Page 110 of Faking It Right
Gaining confidence, he parted his lips and slid my cock into his mouth. But almost immediately, he pulled back with a huff. “Am I supposed to feel like a snake unhinging its jaw?”
“Maybe a little.”
“How do people fit these things in their mouths?” he grumbled.
“Practice,” I said, stroking his cheek. “And lots of spit helps. Try getting me nice and wet first.”
Ryker nodded determinedly and leaned forward again. He licked around the head of my cock, trying to generate more saliva. After a few attempts, he stopped with a frustrated expression.
“I feel like a dog slobbering all over you,” he complained, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Good boy,” I cooed as I scratched him behind the ear like a puppy.
He shoved my thigh. “You’re not helping.”
“Sorry, sorry.” I didn’t sound apologetic at all. “But hey, at least you’re making me laugh. That’s a big part of good sex.”
His expression softened. “Yeah?”
“Absolutely. Sex should be fun. And this is definitely fun.”
He offered a wobbly smile before he got me wet. He took me into his mouth again, sliding a little deeper this time. His confidence grew with each bob of his head, and he started getting more ambitious, taking me a bit deeper each time.
Then suddenly, there was a sharp graze of teeth.
I hissed involuntarily, my body tensing.
Ryker pulled back, his eyes wide with horror. “Shit, I’m so sorry! Did I hurt you? I didn’t mean to—I was trying to—fuck, I’m sorry!”
I cupped his face, stroking his cheeks with my thumbs to calm him. “Hey, it’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. I almost castrated you with my teeth!”
“You’re such a drama queen. I didn’t even bleed,” I teased him to lighten his anxiety.
He laughed despite himself.
“Relax. Stop putting so much pressure on yourself.”
He took a steadying breath. “You’re right. Let me try again.”
With renewed determination, Ryker returned to his task. He was more careful this time, focusing on keeping his teeth covered. He established a rhythm, using his hand in tandem with his mouth, which felt amazing.
After several minutes, though, I noticed his movements becoming less fluid. He pulled back, massaging his jaw with a scowl.
“Ugh, I think you broke my jaw,” he complained, working his mouth from side to side.
“First rule of blow jobs is they’re called ‘jobs’ for a reason.”
He snorted in amusement, but his frustration was evident. “I’m definitely getting fired for this shitty performance.”
His kicked-puppy look gutted me. “No one’s getting fired here. You’re doing great for your first time.”
“You’re only saying that to make me feel better,” he muttered, still rubbing his jaw.
“No one starts out as an expert.” I stroked his cheek to calm his nerves.
His determination returned, and he dove back in with renewed vigor. But in his enthusiasm, he took too much at once and gagged, pulling back with watery eyes.
