Behind His Back Read Online Free PDF Page A

the thick elastic waistband down along his shaft, expecting him to spring out at me like the cock in my closet-chair fantasy. But when I reach the tip, his struggling cock greets me with a couple of mild pulses and lies listlessly on his balls.
    Shit, I think to myself. His cock is as tired as he is.
    It almost makes me feel bad for harassing him like this, but I’m not asking for fireworks here—just a hard cock in response to the hard body I’ve put so much effort into.
    I greet his tip with my tongue and scoop him up past my lips, and I’m reminded of how exquisite it feels to have a man harden in my mouth. I think back again to when Jason asked me to wake him up with a blowjob on his birthday, and I felt his limp dick swell into a rigid python while I wetly coaxed it.
    David’s cock isn’t nearly as responsive as I remember Jason’s being, but quickening pulses on its underside tell me that, at least physically, he’s into this. He lets out a low moan and slides his hips toward me along the sofa cushion, giving me more leverage to work with.
    When his cock is good and hard, I pull my wet mouth off of it with a loud smack and admire my handiwork. He’s never been one to reach my cervix, but he more than makes up for it in thickness. As I grip him and jerk him off in front of my open mouth, I think of the thick, smooth PVC pipes we use to practice our lifting technique at Rev.
    “Hold my head down,” I say, staring him in the eye and stroking him. Making him hard has lit a fire in me.
    “What? Faith, you know I’m not crazy about—”
    “Just fucking hold me down on your cock,” I say, and I plunge back down to suck him deeper.
    His hands remain at either side of his hips on the cushion, so I angrily grab one of them and slap it onto the back of my head.
    “And pull my fucking hair,” I say as I come up for air.
    I give him my mouth again, struggling to go deeper. I want to gag on him. I want him to force his cock so deep down my throat that tears draw lines of mascara down my cheeks.
    Finally, I feel his hand close around a fistful of my hair and press mildly down in rhythm with my bobbing head. But it’s a weak shadow of what I need. What kind of man doesn’t want to fuck his wife’s face until her eyes water?
    This is not my handsome, successful, too-sensitive-to-stimulate-his-wife’s-gag-reflex husband.
    Frustrated with his lack of aggression but still wet and eager, I stand up and hastily unclasp my bra. The cups cling to my pert tits until I pull the bra off and whip it at the wall. I give him my most primal, animalistic stare as I edge toward him and place my knees on the couch, straddling him. I pull his head into my tits, and he takes one of my stiffening nipples into his mouth and gives it a few perfunctory swirls with his tongue. It’s effort, at least, but I’m worried that he’ll never be as rough as I need him to be. I push his torso back against the couch and then reach down and pull the crotch of my panties to one side. My middle finger disappears between my folds, and it’s glistening when I pull it out. I show it to him and then suck my finger hard. It’s sweet from the honey dust.
    “Jesus Christ,” he says.
    “You want some too?” I say.
    I rub my pussy and then reinsert my middle finger, letting out a long moan. It’s nearly dripping when I pull it out and wave it in front of his face.
    “Suck,” I say.
    He looks hurt, like he doesn’t know the ravenous woman who’s straddling him, but he acquiesces and reaches his head forward to taste me.
    “Good boy,” I say. I sit back on his cock, reaching behind me to guide him between my slippery lips. It’s been so long that the fullness surprises me, and I gasp as my cheeks slide down to his pelvis.
    “Oh fuck yes,” I say, breathing heavily.
    David says nothing, but he grips my ass as I grind on his cock. For a few fleeting seconds I think I might actually get the fucking I’m after, but the fantasy fades when he fails