I never thought I would, but I have and it’s pretty hard not to notice that I’ve gotten pretty good at it.
It’s Saturday evening. The weekend. I’m 15, a teenage girl in Brixton. What else do I do to keep myself busy other than my favorite pastime, which is sucking cock?
I stare hard at him deliberately while wrapping my tongue around his dick, or more like the tip at least. It’s the tip that’s more tasteful and like throbbing. Plus the pink head is just soo cute. Hehe.
I push apart his thighs a little to give me ample space to maneuver, while I’m sitting on my knees between his legs.
He chuckles at my enthusiasm and blood rushes into my face, though I’m not sure if it’s from the effort or the way he’s looking at me. I shift my weight, my knees pressing into the soft fabric of the rug, and decide to be a bit more ambitious.
I slide my hand further up his thigh, feeling the tension in his muscles, and lick a long lick from bottom upwards on his throbbing, hard shaft.
He, like always, is stoic but knowing him I know he’s bloody enjoying this so I smile at him with pure mischief. I don’t just want to give him a quick thrill; I wanna savor every second of this, the kind of slow, deliberate pace that makes you lose track of where the room ends and the feeling begins.
I take a deep breath and then I slide my lips over the head of his member, enclosing it completely.
Precum immediately floods my mouth and his cock engorges inside my lips, feeling twice as large as it was a second ago. I let out a muffled hum, the sound vibrating against his skin, and I look up to see if he’s losing that stoic composure.
Bad idea. He isn’t for one, and two, he just blew the smoke from the joint he’s smoking right into my face, which makes me sneeze right into his cock. It’s kind of a disaster. I pull back quickly, giggling as he looks down at me with that “really?” expression, though the corner of his mouth is twitching.
“Asshole,” I mutter, getting drowned out by my own giggling. I wipe my nose with the back of my hand, looking up at him with a pout. The room is hazy now, the sweet, skunky scent of the joint lingering in the air, mixing with the heavy, electric tension that always exists between us.
He nudges me to keep sucking with a slight, playful flick of his wrist, but the momentum is broken. I stay there for a moment, perched on my knees, staring up at the ceiling where the dim light of the bedroom casts long, dancing shadows. The laughter dies down into a comfortable silence, the kind that only exists between people who don’t feel the need to fill every second with noise.
If it isn’t obvious, the man whose cock I’m sucking is obviously an older man. Like not even mid-20s or something. Lets put it it at late 30s. And lemme tell you, it’s a different kind of high to get to suck off a man twice as old as me and the illegality or immorality of it all is fucking exciting.
I lean back in, closing my eyes this time to focus on the sensation. I wrap my lips tight around him, using a slow, rhythmic suction that draws a low, guttural groan from the back of his throat.
He’s still looking at me with absolute nonchalance, smoking casually while observing me…like I’m doing some experiment for him. The contrast is what gets me; the way his body is reacting, the tightening of his thighs, the way his hips give a small, involuntary twitch all of it versus the expression on his face, which remains completely unbothered.
I never seem to be able to break his composure and you know what, I think I like it like that. I like to be seen by him as some kind of a free use blowjob machine, something he can just casually smoke a joint around while I’m working my way up and down. Add to that I’m only 15 and the way he just takes it all as a given, like it’s just a normal part of his Saturday, makes it a million times hotter.
The haze in the room is thickening, turning the dim light into something syrupy and slow. I can feel the heat radiating off him, a steady warmth that anchors me even as my head starts to swim from the stray clouds of smoke.
I change the tempo.
Instead of the steady, rhythmic draw, I start using my tongue in small, swirling circles around the ridge, teasing the underside where the skin is most sensitive.
I get slobbery now. Making noises isn’t enough; I want him to hear exactly how wet it is inside my mouth.
Slurp. Schlick.
Every time my lips seal around the head, there’s a wet, suctioning sound that echoes in the quiet of the room. I start to moan, a low, vibrating sound that starts in my chest and hums right against his skin. *Mmm-phhh.* I swallow hard, the sound of it loud and visceral, and then I let out a soft, needy whimper as I pull back just an inch, the wetness of my mouth creating a tacky, popping noise—*plip*—against the sensitive tip.
I don’t care if I sound desperate; in fact, I want him to hear every single drop of saliva pooling at the back of my throat. I dive back in, my lips forming a tight, vacuum seal that creates a heavy, wet *thwuck* sound as I slide all the way down. *Slorp. Gluck.* The sounds are thick and rhythmic, echoing the wet friction of my tongue swirling around the head. I let out a series of muffled, needy whimpers—*nnn-ghhh*—that vibrate directly into him, my throat tightening as I take him as deep as I can manage. Every time I pull back just a fraction, there is a visceral, sticky *pop* of suction that makes my own stomach flip with excitement.
“Motherrrrfucckkkerrr!!!” he suddenly groans and without warning shoots ropes of cum just when I pull his dick out to get a brief break.
The suddenness of it catches me off guard. Because I had pulled back just a second too late, the first few bursts don’t hit my throat, but splash across my chin and cheeks in hot, thick streaks.
I blink, stunned for a heartbeat, feeling the warmth soak into my skin. I don’t move. Just stay there on my knees, looking up at him with wide eyes while the last few drops land on my chest.
He doesn’t move for a long moment, his chest heaving in time with the fading adrenaline of the climax. The stoic mask has finally cracked, replaced by a look of sheer, exhausted satisfaction.
He looks down at me. I’m messy, flushed, dripping even and a slow, genuine smile finally touches his lips. It isn’t a smirk this time; its something softer, almost appreciative.
I ain’t impressed though, “fuck dad! You always do this!” I yell, though the laugh bubbling up in my throat made the protest sound more like a giggle. I reach up to wipe my face with the sleeve of my oversized hoodie, smearing the white streaks across my cheek. It feels sticky and warm, a mark of victory that I wear with a smug grin.
Dad cradles my cheek and asks, “when did you get so good at sucking dick, baby girl?”
I just smile back while his cum streams down my face.
Honestly, I don’t know. I just did, I guess.
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