy eyed smile.

“How good is good, on a scale from one to ten?”

“An eleven. Best I’ve had all day, actually. I hope I can keep this one in me. It’s good Irish cream, my good Irish man. Are we done?”

I’d love for us to be done, especially with that answer, but something, maybe the twelve or so drinks she’s already had, tells me that she’s not fully capable of answering competently. There’s only one way to find out.

I take out all the different bottles of Irish Cream behind the bar and pour a shot glass of each. I set them before Melanie in no particular order. She watches my every movement, swaying slightly in her seat.

“Almost done, Mel, just have a sip of some of these and tell me which one really hits you as your favorite.”

She looks over the five glasses, somewhat hesitantly. But with a shrug, she dives in. She takes generous sips of each drink, giving me an odd but playful stare after each. After she has a taste of all of the drinks, she looks at me dead in the eye and slowly pushes the middle glass towards me.

“This one,” she announces, “this one is my favorite. Now, what’s my prize?”

I feel an immense smile come to my lips. This is it. This is the end of my research and confirmation of what I and my business partner have been thinking all along. Melanie has just changed my life and now I’m ready to do the same for her.

“A lifetime of happiness, darlin’,” I tell her, taking her hand in my own.

I kiss the top of it, and she smiles sweetly at me.

She picked it. She picked my drink. This is fantastic. But… first things first.

“Melanie, thank you,” I say in a tone low enough to be counted as a whisper. I lean over the bar towards her. “I love you. And not just because of the help you’ve provided today. I really was a damn fool to leave you in New York last year. I… really, truly love you. Would you want to stay with me in Ireland?”

“Of course I would!” she slurs and slaps the bar.

This isn’t fair of me to ask. Not while she’s this intoxicated. I’ll wait until she sobers up to ask her again. She could use some rest and it’s time to close up. Everyone else gone home for the night and I’ll let her sleep here while I clean up the bar. Someone’s got to do it.

I help her over to a booth. She quickly lays down and is asleep in seconds. I watch her breathing softly and find myself smiling. She was a real trouper today, but maybe I pushed her a little too far.

She’s going to have a hell of a hangover. I hope she doesn’t regret it, especially since I’ve told her how I feel about her and that I want her to stay with me. I hope she can even remember that conversation!

Melanie

This is not a sex hangover.

This is a regular hangover.

And I hate myself.

Good Lord, I am feeling this.

My neck, my back, my eyes. Everything hurts. And once again, I can’t exactly place where I am.

“Ah, you’re up,” I hear Shane say, though I can’t see where he is.

“How much did I drink last night?”

“Enough to make me feel guilty. And I’m Irish. And it was St. Paddy’s. So, a lot,” Shane tells me. “Not feeling your best, I’m guessing?”

“I think I drank enough for an entire lifetime. Not mine, but someone’s.”

Shane lets out a hearty laugh and asks me to join him for breakfast. I pull myself up and sort of notice that I’ve been sleeping in a bar booth. The thought doesn’t really register. I rub my eyes and look at the table before me. It’s covered with food.

Despite being in Ireland, Shane presents me with a full English breakfast. Eggs, beans, grilled tomatoes, bacon, ham, French toast — too much food for one person. On any other hangover afflicted morning, seeing all of this greasy food would make me puke, but today I’m starving.

“May I ask you something?” Shane asks, sitting in the seat across from me.

I sit up and start shoving food in my face without giving much thought to the manners I should show in public. “Anything you want, love?”

“Do you remember anything that I said to you yesterday? I said a lot, and you were drunk for most of it, but I’m wondering if any of what I said here got through the booze wall.”

Hold the phone, I fell asleep in a pub? That’s a new one for me. I glance around quickly and recognize the last pub we were in last night. “Are we allowed to be here? I feel so bad for falling asleep in public, that’s so — ”

“Don’t worry; you’re friends with the owner,” Shane comments nonchalantly. “I’ve heard that you’re sleeping with him, even.”

He bounces his eyebrows and it finally clicks. He owns this bar. I really wish I could remember what had happened last night. There’s something about Shane’s demeanor that’s different. He’s smiling but it’s a purposeful smile.

“So, what happened last night, Shane?”

“A whole lot. You drank a lot, for starters. And then I asked you a pretty big question that I quickly realized wasn’t great timing on my part. But I asked you if you’d want to stay with me here in Ireland. You said yes, but you were a few miles past sober. So, I thought it’d be better to ask you again once you were in your right mind.”

Wow, is all I can think.

“So, would you?”

Would you like some breakfast?

Don’t you have class in a bit?

Why didn’t your alarm go off?

These are questions I expect after a night of heavy drinking. Not in a million years would I have expected to wake up to someone asking me if I wanted to live with them in another country.

“Of course, I would. But that’s… Can I even? I mean, I have school. And you have work. Would it work?”

“Melanie, you just made me rich. Believe me, we could make it work. We have the money to fly you over to the US for classes and fly you back here whenever you want. I’ll even fly over to you if you’re missing me. Whatever it takes to make this work, I’m willing to try it.”

How much did I drink last night?

I mean, a lot, clearly.

“What are you talking about? I don’t understand how I made you rich.”

“Last night, you had very many drinks. Many Irish creams. And of the ones I jotted down as your favorites, you picked mine as the best.”

“Yours?”

“Mine. My Irish cream. Sold at my bar, this one.”

“I still don’t understand. How did I make you rich?”

Shane goes on to explain that he and his business partner have been going around all of Ireland to see if their Irish cream could be considered the best in the country and though it’s from the perspective of an outsider, my opinion sealed the deal. Though, he made sure to mention that I’m not the only one who thought his Irish cream was the best, I’m just the person who he trusts the most to tell him the truth, especially since I was drunk out of my mind when I gave him my opinion.

“Based on this research, our company that makes the cream is going to be able to merge with a company that’s been hounding us to join them for quite some time now. That private jet we rode on, that’s going to be mine, Melanie! Ours! I mean, we’ve been dodging this buyout for so long that the only thing they haven’t offered us so far is their first-born children,” he explains excitedly.

Then he continues, “Which, again, begs the question. Do you want to stay with me? I was a fool to let you go before. I want you next to me. I want you with me at all times. Melanie, I can make you so happy if you choose to stay here, I swear. I know we haven’t known each other for too long, but I want to know everything there is to know about you. I love you, Melanie.”

“Are you sure you want to share your wealth with me? Your life?”

“Of course, I do. You’re my good luck charm after all. Not to mention all the happiness you’ve brought me. It’s only fair I bring you some happiness, in the form of shared wealth and love. If you so choose to, that is.”

I can’t believe what he’s saying.

“Here I thought you were my good luck charm. I don’t know if I can bring you much else after this. And I didn’t even know I was bringing you good luck.”

“You’ve already brought me so much, Melanie. Good luck, good love, good sex.”

If good sex is all I need to repay the favor, I can do a lot more of that.

“I’ll stay. But… you have to show me your house first. And then you’re going to have to fuck me in every single room. Then I’ll stay.”

He smiles, “I think I can manage that.”

After we work hard to finish our enormous breakfast at the pub, we take another taxi to Shane’s house. The world around us changes as we drive further away from the city. More green enters our universe.

I’m almost fully engulfed in the scenery until I hear Shane open up his phone and speak to his business partner again, just like yesterday. Only this time, it’s all smiles.

He and his business partner chuckle over the phone about all the benefits they’ll be getting from this company buyout until the laughter subsides and turns into some boring talk of paperwork. Documents that need to be signed, things like that — I sort of zoned out while I fell back into looking at the gorgeous world the taxi was driving through.

All I know is that I’m in love, and it feels fantastic.

Melanie

“Here we are,” Shane announces.

He helps me out of the taxi, like the gentleman that he is, and leads me into his large property. I take my shoes off and walk through the grass in the yard and feel the green grass underneath my feet, between my toes. Such a foreign, yet comforting feeling.

The house is like something out of a fantasy novel. It looks like a mix between a castle or a Hobbit hole. If you looked up “quaint” in the dictionary, you’d see a picture of this house. I normally wouldn’t describe a house this big as quaint, but it feels so fantastical. I expect elves to be running around followed by anthropomorphic kittens, not statuesque Irish men.

The inside of the residence is the exact opposite of quant. Minimalist. Walking into this house after looking at the adorable outside could give you whiplash. It feels like an entirely different place.

“You’re not big on decorating, huh?” I joke.

“I just don’t really know what looks good. I know what tastes good, and what feels good, but when it comes to decor or designing labels, I leave that to other people. I paid a semi famous YouTuber to fly out here and design the interior of my house and… my money could have gone to some better expenses, but live and learn, I suppose.”

“Care to show me how the designer ruined the bedroom?”

Without thinking, he nods and walks over to the master bedroom. I follow a few steps behind, slowly stripping off an article of clothing every few steps.

“Here it is. Where the magic… happens,” he turns and stares at me in shock with his mouth wide open.

I stand at the door, wearing nothing but bright green panties and ask him if he’d like to ruin his bedroom as badly as that YouTuber did. He laughs off the sleight at his decor and brushes past it, picking me up by my ass and throwing me on his large bed.

“Dear Ms. Cumming, are you trying to seduce me?”

“Fuck me hard, Mr. O’Neill. Make me yours. Make my mouth all yours.”

Last time, he did the courteous thing and went down on me as foreplay. It’s high time I repay the favor. I haven’t tried to suck his dick in a year, and it’s mostly because it was such a task. The girth of his cock is nearly too much for me. I used to just be able to get his head in, but I know that with enough spit, I can fit more of him in me. And I really want to try.

I push Shane down until he is sitting on his big king-sized bed. With his bright green eyes on me, I pull off his shirt, then his jeans — revealing that he already has a big, hard bulge in his boxers. He’s ready for me.

I slip the silk, four-leaf clover decorated boxers off his ass and down his legs, revealing his massive cock. It’s hard and the sight of its size still blows my mind. But I won’t be intimidated. I will take every inch into my mouth.

I get down on my knees on the beige carpet — which is at least soft even if it is ugly — and situate myself between his muscular thighs. Shane looks at me with eagerness as I rub my hands over his knees, tracing patterns up the insides of his legs and then lean down to give his dickhead a gentle kiss.

It twitches up towards my face, as eager to be inside me as I am to take it. I twist my hand around his shaft and pump him, pulling the skin of his cock up and down, and feeling the way his dick stiffens harder in my hand. As I pump him, I start to trace the line of his cockhead with my tongue.

“On God, that feels good,” he moans and leans back a bit thrusting his dick more into my face.

I enjoy his desire. After licking my lips, I lean down and slip my mouth over his thick head. I have to relax my jaw some to accommodate his girth, but I do my best, taking him in inch by inch. His dick slides past my cheeks, filling my mouth fully, and moving further until it hits the back of my throat. I prepared for this and relaxed my gag reflex. There is still two more inches of cock for me to swallow, so I take a deep breath and move my head forward some more.

Finally, Shane’s huge rod is buried in my mouth. I take a second to praise myself for my efforts and then start to suck. My lips, cheeks and throat tighten on him, and then I pull back a bit. Bobbing my head over and over, I take him in, suck him hard, and then let him slip out of my lips. Each movement makes Shane’s cock strain more and he starts to moan with pleasure.

“Oh Melanie,” he gasps, “you are just the best at that. I love the way you suck my cock.”

I speed up my movements, letting his dick slip from my lips and then ramming my mouth over it with as much force as I can muster. Repeatedly it hits the soft area of the back of my throat, but I stay relaxed so, I don’t gag.

Shane’s stats to moan more often. His legs twitch next to my shoulders; his manly thighs spasming with his pleasure. I know he is close to reaching his orgasm, but he is holding back. I want him to come, to lose control and fill my mouth with his cum, so I suck him harder. I am an expert at giving head and I want him to feel everything I can give him.

It becomes a game between us, a challenge to see if I can make him cum or if he can hold out. Twisting my tongue around his shaft and it penetrates and rams my mouth, I bring him closer to the edge. Shane is panting now; his breath comes in little gasps and his face is frozen in concentration.

I pull back and let his hard dick slide out of my mouth.

“Shane,” I tell him, “Look at me.”

He opens his eyes and they meet mine just as I slam his full length back into my mouth. The connection between us is too much for him and he bursts. I win. Shane’s cock pulses and throbs in my mouth as it unloads its first shot of cum.

The milky-white juice slides over my tongue and quickly down my throat as I swallow it. I drink his essence down just like the Irish Cream drinks I slammed the day before. Shane is just as creamy as the product he makes.

Thanks for reading! If you missed the first story in this serial, click here!