You told me the other day that you saw a woman expose herself in a shop, and you told me how much you liked it.
I tell you that only dirty little boys, like to look up girls skirts.
I ask you if you want to look up mine.
I bay and tease you in exposure. I rub up the denim, reveal the cheeks of my arse. I watch your stomach flex and the loose cotton of your blue shirt, the way it sits on the bones of your collar and flutters when you breath.
Is this how it looked?
Sticky clear liquid drips from the tip of you cock and I can see the tension in your hands. Flat on the bed where I left them. I hitch up my skirt to my waist and spread my knees wide, the lips of my cunt and my arse are visible in reflection.
And is this how it looked? Or does this look better?
Running the tip of my tongue against you, pulling the skin back, ribbing my hand up and down. I can feel you vibrating and your mouth is open and your eyes are on me but distant. And your body is starting to twitch.
And is this how it looked? Or does this look better? And just let me spread my legs.
I can feel the liquid in you pump through the tube of your body and you're struggling to hold it together now. Struggling to hold back. I've covered you in spit and saucy conversation and I'm working you nice. I watch your muscles twist as you stifle sweet sounds.
And is this how it looked? Or does this look better? And is this what you thought you might want? Is this how it should feel for you? Does this feel good for right now? Only dirty boys like to see these things. Only dirty boys look up girls skirts. This is better than anything found there. This is better than what you could want. This is better. I am better. And that's when you come down my throat.
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