I cannot lie, there is something about a woman’s oral cavity that makes me swell and stiffen in more ways than one. Although there is nothing better than having some one gesticulate on your manhood and turn your shaft white with their elixir of contentment, the warmness of the throat will never ever be a source for comparison. I mean it is refreshing to have one gyrate their wetness intensely, and tightly, such that one can feel the crease of your hips wedged against them, stretching, opening and expanding the insides of their soma to the extent that their feet and skull becomes one.
Cause truth be told, to me, aint nothing like leaning back against the sofa and unzipping my pants; being exposed to the elements regardless of inside or outside and her reaching for the base of my shaft. Watching her deliberate motions, up and down the length of me until she feels my veins pulsating and matching her desire to lodge me beyond her Adenoids and tonsils. Her mouth against my pubic hair as I clutch the back of her head and hold it there as I stroke her throat. Maybe even blocking, constricting the passage of her larynx and air ways making her come up for air as if in the ocean.
It is my pleasure to oblige her to extend her jaw and encourage her to press her lips together around my mass. Especially if I am beveraging, wine or tequila, and inhaling, hoping she can feel my veins pulsating, before the baby batter makes her light headed. Her head against the wall. Yes, this is what call throat and I can see it now, the delight of her eyes rolling in the back of her head, and of mines looking up towards the ceiling. Bud Powell never sounded so better.
Mroe politics, history and economics starting next week – had to get that out folk.