second chances.


I’d forgotten how well he gave head.

He pushed me down onto his bed and traced his fingers around the edges of my panties. Slipped a finger under and pulled it out, just to tease me.He rubbed his thumb over my cunt, through the thin silken fabric, and let me buck my hips just once before pinning me down.

He pulled the satin off my hips and tore it down my legs, letting it fall to the floor. He traced the sensitive folds of my skin, hissing as his own lust grew, letting my wetness pool and drip onto his sheets. He rubbed his hand over my sex and wiped it on my breast. “Good girl” he said, as he pressed my bent knee flat against the bed, opening up my center so he could have unhindered access.

I closed my eyes as his head sank down between my knees. His tongue darted across my skin, pressed apart my lips and found my slit. Hungrily, greedily, he lapped up my juices — the very act of which released more. He moved up toward my clit, pressing and sucking and pinching it between his teeth. It felt good. Really good. And he could tell. He brought me nearly to orgasm.

Suddenly he stopped.

As I raised my head to protest, he pulled me to my feet and pushed me up against the wall, sliding his hard cock into those same folds where his tongue had just been.

Some people say I’m too forgiving. I say it’s worth it.

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