Taking the whole thing

I feel his hips press forward one final time, and my lips meet the warm skin of his abdomen. I'm completely buried, his cock filling my throat to the root, my nose brushing the coarse hair at his base. My hands grip his thighs, nails digging in as I fight the instinct to pull back.

The stretch is overwhelming — my jaw aches, tears blurring my vision, a wet, choked sound vibrating around him. But he's not done. He holds me there, letting me feel every inch, every pulse of him inside my throat.

I hear the dark-haired one whistle low from the sectional. "She's taking the whole thing."

I can't answer. I don't need to. I let my throat relax further, my tongue pressing flat along the underside of him, and I swallow around him, feeling his thighs tense in response. The motion draws a low, rough groan from above me, his fingers tightening in my hair.

I don't move. I just hold there, waiting, breathing through my nose, my body trembling with the effort and the heat of it.

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