TEN MINUTE ORGASM
I saw Bull Durham last week on my birthday. I told him no gifts. All I wanted was a bitchin orgasm. And a steak. I was hungover, but I pulled it together. I wore a cute (and cozy) black dress and heels. I got to his place forty-five minutes before our reservation. He made me a cocktail and I sat on his bed. I removed my heels and lay back with my feet still on the ground. He stood in front of me in his vintage suit with a sexy dimpled smile. Then he got down on his knees, and pulled my panties down. He kissed the top of my pussy above my clit. Softly. He kissed the sides of my still tucked lips. Softly. He dragged his tongue lightly over my tiny clit. He did this perfectly for maybe a minute or so. It was heavenly. It’s exactly how I like to be teased. Tease isn’t really the word. Worked up. It’s how I like my foreplay. I couldn’t believe how good it felt. I started breathing heavily and making noises. Noises I tend to make when I’m close to coming. It oddly distracted me, but knowing that it was happening without my expressed permission and that it was probably turning him on, only made me hotter. He slid a finger inside. Everything felt savory and lush. Just this steady rush of intimate and exquisite receiving. A wet, delicate petting. A heightened sensation you can taste in your mouth. You know how when someone’s going down on you and it feels good, but you are sort of waiting until you get into the orgasm zone? Or within a hundred yards of it at least. Well, the second he passed his tongue over my skin, I was in the zone. The second he started! Insane.
It’s such a different thing when someone goes down on you, and especially if they do it like this. As if his tongue were tailor made for me. As if he hears my body. I felt the pinnacle closing in. I was near the tipping point. I rode that for a bit, not worried that I’d lose it. Not worried about a thing. One hand grabbing his bedspread—using it as an anchor so that I could move my hips—the other arm draped over my eyes. Moments later, I grabbed his pillow and put the corner of it slightly over my face (enough for me to feel confident, I always need a little safety from my own mind, but leaving my mouth exposed so that he could still hear me), and I reached down and held his head. Not rough, just letting him know that although I was in his hands, he was still in my control. I let go of the comforter and brought both of my hands to sides of his face. Feeling the movement of what he was doing to me. He groaned. Which sent a lightening bolt up my spine. And then the crescendo came. And right on cue, he went for broke with this crazy action to my clit, and I was a goner. I already felt like I was coming, but then this giant surge hits, and falls, and crashes, and it’s like pickle juice and whiskey. So fucking tasty. I made this low guttural sound. It was like nothing I’ve ever felt. Or at least not in a very long time. He could teach classes on how to go down on me. My seemingly endless orgasm finally slid down from the mountain, and I had to push his head away. My body still writing, and my breathing rapid. “Jesus fucking Christ.” He smiled. After a few minutes, I stepped back into my sexy panties, and we left for Taylor’s steakhouse. Perfect birthday.