“It’s a skill like any other, you have to practice if you want to be good.” He wasn’t talking about my backhand he was schooling me on giving head.
“Blowing someone isn’t just about his pleasure, it’s for your pleasure too. It can serve as a form of currency if you need it to be.” I heard his words but didn’t make sense of them until much later. He wasn’t wrong.
He was well-kempt before it was a thing. All the time neat and clean, his cock was something to enjoy and explore. Never daunted or self conscious, I was willing to learn how to please him. We didn’t speak of my mother. We remembered her as we wanted her to be, a gentle loving soul not the seductive beauty that would lick his cum from her fingers.
Eye contact was essential, whether I was demurely licking the tip or taking him down my throat whole. First with my hands on his thighs and later with them behind my back, I loved to hold his gaze while he hardened in my mouth. I felt powerful and worldly, like a woman who knew her way around a man.
His insistent hands guided me around his balls and cock. He’d paint my lips with precum and smear it on my nose and cheeks. These loving gestures would give way to hard thrusts that would bruise my throat. He’d use my mouth as if it were my pussy, only existing to please him.
“Do you trust me?” he asked, holding my face. The question was a formality like a box to check on a college permission slip. He held me firmly against him as his cock slowly choked me. He smiled as I struggled, told me he loved me as I tried to push away, and moaned deeply as darkness filled my eyes. A firm slap would awaken the light as he let me take a breath, then he’d sink his cock again.