Before we begin she is neat and composed, her hair tied back, her makeup immaculate. She smiles. She is pretty and pleasant. Afterwards her face is streaked with eyeliner and tears and come. Spit veils her chin. Her hair is in disarray, eyes wide and bright from crying. These changes, to me, are beautiful.
I can feel when she takes me into her throat. There is a moment of resistance, and then I slip down further into that enclosing tightness. I can feel the smooth, pulsing muscle of her throat gripping me. I can feel the way that, even then, she tries to take me deeper.
Using her throat produces a thicker spit than just her mouth. While her saliva is wet and thin as water, this other spit is gooey, clinging, tinged with whiteness. It is abundant. The texture reminds me of the wetness I find inside her cunt.
Just before she chokes her throat tightens up, spasms closed. I can feel this. Feel it clutching and trying to force me out – the fluttering, muscular grip of it. Sometimes she is able to control it, fight it back, keep me where I am. Sometimes not.
When I am deep in her mouth she breathes through her nose. I can feel this. Each outward breath is cool on the skin of my spit-wet cock. The longer we go on, the rougher her breathing becomes. By the end she is gasping, shoulders heaving with every shuddering inhale.
Even when she does choke she doesn’t release her grip on my cock. When she pulls back, coughing, retching, she still grips the shaft of me in her fist – her fingers as wet with saliva as everything else – stroking and squeezing.
Afterwards there is a slight rasp to her voice, as though she is suffering from a cold or sore throat. It’s barely there, but I hear it still. She opens and closes her mouth, stretching the stiffness from her jaw. She endures this pain for me.
At the height of it, she cries freely, tears leaking from her eyes and leaving behind them draggled trails of liner. I watch her tears. One of them runs down her cheek and over her lip and onto the shaft of my cock.
She takes me deep enough, at the peak of it, that her nose is buried in my pubic hair, her face pressed blindly into my groin. The full, swollen length of me is inside her mouth, reaching down into her throat. I can feel her eyelashes move when she blinks.
She salivates, and uses the spit to wet my cock, to make it easier to take me. Her drool coats her fingers, her chin. A long string of it stretches from the corner of her mouth down to her breasts. It collects there, lacquering the smooth swell of her chest.