I sat back. This was really happening.
The guy’s hands were now under her skirt, rubbing her ass cheeks, pulling them apart and smooshing them together rhythmically. Lynn lifted his shirt and he paused rubbing long enough to get it off. She went directly for his nipples, biting them like she does mine. At the same time, she reached under her blouse and unclasped her bra, freeing breasts as perfect as a 19-year-old’s.
Things were moving fast now. Lynn unsnapped and unzipped his jeans and had his pants down around his thighs. His cock was pushing against dark boxer shorts. When she finally had the shorts down as well, I saw it was long, though not as thick as I’d expected. Still, thick enough to do the job, and growing with ever beat of his heart, especially as Lynn reached out almost daintily. When she gripped it, close to the base of the shaft, she held it hard, like it was slippery and might slide away at any moment.
“Jesus Christ,” the guy said, his head lolling back for a second.
I had my own hand down my pants now, my cock gripped almost as tight.
She went down on her knees in front of him, worshipfully, the little eye of his dick at the same level as her own twinkling eyes. She pulled it down just a bit. Mouth level. Her lips hung open like a hungry dog. I thought maybe she’d salivate.
Take it, I thought. I stroked my dick.
He didn’t take him in her mouth all at once, but instead stuck out her tongue tentatively, running it along the mushroom head, the tip across the slitted hole. He shuddered. Lynn moved her hand up and down the shaft once; he shuddered harder.
I glanced through the legs of the coffee table and saw Lynn’s other hand under her skirt.
She inhaled like she was going underwater for an extended period of time, and then his cock was in her mouth, sliding along her lips, her booze soaked tongue guiding it to the back of her throat. She took him in until her lips met her own fingers, still coiled on the base like a spring.
“Sweet Jesus,” the guy said, and his hands, both discretely at his sides to this point, wrapped around the back of her head, fingers in her hair. I thought she might protest, but she let him control the blow job. He pulled her head back and forth, back and forth, and after he did that a few times (her massaging his tightened ball sack), he stopped and moved his hips, stroking his cock in and out of her moist mouth. Never one for an overly sloppy blow job, Lynn grabbed any extra moisture that might dare drip and massaged it into the base of his member and on his balls.
I’d undone my pants and held my dick out for all to see. I felt like I might explode. I knew if I did, if I lost my desire after a huge orgasm, I might find myself emotionally spent and would kick the kid out before anything more could happen. I didn’t want that. Still, it took all the will-power I could summon to let go of my own penis and put my hand on the arm of my chair.
Lynn had, through all of this, managed to unbutton her blouse. It now hung off her shoulders, her tits still inside the lacy, cream-colored bra unclasped at the back. She stood, letting the guy’s cock-head pop out of her mouth with an audible plop—but she kept at one hand on it, stroking. Always stroking.
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