Thursday, 26 July 2012


Planes. Strange creations. The humming engines, the closeness of others.

I, for one, am exhausted.

I fall asleep, curling into a comfortable ball in my cashmere blankie which always (I mean always you mean customs man who made me pay extra for it!) travels with me.

I drift off to sleep. The dreams that come are those of his cock. Not sure why but his cock always held power over me. One sighting of its smooth, olive skinned, girthy, comfortable length had my mouth salivate in a desperate bid to please. I had it in my mouth, in my pussy, forced, trained, calmly talked into taking it all down the throat.

He used to wank over my face too. Let me touch myself at permission. Then suddenly force the gorgeousness of it in my mouth and fuck it leisurely in long strokes, talking to me slowly, seeping his dirty fantasies into my sodden face. I never minded the saliva, the snot, the choking. I loved that cock in my mouth and by Jove, I'd make him squirt over my lips, dripping with cum.

For a bit I was obsessed with it.  Once, I went for it so much with licking, sucking, dripping sloppy need that he was in my will for once. I massaged his balls with a hand sodden wet with my saliva, gorging, gagging feasting on his cock, sucking at the shaft, running my tongue down, with my lips just clasping the girth. I felt him come from  miles away. That beautiful smooth column, trapped in my mouth. He came shuddering, in strokes. I drank him like a nectar. Careful not to miss a drop of the salty musky cum, sucking it out of him hungrily.

He stroked me over my hair.

"That was quite intense"

I said nothing. I knew it was.

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