Kept for His Appetites by Alice May Ball Page B

bills. TWO. On the table. As he stood up to leave, I began to say,
     
    “That’s too…”
     
    He was very close. Dark, musky cologne or aftershave filled my head, and his stiff white shirt rustled inside his suit. And he loomed over me. Most men aren’t big enough to do that. He put a massive finger to my lips, I can feel it now. I can taste it. I could draw the fingerprint with my tongue. I can feel the warm brush of his breath on my cheek as he said,
     
    “That’s two. OK?”
     
    That finger, on my lips. Just inside my mouth. I didn’t bite him, my teeth just took a hold of his finger. I didn’t plan to do it. I wouldn’t have done  it. I couldn’t. I wanted it so badly. And he’d just offered me work. You don’t mix work and… well, I don’t. His hard body, right in front of me. Right next to me. The scent of him. Almost against me. Just let his finger go, and it’s a funny little moment that we’ll both forget straight away. I knew that’s what I should do. I bit just a little more. His hand reached up. To push me away, presumably. It caught my breast. His brown eyes flashed. A big hand. An even bigger breast. My nipples strained against the bra. I decided to let go of his finger.
     
    It didn’t happen. Through my panties, through my skirt, I felt something swell just in front of me, something moving, stirring, something slow and heavy. Large. And hot. And there was the heat of my own. A Morse code of heat, pulsing, communicating, unmistakably, urgently. Messages in coded beats, exchanging. Pelvis to pelvis, are you reading me, over. Dot, dot, dot. Dash, dash, dash. Dot, dot, dot. A call and a response. It could happen. Right here. Right now. His pants seemed to be under some strain, here in the huge windows of the diner. He said,
     
    “I’ve got…”
     
    I interrupted,
     
    “Here’s what you’ve got.”
     
    My hips pushed against him, greeting his swelling. With a big, wet smile. His hand, still on my breast, squeezed. His breath was getting thicker. My nipple swelled and burned inside the bra. I sat on the bench of the booth, my breasts pressed hard against his thighs. I brushed the swelling at the top of his pants with my cheek, then with my hands. I breathed through the fabric, right onto what felt like a hot, pulsing, enormous cock. I pulled down the zipper and he moaned. His hands were on my shoulders, trying to pull me up. But he wasn’t trying hard enough. White silk shorts were straining to cover it now, but I pulled them down. It was magnificent. I took the head in my mouth, he shuddered and moaned. He tasted bitter, but so sweet. The scent of my own heat was mingling with his. I slid my lips down the shaft, pressing it with my thick, wet tongue, all the way down. My hands were on the tops of his clenching thighs, tight, hard and huge as steel cables. The head came to the top of my throat and I was only a third of the way down the shaft. His hands were in my hair as I pulled off him and licked my way down to his balls. I took each one in my mouth and gently sucked them in turn. This was one wonderful piece of equipment. And I was determined to get all the way to the bottom of it. As I went back to the glistening purple head, my hands found their way inside the silk boxers and around to two big buns of solid muscle, clenching and quivering. I slipped my mouth back over him, and slowly crept my hot, wet lips all along the pulsing vibrations of his shaft until it got to the top of my throat. I’ve heard about it, but I’d never done it.
     
    OK, I admit it, I’ve read about it, too.
     
    I really wanted to do it now, and I was determined. I relaxed, focused and very slowly, pressed on. He really growled. It felt great, like I really had him. Like I had consumed him, like I had complete control of him. But it was scary, and I wanted to get deeper, but little by little. As my mouth pulled back, he made the most delicious moan, and started pumping that gorgeous, salty, silky funk