I lightly graze my fingers up your shaft, to the tip. Then as my hand slides back down, I flatten my palm against it, feeling all its grooves and veins. It's so perfect. I want it in my mouth, but I need to admire it a little longer with my eyes. With my other hand I squeeze your balls together and lift them while I wrap my fingers around your glorious shaft. It's rock solid now, already, and I'm surprised, but pleased. In fact I'm almost giddy at just how much it seems you're enjoying this, and I've barely gotten started. I grip you firmly and pull your dick so it sticks up like a joystick, rolling your balls slightly with my other hand, as I do. My god I'm in love with this piece. Just look at how ready it is for me.I look up to make contact with you, and when I see your wide eyes looking back down at me I can't help but go in. I reach out for the tip of your dick with my tongue, and as soon as I taste that tiny bit of precum, I just immediately engulf your head with my mouth. I. Your voice is husky, made for passioned whispers in my ear, not for the rising and falling scales of beautiful music. I love your voice. I say so and you laugh and blush. You say you wish you could say the same for me. I laugh with you and our embrace tightens, our caresses and kisses become more impassioned. We fall to our knees.My hands fall to my knees. My pencil has fallen and I cannot peck on the keyboard. I can't reach the pencil on the floor a foot and a half below me. I try. I try but I cannot. I try typing without the pencil, but without something to grasp, my fingers shake uncontrollably. Ashamed, I call for your help. You come in from the kitchen, tomato sauce on your apron, and pick up the pencil for me, along with the other half-dozen I have dropped. I thank you, my words garbled and slow. But you let me get them out before you say, "You're welcome." I love you for that, but I don't tell you, because I know you have to get back to he kitchen. Instead, I type it, slowly,.
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