Just One Drink by Charlotte Sloan Page A

muscles, worked into whatever configuration best suited him, and his domination, in turn, pleasing me to no end.
    We kissed for some time beneath the heat of the shower, and slowly I began to sweep my fingers down along his body, angling for his prize beneath the belt, and clutching a firm handful of his long hot cock, squeezing onto his glorious shaft as though for dear life.
    I began to stroke him, to put all of my focus on his pleasure, which in turn began to satisfy myself as well. I loved the flowing of the skin of his shaft from his engorged purple tip to his base, like a warm, soothing liquid almost, and though my wrist began to grow tired after some time of this, my desire to please him utterly easily overshadowed my slight physical discomfort.
    After having our eyes closed for so long, slowly the two of us opened up, and gazed into one another, studying fiercely, as though trying to recollect forgotten faces. We began to get lost in one another, and slowly I moved in to him, putting my lips once more onto his.
    The kiss was soft, tender this time around, but it didn't last especially long. Instead, I pulled back away from him after only a matter of seconds, and instead of his mouth this time, I moved my kiss just the slightest bit lower, landing on his chin this time around.
    Further down, planting one on his neck, then several across his broad, sumptuous chest. Then down along his abs.
    On my knees, now, on the floor of the shower, I gave the shaft of his erection a last few strokes of the wrist, letting saliva ooze from my between my lips and onto him, though most of the lubrication I intended from this was washed away by the pouring hot water.
    Slowly, I extended my tongue, lightly sliding the warm, pink thing along the edge of his shaft, like licking an envelope, and giving him a very tiny sampling of what was about to happen. I could tell that he was holding his breath, tensed up and braced in preparation, and after a few last strokes along his wet dick, I knew that he was ready to be consumed.
    I parted my jaws wide, allowing my heated breath to blow into him as I leaned in forward, and closed my mouth along him. My lips dissolved, wet and slippery, around the course of his penis, inhaling him to his base, until at last I felt his throbbing purple tip touch down against the back of my throat.
    I was somewhat out of practice when it came to the art of fellatio, and accordingly I gagged just the least bit for the first few seconds of containing him down the hot crook of my throat. But I slowly recalled the process of relaxing myself, and managed with some effort, then, to suppress my gag reflex.
    Then, gradually,  I began to suck on him, pulling my face back along his erection, building up a furious suction as I made my way up to his tip, and then snapping my lips free, evoking an intense, loving sigh from the man up above.
    God, how I loved his satisfaction, and how it provoked me to further pursue his own sweet carnal satisfaction. I began to suck him rhythmically, twisting my tongue around and all over him as I downed and slipped back up his cock, each tapping against the back of my neck more sensual and more perfect than the last, and the intimacy of the act so pure for me in that moment that I thought I might never grow tired of servicing him in this manner.
    After some time of this, I could feel him beginning to pulse, to throb inside me, and I pulled back, mouth open, eyes looking up at him, as he prepared to unleash himself all over me. He came, abundantly, ejaculating into my mouth, and across my face, the taste of his sperm like some life-sustaining gift, filling me up and reassuring me, above all, that the moment we shared was as real and as wonderful as I'd believed it to be.
    I licked some of the excess cum from my cheeks, pleasing him as it stretched in sticky strings and remained affixed to my skin, then leaned in to suck the last few drops of essence from his engorged purple tip.
    He picked me up,