Micro Monday, Flash Fiction, Twisted Tale

Reaping Rewards

They should both get what they want.

A girl’s got to have a goal. Or a guy. Whatever. Fellatio isn’t just a girl’s game. A solid pair of lips, a mouth that wasn’t too picky, and a healthy set of lungs were the only requirements. Even hands were optional. Many of them eventually demanded “no hands” anyway.

The matching black camisole and garter complemented her alabaster skin, much of which was left strategically bare. She was on her knees, her feet still clad in five-inch stilettos. Her slender fingers trailed from his chest to his lower belly, unbuttoning his tailored shirt along the way.

Her luscious locks cascaded onto his naked thighs. His pants were at his ankles. They were slacks that did not look cheap. The belt buckle was ostentatious.

His cries of pleasure were getting monotonous. She knew his type. Always in a hurry. All receiving, no giving. For her, he would wait. Because of her, he would give. She would take.

Her tongue swirled around his pulsating head. She felt the veins as she grazed her lips up and down his length. She paused, and he groaned. Her mouth opened, and she retreated. He groaned again, this time in protest.

“Don’t stop,” he pleaded, his eyes staring at her with a fever newly born.

She granted him a smile. Waited a beat.

And went back to work.

Softly at first. Slowly. Gradually building up speed and pressure. She refused to envelop him down to the hilt. At least for now.

He stroked her hair, running his hands through the waves, nuzzling her ear, knuckles skimming the nape of her neck. Gently. Then he grabbed a handful.

Before he could shove himself all the way down her throat, she pinched the webbing between the middle and ring fingers of that hand. Hard.

With a cry of surprise and pain, he pulled his hand back.

She surfaced and glared at him. “Did I give you permission to do that?”

“No. I’m sorry.”

He lay back and acted like a good boy.

Good boys get rewards.

The speed and pressure grew. Her head bobbed faster, her lips wrapped like cellophane around his favorite toy. She sucked like a vacuum. She possessed iron lungs. Her hair flopped elegantly.

To throw him a bone, as her lips reached his hilt, she pretended to gag. He loved it. They all did.

Timing was everything. Too soon and she would not reap the optimal prize for her efforts. Too late and he would not reap the optimal prize for her efforts.

His release and hers had to be simultaneous.

A little more. He was throbbing, about to explode. His moans echoed in her ears.

She stole a glance at him. He was taking turns between covering his eyes with one forearm and biting into the other. There were going to be marks. They would be the least of his worries. He was hyperventilating.

Close. So very close.

He gasped. “I’m c — ”

At the moment his seed invaded her mouth, she bit it off. The entire shaft.

His cries were no longer monotonous.

Dash Ip hopes you enjoyed this.

Another from Dash…

And one from Kittie Velour

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