Talking With My Mouth Full

Sometimes the best way to get him to open his mouth is for me to open mine first….

He was stressed out and grouchy, I could tell. He’d been silent since he walked in the front door, and this evening I’d spent several long minutes watching him clench and unclench his jaw, grinding his teeth and biting on his bottom lip. I knew he probably thought he was concealing it well, but I’ve known the man long enough now to know his tells. Well enough to know that, in his current mood, he’d only clam up even further if I committed the cardinal sin of asking “What are you thinking about right now?”

I pretended to keep reading my book, but in fact I’d lost focus now and was sneaking glances at him out the corner of my eye. The light of the television screen reflected off the lenses of his glasses, and I found myself running admiring eyes over the flecks of grey that dappled his hairline nowadays, and down to the salt-and-peppery grizzle of the five o’clock shadow that somehow always made me immediately want to taste his mouth. Still beautiful, I thought to myself. Still, after twenty-two years. Even with his crow’s feet and the slight paunch of his tummy. Still desire him as much as I did back then.

So lost in my thoughts was I that I hadn’t realised I had been staring at him, and it had obviously caught his attention. He was looking back at me with a quizzical expression, a slight frown turning the corners of his mouth.

“What?” he asked. I said nothing, only smiled. I placed the tattered Sainsburys grocery receipt that passed as my bookmark in between the pages of the novel, set it down on the occasional table next to my armchair and dropped to my knees on the carpet. With a furrow of confusion worrying his brow, he watched as I crawled on all-fours towards him on the sofa. He automatically uncrossed his legs as I slowly made my way over to him, and when I entered his air-space, I knelt wordlessly between his legs, simply looking up at him.

“What are you doing, Bec?” he asked, plainly, though I suspected he knew perfectly well. I put one hand on each of his knees, and drew myself up to face him. I pulled his dark-framed spectacles from his face, placed them on the coffee table, and kissed his mouth softly. Hmm, the familiar light brush of his prickly stubble against my lips made my mouth tingle and salivate. Want you, want you, want you; my pulse seemed to sing the refrain over and over as I brought my hands to the zipper of his torn old Wranglers and carefully eased it down. Though his face was still care-worn, his blue eyes grew brighter and, when I drew his swelling cock out of his underwear, he shifted his hips to allow me easy access. I took his warm flesh in my hand and stroked him gently.

“Wanna talk about it?” I asked softly. He raised his eyebrows, questioningly, but I simply raised mine right back and said, “Go on, tell me.”

I worked one hand gently up and down his shaft, the other massaging his balls, as I watched several competing thoughts seem to drift over his face.

“Relax,” I whispered, and lowered my head to his prick. As I drew him into my warm, wet mouth, I heard him let out a long exhalation and felt his hands slide into my hair. He sighed when I swirled my tongue over and around his flushed crown, but his body was still tensed and rigid. I let my hand caress his thigh soothingly, hoping to encourage him to talk.

“Fucking guy at work……. Supposed to have finished processing the sales figures for this quarter last fucking week…. I went by his office today, fuck, and he’s not fucking done it. At all….. And, he refused point blank to… hmmmm….. Refused to finish it before he left today…. Oh, god…”

I made a sound of commiseration, or as near an approximation as I could manage with his full length in my mouth and the throbbing tip of his cock tickling the back of my throat. When my gag reflex activated and I had to retreat, I used the opportunity to encourage him further.

“What a wanker. Go on,” I prompted, before returning to his thickening hardness and licking long wet stripes up every inch of his tumescent girth. I watched his head loll back, and rest against the back of the settee.

“I’m supposed to be presenting, among other things, those fucking figures to the whole fucking committee tomorrow…..” he paused for a moment and swallowed hard as I wrapped my lips around his circumference again. “So now I’ve got to go into a meeting at 10am tomorrow morning, oh fuck, Bec!… hnnnn… and present a quarterly profit report…. oh Jesus Christ…… present a-ohhh….”

His voice trailed off completely as I sucked on his head, a hand wrapped around the base of his length and stroking briskly. I could feel the rapid pulsing of his glans against my tongue and taste the salt of his pre-cum, and the visceral charge I felt from his state of arousal ran right through my body before centering itself in my clit. The nub thrummed and fluttered as I bobbed my head up and down in his lap and listened to his breath becoming heavy and ragged.

He didn’t speak for a few minutes as I increased my lapping, sucking and tugging on his prick, then quietly whimpered, “Please, Bec….”

I took his pleaded cue, formed a hollow valley with my tongue and let it encase his head as it pulsed and twitched furiously. With an anguished shout and a tug on my long hair, he came hard inside my mouth, each salty spurt hitting my tongue, then coating the inside of my throat as I swallowed it down.

“Fuck,…. Fuck…..Ohhhhhhhhh, fuck…..” he groaned, his hips bucking as each orgasmic contraction rippled through him. When his thrusting hips stilled and he gave a long, murmured sound of satisfaction, I kissed the tip of his penis softly, and rested my head on his thigh. He stroked my hair, and I savoured the feeling of his muscles now relaxed and his demeanour returning to its usual state. I felt a surge of happiness and pride that I’d been able to get him to express what was bothering him, and to help take his mind off his troubles for a while.

As if reading my mind, he muttered contentedly, “You know what? I suddenly feel a hell of a lot more relaxed than I was earlier. Thank you, baby.”

I swooned and sighed happily in his lap, while he continued to stroke my hair like a loving master rewarding his devoted pet spaniel.

Yes indeed, I thought to myself. We’re still beautiful.

Jupiter Grant is a self-published author, blogger, narrator and audiobook producer.

Enquiries and comments are always welcome. You can also find me on Twitter @GrantJupiter

Originally published at http://jupiterslair.com on Aug 4, 2019.