NaPoWriMo 4: An Anecdote.

My first cock,
and you sat thick
and lovely
in my uncertain
fingers

I admired you
with vague apprehension.

And despite any misgivings
I had some notion
of how this business went,
so I tongued you
like some would turn a radio dial–
until your moans hit
that musical frequency.

You were young then too,
and loaded long before I touched you
so that my vigor
soon outweighed
whatever I lacked in finesse
and your hips rumbled like Vesuvius
so that you cried a
warning to
me–I pulled
back my mouth and
pumped my
hand fast through
slickspit
until you
discharged and finally fell
slack.

I sighed in satisfaction,
and smiling then, looked up
to meet your eyes
and lovingly gaze
into one of them

because the other one was closed–
and covered by your hand,
which pulled away thinly coated
in cum.

There was a slow span of time
for that spark of comprehension
to portentously grow itself
in silence.

After a moment,
you quietly asked for a tissue.

And invariably from that day forth,
I swallowed.

Throat Fucking

The other week on the blog The Erotic Writer, an invitation was put up for writers to respond to the following prompt:

Write a story about the first time you really felt a man’s cock or a woman’s pussy; when you knew you were hooked; when you knew you couldn’t live without it. Where were you? What position were you in? Was your lover older or younger?

My own response is written below. If you like the prompt, however, I encourage you to pen something of your own on the subject, and perhaps check out some of the other submissions. All of them can be found as guest posts on The Erotic Writer, along with a whole bundle of fantastic stories by the four main authors of the blog. Enjoy reading/writing.

Best,

Smithy

——————————————————————————————–

“In a moment I’m going to hold down your head. You won’t be able to breathe, and your brain might panic and tell you you’re dying. But you are going to be fine. Is this alright?”

My eyes were frozen on him while my lips hovered at the tip of his cock. He was slick with my labors to please, but despite the practice I was not yet used to taking the whole length of him. Nervousness twisted in my stomach, and I nodded my consent. He caught my gaze and watched me steadily, waiting for me to take the deep breaths I needed to calm myself. His fingers brushed through my hair, gentle, from temple to the soft groove above the nape of my neck.

He must have sensed my resolve when it firmed, because it was then that his hand gripped and pushed.

“Relax,” he muttered as I tensed to gag–his member slid warm over my tongue and pressed against the entrance to my throat. I took a slow breath, and he pushed again.

My throat was not accustomed to this kind of intrusion; he felt thick and foreign. Relax, relax, relax…I repeated to myself, until I softened to admit his firmness.

And suddenly, I was full of him. He was not a monstrously hung man, but his cock pushed wide the walls of my throat in a way that felt like a fuck. He hilted himself that extra centimeter, so that my lips sunk to kiss the skin of his pelvis.

Dear God. I groaned into him, and heard an echoing sound from him.

Dear God.
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