Page 20 of The Fed Sex Man

5

Jo

I noddedtoward the bulge in Tyson’s jeans and gave him my go-to introductory line. “I want to suck it.”

He seemed confused. “You want to suck my dick?”

I guess it wasn’t what he expected. I gave a reassuring nod. “I do.”

His eyes gleamed with approval. “Will you leave your glasses on?”

I’d have worn a bunny suit if he asked me to. Sexual fetishes fascinated me as much as the men who harbored them. Refusing Tyson’s desires would have required an extremely odd request on his part.

Wearing glasses during a blowjob wasn’t it.

“I’ll leave them on if you want me to.” I gripped the frames and wagged them up and down playfully. “Sure.”

His response came on the heels of an exhaled breath.

“Leave them on,” he murmured.

The person who trained me in the art of oral pleasure lived with his parents at the time, just across the street from the home I grew up in. I was enamored by his wispy mustache, tight-fitting Levi’s, and the ribbed white tank top that later became his trademark.

Bart told me that the way to a man’s heart was not by feeding him, but by sucking his dick. We agreed that he would spend the summer teaching me how to give head. After the following school year started, we would go our separate ways.

Over the course of one summer, he taught me how to properly (his words, not mine) suck a dick. The “training” (again, his words, not mine) began in mid-May while our parents were at work. By the end of August, I’d sucked him off no less than a hundred times. During that time, my palate learned to accept the taste of a man’s semen as being the reward for a job well done.

I envisioned going back to high school a more marketable – and much more desirable – young woman. Much to my surprise, a summer of having a dick shoved down my throat managed to boost my self-esteem.

It did nothing, however, to polish my social skills.

I went back to school versed in the art of giving head, but far too socially awkward to convey my newfound talent to any of my male classmates.

I lowered myself to my knees and stared with eager eyes while Tyson fumbled to free himself from his blue and white striped boxer shorts. After what seemed to be an eternal battle, his manhood sprung free.

“Holy crap!” I gasped.

He chuckled. “Sorry.”

I studied his massive member for a moment. It was perfectly shaped, thick from base to tip, and as long as my forearm from wrist to elbow. A second job as a leading man in A-budget porn films was an attainable goal if he ever lost his FedEx job.

I pushed the glasses up the bridge of my nose and met his downward gaze.

“It’s perfect,” I breathed.

He huffed out an argumentative sigh. “It’s a pain in the ass.”

“Why would you say such a thing?”

“Walk around with this fucker between your legs for a day and see what you think,” he replied.

“I’d love to.”

“Love to what?”

I gripped it with both hands, only to find that I couldn’t wrap either hand completely around it. Elated at the thought of having him force it into my willing folds, I looked up and smiled.

“I’d love to have it between my legs for a day.”