Morning blowjob.

You wake slowly, the kind of slow where you’re aware of the warmth before you’re aware of the light. The sheets are tangled around your legs, the air still carrying the faint scent of her skin, and your body is heavy with the kind of rest you only get when you sleep hard.

It takes you a moment to realize why your pulse is already picking up.

She never moved.

Her head is still on your thigh, hair spilling in a dark, messy curtain across your hip. Your cock is still inside her mouth, exactly where it was when you drifted off, and the heat of her is as steady as the night before. Her lips are soft, sealed just enough to hold you there. Every slow exhale fans across the base, every inhale pulling just slightly, like her body refuses to let you go even in sleep.

You can feel the faint flutter of her tongue now and then, some **** twitch she doesn’t even know she’s doing. It sends a ripple through you, dragging a low ache into your gut. She breathes slow, steady, the rise and fall of her shoulder pressing into your thigh.

For a while, you just watch her. The way her cheek rests against your skin, the relaxed slack of her jaw, the faint wet sheen on your length where her lips part with each breath. She looks peaceful. Content. Like this is where she belongs.

Your hand drifts into her hair, stroking once, slow enough not to wake her. You can feel the softness of it, the faint warmth from where her head’s been resting against you all night.

You don’t move. Not yet.

The morning light is pale and thin through the blinds, painting her skin in faint stripes. Outside, the world is waking, but you’re in no hurry to join it. Not while she’s still holding you like this, her mouth your own private anchor to the night before.

It’s possession without ****, control without pressure. She’s here because she wants to be, and you’re letting her because you want her here.

You let your eyes close again, not to sleep, but to sink into the sensation.

Her mouth is warm and slack around you, just enough pressure to keep you in place. The kind of gentle hold that makes every small shift feel amplified. You’re not hard yet, but you can feel the slow stir of it starting, the pulse at the base growing stronger with each breath.

It happens in tiny increments. A subtle throb, a faint swell, the way her lips cling a little more as you begin to fill her again. She doesn’t stir, doesn’t react, just breathes evenly, the quiet pull of air brushing heat across your skin.

You shift your hips an inch, not enough to wake her, just enough to ease yourself deeper against the back of her tongue. The movement earns you the faintest reflexive swallow, a ripple of muscle that makes your jaw tighten.

Your fingers curl in her hair, not guiding, just resting there, feeling the warmth of her scalp. Another slow adjustment, another inch of closeness, and your breathing matches hers without you thinking about it.

She’s not doing anything, and still it feels like she’s doing everything. The slow build is a kind of **** you don’t want to end. The way her mouth molds around you as you harden, the wet heat stretching just enough to accommodate the change, the **** way her lips flex when her jaw shifts in sleep.

You don’t move again for a long moment. Just stay there, letting the sensation wrap around you, your cock throbbing now with a lazy, steady rhythm. Every beat makes her lips hug tighter.

The thought of waking her crosses your mind, but you let it go. Not yet. This is better.

You keep your hand in her hair, feeling the weight of her head, the small movements of her breathing, the unbroken contact. She’s yours like this, and she knows it, even in sleep.

You stay there until the pressure becomes too much to ignore. The steady heat of her mouth is no longer a quiet comfort but a slow pull toward something sharper.

Your hips move again, a little more this time. Enough to press the head of your cock against the soft give of her throat. She stirs faintly, lashes fluttering against your skin, but doesn’t pull away.

Another shift and you feel the first deliberate swallow. Her tongue presses along your length in a lazy drag, and you know she’s awake now.

You keep your hand in her hair, thumb stroking the line of her scalp, a quiet signal to keep going. She answers without a word, sealing her lips tighter around you, drawing back just far enough to let her tongue circle the head before sliding down again in one smooth motion.

Your breath leaves slow and controlled, but your grip in her hair tightens. She hums at the sound, the vibration traveling through you in a deep, shivering wave.

There’s no rush in her movements, just a patient, unbroken rhythm, as if she means to wring every ounce of control from you before she lets you have what you want. You let her set the pace for now, savoring the wet pull, the way each pass sinks you deeper into the heat of her mouth.

When she takes you fully, nose pressed to your skin, you hold her there with a firm press of your palm. She stays without resistance, swallowing around you until your pulse hammers against the back of her throat.

Only then do you let her pull back, lips dragging slow along your length, eyes lifting to meet yours in the quiet morning light. There’s no question in them. Just the knowledge that she’s yours to wake like this, every time you want.

You let her pull back just enough to breathe, her lips still wrapped loosely around you. Your hand stays in her hair, tightening by degrees until she’s looking up at you without lifting her mouth from you.

“Stay,” you tell her, voice low but leaving no space for interpretation.

Her eyes soften. She nods as much as she can with you in her mouth, the movement small but obedient.

You roll your hips forward, slow and deliberate, feeling the warm slide of her lips stretch over you again. She takes you deeper without hesitation, letting you guide her until her nose is pressed to your skin, the faint tremor in her throat betraying the effort it takes to hold there.

“Good,” you murmur, keeping her down just long enough to feel the first edge of her need for air. When you ease her back, she draws in a sharp inhale through her nose, her tongue still working lazily against you even as she catches her breath.

You don’t let her set a rhythm. You move her instead, your hand fisting in her hair to pull her forward and back at your pace. Measured. Intentional. Every thrust deep enough to make her throat tighten around you before you pull her back to the tip, holding there for a heartbeat so she feels how hard you’ve gotten for her.

Her hands rest on your thighs now, not to push, but to steady herself. The quiet weight of her body against your leg makes it clear she’s exactly where she wants to be—kneeling for you, letting you use her mouth however you decide.

The sound of her swallowing fills the space between you. Wet. Controlled. Yours.

You pause, keeping her lips pressed at the base, and tilt her chin so her eyes meet yours again. “You’re going to hold it until I tell you.”

There’s no flinch. Just that small, certain nod.

You keep her there, feeling every pulse of her throat as she obeys, until her body starts to tremble under your hand. Only then do you let her come up for air, dragging her mouth slow along your length so she knows you’re giving it back on your terms.

You keep her there this time. No stroke, no motion. Just her lips sealed at your base, the wet heat of her mouth wrapped tight around you while your hand holds her down.

She knows what this is. You feel it in the way her body goes still except for the faint tremor in her thighs.

“This one’s twenty seconds,” you tell her. She nods once, lips still closed around you, and you guide her down until her nose is pressed into your skin. Her throat flexes once around you, not from resistance but from the deliberate swallow she gives you, her way of showing she’s still calm.

You let her up with a slow drag, her lips popping free as she sucks in a greedy breath. You don’t speak, just push her down again before she can fully recover.

"Thirty."

She takes a slow breath before sinking down again, sealing herself to you. The seconds slide by in the quiet. You feel her jaw relax more, her body molding closer to your thigh as if she’s settling into the restraint. Her nails curl harder into your thigh now, but she doesn’t pull away. When you finally let her up, she exhales hard through her nose, cheeks flushed, pupils wide.

You give her no warning for the next one. You just tighten your grip in her hair and seat her down all the way.

She exhales just before you push her down, and you can tell she’s focused. Her nails curl into your thigh, not from panic but to keep herself steady. At the thirty mark her throat tightens briefly, a little spasm that makes you groan low. Her breathing before had been steady, now you feel the faint quiver in her shoulders. Her thighs press together, a subtle tell she probably doesn’t know she’s giving away. She comes up gasping this time, a shudder running through her as the air hits her lungs. Her lips are wetter, chin glistening, and when you push her down again, there’s no hesitation.

"Fifty."

Her pupils are blown now, mouth opening like she’s tasting the air before she takes you in again. Her hips give a slow, **** roll as you hold her there, and you know she’s already getting off on the lack of oxygen. She comes up flushed and trembling, licking her lips like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.

"Sixty."

She nods without hesitation.

When she goes down this time, there’s no wasted motion. Just the seal of her lips, the wet heat of her mouth, the smooth pull of her throat as she swallows around you once, twice. You keep your hand firm, holding her exactly where you want her.

At forty seconds, you feel the first twitch of her throat.

Her body is shaking against you now, her nails biting into your skin, the heat of her mouth **** and clinging. At fifty, you start the count.

“Ten… nine… eight…” Your tone is low, even, every number a slow drag. “…seven… six… five… You feel so fucking good like this… four… three…”

You can feel her body quiver, her hips shifting against the air. “…two… one.”

When you pull her up this time, she gasps like she’s coming up from underwater, a low, broken sound catching in her throat. She collapses forward against your thigh, gasping. Her lips are swollen, chin wet, her eyes glazed with heat.

She looks wrecked. Flushed. Eyes glassy. And she’s smiling.

You run your thumb over her lower lip, slow, dragging it down before pressing it into her mouth. She sucks on it without thinking, and you can feel her breathing start to steady again, though the heat in her gaze hasn’t dimmed at all.

“You liked that,” you say, not a question.

Her tongue curls around your thumb in answer, her hips giving a tiny, involuntary roll against the air.

She stays slumped against your thigh for a moment, catching her breath, her lips still brushing the base of you. You keep your hand in her hair, not pressing, not pulling, just holding her there as if reminding her she’s still yours. Her breathing evens out slowly, the warm rise and fall of her chest brushing your leg in steady rhythm.

When her eyes lift to meet yours, they’re glassy but clear enough to wait for your cue.

“Suck,” you murmur.

She seals her mouth around you again, no urgency, just that soft, slow hold. The wet heat of her tongue rests against you, her jaw relaxed, breathing through her nose as she keeps you exactly where you want to be. Every so often she gives a lazy draw of her lips along the shaft, not enough to push you toward the edge, just enough to keep you steeped in her warmth.

You stroke her hair, slow and deliberate, letting the minutes drag. Her eyes slip half-closed, her body loose but still obedient, the picture of quiet submission.

When you decide she’s recovered enough, your fingers tighten in her hair. “Now we’re going to finish.”

Her gaze sharpens instantly, and she takes a deeper breath through her nose before you guide her down hard.

The shift is immediate. You set a fast, punishing rhythm, using her mouth with no hesitation. Her throat works frantically to take each thrust, the slick sounds filling the room, her hands braced on your thighs as you drive into her over and over. Tears prick the corners of her eyes again, her breath ragged when you pull back just enough to give her air before shoving her down to the hilt.

You don’t let her find her own pace this time. Every stroke is yours. Your hips snap forward in sharp, controlled bursts, the head of your cock dragging against the tight clutch of her throat. Her moans are muffled around you, the vibration making your grip tighten.

She gags once, twice, but she doesn’t try to pull away. You see her throat flutter and **** yourself deeper, holding her nose to your skin until her nails dig into your legs. Then you let her come up for a gasp before taking her again, faster, harder.

The tension builds quick. You can feel it winding tight in your gut, every wet, messy stroke drawing you closer. You push her down one final time and hold her there, hips grinding as the first pulse hits.

Hot, thick spurts fill her throat in deep, hard bursts, and she swallows greedily, throat clenching around you like she’s trying to take every drop. You keep her there until the last twitch fades, then pull her back just enough to see the wet shine on her lips, the flushed heat in her face.

“Good girl,” you murmur, thumb brushing her chin. “Now swallow.”

She obeys instantly, and when her eyes meet yours again, there’s nothing but satisfaction in them.