Dear T,
N’s cock was not as lovely as yours.
Your cock was secret, gave off its own secret sweet scent, worked in mysterious ways, saved its best for last, stretch-stretch-stretching right until the very end, extending far past its original length. It pushed smoothly, always warmly. It seeked out in exact caresses shifting hard and soft in a hypnotically human rhythm. It pierced with friction and purpose. Its head bloomed large and pulsed with blood, stinging sensitively to touch, the balls smooth and patient. When it came, it seemed to cum deep from inside, quickly too, a surprise burst of targeted force, viscous and silver.
(If it is cocks we are talking of, X’s was brown and wholesome, fat and filling. Its shying, dull head could take a beating in my clumsy hands and mouth. Its skin was surprisingly thin and soft, balls prominent, hairy and wrinkly, the smell slightly off. It pushed back my skin with a left and then a right and then an up-down-up. It shoved jerky and wanting and protracted and demanding inside me, the balls stretched tense on the verge of bursting the whole time. And then it came quietly, outside my cunt always, in his own hands always, gurgling out, into my mouth, gaggy salty ammonia, or onto my breasts, thick and sluggish.)
N’s cock had an eager, glistening, obvious, pale pink head when pushed between my breasts, or when paused against my cheek for dramatic effect. It was pretty, but looked to me puffed up proud beyond its achievement, swollen and bombastic. It came copiously in a stretched-out deluge that kind of made me laugh, the watery cum making its way onto my face, neck, breasts, couch. Cruel, I know, to laugh at that, like how I laughed when he warned in my ear that he was going to fuck me now. I had had this said to me before, but not in that fashion, not like it was a threat. Is this the part where I’m supposed to be scared? , I thought mockingly to myself. And so I laughed and asked him to clarify. Are you going to fuck me hard? To his credit, he gave a yes, not wavering, and kissed me hard, then soft, then hard, toying rather than torn. He shoved me backwards finally, and I was surprised for a second but still I was laughing, even on my way down. I cannot tell you how malicious I felt, how I wanted to tease him for being the cub who thinks he’s got a roar. I admit it was fun to challenge him like that, attractive almost. And fuck me hard he did, needlessly and affectedly rough, if a little mechanically, which made it hard to cum. I moaned along, in pain but enjoying his effort.
Strange how the same actions can hold different meanings. I am immorally deceptive in my silent duplicity, because I closed my eyes finally, but it was like I would when alone. I removed myself from him forcibly rather than involuntarily slipping away. I strained to focus on the sensation as he continued to piston in and out of me like a tiresome metronome. I took myself by the hand and led myself to my orgasm, ignoring my own pained moans, using his cock as my extra help only when I could.
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