Page 72 of Compassion

Swinging my frame around to the other side, I allow mirth to linger in my tone. “Mrs. Buckley – the world-renowned oboist that lives a couple blocks over – saw me coming back from the mailbox on Thursday and asked could I help her out with walking her poodles because the dogwalker had unexpectedly called in sick, and they wouldn’t stop barking long enough for her to practice and shereallyneeded to practice.” An innocent shoulder bounces my shoulders. “She needed help, so I helped. She gave me some cash – in spite of my insistence I didn’t need it, that I was just trying to be a good neighbor – and I used it to buy the frame. There’s a corner store at the opposite end from our pizza place, so on Friday after you left for work, I walked there, picked out the nicest one I could, walked home, and put the surprise togetherbeforeI started touch up painting.”

Her entire body seems to puddle at the explanation.

“You can um…put a different picture in there if you want.” Slightly uncomfortable with the overwhelmed expression of adoration she’s bearing, pushes me to bashfully look at my feet. “I just uh…it’s the one that’s the background on your phone andmy phoneand I guess I just assumed you really liked that picture, but whatever. It’s up to you. Change it if you want. Or don’t. Or-”

Lips become unsuspectingly smashed against mine ceasing the spiral I had started.

What can I say? She’s not the only one who sometimes fucking rambles.

Jaye pulls back after a single swipe of her tongue to whisper, “It’s perfect.”

The corners of my lips curl upward in pride.

“Thank you.”

My mouth moves to say the appropriate response yet is pounced once more. Distracted by the haste of the slippery muscle that’s gliding around territory meant for only it, I struggle to register Jaye’s hand curling around the edge of my sweats.

My boxers.

I don’t even realize what’s happening until she’s lowering in tandem with them.

Cool air caresses my cock causing my balls to momentarily constrict; however, the warm, wet confines of her eager mouth waste no time creating a different type of contraction. Her right hand curls around my shaft to assist in the process of working me from base to tip and the combination of the two has my bare toes crossing one other in content. Each savage suck has her slipping further and further and further down my dick until her hand sinks itself to my balls to gently squeeze while her throat takes over the job of stroking me. Gagging sounds bounce from wall to wall, worrying me that it’s too much, pushing me to wind my fingers through her curls to yank her off, encouraging me to remind her she doesn’t have to go so deep, but just as those things begin, Jaye tugs my balls and drives my cock a little deeper.

Provesshe can handle more than I believe.

More than I’m ready to believe.

Spit leaks past the corners of her mouth, dribbles along the edges of my dick, and drips down into the palm of her hand where it’s immediately smeared along my sac. Watching her head bob around steadily grows damn near impossible for me as my own lolls back, lost in the knee wobbling swallowing I know I can’t take too much more of.

“Jaye…,” seeps out like a warning at the same time I curl my fingers around the edge of her desk.

Instead of heeding the announcement, she propels herself to the brink.

Chokes.

Forces herself to endure every.

Last.

Inch.

The heat of her exhaling while struggling to stay still effortlessly becomes my undoing on a barked curse. “Fuck!”

Scorching hot, short bursts splash themselves in the deepest depths of her throat only to be swiftly slopped down. Gorged on like some new fucking cookie flavor that she perfected yet doesn’t plan on sharing with anyone else.

Aches rip through my legs, extra agony in the damaged area demanding I adjust my weight and commanding we rearrange before new destruction can be done but ignoring it to watch the prideful way my girlfriend guides herself off my softening cock is so worth it.

Jaye delivers an additional roll of her tongue around my sensitive tip prior to arrogantly humming. “Guess I’m getting better at that, huh?”

One hand abandons the desk to lovingly cup her cheek. “Sweetheart, you’ve never beenbadat that.”

“You know I haven’t had a lot of practice.”

“You blow me practically every other day. Anymore practice and I don’t know that I’ll have the strength to keep working on renovations.”

She girlishly giggles on an eye roll.

Not exactly exaggerating. The chick likes to give head, and she’s really fucking good at it. How Chris didn’t appreciate this shit or cash in on it more often is a mind fuck I’m still trying to figure out. Was he secretly gay? Even if he was, gay guys still like to get their dicks touched, so…what the fuck was his deal?

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