Of Showers and Super-Slow Blow Jobs

Ed held the door open and pulled me into the steamy shower. Once inside, we both proceeded to get really, really clean.

I lack the words to express how much I like showering with a lover. I used to beg my stb-ex husband to shower with me. The few times I prevailed upon him to do so, he was so tense and anxious that I stopped asking, hating how coercive I felt afterwards.

There was no need for coercion that night. I faced the wall of shower jets and let him kiss my neck while running his soapy hands all over my back and ass. I had the cleanest ass ever. When it was thoroughly soaped, I circled it back against Ed’s groin.

Later, I sat on a small seat built into the wall of the shower. With soap-filled hands, I washed his lower stomach and groin as the water fell onto his shoulders. He thrust into my soapy hands, apparently in an effort to get his hard cock extra clean.

We played in the shower until we were clean enough that dinner could have been served directly off our genitals. After wrapping up in white towels, we went back to the bedroom, which I’d barely even seen during our initial rush to the bed.

“Look at this chair,” I said, marveling at an armchair that looked far too classy and comfortable to be living in a hotel room. “This chair would be perfect for giving a blow job!”

“You think so?” he asked, pressing up behind me, towel forgotten on the floor. “Want to try it?”

What kind of woman would I be if I had said no? I’m not sure that I’ve ever declined a serious request to perform a blow job. I pushed him back to the chair and knelt between his knees, obligingly spread wide for me. Oh, it was a good chair for giving a blow job. The height was just right for me, and the back reclined at the perfect angle for him to lean back and still be able to reach my head with his hands.

Perfect.

I love having cock in my mouth. It’s better than just about any other item I could put in my mouth, including ice cream. I love giving a frantic, lust-filled blow job early in an encounter, when the goal is to get bodies as wound up as possible. I love giving a blow job that lasts until I’m dragged up roughly by my shoulders and told that I’m going to get fucked right this very instant. I love giving a blow job that ends with increasingly strong downward pushes on my head, impassioned hair-pulling, harder hip thrusts, and finally a prodigious release into my eager mouth.

Sadly, that last kind hasn’t happened in a good long time.

But sometimes, the very best blow job is the one that goes exactly no where. The one that’s given after everyone has come as much as they can possibly come and there’s really no question or concern about coming again.

That was the blow job I gave to Ed as he reclined in the comfortable hotel chair. “We should probably get back to the party, shouldn’t we?” I eventually asked after what felt like hours, my mouth still half-wrapped around his cockhead.

“No,” he replied, looking down at me with those lust-filled eyes I so like to see when I’ve got my mouth on a cock. “I’m not leaving this chair ever as long as you keep blowing me like that.”

And so our return to the party was delayed a little bit longer. Not that I minded. Not even one tiny bit.

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Good-bye for now, Art. I can’t believe you are actually going. I love you.

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