random cunnilingus porn
Because ailleann23 and lyo are really bad at telling me "no."
***
They don't make it back to the city until almost two.
"Great," Slade says. "Now all the bars are fuckin' closed." Not that Slade needs any more to drink, not after they spent the entire ride back from San Diego passing a flask of Maker's Mark around the back while Nic called them all assholes from the driver's seat.
"We could hit my friend's place," Nic offers. "I was gonna crash there anyway."
"My hero!" Slade cries, and then they all laugh, because they're drunk.
They park the van at Greta's and unhook the trailer-"Fuck you guys for making me drive again," Nic grumbles as he gets back in the van-and when everyone else is finally gone Thomas pushes Greta against the cool concrete wall of the parking garage, nosing aside her hair to nip at her earlobe.
"Want to taste you," he says, breathing in the scent of her, the fruity shampoo she uses under the club-smell of liquor and cigarettes, the sharper scent of the bourbon they were both drinking.
Greta giggles. "So you said," she replies, tilting her head so she can kiss him. And it's true, he did say it, at least half a dozen times while they were riding back to LA and she was snug against his side, her dress riding up so her bare thigh pressed against his jeans. "Come on, bed."
He kisses her while they wait for the elevator, kisses her while they ride to her floor, kisses her neck while she fumbles with her keys at the front door. The thought of waiting until they can make it to her bed seems laughable.
She finally gets the door unlocked, and she makes a soft sound of surprise when he tips her over onto the couch.
"Thomas," she says.
"Shh," he replies, dropping to his knees in front of her, as she automatically spreads her legs to make room for him.
He pushes her dress up to her waist and leans up to kiss her, sloppy and quick, as he touches her through her panties, thumb moving in slow circles over her clit until she's gasping into his mouth.
"Yeah?" he says, pulling back just a little, smiling when she lean forward, chasing his mouth.
She nods, breathlessly says, "Yeah," and then moans when he dips his head to kiss her cunt through her underwear.
Thomas bites at her thighs while he hooks his fingers in her panties and drags them down, following them with his mouth, dropping more sharp little kisses on her skin until she's bare to him from the waist down. She's biting her lip as she looks down at him, thighs spread just enough for him to see the wet of her between her legs, and then she reaches down to pet his hair, smoothing it down. It feels good, and it's tempting to just relax into the touch, but not nearly so tempting as Greta's cunt, so close he can smell her, so good that it's making his mouth water.
He slides his hands underneath her thighs and clumsily ducks underneath them, so her thighs are resting on his shoulders, and then he urges her towards him as he leans forward and puts his mouth on her.
The hand in his hair goes stays gentle at the first touch of his tongue, a messy stripe from bottom to top and a sloppy circle around her clit, and Thomas loves her like this, all barely contained energy. She's quiet now, but he knows she won't be for long. He licks at her again, his tongue lingering on her clit, and she makes a tiny little noise; he does it again and is rewarded with a loud moan. She tastes so good on his tongue, rich and musky-sweet, and she's so wet that his face is getting sticky with her; it's easy to lose himself in the feel of her under his mouth, the sound of her cries above him.
He curls an arm around her thigh so he can rest it on her belly, pressing down a little bit so that the flesh under his mouth shifts, exposing more of her clit. It isn't long before she shakes apart above him, starting with twitches in her thighs where they're resting on Thomas's shoulders and ending with a high, choked-off cry as she crests, her heels digging into his back to pull him closer, her cunt fluttering around his tongue as she grinds up against his mouth, getting him even wetter.
When her breathing slows down again, Thomas eases her legs off his shoulders sits back on his heels, licking his lips and then wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, looking up at her. He's still hungry for her. He wonders if she'll let him have more.
Greta reaches for him with a plaintive noise, lying bonelessly back against the sofa. "Why are you all the way down there?" she says.
"I have no idea," he says, and unsteadily clambers onto the couch in the V of her spread legs, letting her draw him down for a kiss.
She licks eagerly into his mouth, chasing her own taste on his tongue, and Thomas groans a little, feeling his cock twitch in his jeans. "Bed now?" she asks, murmuring the words against his lips
For answer, Thomas slides off the couch again, getting unsteadily to his feet. He reaches down to give her a hand up, and then almost falls over when she takes it, feeling drunker on Greta than he ever was on the bourbon.
They weave through the apartment to Greta's bedroom, feet tangling together at her bedside so they fall into bed together. She giggles and he kisses her again, rolling them so she's on her back underneath him, her dress twisted up around her thighs.
"Off, take this off," she says between kisses, unzipping his jeans and tugging at the hem of his t-shirt.
"You first," he counters, fumbling for the side zip on her dress so she can wiggle out of it and he can toss it on the floor. She'll probably be mad about that later, but Thomas doesn't really care right now.
Greta looks up at him with hooded eyes, naked but for her lace-edged bra. "Now," she says.
He sits back on his knees between her spread legs, looks down at all the pale, perfect skin on display before him. He can still taste her on the back of his tongue. "Later," he promises, and then he slides down the bed so he can kiss just below her navel on his way down to her cunt.
Thomas smooths his hands over her thighs, pushing them far apart, opening her up for him, and she cries out when he leans in to press his tongue delicately against her clit again.
"Thomas," she pants, reaching down to slide her fingers through his hair again. "You don't have to-"
"Want to," he says, rubbing his scruffy cheek against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh and then licking up the crease of her thigh. She tastes different when he moves his mouth back to her cunt, after coming once, and the tang of her makes his mouth water for more. But he keeps his strokes light, teasing, listening as her breathy cries get more and more frustrated.
Finally Greta tightens her fingers in his hair and pulls him in, moving him where she wants him until his tongue is a hard pressure against her clit. "More," she demands, rocking her hips up, and Thomas obliges, rolling his tongue over her clit, tracing nonsense patterns on the smooth skin of her thighs where he's still holding her open. Her fingers are still knotted in his hair, holding him to her, and he has no choice but to give her what she wants.
He waits until her hips are shifting up of their own accord, when her skin is pulsing and feverish under his hands and mouth, and then he wraps his lips around her clit and sucks gently on the swollen flesh, his tongue working the tip.
"Oh, fuck," she says, and comes a second time, pulling painfully on his hair, but it's worth it to feel her shaking under him, the muscles in her thighs and abs flexing hard, her hips rolling against his face.
He backs off of her clit after she comes, but he doesn't pull away, still licking gently at her even when her moans take on a little bit of a desperate edge. He knows she can take this, knows she could take more.
"Thomas," she says, breathless, letting go of his hair to push at his shoulder. "No more, I can't-"
"Trust me," he pulls away from her long enough to say, pressing a sticky kiss just above the line of her pubic hair, and then he slides a hand up the inside of her thigh so he can press two fingers inside her. He licks around them as he pushes them in, loving the pulse and flush of her under his mouth, feeling her still twitching on the inside.
"Too much," she says, but she almost screams with pleasure when he drags the pads of his fingers over her g-spot.
Thomas presses his smile against the crease of her thigh. "Still too much?" he asks, blowing a cool stream of air over her oversensitive clit.
For answer, she yanks at his hair again, bringing his mouth to her.
It doesn't take much to make her come a third time, just light strokes of his tongue over her clit and hard strokes of his fingers inside as she writhes. She's so wet now that she's dripping onto her sheets, and he's pretty sure she's pulling his hair out by the roots, but he doesn't care; he just keeps moving his mouth and his hand until her back arches and she groans long and low, her cunt clamping down on his fingers.
Her entire body goes slack as she comes down, and he gently slides his fingers free, not-so-surreptitiously licking them clean, resting his cheek on her thigh. After a moment she tugs feebly at his t-shirt. "You're still all the way down there," she says, disgruntled under the sex-drugged languor of her voice.
He looks up the pale length of her body, seeing her flushed and sweaty and totally fucking wrecked, but her hands on his shirt get more determined, yanking him upwards until his hips are pressing hers into the mattress, pulling at his shirt until she's got it over his head. His jeans are shoved a little ways down his hips, so only the thin fabric of his boxers separates them. If he just pushed them down, he could-
"Condoms," Greta says, pointing at the drawer of her bedside table, but even the thought of fucking her right now is enough to make him groan and try not to come in his pants.
"Won't last," he says, trying for rueful but only managing desperate, and then her clever hands are pushing his boxers down, wrapping one hand around his cock as she leans up to bite at his lips.
"Jesus fuck, Greta," he says when he realizes she's licking her own taste off his lips, and when he drops his hips against hers so they're skin-on-skin, it only takes a few rolls of his hips before he's coming, getting her wet with his come, smearing it between them.
As soon as he stops shaking he drops his head against her shoulder, kissing her collarbone, and then regretfully rolls away so they don't get stuck together. He turns his head to look at her, at how filthy she is and how beautiful, and then he reaches down to brush his hand over hers before he kind of slumps off the side of the bed, walking on unsteady legs to the bathroom so he can get something to clean her up with.
He wasn't expecting her to follow him, but she does, shedding her bra as she goes so she's standing next to him in front of her bathroom mirror naked, while his unfastened jeans are hanging ridiculously from his hips.
"Off," she repeats, pushing his jeans down until they pool at his feet.
"I was going to clean you up," he says, protesting as he steps out of his pants.
Greta looks down disinterestedly at the mess on her stomach. "I have a shower for that," she says.
"It's three-thirty in the morning," Thomas points out.
"And?" She slides past him to turn on the shower, and the sight of her ass as she bends down to reach the taps is really distracting.
"I'm driving back to Seattle tomorrow," he says. "I want to sleep."
"You can sleep," she says, "after you fuck me in the shower."
"After I-" He breaks off, looking at her with wide eyes. "Christ, you're insatiable."
Greta smiles and reaches up to run her thumb over his swollen lower lip. "Yeah, okay," she says, and kisses him.
***
stephanometra: god i can't even think straight to write, the thought of that man on his knees for greta is just too *__*
ailleann23: mmmm
ailleann23: he's a cute guy
stephanometra: he's a cute guy who goes from cute to beatific when he sings
ailleann23: fair enough
stephanometra: and i am going to suppose that he likes going down on girls at least as much as he likes singing
ailleann23: i mean, why not suppose that!
stephanometra: i mean singing is my life and i like going down on girls just as much as i like singing
***
They don't make it back to the city until almost two.
"Great," Slade says. "Now all the bars are fuckin' closed." Not that Slade needs any more to drink, not after they spent the entire ride back from San Diego passing a flask of Maker's Mark around the back while Nic called them all assholes from the driver's seat.
"We could hit my friend's place," Nic offers. "I was gonna crash there anyway."
"My hero!" Slade cries, and then they all laugh, because they're drunk.
They park the van at Greta's and unhook the trailer-"Fuck you guys for making me drive again," Nic grumbles as he gets back in the van-and when everyone else is finally gone Thomas pushes Greta against the cool concrete wall of the parking garage, nosing aside her hair to nip at her earlobe.
"Want to taste you," he says, breathing in the scent of her, the fruity shampoo she uses under the club-smell of liquor and cigarettes, the sharper scent of the bourbon they were both drinking.
Greta giggles. "So you said," she replies, tilting her head so she can kiss him. And it's true, he did say it, at least half a dozen times while they were riding back to LA and she was snug against his side, her dress riding up so her bare thigh pressed against his jeans. "Come on, bed."
He kisses her while they wait for the elevator, kisses her while they ride to her floor, kisses her neck while she fumbles with her keys at the front door. The thought of waiting until they can make it to her bed seems laughable.
She finally gets the door unlocked, and she makes a soft sound of surprise when he tips her over onto the couch.
"Thomas," she says.
"Shh," he replies, dropping to his knees in front of her, as she automatically spreads her legs to make room for him.
He pushes her dress up to her waist and leans up to kiss her, sloppy and quick, as he touches her through her panties, thumb moving in slow circles over her clit until she's gasping into his mouth.
"Yeah?" he says, pulling back just a little, smiling when she lean forward, chasing his mouth.
She nods, breathlessly says, "Yeah," and then moans when he dips his head to kiss her cunt through her underwear.
Thomas bites at her thighs while he hooks his fingers in her panties and drags them down, following them with his mouth, dropping more sharp little kisses on her skin until she's bare to him from the waist down. She's biting her lip as she looks down at him, thighs spread just enough for him to see the wet of her between her legs, and then she reaches down to pet his hair, smoothing it down. It feels good, and it's tempting to just relax into the touch, but not nearly so tempting as Greta's cunt, so close he can smell her, so good that it's making his mouth water.
He slides his hands underneath her thighs and clumsily ducks underneath them, so her thighs are resting on his shoulders, and then he urges her towards him as he leans forward and puts his mouth on her.
The hand in his hair goes stays gentle at the first touch of his tongue, a messy stripe from bottom to top and a sloppy circle around her clit, and Thomas loves her like this, all barely contained energy. She's quiet now, but he knows she won't be for long. He licks at her again, his tongue lingering on her clit, and she makes a tiny little noise; he does it again and is rewarded with a loud moan. She tastes so good on his tongue, rich and musky-sweet, and she's so wet that his face is getting sticky with her; it's easy to lose himself in the feel of her under his mouth, the sound of her cries above him.
He curls an arm around her thigh so he can rest it on her belly, pressing down a little bit so that the flesh under his mouth shifts, exposing more of her clit. It isn't long before she shakes apart above him, starting with twitches in her thighs where they're resting on Thomas's shoulders and ending with a high, choked-off cry as she crests, her heels digging into his back to pull him closer, her cunt fluttering around his tongue as she grinds up against his mouth, getting him even wetter.
When her breathing slows down again, Thomas eases her legs off his shoulders sits back on his heels, licking his lips and then wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, looking up at her. He's still hungry for her. He wonders if she'll let him have more.
Greta reaches for him with a plaintive noise, lying bonelessly back against the sofa. "Why are you all the way down there?" she says.
"I have no idea," he says, and unsteadily clambers onto the couch in the V of her spread legs, letting her draw him down for a kiss.
She licks eagerly into his mouth, chasing her own taste on his tongue, and Thomas groans a little, feeling his cock twitch in his jeans. "Bed now?" she asks, murmuring the words against his lips
For answer, Thomas slides off the couch again, getting unsteadily to his feet. He reaches down to give her a hand up, and then almost falls over when she takes it, feeling drunker on Greta than he ever was on the bourbon.
They weave through the apartment to Greta's bedroom, feet tangling together at her bedside so they fall into bed together. She giggles and he kisses her again, rolling them so she's on her back underneath him, her dress twisted up around her thighs.
"Off, take this off," she says between kisses, unzipping his jeans and tugging at the hem of his t-shirt.
"You first," he counters, fumbling for the side zip on her dress so she can wiggle out of it and he can toss it on the floor. She'll probably be mad about that later, but Thomas doesn't really care right now.
Greta looks up at him with hooded eyes, naked but for her lace-edged bra. "Now," she says.
He sits back on his knees between her spread legs, looks down at all the pale, perfect skin on display before him. He can still taste her on the back of his tongue. "Later," he promises, and then he slides down the bed so he can kiss just below her navel on his way down to her cunt.
Thomas smooths his hands over her thighs, pushing them far apart, opening her up for him, and she cries out when he leans in to press his tongue delicately against her clit again.
"Thomas," she pants, reaching down to slide her fingers through his hair again. "You don't have to-"
"Want to," he says, rubbing his scruffy cheek against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh and then licking up the crease of her thigh. She tastes different when he moves his mouth back to her cunt, after coming once, and the tang of her makes his mouth water for more. But he keeps his strokes light, teasing, listening as her breathy cries get more and more frustrated.
Finally Greta tightens her fingers in his hair and pulls him in, moving him where she wants him until his tongue is a hard pressure against her clit. "More," she demands, rocking her hips up, and Thomas obliges, rolling his tongue over her clit, tracing nonsense patterns on the smooth skin of her thighs where he's still holding her open. Her fingers are still knotted in his hair, holding him to her, and he has no choice but to give her what she wants.
He waits until her hips are shifting up of their own accord, when her skin is pulsing and feverish under his hands and mouth, and then he wraps his lips around her clit and sucks gently on the swollen flesh, his tongue working the tip.
"Oh, fuck," she says, and comes a second time, pulling painfully on his hair, but it's worth it to feel her shaking under him, the muscles in her thighs and abs flexing hard, her hips rolling against his face.
He backs off of her clit after she comes, but he doesn't pull away, still licking gently at her even when her moans take on a little bit of a desperate edge. He knows she can take this, knows she could take more.
"Thomas," she says, breathless, letting go of his hair to push at his shoulder. "No more, I can't-"
"Trust me," he pulls away from her long enough to say, pressing a sticky kiss just above the line of her pubic hair, and then he slides a hand up the inside of her thigh so he can press two fingers inside her. He licks around them as he pushes them in, loving the pulse and flush of her under his mouth, feeling her still twitching on the inside.
"Too much," she says, but she almost screams with pleasure when he drags the pads of his fingers over her g-spot.
Thomas presses his smile against the crease of her thigh. "Still too much?" he asks, blowing a cool stream of air over her oversensitive clit.
For answer, she yanks at his hair again, bringing his mouth to her.
It doesn't take much to make her come a third time, just light strokes of his tongue over her clit and hard strokes of his fingers inside as she writhes. She's so wet now that she's dripping onto her sheets, and he's pretty sure she's pulling his hair out by the roots, but he doesn't care; he just keeps moving his mouth and his hand until her back arches and she groans long and low, her cunt clamping down on his fingers.
Her entire body goes slack as she comes down, and he gently slides his fingers free, not-so-surreptitiously licking them clean, resting his cheek on her thigh. After a moment she tugs feebly at his t-shirt. "You're still all the way down there," she says, disgruntled under the sex-drugged languor of her voice.
He looks up the pale length of her body, seeing her flushed and sweaty and totally fucking wrecked, but her hands on his shirt get more determined, yanking him upwards until his hips are pressing hers into the mattress, pulling at his shirt until she's got it over his head. His jeans are shoved a little ways down his hips, so only the thin fabric of his boxers separates them. If he just pushed them down, he could-
"Condoms," Greta says, pointing at the drawer of her bedside table, but even the thought of fucking her right now is enough to make him groan and try not to come in his pants.
"Won't last," he says, trying for rueful but only managing desperate, and then her clever hands are pushing his boxers down, wrapping one hand around his cock as she leans up to bite at his lips.
"Jesus fuck, Greta," he says when he realizes she's licking her own taste off his lips, and when he drops his hips against hers so they're skin-on-skin, it only takes a few rolls of his hips before he's coming, getting her wet with his come, smearing it between them.
As soon as he stops shaking he drops his head against her shoulder, kissing her collarbone, and then regretfully rolls away so they don't get stuck together. He turns his head to look at her, at how filthy she is and how beautiful, and then he reaches down to brush his hand over hers before he kind of slumps off the side of the bed, walking on unsteady legs to the bathroom so he can get something to clean her up with.
He wasn't expecting her to follow him, but she does, shedding her bra as she goes so she's standing next to him in front of her bathroom mirror naked, while his unfastened jeans are hanging ridiculously from his hips.
"Off," she repeats, pushing his jeans down until they pool at his feet.
"I was going to clean you up," he says, protesting as he steps out of his pants.
Greta looks down disinterestedly at the mess on her stomach. "I have a shower for that," she says.
"It's three-thirty in the morning," Thomas points out.
"And?" She slides past him to turn on the shower, and the sight of her ass as she bends down to reach the taps is really distracting.
"I'm driving back to Seattle tomorrow," he says. "I want to sleep."
"You can sleep," she says, "after you fuck me in the shower."
"After I-" He breaks off, looking at her with wide eyes. "Christ, you're insatiable."
Greta smiles and reaches up to run her thumb over his swollen lower lip. "Yeah, okay," she says, and kisses him.
***
stephanometra: god i can't even think straight to write, the thought of that man on his knees for greta is just too *__*
ailleann23: mmmm
ailleann23: he's a cute guy
stephanometra: he's a cute guy who goes from cute to beatific when he sings
ailleann23: fair enough
stephanometra: and i am going to suppose that he likes going down on girls at least as much as he likes singing
ailleann23: i mean, why not suppose that!
stephanometra: i mean singing is my life and i like going down on girls just as much as i like singing