Cocksucker

She loves sucking cock. Loves it. Even the thought of it excites her to the point where she can’t sit still. The prospect of having a cock in her mouth in the near future occupies her so utterly that it banishes all other thoughts.

She notices it most when he texts her in the middle of the day, telling her he wants it. When I get home I want you on your knees and ready. Words like that can hit her like a lightning bolt, sometimes. They give her a full body rush. They make her salivate – actually salivate – at the thought of his prick in her mouth. From the moment she reads those words until the moment she is actually on her knees being used she can barely think of anything else. The day passes in a haze or aroused impatience.

The act, to her, is elemental. Nothing else holds the same sway over her. Nothing else can make her so hopelessly horny, so utterly submissive, so quiet inside. When she’s anxious it calms her. When she’s tired it wakes her up. It’s like running. That’s the only other thing that even comes close. To suck cock is to be utterly inside her body – no externalities, no stray thoughts, no drift in her attention. Just this. This exact moment.

A cock thrusting to the back of her throat. Her own spit dribbling down her chin. Her hands working his shaft, pulling him into her, her body pulling into him, gripping his legs to impale her throat still further. The focus required not to gag. The sheer, singular pleasure of this act of service.

When it ends she’s always disappointed. It’s like waking from a dream. Even once she’s swallowed his come, she’ll stay down there, nestled between his legs, licking softly. Fantasising idly. If she could stay there, in that moment, and use her mouth on him forever… how simple and perfect that would be.