Rivals 2.

My hands snapped up to cover my boobs, defending them in cage of fingers and palms from Son of a Boss’ descending fingers. Successfully blocking his trespass, my eyes rose to meet his, starting an unspoken negotiation.

His eyes were filled with lust, and sadness, and hiding deeper within, I sensed his frustration, bordering on anger.

Denied the brass ring, I was only his consolation prize. And he seemed intent on making me pay for his loss. Disappointment and revenge oozed from his pores.

I had the confirmation I needed. And I was willing to pay the price. Taking one for the team as the saying goes.

Still buzzing from the concoctions I had consumed, I broke from our intense stare, closing my eyes and bowing head, a literal nod of consent and submission. I retreated into my intoxication, my mind and thoughts swirling languidly, detached from focus. Whatever he had planned for me, I would view through this lens.

I dropped my hands leaving my boobs unguarded, a gesture of unconditional surrender.

Like a conquering general, he immediately imposed his will on the subjugated.

Instead of continuing his fingers’ descendent, claiming my boob as I expected, his hand rose to my shoulder, then traced the nape of neck to top of my head, palming it, pushing downward, guiding me to kneel before him.

Like riding in a windowed elevator, I watched each floor pass by as I made my way downward to my knees, first his powerful pecs, then his sculpted abs, finally his long, engorged cock, straining against his trunks. His muscular thighs framed his pulsing manhood.

My dislike for him personally was softening as my body began hungering for this adonis.

Sitting on my heels, I waited for instructions.

He began untying his trunks, and I pulled my hair back into a ponytail. No need to make a mess of my hair.
As he shimmied out of his trunks, sliding them over his glutes, the trimmed root of his thick cock appeared, uncomfortably folded, pinned to his thigh.

It was a tantalizing reveal, lowering his trunks inch by inch, unsheathing his shaft, the pulsing vein atop it, pumping hot blood into bulbous purple helmet head.

Freed from its constraints, his one-eyed snake, oozing a tear of precum, rose slowly to full staff, like a giant awakening from its slumber. And now it wanted to feast.

He kicked away his fallen trunks and spread his legs, striking a powerful pose, his laden balls hanging heavily, twitching inches from my nose. I could smell his aroma of masculinity. Testosterone coursing through his balls and erect inseminator.

My intoxication was now a mixture of booze and pheromones. My nostrils flaring instinctively, my chest heaving to pull in his scent of sex.

Naked before me, still wearing my bikini, I worshipped the artistry of this man’s physique.

He stepped forward, and slapped my face with his rod, back and forth. I didn’t move, he was the painter and I was his canvas.

Impossibly, he stroked himself even larger and harder as he dragged his weeping cock head across my face, testing my pursed lips with each pass, leaving a glistening trail of its passage.

The familiar and pungent scent of precum filled my nose. Unable to resist its allure, my mouth opened enough to allow my tongue to furtively sample the cream on my upper lip.

Overcome by sensory overload, my pussy began wringing my natural lubricants from its walls, preparing me for the penetration to cum.

I resisted the urge to reach up and twist my nipples and squeezed my boobs, further stimulating my expectant pussy. Still sitting on my heels, my hands remained on my knees, obediently waiting.

He was in no rush. He showed no concern that our rendezvous would be interrupted any time soon.

Stepping on either of my folded knees, he grabbed my ponytail, and yanked my head back, popping open my mouth.

Prepared to receive, he fed his swollen cock head into my waiting mouth. The tip of my tongue flicking along its underside as it slid deeper into my mouth, filling it completely, first finding resistance at the top of my throat. I gagged reflexively.

His fingers interlocked, clasping the back of my head in a hammock, offering no retreat from his invading spear. I panicked as his cock head breached my throat, sealing off my airway, choking me. Inch by inch, his shaft continued unrelentingly impaling my throat.

Tears welled up in my eyes, and began rolling down my cheeks. I blinked rapidly, as if sending a morse code distress message. But outwardly, I appeared calm, my hands still on my knees, albeit, wringing my knee caps.

Finally, my lower lip met the base of his erection, his balls slapping the underside of my chin, saliva swinging from it in long viscous strings. My nose smashed sideways against his trimmed pubic patch. Two quick thrusts confirmed he had no more left to unspool.

I passed his first test. I was a deep throat cocksucker.

He looked down at me, smiling. He had counted the seconds since his cock sealed off my lungs and knew that I was close to passing out. Not knowing when or whether he would release me was his torment for me.

My focus suffered from my buzzing intoxication, so I wouldn’t last long if he decided to prolong his visit.

Eyes fluttering uncontrollably signaled that blackness was already creeping in, narrowing my view.

With timing that informed me he was very experienced in these dark arts, he retracted his girth just enough to allow a surge of life sustaining air feed my starving lungs.

Relief burst forth on my skin in beads of sweat.

But his generosity was short-lived, he thrust into my throat, plugging me again.

And so began his training, thankfully I am a quick learner.

Once we established a workable rhythm, I managed my deprivation without panic, while his increasing cadence brought him ever closer to orgasm, heightened by knowing that he literally held my fate in his hands.