“There you go, that’s the right spot!”
I mumble something in response. Or, rather, I would, if my face weren’t fully buried between Pretty Grad Student’s legs. Instead, I produce a sound that I hope she interprets as equal parts affirmation and arousal. I put a deep, throaty sound in there for good measure, as I’ve come to understand that such sounds, like growling or groaning, produce vibrations up the throat, through the mouth, and across the more sensitive parts of a woman’s lower anatomy. It seems to work, because she jumps slightly and laughs, then purrs approvingly.
I grab her legs and pull them onto my shoulders, then take hold of her hips to pull her forward to the very edge of the couch, where I sit, kneeling, on the floor. I sit a bit taller, angling her pelvis upward and giving me better access to her. My right arm circles around her thigh, my hand on her pelvic mound, applying gentle pressure below her navel, as I run my tongue in counterclockwise circles around her clit. I position my left hand to cradle her ass, using the tip of my left thumb to tease her inner labia, fully exposed and swollen after half an hour of cunnilingus. I occasionally slip my thumb past her labia, barely penetrating her, each time eliciting a shiver and a groan of pleasure.
“Quit teasing me…” She says it plaintively, as though she isn’t enjoying the attention. But I know better. I’ve got her patterns figured out, and can read her like a book. I know counterclockwise tongue movements get her worked up but won’t take her all the way. I know the pelvic shakes are the first step toward a body-rattling orgasm, but it won’t happen unless I press just right on her pelvis. I know that fully penetrating her with my finger, while applying that pressure and moving my tongue clockwise, will upgrade her pleasure from body-rattling to back-arching, hair-pulling, and full-on squealing. It makes no sense to me, but it’s what works for her.
I pull my head back just enough to speak. “But I’m having fun here.” I draw out the vowels and speak in hushed tones that I know produce more warm breath across her exposed labia.
She whines and squirms on the couch. “Please, sweetheart, don’t make me beg…”
“You’re already begging.” I rest my cheek against her inner thigh, flick my tongue across her clit. She squirms again.
“I wasn’t… I just…” Another whine, and she bucks her hips up. “Please just make me cum…”
I glide my thumb across her labia, softly caressing the shape of her. “You’re sure?”
Her hips move in a little circle, trying to draw my finger in. “Uh-huh…”
I sigh, feigning frustration. “Fine.” I turn my head and resume my attentions to her clit, but work my tongue in slow, lazy clockwise circles. I press down against her pelvis, below her navel. I slip my thumb into her, pressing upward against her inner wall, and not moving it otherwise. Instantly, her behavior changes. She gasps and throws her head back into the couch, between the back cushions, to mute the squeal of delight that escapes her throat. Her back arches, pressing small, lovely, firm breasts into the air. Her fingers lace into my hair and pull my face against her, tugging my hair almost painfully. I feel her muscles contract around my thumb, then loosen, then tighten again, rhythmically squeezing me as her orgasm spreads through her. And I continue the motion, slow clockwise circles, tracing the shape of her clit but never fully covering it, helping her forward and through the pleasure, until she squeals a second time and pushes my head away. She begins to laugh maniacally, running her hands up her stomach to her breasts, squeezing them and tugging on her nipples.
“Goddamn,” she says between heavy breaths, “you must’ve gotten your master’s in pussy.”
“I’m more of a self-educated amateur,” I say with a grin. I wipe my lips and chin with the fingers of my left hand, savoring the smell that lingers on them. I then rise and move to the kitchen sink, where I wash them and my face.
“What, no time for me to help you out?” Her voice is plaintive again.
“Not tonight,” I answer politely as I dry my hands and chin. “I really just wanted to eat you out.”
“Well, any fucking time, baby.” Pretty Grad Student grins and walks toward me in her short athletic socks, lithe and lean and tanned and muscled, and kisses me. I return the gesture, and she presses her hips against mine. My cock throbs, begging for release, but I bite back the groan, stifling it behind her tongue as it darts past my lips.
I smile at her and sigh. “Night sweetheart.” I stroke her cheek lightly, then slap her bare ass. She squeals again.
I show myself out and return to my car. A few minutes later, I step into the foyer of my house. Ashley smiles. “Hi honey. Late night?”
“Busy as always,” I answer. “Got another five pages of the manuscript finished, though.”
“Of course you did,” she says brightly. “You work harder than anyone I’ve ever known.” She hugs me around the neck.
“You have no idea,” I answer, and I kiss her. She gasps, then sighs against my lips, and slips her tongue into my mouth.
I remember where my tongue was ten minutes ago. A pang of guilt stabs at my chest as a shiver of approval runs up my spine.