I have always considered myself a pro when it comes to “cock worship.” There is nothing like having cock in my mouth– that mix of hard stone and the soft velvet of flesh combined with the saltiness of pre cum. There is a power I have when your cock is in my mouth. The sounds I can elicit from you with my tongue as it runs the backside of your shaft. The sigh that escapes my own mouth at the pleasure I get from having you this way.

No complaints here.

The only Major problem is that my birthday is St. Patrick’s Day, and I hadn’t accounted for the fact that an influx of drunk college kids that will undoubtedly be throwing beads and throwing up all over the town. Better to stay locked in rooms with hot tubs and cameras.

Best to avoid major problems on your birthday.

For ages I had wanted to write a ‘Coming of Dominant’ story. I had written several ‘Coming of Submissive’ stories to the point that they were threatening to bore me. As a dominant I wanted to tell a story closer to my own interests. I stumbled across doing so when I did ‘Volleyball Island Madd-ness’ but that was a comedy. Heck, it was also a female dominant, which is not quite me.

He crafts (erotic) fiction. And that is admirable.

I peel back thick draperies to let in the sun.
It’s balmy and bright outside; but hot as blazes in this skin.
I press bare breasts against the cool glass and sigh.

Poetry.

She hangs onto the drapes, pressing her arse back to meet my thrusts. I quickly release the clasp on her brassiere, slipping my greedy hands beneath the now-loose cups, moulding her full, soft flesh to my grasp. Each time I enter her to the hilt, she gasps with blissful fulfillment; each time I withdraw to the point where the corniced ridge of my glans pulls provocatively upon her labia, her sighs of pleasure sound bitter-sweet. I fuck her with long strokes, my lips and my teeth working upon the collection of delicate nerves where her neck becomes her shoulder. I hear the curtains straining in their tracks, and half-expect them to come crashing down. And through it all, she watches my reflection in the window as I watch hers, and beyond our transparent duplicates, the night watches us both.

At the moment, I cannot think of anything better.

Sarah and Joan were talking about blow jobs, and Joan was giving her some tips and advice. Joan was not outspoken, but extremely comfortable with her sexuality, and happy to help a friend. They discussed confidence, rhythm, technique, wetness, fingers, and just about every aspect of a blow job under the sun. Naturally, this kind of in depth conversation got us all in a highly aroused state, not that it was difficult to get there.

“Let me just show you. Dave, can I give you a blow job?”

Right… like I need to tell you what the answer to that question is.

Joan had explained that when you’re giving a proper blow job, the conclusion is the guy cumming, and you shouldn’t expect sex afterwards. A proper blow job should incapacitate him, and leave his mind flailing. They are for times like this, four o’clock on a Saturday afternoon. Sure it’s great to suck his cock a bit as part of foreplay before sex, and he sure as hell better reciprocate, but that’s not a blow job.

Ah yes, le petit mort…