Swift, then Slow

For ten minutes, Dean's pace is breakneck, desperate, before his hips crash into mine and he holds himself hilt-deep. I take it, silent and receptive, as he drives all the way in. I continue to bob my head, sliding my mouth, slow and loving, for Amy.

Her hand on my head, one foot on my ass, she doesn't offer a comment at having Dean's hips touching her foot. I doubt her foot is close enough to literally feel his cock, or she'd probably have moved her foot, but she doesn't interrupt him.

Her hand on my head applies some pressure as I lift, and I slow down as Dean empties himself into my ass. Amy's cock in my mouth, I continue to suck happily, simply bobbing my head at a more decelerated pace, as my best friend commands.

Dean finishes smooth, his haste notwithstanding, and waits. I realise he wants me to milk his cock, and so I tighten every muscle I can consciously control. I don't have superhuman kinesthesia, but I can tense enough muscles to help him, here.

His breath hitches, and he draws himself out slow and sure, angling his withdrawal away from Amy, avoiding contact. He slides back, carefully withdrawing from me. One hand rests on my ass, stroking affectionately, caressing my free cheek.

Then, Dean retreats entirely, from me and from the bed. I can see him dress in my peripheral vision, collecting and then donning the needed attire. Then he's gone, and Amy pulls my hair. I increase my pace on her cock, bobbing normally.

She periodically adjusts my pace, edging herself, drawing it out for her pleasure. I realise she doesn't really want to cum, not yet. Not until she's done reading her book, in fact, it occurs to me, which means I'm going to be here for quite a while.

I smile as I bob my head for her, sliding my mouth up and down. I can't think of anywhere I'd rather be right now than on Amy's bed, between her thighs, sucking her cock. Her taste on my tongue, her scent in my lungs, I close my eyes, content.

For four hours, this is us. One foot on my ass, one hand on my head casually adjusting my pace, the other holding a book. My mouth slides down to her hilt, and I swallow. I breathe out silently as my mouth rises, flex my tongue while I descend.

I leave her frenulum untouched, for the most part, to avoid distraction by overstimulation. When I feel her cock starting to pulse, my eyes flutter open. She's still reading, but she pushes my head down onto her, so my lips are at her thick hilt.

Her milk pumps into the bottom half of my throat, and I swallow around her in silence. I continue to swallow a few times, extra, before she cups my cheek with one hand. A hint of upward pressure, and I obey, sliding my mouth up along her rod.

Her palm slides into my hair, and Amy turns my head. She guides me to rest my head on her thigh, my lips brushing along the base of her cock. There her hand rests, for another fifteen minutes, before she removes it to reach for her bookmark.

“How's your jaw feeling, faggot?” Amy asks, with the dutiful concern of a worthy Mistress, her fingers stroking across my face, loving and kind.

“Sore, but I'm okay,” I reply.

“And your ass?” she prompts.

“Stuffed, too, but not sore,” I answer obediently. Amy smiles, pleased.

Author's Note:
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Here the story converges in Chapter 49: Happy Amy.