Jan. Week 3: Friday-Leah Sucks Mr. Bill's Cock with Gusto

She wrapped her fingers gingerly around the base, feeling the heat radiate from the thick shaft, unconsciously tracing the engorged veins that corded along its length. The first taste of salt on her tongue jolted an automatic disgust—chlorine with a hint of nicotine, funk with the tang of sweat—but she **** herself to take him deeper, lips sealing with a practiced O.

Mr. Bill leaned took a seat to adjust and enjoy the feeling of Leah’s mouth, one palm pressed against the chipped-stucco wall, the other hand settling possessively on her scalp.

“Damn, look at you go,” he crooned, watching her cheeks hollow with every bob. “You got the best mouth in the state, I bet.” He spoke like it was a compliment, as if her mortification was a badge she should wear with pride.

Leah’s jaw ached instantly as she was unused to his size, but she kept the rhythm steady, focusing on her breathing and counting each second. The sooner she finished, she reasoned, the sooner she could get out of here—and away from the gnawing ache of shame and the cold, clinical gaze boring into her from above.

She just wanted it over with faster-she reasoned to herself as she moved her mouth to his cock’s head and and bobbed up and down on his sensitive tip while one hand stroked his large girth in a fluid motion. It was eliciting groans of pleasure so she knew what she was doing was well recieved from the ebony face above. But she didn’t even look up, she was too intent on pleasing his massive member—no she was just getting it over with that…that was all.

“Shit…you know how to work that big ‘ol dick real damn good gurl…” he said in amazement as he saw her ivory face bob again and again on his obsidian cock.

Leah found herself working his cock with a determined professionalism that almost bordered on clinical detachment, but underneath it was something far more insidious—a seeping, sticky fascination that she could not shake. She braced herself on the gritty tile, ignoring the sting in her knees, lips stretched taut and glistening as she plunged herself deeper onto his shaft with each bob. The obscene heft of it filled her mouth, pushed at her limits, threatened her dignity, but it was the sheer size that commanded her respect. It was like handling some forbidden, dangerous relic, and the impossible girth made her jaw throb.

She heard the wet slap and squelch of her own efforts echo back to her in the tiny closet, mixing with Mr. Bill’s low, appreciative grunts. He wasn’t the type to heap praise, but every so often he’d growl, “That’s it, take it all,” or “Shit, you’re a natural, girl.” It made her feel both powerful and utterly reduced at the same time. Leah’s fingers, now slick with spit and pre-cum, struggled to enclose even half the circumference as she stroked up and down in rhythm with her bobbing head.

It was supposed to be a transaction, a necessary evil, but Leah felt herself spiraling into something much darker and more electric. Instead of retreating into her mind, she leaned into the moment: hollowing her cheeks, using her hand and mouth in tandem, letting herself be overwhelmed. There was a sick satisfaction in knowing that she could do this, that she could make a man twice her size curl his toes and grit his teeth.