Sweet Jesus, she was good at sucking my dick. Her warm mouth was wrapped tightly around it as if she’d never let go. I couldn’t contain the animal-like sound that came up my throat as I threw my head back against the brick side of the building. I closed my eyes as intense pleasure powered through my plunging shaft, starting at my heavy, cum-filled balls. No question that Emerson had a talented mouth on her. She knew exactly how I liked it, and she should, considering how many times she'd given me a blow job over the past few months. She was the only one I went to for relief now, because she was just that fucking good.
I felt her small hands on my balls, lifting and rolling them as she wiggled her tongue into the slit and sucked out the pre-cum there. When her tongue moved onto the sensitive ridge of nerves just below the bulbous head my thighs quivered as I struggled to remain on my feet. Then she deep-throated me and hummed, knowing that the vibration would add to the pleasure rolling through me. Christ, she would kill me if I didn't come soon. My heart was about to pound right out of my fucking chest.
I didn't want it to end, though. I wanted to prolong the feeling of her small hands and warm, wet mouth on me. Her moans revealed that she seemed to be enjoying what she was doing, too. And who was I to disappoint a lady? As long as she wanted to suck and fondle me, I was going to hold off as long as I could. I wrapped my hand in the messy bun on top of her head and forced her to take me the way I wanted--rough, hard, and deep. We were both breathing hard, the only sound that could be heard in the back of the After Hours bar.
The darkness surrounding us kept us from being observed by anyone who might be cutting through the back alley, although I was sure the sounds would be a dead giveaway. I didn't know how much longer I could hold out thrusting my hard flesh into her talented mouth. She sucked hard, and not for the first time, I wondered if her pussy would be just as tight around my dick. I'd never fucked her, but I couldn't deny that every time she sucked me off I came closer to wanting to find out what she felt like wrapped around my dick.
My jeans were down around my thighs. She was kneeling on the hard ground between my legs. My dick was in her sweet mouth. And when her hands moved around to the cheeks of my ass I knew that I was going to come unglued. Her signature move always had that effect on me, and for a two-hundred and thirty pound, six-foot-four ex-Marine she beat me down every fucking time. She squeezed my ass, pulling me tight against her mouth and swallowing me all the way down to my balls, using her throat muscles to clamp around my dick and force me to lose control.
I roared my release, not caring who might hear, and unloaded at the back of her throat. We both made sounds of pleasure and gratification as spray after spray of thick cum erupted from my dick against the back of her throat. I didn't know what was so special about this woman, but I always came long and hard and more intensely than I could ever remember coming with any other woman.
It used to be that I'd grab for a different woman every time I felt the urge, and they’d always come willingly and eagerly. Then I returned from war, riddled with scars and burned skin from a roadside bomb. I'd barely survived, almost lost my leg, did lose my mind. To some, I'd returned home a hero; to most, I’d returned home a disfigured monster that sent children screaming and made women scarce.
There were those few who got over the scars long enough to suck my dick, because I was a biker in the Sentinels MC. Some liked to think I’d gotten my scars from the dangers of being in an active MC. I didn’t correct their assumption. What did I care, as long as they got me off? It amused me that they wouldn't think twice about doing a scarred-up biker while imaging all kinds of dangerous and possibly illegal ways that I'd received those fucking scars. Hell, the work we did in the Sentinels was dangerous, but mostly we kept shit on the side of the law.
We tried to be the good guys.
My breathing gradually calmed. Heart beat returned to normal. Dick softened and slipped from her mouth. I reached down and yanked up my pants, pulling out my wallet at the same time. I always gave her a few bucks, even though she never asked for it. I helped her to her feet. She was a tiny thing, barely five-feet tall, but she had the full curves of a woman. I took her hand and crammed the bills into it. There was always a little awkward moment between us when it was over. Lately I'd sensed a change in her, a quiet thoughtfulness that hadn't been there before, and I wondered if she was growing tired of our unusual arrangement.
"Same time Wednesday?" her soft voice came out of the darkness.
There was something sweet and innocent in her tone that caused me a moment of regret for the way I’d treated her, but then Emerson was a sweet woman. This was something different, though. Was I imagining it, or did she sound a little sad, maybe disappointed? I didn't have time to analyze what the change in her voice might mean, though, it wasn't part of the deal.
We usually hooked up a couple times a week. She worked at the bar, and if I was in the mood when I came in all I had to do was shoot her a look and she knew what I wanted.
"Sounds good." I turned and opened the door, disappearing inside the bar.