Blue Heaven

Part 2

11 January 1982

9:00am Monday

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"Ooh, baby..." Paul groaned. "Ooh..."

He tasted good. He was wonderfully relaxed, lying back in the bed and sighing. His hand stroked through your hair gently as if you were a lapdog.

"Ooh..."

You could feel him twitch in your mouth. Such an insistent stiffness and heated skin. His stomach was taught, and shivered with every lick.

Your hand gripped the flesh of his thigh, revelling in how soft yet firm it was. The hair brushed against your fingers.

"My pretty boy..." You murmured against his shaft.

At your words, Paul let out a richer moan. He ran his fingers through your hair, you felt his prick twitch against your tongue, releasing a pulse of pre-cum.

You sucked firmly, encouraging him. His thighs were trembling, his prick stiff as it could be. You'd been at this a few minutes, but he'd gotten to this point rather quickly.

You pressed your tongue flat against his shaft, then licked back and forth on his frenulum. Paul cried out at that, a strained groan. His hips shivered, he was sensitive there. He began to squirm as you persisted, the sensation too much, his voice slipping through. You felt his prick throb.

"Oh, baby-" Paul's voice was shaky and whimpering. "Ah-"

You loved it when he got like this. You recalled in the early days, he kept it at bay, wanting to maintain control and masculinity during sex. You were glad he'd let that slip little by little. You wanted him like this, craved it. Vulnerable, needy, simpering, his pleasure at your mercy.

His flesh was heated under your lips, his pretty pink wanger damp with your saliva and his own condensation. He only got harder as you went on, delicate flesh quivering and stiffening, swelling until the inevitable climax.

Old habits died hard, he kept trying to thrust up, fuck into your mouth as if it were a hole. You'd feel the blunt round swollen head hit the back of your head, it slipping in too quickly and giving you a shock, making you gag.

You felt some amusement. Couldn't help it, could he? Slut. No thoughts, only the desire to fuck into that which enveloped him.

To think of it, throughout the entire pregnancy he'd been cautious to a fault with you, during any intimate acts. The subconscious compulsion to be delicate with you, his brooding in full force. Thank the lord things were returning to the way they used to be. You preferred it this way, selfish, needy lover Paul. He was the thing to be pampered, not you.

When he thrusted up, you pushed his hips down firmly, pinching his thigh. He would whimper or whine, but obey in the end. (Though, you didn't hate the thrusts in entirety...)

Your saliva leaked onto his shaft, making it much easier and smoother to suck him off. Your thumb stroked his perineal raphe back and forth.

He leaked pre-cum from his slit, which you eagerly licked off. It was consistent now, whining as you toyed with his slit, his head turning back and forth. It gave you a thrill, him leaking like a woman, unable to help it, whining like one too.

You took his head into your mouth, sucking on that, your tongue pressed to his slit. It drove him mad. His head must be empty, swirling around like soapy water down the bath drain. He wasn't holding back his sounds, even the ugly ones. It fed into your desire to pleasure him more.