Make Me. Charlotte Stein
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I can stop touching it any time you like,’ I say, in a voice that doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to my aching, swollen cunt, and apparently she wants it to be low, soft, persuasive.
‘Did you … did you talk to Tyler about this?’ he asks, which almost gives me pause.
I think of the strange way they’d operated before. How silent things had seemed. How unspoken. But then the feeling passes, and this is what I’m left with: the firm swell of Brandon’s cock beneath my palm.
‘No. Why?’
‘Oh, so you’re just … doing that. OK. OK. Do you … maybe think we should have a conversation first? Like, we could go to dinner and after dinner I could walk you home and then … Ohhhhh Jesus, really?’
I can’t help drawing a red circle around several of the things he’s said: dinner, conversation, ohhhh Jesus. And I draw a circle around the actions that go with the words too: the way his hand snaps down to stop mine; the up-on-tiptoe move he makes, automatically, as though the feel of the heel of my palm against his stiff dick is more akin to being attacked with a cattle prod.
But that’s fine. I want him to be zinged. I was zinged, five years ago – this feels like some sort of mad revenge. Or maybe it’s a mad reward for all of my waiting and wanting and running away. Now I get to fondle his solid prick through his trousers until he stops resisting and starts begging me for more.
‘Yeah, just like that,’ he tells me, because I’ve found the ridge around the head of his cock, and when I rub just so – back and forth with my thumb, through the material – he trembles for me. He bucks into my palm and puts a hand on my shoulder, more words spilling out of him, one after the other.
‘Kiss me,’ he says. ‘Kiss me.’
But I don’t want to kiss. I want to finally and properly know what his cock looks like, and feels like, and, more importantly, tastes like. And since he seems intent on letting me do whatever the fuck I want, it’s not that hard to do. I just ease his stiff length out into the open, while he hums like someone set his internal motor going.
‘Are you really going to …’ he says.
I have no idea why he is doubting. Anyone would want to suck a cock like his – so smooth and silky and stiff, with a curve to it that suggests just the right sort of angle for hitting all those good spots.
And he’s practically dripping by this point, too. I rub the pad of my thumb over the head and I can feel all of that delicious pre-come sliding around in a way that makes us both moan – though he doesn’t break until I’m on my knees. He doesn’t give me the words, until I’ve got the head of his cock in my mouth and my tongue is working and working over that slippery slit.
And then he just lets it out.
‘God, yeah, give it to me, Maisie,’ he says, so I do. I eat at him hungrily, sloppily, until the entire head of his cock is as glossy as I am between my legs. And when that doesn’t seem like enough to sate either me or him, I use my hands. I rub his stiff length roughly, finishing each stroke with a lick or a suck that gets him gasping.
He’s going to come soon, I can tell. I can feel it before he tells me – Oh, honey, you’re going to make me do it – in the tightness of his balls and the swell of his cock. And I want it, I really want it, over what I got last time: come striping my skin, almost independent of anything I had done.
And I want to watch him, too, while he does it.
Though in my defence, it’s hard not to crave something like that. He seems to have forgotten how to breathe, and every time I switch to something new – like a little flick over that sensitive spot, just under the head, or a squeeze of his impossibly tight balls – he tries to let some air out. Or let some air in. Or just do something, anything besides biting his lip and straining towards my hot, wet mouth.
It’s an oddly arousing thing to observe. Like I’m seeing myself five years ago, caught between I really want to and I kind of shouldn’t – which of course makes me wonder why he is. Why is he letting me do this, after his odd reaction earlier? And in this storeroom, of all places, where anyone could walk in and find us. I mean it’s not as though the door’s locked, and even if it was there’s always someone who’ll have the key.
Like Tyler, for instance.
Tyler, who I’m barely aware of until Brandon jerks and tries to cover himself. Then afterwards I’m very aware of him, because not only is Brandon trying to pretend he didn’t know this might happen, but Tyler has his hand on the back of my head. I can feel it, even when I’d like to think it’s something else altogether. Maybe Brandon sprouted a third hand when I wasn’t looking and now he’s urging me to suck his cock, even as he tells me not to.
‘Oh my God no,’ he says, and I hear rather than see him clang back against the kegs. He’s trying to get away, I think, but in all honesty if he is, he’s not doing a very good job of it.
Or is it just that Tyler’s now applying a bit of pressure? A very specific sort of pressure, I might add, that fills my mouth with cock even as Brandon succeeds in squirming backwards. And though I know I should stop if he wants me to, I find I can’t.
It’s too arousing. Just as before, the excitement thrumming through my body takes over sense, and I do what he’s urging me to. I take as much of that still unbearably stiff prick into my mouth as I can and suck with all the enthusiasm I can muster and, when he actually speaks, my brain dissolves and disappears into my vagina.
‘Yeah, that good, baby?’ he asks. ‘Take that cock.’
Lord, I don’t think I want to know what Brandon makes of that. I’ve got my eyes closed, now, because eyes closed is better, but I can feel him starting to really shake. It’s not even just a shake, in all honesty, it’s more like a prolonged and uncontrollable spasm, and he finishes each jerking motion with a sound.
One that joins Tyler’s words in that slippery place between my legs.
‘How does she feel?’ Tyler asks, but I think he might have gone crazy. If his presence and his hand on my head weren’t enough, clue-wise, then his expectation that Brandon’s going to answer him surely is. Brandon can’t even seem to push him away – though I think he wants to – and when I dare to look his expression is … I don’t know.
Furious? Frustrated?
At the very least it’s the kind of look that doesn’t go with: ‘Ohhh, she’s so hot. She sucks so hard.’
Though it’s true. I do suck hard. It’s like I’m trying to lose myself in the feel and taste of him so I don’t have to think about anything else: Tyler’s insistence and Brandon’s reluctance; my own arousal in spite of both these things – or maybe because of them. Every time they say a word, my clit swells and orgasm threatens, even if the word is just: ‘Yeah.’
Or: ‘God, I’m gonna come.’
Though in all fairness to me, that last one’s a bit of no-brainer. I’m actually quite surprised I don’t come when I feel the first slick spurt of cream over my tongue. And I’m even more surprised after Tyler’s hand tightens in my hair, like a prompt.
Swallow, I think, and then this hot shivery sensation just wriggles through my body. It gets a hold of my cunt and squeezes, and squeezes, until I nearly reach that state of perfect mindlessness. I hardly think of anything at all when I get that first taste of him, filling my mouth, and the feel of his cock swelling and jerking against my tongue.
And the way he moans, too … Ohhhh yeah. Yeah, I wish I could frame that sound and hang it on my bedroom wall.
As does Tyler, apparently.
‘Well, it seems you appreciated that,’ he says and, as he does, that hand disappears from the back of my head. I don’t know what I feel about that. It’s sort of like a relief, but sort of not – and I’m right to react that way.
Because